Cally's War lota-6

by John Ringo

  As part of the mission, they had approved attempts to transfer in or out of the office a bit more freely than normally would have been the case. The cover was that a new CO would of course want to pick as many of his own headquarters people as possible. They had managed to replace eleven of the seventeen headquarters and CID office staffers. Out of the now thirteen staffers with a documented humanist connection, nine had both the connection and were new to their position.

  Makepeace was on the list, of course, but so was over half the office after you subtracted himself and Beed. Franks was the obvious prime suspect. Sixty plus years of living had taught Stewart that, unlike in holovids or movies, the obvious suspect very frequently was the guilty party. Still, the enemy organization had already proven you couldn’t count on it to obligingly do the stupid or obvious thing.

  What it amounted to was that he had fifteen people to watch for patterns, eleven to watch closely, and nine to watch very closely.

  Franks had several Earthside communications from his quarters, one to a known humanist activist who was also his wife’s brother-in-law, another to a friend of the family who had not been noted to express humanist sympathies but who, on examination, turned out to have a large number of humanist friends and associates. The calls had been encrypted with a relatively strong public cryptography system that had been released to the public by some anonymous wiseass. The authorities had been chagrinned, and Stewart supposed he ought to be, too, but he couldn’t help being secretly just a bit happy about it. He chalked it up to his misspent youth. Which had actually been rather fun, come to think of it.

  Anders had called a boyfriend back home every night the first week and had tapered off since. The hometown honey appeared to be on his way out.

  Makepeace had sent e-mail replies to two long letters from her mother, but had kept the discussion to inconsequentials such as descriptions of coworkers and the restaurants and shops in the Corridor.

  Sanchez had sent an order to a freight company to ship up a private supply of cigars, bourbon, and Tabasco sauce. Otherwise, he seemed to be fairly typical in that Fleet Strike was becoming his family as age and anti-juv prejudice separated him from his previous connections.

  Keally kept contact with his wife and daughter who had not accompanied him up to the Base, but had had no apparent contact with his high school best friend, who taught Sunday school at North Topeka First Methodist, which had taken a notable stance against differential rejuvenation of one member of a married couple.

  The rest was more of the same. It was looking more and more like Franks was his man. Only problem was that so far all he had was circumstantial. There had been no overt act. Which meant he could be wrong. Which meant he had to keep digging into the private lives of fourteen innocent people, any way you sliced it.

  “Turn it all off, Diana. Time to blow this taco stand.” Tacos. Hmm. It seemed, and was, a lifetime ago that he’d anglicized so painstakingly in his efforts to move beyond the privations of his childhood. At the time, he’d thought it was necessary. In retrospect, he now knew that it hadn’t been. Oh, it had kept him out of the way of some people’s prejudices now and again, but what had really turned him around had been the good influence and example of Gunny Pappas and Mike O’Neal. They’d given him a dream bigger than just himself and his friends, a dream a man could hitch his star to. They’d sold him on America and the dreams of democracy and liberty, sometimes without even saying a word. Good men at the tail end of a good age. Too bad the dream had died. He didn’t know how it had happened. Maybe it had been when the President moved the Capitol to Chicago by decree. The excuse for not changing the Constitution had been the national emergency and the number of states that were overrun by the enemy. Maybe it had been when the candidates for office and the remains of the political parties started accepting anonymous donations in FedCreds and nobody had done anything about it. Maybe it had been when they made the residents of the Sub-Urbs sign waivers of certain rights as a condition of residency. Maybe it had been when the offices of the Toledo Blade were firebombed. No, the damage had already been done well before then. That was just the most obvious nail in the coffin of the dream. Instead of a real investigation, there had been a very thin whitewash, and the rest of the papers had fallen into line. Not that he could blame them, really. He had seen the post mortem pics of the editorial staff.

  He walked around the edge of his desk and laid a hand, gently, on the cold glass covering the paper beach. It had been a great dream while it lasted. He sighed. Combination plate from La Colima it is.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thursday, June 13

  A week later, after having had three liaisons with the general and no more meaningful information, and having thoroughly searched everywhere near the general’s headquarters that she had access to with no luck, Cally had come to the conclusion that it was time to try plan B. The areas she did not have access to had some serious security on the door locks. Not even a custom crafted tools package from Tommy had been enough to let her crack it safely, the one time she’d gotten a solid chance at one of them without an MP in visual range of the door.

  She had, however, been able to copy the security permissions file to cube and the report back from Tommy had turned up the interesting information that while she didn’t have access to those areas, as the general’s aide de camp, Pryce did. Which left her organizing the morning e-mail printouts for Beed contemplating the not at all unhappy prospect of plan B. Not at all unhappy.

  Of course, stalking Pryce was going to be complicated by Beed’s infernal, possessive, controlling habits, which had gotten worse if anything. Still, she had a few things on her side. Foremost that the general seemed willing to trust his aide around her, while being annoyingly paranoid about other males. Whether it was Pryce’s low rank or that his terrible clumsiness and slight stutter tending to worsen in the general’s presence, the general’s paranoia had a blind spot where the lieutenant was concerned.

  And, of course, she intended to make sure that her public behavior continued to foster that blind spot.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said cheerily as she bounced into his office and put the stack of printouts in his in tray, scooping up an inch and a half of assorted paper from his out tray.

  “Come here a second, Sinda, I need to go over this with you.” He waved her around to his side of the desk, using explaining his proofreading markups to her as a transparent attempt to get her close enough to grope her left breast. She affected excitement, gasping slightly, but honestly! Beed wasn’t bad looking, and he was at least decent in bed, but sometimes he got on her nerves so bad she had to physically restrain herself from throttling the man.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll get right on that, sir.”

  “Oh, and Sinda,” he sighed, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you tonight, dear. Clarice has planned a dinner party and absolutely insists on my presence.”

  “Awww.” She looked regretful. “Well, I’ve got a cube of movies I’ve been meaning to watch and those self-heaters, maybe I’ll just have a quiet night, sir.” She wanted to slap him for the hint of approval she saw in his eyes. She didn’t think any of that had made it past her eyes, but she turned away to make sure, taking the stack of papers with her. It wasn’t really out of character. After all, the real Sinda probably would have been pissed, too.

  Later, Pryce came in with a notepad and propped himself on the edge of her desk, knocking off her stapler and a paperclip dispenser.

  “I’ll get that on my way out. Did the general tell you about his speech?” he asked.

  “Speech?” she echoed.

  “Yeah, the dinner tonight is a little more than he may have told you. His wife is trying to organize a Toastmasters on base, along with General Harrison’s wife. Anyway, I’ve got the draft here. I’d appreciate it if you could be my second set of eyes proofing the thing for grammar.”

  “Sure.” She reached out and accepted the pad from him. “So, another wild and wacky evening f
or you, eh?”

  “A-actually not. We had booked the back dining room at the officers’ club, but after the kitchen fire last week, well, the smoke damage is awful. So I really had to scramble rebooking it at Cherry Blossoms, and then we were two seats short so Colonel Lee and I made the gracious sacrifice of foregoing the pleasure of the occasion.” He grinned wickedly. “Of course, I’m all broken up about it.”

  “I can see that, Pryce.” The corners of her mouth twitched slightly and her eyes danced. “So, no canapés tonight. Why, bless your heart, Pryce, what will you do with the time?”

  His eyes snapped to hers, and — and that intent, perceptive look in — his eyes were really dark, and there was a hot, tight feeling in the pit of her stomach. She shifted in her chair slightly, licking her lips. She saw his glance flicker to her chest briefly, and back to hold her eyes, almost as if he hadn’t really intended to look.

  “Are you sure you want to go down that road, Captain? I’m no general. And I’m definitely not General Beed.”

  “Um… road?” she squeaked. Was that me? Oh, great, Cally, way to sound like a complete idiot.

  “Ahem. I mean, I don’t know what your plans are, Pryce, but with all this paperwork, I mean, I have half a dozen transfers alone. And it’ll probably take me all afternoon just to get Simkowicz’s pay situation straightened out. I expect I’ll be here very late tonight.” She could tell she was babbling, but her mouth seemed to be in overdrive, which was in character for Sinda, so that must be why she was doing it. She jumped at the slight shock when his hand touched hers.

  “Y-you know, suddenly I just remembered I’ve got loads of paperwork to do, myself.”

  * * *

  Cally had actually squared away most of what needed to be done by the time Beed departed, speech in hand. Of course he had loaded her down with additional assignments at the last minute. He thought. She had been able to anticipate most of it. His pattern for these little extras was to take work that had to be done anyway, but later, and come up with a reason he absolutely had to have it first thing in the morning. If she had actually waited until he told her, at seventeen-thirty, it would have added a good three hours onto her workload. As it was, she had more like half an hour of work left as he swanned out the door, and the relevant files heaped around in an artistic disorder on her desk. Asshole.

  Fifteen minutes after eighteen hundred she took a trip to the copier, counting the coworkers still in the office. Anders was on her way out. Carlucci and Sanchez were still at their desks.

  As she passed Pryce’s office on the way back, and he lifted his head briefly to meet her eyes, she had to wonder if he was really working or just pretending like she was. Or, like she would be, anyway.

  At eighteen-forty-five she was trying not to twiddle her thumbs and went to the copy machine again, noting with satisfaction that the two agents had finally gotten themselves out of the office. Or, at least, she hoped so.

  “Buckley,” she whispered, “listen for a minute and tell me if you hear anyone in the office area but me and Pryce.” She was as quiet as she could be, for a few seconds, breathing as shallowly and silently as she could.

  “No, Captain. They’re hiding too well for me to hear them. They must be really good. Maybe we’ll die fast.”

  “Okay, you can shut up now, buckley. And quit listening.” Okay, so she knew it was just a computer program. She still didn’t want it listening in while she was with Pryce. It would have been just too weird.

  “But what if I hear them sneaking up on us?”

  “Shut up and quit listening, buckley.”

  “Right.”

  “You know, they make personality overlays to cover over the depressing bits of the base buckley.” Pryce had come in behind her and she jumped as she spun around to face him.

  “Don’t do that! You scared me half to death.” She had clapped a hand to her chest and she froze that way, for a few seconds. His eyes were big, and dark, and for once she knew what they meant when they talked about seeing into someone’s soul. Could he see hers? If he could, would he stay? She realized her mouth was hanging open slightly and shut it, licking her lips nervously as she played the ends of her hair through her fingers.

  She walked up very deliberately and pressed herself full length against him. It was almost like touching a live wire. As he pulled her mouth hard against his she could feel the heat of his thighs through her silks. They were hard and tight, and as she rubbed one thigh up the outside of his leg, pressing closer, she was glad for once that Sinda wasn’t perfectly lean. She could feel the muscles of his back under her hands. His mouth tasted cinnamony, like he’d just been chewing gum, and her knees buckled as his tongue and teeth and lips finally turned off the running commentary in her brain as she strained to get as close to him as she could possibly get. Clothes. In the damned way. Patience? What patience. Patience, hell.

  Afterwards he winced as he stood up so she could get off the worktable.

  “Are you okay?” She blessed providence that there was a box of tissue on the table, well, okay, on the floor now, in here. She shrugged her bra back on and neatened herself up, refastening her silks. Thank God for fabric that didn’t wrinkle, no matter what.

  “That bite’s a little tender.” He rubbed a set of red marks on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s not like I noticed at the time. I mean, well, I noticed but it wasn’t… it didn’t… it was okay, really. God, what am I saying? Sinda, thank you. You — you blew my mind. Wow. I — thank you.”

  “Mmmm. And thank you. Wow is right. Is it okay if I don’t try to think or anything just now? God that was good.” She had to let go of the hand she was clinging to so he could do up his own silks, but it was all right. He gave it right back.

  She did have to let him go for a few minutes as they picked up the packaged ream of paper and assorted other office debris that had landed on the floor, but she did take the opportunity of him bending down to pick up a staple puller to run a hand up the inside of his thigh and give his butt a squeeze. This was… nice. She usually didn’t feel so cuddly after sex. It was kinda cool. As he stood she wrapped her arms around him from behind, rubbing up against him like a cat. God, he smells so good. Rich and hot and… Oh, God, I’d better move away from him. Just get myself frustrated. He won’t be ready to go again for awhile.

  “So, do you want to get something eat?” She stepped away, but the effort had her twisting her hands.

  “I smuggled in some self-heaters earlier this afternoon. We really can’t be seen out and about,” he said apologetically, looking at her as if he knew how stirred up she still was. “But on the plus side, after we get a little food, get a little energy back, we’ll still be alone.”

  His eyes were so deep she was about to melt into a puddle on the ground right where she stood.

  “Come on, they’re in my office,” he said.

  She pulled her chair in while he got the boxes out of his desk and pulled out the start tabs.

  “You know we’re going to have to sneak these boxes right back out again. Beed is possessive, jealous, suspicious—” She stopped as he placed a finger over her lips.

  “We are not going to let a certain dark cloud rain all over our evening. So, would you like sweet and sour shrimp, or cashew chicken?” He gestured with the boxes.

  “Mmm. I love seafood. Can I have the shrimp?” She licked her lips.

  “Sure thing.” He passed one of the heaters over. It still had a couple of minutes before they could pop the top. “That must have been rough growing up. A Wisconsin farm girl with a jones for seafood.”

  “Not really. When you don’t have it, you don’t have it. We had more than a lot of people. Better than living shut away from sunlight in some Urb.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, bless your heart, you grew up in a Sub-Urb, didn’t you, Pryce?”

  “Yeah. We didn’t have much, but I got by.” His mouth tightened involuntarily.

  “I? Not we
?” she asked.

  “Well, my mom wasn’t around much. Let’s just say I got by with a little help from my friends.” The words held echoes of remembered pain.

  “Oh. Did you spend a lot of time in the crèche?” Doesn’t sound like he had a happy childhood at all.

  “Something like that. Let’s just say we did a good bit of self-supervision,” he said.

  “Sounds like you had to be self-reliant pretty early on.” Something we have in common.

  “Sort of. I learned to pick good friends and trust them. And how to deal with people I couldn’t trust at all. What about you? Did you have something where you played with kids, or were you alone a lot, or what?” He took one of her hands.

  “There weren’t a lot of other kids. I was a bit of a daddy’s girl. He was my best friend.” Well, Granpa, anyway. After the first landing, he might as well have been my dad.

  “Fresh air. Sunshine. It sounds… wholesome. I didn’t do a lot of wholesome growing up,” he said.

  “Not as much as you’d think. Daddy was ex-military. Like a lot of people I guess. But it was less wholesome and more… I don’t know… earthy? Practical?” How to explain without explaining, that is the question.

  “I envy you that adult guidance. I had to figure out so much by trial and error.” He opened his dinner and the savory and slightly sweet smell of the cashews wafted through the room.

  “I envy you good friends your own age. The farm was a bit isolated. In some ways I didn’t get to be a kid.” Not past age eight, anyway.