Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) by Chris Hechtl

into the galaxy once more … it might never be the same. At least, he hoped so. He was done wallowing in self-pity, and he hoped people were done trying to scratch an existence out with their bare hands and settling for what they could.
    Long, long ago people used to try harder. May your reach ever exceed your grasp. To make a better world for their children who would come after them … he frowned then opened a text file and tossed the words into it. He'd let someone else clean it up but maybe the sentiment, perhaps oversappy, but considering the source who cared, but maybe it'd get through and spark some more people to stand up and get busy.
    His thoughts returned to Bek as he watched the unloading through the video feed. He'd nationalized the mobile shipyard; most of the crew had stayed on. The ship had been dispatched by Lagroose Corporation to rebuild the colonial liner that had become stranded in the star system.
    His lips pursed in memory. His nationalizing it hadn't gone over well with some. Those who had left—some called it jumped ship—they'd taken the liner back to “civilized space.” The entire helm and navigational team had gone as well as anyone who'd had family back in the federation. He wondered briefly how many of them had survived? And how many had regretted the decision not to stay where it was safe?
    If it had been him, would he have stayed? Easy answer, no, he would have followed his orders. He wouldn't have ignored his duty to find a way to stop the marauding aliens, to protect those he could.
    Admiral Irons smiled indulgently as the Bekians paused to be photographed by the media. A few stopped to answer questions, but the aides did their best to steer them on. A smooth public affairs flack stepped in to answer any questions when and where possible. They still had some hoopla to go through before they got to him. That was fine. He smiled indulgently, ready and eager for someone else to have the spotlight so he could get a little more work done.
    :::{)(}:::
     
    Moira was a bit put out by the situation despite the hoopla surrounding their arrival. She couldn't put a finger on why initially, but then it came to her. She was disappointed that Admiral Irons wasn't on hand to greet them the moment the ship had reached port. She did her best to look around surreptitiously after a third introduction to a local delegate. They really should have done some sort of reception line or something she thought, wondering how long the hand shaking would go on. Name tags would have been nice, she groused mentally. She was still getting used to her implants. Her civilian implants, she reminded herself. The last guy had damn near broken her hand. “What's wrong?” Yorgi asked softly, noting her occasional darting eyes.
    “Nothing, why do you ask?” she asked back, equally soft as she went back to business as usual behavior.
    “You're looking around. I can tell,” he said with a soft smile. He wouldn't put it past the woman to try to go after Irons right off. He wasn't certain what her game was, political power on the big stage or power of a different sort. She had ambitions; of that he was certain. Nothing wrong with it as long as she tempered it with reality and didn't let them get out of hand to the point where they caused damage somehow.
    “I thought he'd greet us,” she finally admitted in an aside.
    “He's busy. And from what I understand, he doesn't like the spotlight much,” the elderly admiral replied as he nodded to his flag lieutenant. “We'll continue, Elvis,” he said simply.
    “Aye aye, sir,” The Neochimp flag lieutenant replied as he waved a hand to indicate the direction they were to travel. He paused when a Veraxin public affairs assistant escorted another pair of delegates to greet them. “Besides, he wants us to have our moment to shine.”
    “Oh, very well,” Moira said.
    :::{)(}:::
     
    Admiral Irons got the news report of the protests on ET just as the Bek delegation arrived in