by Diane Duane
The tiredness in those eyes faded for a moment. "Hey, brother," the marine said, "nice place you have here."
"We like it," Gabriel said. "You're welcome! Gabriel Connor." "Mil Wyens."
"Where are you from when you're not from a ship?" "Orion League. Damrak."
"Hey, we're neighbors!" Gabriel grinned a little. Neighborhood was something Orions took seriously, even if it was spread over many light-years. "I was born on Jaeger, and then we moved to Bluefall. My folks moved there on a colonization contract." "Long way back there," Mil said. "You must not see 'em often."
"Not my dad, anyway. Not since I enlisted. Dad's still on Bluefall; he's retired. Mom died a few years ago," Gabriel added, knowing from too much experience that if he didn't add it, someone would most likely ask. Better to get it over with. Mil's green eyes looked troubled. "Hey, I'm sorry."
The usual response, it's all right, it was a release, finally, came up. But for some reason Gabriel rejected it and just nodded. He said, "You guys did a great job out there today." "We didn't do much of anything," Mil said, sounding rather disappointed. "You did, though," Gabriel said. "Waiting. Waiting's hard."
He thought of the long hours down in the ice on Epsedra. The explosions overhead. And down in the crevasses, the slow drip and trickle of melting ice and the bright brittle sound when a bomb came down too close, shattering the ice into spears and shrapnel. In some ways, that seemed like another lifetime, ages ago. Some ways it seemed like a matter of minutes. And it could sneak up on you at other times when you were waiting, sometimes for something much more mundane and make itself a nuisance. Mil looked at him without much expression for a moment or so and then made half a smile and said, "Had enough of it for today."
"Let me get you something," Gabriel said. "How much 'something' do you want in it?" "Normal dosage," Mil said after a moment. "No point in replacing palpitations with a headache." Gabriel went off to fetch a couple of Pink Deaths. When he came back and handed one of them to Mil, the brown-eyed marine who had also drifted away in search of something liquid, now came back and leaned over Mil's shoulder. This was something of an accomplishment. She had to stand on tiptoe to do it, and she nearly spilled her drink down Mil's back in the process. "Mil, what about you-know-who's comm code?" "Huh?"
"You remember. You were going to give me his comm code. You said you wrote it down." "I did. Now where did I leave it?" Mil started going through his pockets.
"In the go-down boat," said the brown-eyed marine to Gabriel, and the various others who were gathered around, "he was sitting next to someone whom I would-someone in whom I am extremely interested. Tell me you didn't lose it," she said, poking Mil meaningfully in the ribs, "or you are going to have a bad weapons drill in a few days. Very bad."
"No, I know I have it, it's-" Mil kept going through his pockets, coming up with the usual clutter: cardkey for his quarters, cardkey for the secure locker in his wardrobe, and a little dark something. But the darkness didn't last. It flashed dully as Gabriel looked at it. He glanced away, wondering if the room lighting had something to do with it, but it didn't. "What is that?" he asked.
Mil was concentrating on going through his other pocket now, and looked up, slightly confused at being distracted from this. "Oh, this? It's a luck stone. I got it on..." He frowned, bemused, until his eyebrows threatened to bang into each other. "Dilemma, I think it was."
"You couldn't have gotten it on Dilemma," the brown-eyed marine said. "We didn't get leave there.
Where is that comm code?"
"Not the last time. The time before last."
"You didn't have this thing then," the brown-eyed marine said. "I didn't see it until we'd been to Tractate. Stop stalling."
"There wasn't anything on Tractate. I got it on . . ." He stopped going through the other pocket, looking annoyed. "Never mind."
Curious, Gabriel watched the little smooth thing in Mil's hand. It was vaguely oval and more flat than spherical. It had an odd metallic sheen to it, almost like brushed metal. But the color was black, except when it glowed from inside, a little diffuse light like a coal being blown to life and fading, blown bright and fading again. "How does it do that?" Gabriel said.
"I don't know," said the man, turning the little object over in his hand. "Batteries? No, I don't know at all; some guy in the daily market in the city we were in-I know," he said triumphantly to the brown- haired marine. "It was Dorring."
"It wasn't Dorring. You weren't on Dorring. Where did you put it?"
"She's right," said another she-marine who had come up behind Mil, a tall blonde woman. "You were in medical stir for nearly a week that starfall. Remember the-"
"Ow," said Mil, "yeah, did you have to remind me?" He pocketed the "luck piece" and turned around.
"What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had duty this shift."
"I did," she said, "but some schedules have been changed. Better check yours."
"Not before he gives me that comm code!"
That small knot of marines saluted Gabriel with their glasses and wandered off toward the food, leaving Gabriel looking after them while one of his floor mates, Mick Roscinzsky, came up beside him, carrying a couple of drinks. "Here," he said as he handed one to Gabriel. "What is it?"
"How should I know? All I know is you were standing there with your two arms the same length." Gabriel took an experimental sip of one of the drinks and made a face. "Did it occur to anyone to put anything in this but alcohol?"
Mick looked shocked. "Oh, this is one of the guest drinks. Sorry." He took it away from Gabriel and gave him his own.
Gabriel sipped it, looking suspiciously at Mick. This drink was mostly fizzy water. "Better," he said, realizing that he had nearly been on the receiving end of a hoary old trick intended for Falada 's guests but not her own marine complement. "Are they buying it?" " 'Fraid so. I feel sorry for their tiny heads tomorrow."
Gabriel grinned and wandered along behind Mick toward the bar. One of his other floor mates, Charles Redpath, was tending bar. He saw Dawn Steilin, a second lieutenant of his acquaintance, come moseying along and say to Charles, "I'll have a Squadron Special."
Charles reached down, chose a glass, filled it from one of the clear flasks nearby. Dawn took the glass from him, raised it, said, "Up the Concord, boys!" and knocked it back in three long gulps. A few of the marines from Callirhoe looked at her in appreciation or astonishment. One of them leaned close to whiff at the glass, or possibly her breath-or possibly just because Dawn was pleasant to lean close to-then said in some surprise, "Austrin gin?"
Dawn nodded, gave the guy a bright and completely un-addled look, and wandered away again. "I'll have one of those," said the marine who'd spoken to Dawn, and Charles, with a slight smile, handed him a glass the size of the one Dawn had downed.
Gabriel kept his own smile out of sight. The glass from which Dawn had been drinking, he knew, had been behind the bar, rim-down in a saucer of that Austrin gin. The flask from which it had been filled, though, the flask identical to the one from which Charles was now pouring, was full of plain old water. The present flask, though, was full of straight Austrin. Their guests would go away from this party with the belief that their hosts were supermen, at least insofar as their ability to hold their drink was involved. Gabriel turned away, half afraid he would lose control of that smile, and found Jake Ricel standing behind him, apparently watching the show at the bar. The dark-haired man was near Gabriel's height but less broad in the shoulders and leaner. His fair-skinned face was altogether unremarkable, one of those people who blended easily into any crowd without being noticed. Jake caught Gabriel's eye and glanced off to one side.
Now what the hell, Gabriel thought. Of all the times to- For this was his shipboard Intelligence contact, the man whom he had seen only once or twice, and that accidentally, in the last whole year. Jake was Star Force and worked up in Drive Engineering. From a marine's point of view, this would normally make him suspect regardless of any possible Intelligence
connections, since people who could actually understand the gravity induction engine were assumed to be, as the saying went, "a hundred and twenty- one hours from a nervous breakdown." But he seemed otherwise overtly normal according to people Gabriel knew who had worked with him. Gabriel said, "Oh, hi, Jake," as casually as he could. "Drink?"
"What you're having," said Jake, glancing idly over to where the two captains were unsuccessfully attempting to fend off another wave of marines.
Gabriel turned back to the bar and said, "Charles? Two Squadron Specials."
Charles looked over at them, eyed Jake, recognized him as in-ship but not marine, and handed Gabriel two drinks that looked the same but differed significantly in composition. "Thanks," Gabriel said.
"We take care of our own," Charles said and turned around to take another order.
Gabriel and Jake walked away slowly from the bar, sipping their drinks. Jake's was very full. "How do you people drink this stuff like you do?" he said.
"Genetic engineering," said Gabriel. "Haven't seen you for a while."
"No need," said Jake, "until now. Something needs to be looked into."
"Oh?"
Jake nodded, making a face as he took another drink. " 'Upabove' is a little curious about some things that might or might not have been seen in this system."
"Well, that's real definite," Gabriel said. "If you mean people from Phorcys and Ino shooting at each other, there's plenty of that to be curious about."
"No," Jake said, "not that, specifically." His voice got lower, and he turned to look toward the doorway. " 'Upabove' is wondering whether any of the diplomatic staffs from Phorcys or Ino have mentioned anything about . . . trouble in the system. Trouble that's not of their own making." "There's more than enough of the kind they make themselves to keep them busy," Gabriel said. "What kind of things are 'Upabove' curious about?" He was mystified.
Jake shrugged, looking around him again, so that Gabriel wondered exactly what or who he was looking for. Anyone close enough to stand a chance of eavesdropping seemed intent on their own conversations. "Aliens, especially aliens that aren't usually seen in these parts."
Gabriel shook his head. "For creep's sake, this is the Verge," he said. "You might run into any one of thirty alien races out here and never think anything of it."
"It might not be one of the recognized ones," said Jake, even more softly. Gabriel could hardly hear him now. "Making trouble somewhere in the system . . . trying to keep it quiet. Star Force might not know about it, but possibly the diplomatic types coming and going might drop a line or two on the subject." "Not usually where we can hear," Gabriel said. "They think we're spies half the time as it is." "But some of you they get used to looking at," Jake said. "You've been seen helping out in high places a lot lately." He gave Gabriel a slightly quizzical look.
Gabriel shrugged. "The ambassador's preference," he said. "I don't understand it myself." But Jake was looking at him, waiting for an answer. Then he looked at the doorway again, as if unusually eager to get out of there.
"All right, sure," Gabriel said. "I'll see what I can find out. But I don't know if I'm going to be able to help you all that much. I've been shipboard, mostly, and I think I'm supposed to be that way for the next couple of days anyway."
"Well," Jake said, "don't worry about that. Just keep your eyes and ears open and see what you can find out."
"Sure." But privately Gabriel felt sure he would find out almost nothing. "I'll leave a message on your computer if I need to talk to you."
"No!" Jake said, with surprising vehemence. "Just find me. Make an excuse to get up my way or have someone bring me a message by hand." Gabriel shrugged again, agreeing. Even now, there were times when an officer might prefer to have a message hand carried rather than put in the system. "If you do hear anything, I'll have a message for you to take back to the source. Not a word to anyone of who gave it to you-you'll have to find a way to slip it to the target without revealing the source." Gabriel nodded. Jake pushed his unfinished drink back into Gabriel's free hand, turned, and disappeared through the nearest passageway. Just like that, he was gone.
Gabriel shook his head, bemused, and turned his attention back to the stir in the room, the laughter of relief and release, the sight of people drifting around, eating and drinking and unwinding. The captains had finally been able to break away from their myriad admirers and sit down off to one side by themselves. Their heads were bent close together and their drinks were forgotten as they conferred. Gabriel caught Elinke's eye just briefly as she looked up and around, and he saluted her with his empty glass. She looked at him, grinned slightly, lifted both hands as if holding something in them, and put her eyebrows up. Gabriel realized he was still holding two glasses and went off hurriedly to put one of them down.
As he was making his way to one of the buffet tables, Hal came lounging along toward Gabriel. Hal eyed the second glass disapprovingly. "Bad day?" "Not mine," Gabriel said, just slightly nettled.
"Oh. Good, because schedules have been shuffled," said Hal. "Have you seen?" "I haven't looked since this afternoon, no."
"Better go check. I had a word with the computer and got a few little surprises. You will too. Among other things, you're on shuttle duty tomorrow."
"What? That's impossible! The am-" Gabriel stopped himself. "I was told I was going to be shipboard. The negotiations."
"Look again," Hal said, not entirely without sympathy. "Oh-dark-forty, you poor thing. And here you thought you were going to have six whole hours to sleep this off."
Reading, reading something for pleasure for a change, instead of the never-ending bad fairy tale of the negotiation transcripts, had been more on Gabriel's mind, at least enough of it to lull him gently to sleep.
Now there was going to be little enough chance of that. "Well, frack " he said. "What fun."
"Better turn in early," Hal said. "I know I am. Shame to miss the rest of the party."
Gabriel looked around at a room full of relatively happy marines and Star Force people. It had been a good day for most of them in that none of them had died. "Yeah," he said. "But there'll be others.
Meanwhile ... "
"Yup, me too. See you in the morning," Hal said, "or what comes all too soon before it." He finished his own drink, put it down, and headed out the door.
Gabriel got rid of the glasses, paused to snaffle a couple of small meatrolls and devour them, and then slowly went the same way Hal had.
Schedule changes. He was willing enough to believe that the ambassador might have been behind them. Keep your eyes and ears open, she had said.
But so had Jake, just now, in almost the same words. And he hadn't seemed concerned that Gabriel thought he was going to be stuck shipside.
Did Jake know that my schedule was going to be changed this way? Gabriel thought. And if he did know that, how did he know that?
But after a moment Gabriel put the thought out of his mind. There was probably no point in him wasting consideration on it. He had long since gotten a feeling that as regarded Intelligence, the less you seemed to stop and think about the things you found out, the better the upper ups liked it. And it was likely enough that the ambassador was involved somehow in that as well. The Diplomatic service and the Intelligence people were well known to work closely together. The briefing earlier in the day suggested that just that kind of thing might have been going on.
Gabriel took himself off to his quarters, dropped a sober pill, and immediately turned in. He was a little uneasy, but still excited about what the next day might bring. It wasn't that many more hours, anyway, until he would find out.
Chapter Four
HE WAS UP even earlier than he thought he would be. Even though he was on shuttle duty, it was diplomatic shuttle duty and thus required the dress blues rather than fatigues. As soon as he was in a fresh uniform, Gabriel went down to the great echoing steel-arched barn of the cargo/shuttle deck that held a half-dozen of the long wedge-shaped spacecraft. He immediate
ly made himself useful, talking to the dispatch chief about which shuttles were scheduled in and out and when. He found out who they were carrying and where they were going. Partly it was gossip, for the shuttle chief was half beside himself with the hours his pilots were having to keep and the kind of work they were having to do. But Gabriel had a half-formed idea that it would be a good idea if he could be on as many of the shuttles as he could today, at least without attracting undue notice. Being eyes and ears was all very well, but not so obviously that no one would say anything in front of you.
The next five hours were desperately wearing for Gabriel. Most of a marine's duty when doing diplomatic escort duty involved standing very still and looking like you might be useful at any moment, but not this moment. It was one of the reasons that marines learned the kind of mind-control exercise that helped them to keep perfectly still and blank-faced without twitching, yet still allowed the mind to roam at least moderately free. The trick worked, helping Gabriel to keep enough attention on the business around him while preventing him from falling asleep where he stood.
