by S MacDonald
Commander Mikthorn looked as if he might burst out of his uniform, at that.
‘My duty as a Fleet officer…’ he began, with awful majesty.
‘Is to obey orders and respect the chain of command,’ Tan said. ‘You seem to be under the impression that Captain von Strada is out here doing his own sweet thing, that nobody back home really knows what he’s doing, that they wouldn’t approve of it if they did, even perhaps that you suspect he is misleading them. Please allow me to set your mind at rest, Commander. He is acting under the direct orders of the League President, yes, but there are a host of other authorities involved – just to mention a few, the Senate Sub-Committee which supervises the Fourth, the Admiralty and the Diplomatic Corps. All of them have issued orders, directives and requests entirely in line with the Presidential remit, all of them have laid down what they want done and how they want it done, and they are monitoring very closely indeed every step, twist and turn of how things are going. True, yes, they are some weeks behind events at Chartsey, but I can assure you that they are very fully informed and that nothing has happened here that goes against the orders and directives he is working under. There may well be some shuddering and head-shaking here and there at how he is doing it, but we all know he’ll go at this sideways and be totally off the wall at times, and we all know too that that’s how he gets his results. But there it is. He is, actually, in real fact, embodying and representing our government, carrying out that government’s wishes and reporting back to them. Quite where you feel that you come into that equation isn’t entirely clear to me. If you believe that you have evidence of wrongdoing then you should certainly report that, as is your duty, through the proper channels. If on the other hand you are effectively campaigning against Captain von Strada’s handling of the mission on no more grounds than your personal opinion, then it has to be said, Commander, that you are well out of order.’
Commander Mikthorn gaped, and for a moment looked as if he was going to explode with rage. But then something changed. It occurred to him that he was no longer the lecturer instructing a student; it was Tan who was the authority here and the commander himself, far junior to him, was firmly on the carpet.
‘I’m not campaigning!’ he exclaimed, shocked to the core at what was, indeed, a serious offence for Fleet officers. One of the freedoms they gave up when they took their oath of service was that of political activism. Fleet culture was very much that officers kept their political views to themselves, too, as discussion of them in the wardroom could be divisive.
‘Aren’t you?’ Tan looked quizzical. ‘You didn’t invite me in here for the pleasure of my company. You buttonholed me because I am Ambassador In Potentia and you wasted no time in pouring forth with highly critical, inflammatory views about how this mission is being conducted. It is entirely obvious that you were hoping to influence me, even perhaps that I might, uh, ‘Take charge and sort things out’.’ There was clear irony in that. ‘If that isn’t lobbying, I don’t know what is.’
Commander Mikthorn stared at him. The florid colour was ebbing from his face.
‘I was…’ he floundered, ‘I was just…’
‘Trying to get me to see things your way,’ Tan said helpfully. ‘And feeling it to be justified to do that, imperative to do that, because you’re the only one with any sense around here and the only one who can really see what’s going on.’
Commander Mikthorn drew a breath and rallied his resolve.
‘I certainly am,’ he declared, with a firm setting square of his shoulders. ‘Because everyone else around here,’ he glared pointedly at the ambassador, ‘is indoctrinated.’
Tan passed a hand briefly across his mouth, like a man stifling a cough, and his eyes were rather bright, but he could see that the commander was serious, so responded with due gravity.
‘Really?’ he said, and at that the commander sat forward and began pouring forth all his ‘findings’. Tan listened for a little while, then held up a hand when it became clear that the commander might well carry on like that for the rest of the evening.
‘Sorry, commander,’ he said, ‘but I have to stop you there. You are right, of course, in your recognition that there is something very unusual going on aboard this ship – but quite wrong, I’m afraid, in your interpretation of it.’ He gave the affronted commander a gentle smile. ‘It is, in fact, a phenomenon of which the Fourth themselves is very much aware – Commander Burroughs has published some very interesting articles about it, which you might find of interest, including one on the phenomenon of the ‘uber-team.’ It’s something that can happen when a highly motivated, highly skilled group unites in pursuit of a goal they consider to be more important than their individual feelings or wishes. As you’ve noticed, it makes for an unusually powerful, selfless camaraderie. Major league sports teams, by the way, pay very expensive sports psychologists a great deal of money to try to achieve the same phenomenon. And before you say that that isn’t appropriate for a military unit, it is also observed, and considered a desirable outcome, in highly trained army special operations units. As for indoctrination…’ he smiled again, ‘all military basic training is itself a form of indoctrination, as I’m sure you’ll recognise if you look back at your own first term in the Academy.’
That was a point… even Commander Mikthorn had to admit that that was a reasonable point. He was starting to feel confused, a little knocked out of the groove of his own certainty by the calm and clearly well-informed assurance of the ambassador.
‘There is, of course,’ Tan continued, evidently not expecting the commander to do anything more right now than just sit quietly and listen, ‘a danger with such a very strongly united uber-team, particularly in an isolated situation like that on a starship, that the unit can close in on itself and develop unhealthy ways of thinking. That is why Captain von Strada and Commander Burroughs are particularly alert to the risk of social closing – Commander Burroughs files regular risk-management reports about that, over and above those normally required by the Fleet. They also employ an independent consultant to advise on health and safety issues – Professor Penarth, of course, is also a psychologist. And just to be absolutely sure, the Medical Division at the Admiralty has a team which routinely reviews footage from the Fourth’s on-board cameras, evaluating their interactions with one another and with outsiders. So the danger is, you see, recognised and being carefully monitored. And as for their being any kind of cult…’ he managed, just, to keep a straight face, ‘I really don’t see any element of religious, spiritual or fanatical belief systems in play here, they’re a task force under direct governmental orders, you know? And Alex von Strada is… is no kind of guru.’
He treasured that moment as he said it, with the mental images it conjured up. As he went on, though, his manner became more serious, genuinely concerned.
‘If you will forgive me saying so,’ said Tan, ‘it is my own belief that you yourself are in the grip of something we in the Diplomatic Corps call Snowball Syndrome. You know the thing, I’m sure, the cartoon snowball that starts rolling and gets bigger and bigger till it splats things flat. Actually I have tried it myself with various kinds of snow and it doesn’t work, not at all, you just end up with a little soggy lump. But that’s beside the point. Snowball Syndrome is a handy enough term to describe it. What happens is that someone – usually someone already under stress and particularly so if they are feeling isolated in some way – is faced with a problem they’re unable to solve. Instead of stepping back or asking for help, they get overly invested, determined to solve it themselves, it becomes a matter of self-esteem for them to do so. With continuing failure comes rising frustration and a need to prove yourself. Unless someone intervenes at this stage it is likely that emotions will get out of hand, you’ll start blaming someone you see as responsible for you not being able to solve the problem and that blame can rise very quickly into animosity and a sense of vendetta. You’re scouring around for anything you think you can use against the enemy, and if you see a ch
ance of getting him ‘sorted out’ you’ll leap at it, even if that means doing things you would never have contemplated for a moment in the cool clear light of rational perspective. I’m not wrong, am I? You have tried to ‘sort out’ Alex von Strada by leaking an ‘exposure’ of him to the media through a third party? You knew, of course, that it was a violation of Fleet regulations to do that, and I don’t believe that you would have done that in a cool, entirely rational state of mind. Even this…’ he gestured back and forth between the two of them. ‘A Fleet officer lobbying a League Ambassador, subverting the chain of command – I can’t imagine that the Admiralty would look very kindly on that.’
Commander Mikthorn was grey, by then, still staring at Tan like a mesmerised haddock. Suspicion, however, was rising to overtake horror.
‘Has he got you to threaten me?’ He demanded.
‘Dear me,’ Tan gave him a look of the mildest surprise and Commander Mikthorn suddenly found himself feeling rather foolish. ‘If what you are asking,’ Tan said, ‘is whether I have been asked to speak to you about this, no, I have not, neither by Captain von Strada nor anybody else. I would not have interfered here, either, if you hadn’t involved me yourself. Though I must admit that I’m quite glad of the opportunity to discuss the situation with you, purely for your own sake. I do have a great deal of sympathy for you, you know. You’ve been caught up in circumstances that have swept you away like a snowball down a mountain. You no longer know whether you’re coming or going and you’re trying to cope with it all in a state of such frustration and fury that you feel sick with it. And you feel that you’re on your own, too, very far out in the deep dark wilds, helpless, angry and desperate, and nobody will listen to you. It starts to feel that there’s a massive conspiracy, that everyone’s against you. That is Snowball Syndrome, commander, it is classic Snowball Syndrome. And I do understand, too, how powerful it is, how real it feels, and how anybody attempting to tell you that you’re wrong just makes you feel even more angry and desperate. My hope is that you will understand that I am someone you can trust, someone who wants to help and even, perhaps, someone whose opinion you can respect.’ He gave a modest smile. ‘I do want to help,’ he said. ‘It isn’t my place to try to solve any problems your attitude may be having for the mission, that is up to them to deal with and I wouldn’t presume to interfere. I would, however, like to help you, because I can see what you are going through and it’s ripping you up. Snowball Syndrome needs what we call a Trusted Guide, a friend to lead you out of it. I’m told that a brisk slap can do the trick too,’ he grinned, ‘but that isn’t a method we favour in the diplomatic.’
Commander Mikthorn had listened to this with doubt, but now indignation shot back to the fore.
‘I am not,’ he said, with mountainous dignity, ‘hysterical.’
Tan said nothing, and let that silence say everything.
‘I’m not,’ Commander Mikthorn insisted, with colour rushing back into his face. ‘That Dr Tekawa talked about hysterical paranoia and I won’t have it, understand? I’m a Fleet Commander. Calling me paranoid or hysterical is just totally out of order, it’s calling my professional integrity into question and I won’t have it.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tan agreed peaceably. ‘We’ll just say ‘Snowball Syndrome’ and leave it at that.’
‘Hmmmph.’ There was a long silence, then, while the commander thought and Tan sipped his tea. ‘All right,’ Commander Mikthorn said abruptly, and with brusque challenge, ‘Go on, then! Convince me that I’m wrong.’
Tan laughed. ‘What, just like that?’ He returned. ‘I’m good, but I can’t work miracles.’ As Commander Mikthorn looked both confused and offended, Tan smiled at him. ‘Before we can have any kind of productive discussion about the things that are making you so angry, we need to lower the emotional temperature…’ he held his hand in the air palm downward and lowered it gently, ‘quite considerably. So if you are willing to let me help you, here, let’s just calm things down a bit, okay?’
Commander Mikthorn looked mulish. ‘I am not,’ he stated, ‘going to do any more damned meditations.’
Tan laughed again, this time with sympathy.
‘Dr Tekawa on his spiritual healing jag, I guess,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, that kind of thing isn’t my style at all.’ He gave the commander a look that really did seem friendly. ‘Come on,’ he said, and set aside his tea. ‘Let’s go for a beer.’
Commander Mikthorn’s jaw dropped open. ‘Uh..?’
‘It’s bar night in the gym,’ Tan told him. ‘And word is that Ali Jezno will be on the bar, which is one of my ‘must do’ things while I’m here. No discussions, okay, no heart to hearts, just a quiet beer.’ He got up, collecting his own and the commander’s cups. ‘Come on,’ he repeated. ‘It will do you good.’
Before Commander Mikthorn could muster a protest, he found himself being walked casually through the interdeck and into the gym. This, like the rest of the interdeck, was a multi-function space. It could be transformed very quickly with different furniture and lighting – one night a week, it was set up as a lecture theatre for the Mindful society, and another night it was rigged like this, with a bar counter, tables and chairs. Commander Mikthorn disapproved. He understood well enough that members of the Fourth were not allowed to work more than forty five hours in any given three days, and that they were expected to spent at least one hour a day in leisure activities. The commander knew, therefore, that the people here weren’t doing anything untoward. It just seemed wrong, though, to walk into a room that looked like any spacer bar, busy with people chatting and laughing with drinks in their hands. Obviously, the drinks were non-alcoholic, but it looked and sounded like a bar full of shoreleavers. Commander Mikthorn had looked in on it once before, stiffened with formless indignation, and left.
Now, he allowed himself to be steered to a table and provided with a drink. Reluctant even at the appearance of drinking anything that even looked like alcohol aboard ship, he asked for a citrus spritzer, which Tan got without comment. He had a glass of lager himself, pale gold, which he held up to the light to admire the clarity and sparkling bubbles before taking a drink and giving an ahhh of satisfaction.
Over the next half an hour, Commander Mikthorn found himself, if not calmed, then effectively distracted from his woes. Tan Ganhauser talked a lot at first, telling stories about worlds that he’d been to, but soon he was talking about places and people that the commander knew, too, drawing him into the conversation. This was what the Fleet called ‘the goss’, spacers finding common ground through ports, ships and people. It had been a long time since Commander Mikthorn had enjoyed a goss, and it was pleasant, surprising indeed to find out just how much he and Tan had in common.
Then, to enthusiastic cheers, Ali Jezno hopped up to sit on the bar, the lights dimmed so that he appeared in a spotlight.
‘All right…’ he held out a hand and somebody put the traditional beer into it. ‘What’s it going to be?’
‘The Lonely Engineer!’ Tan called out, quicker and louder than anyone, and as people looked around in some surprise, he laughed. ‘Please,’ he requested, and told Ali, ‘That’s my favourite.’
Ali grinned, and saluted him with the beer. ‘As your Excellency commands,’ he said, and having paused for a sip, settled his audience with a quieting look, lowered his voice and began.
It was a familiar story, told in every spacer bar across the League. This too was part of ‘the goss’, part of spacer culture, exchanging news, gossip and tall tales. There were tales of haunted ships, banshees and weirdness, of mysterious chocolate-stealing aliens and a skeleton found embedded in the hull of a ship. No story, though, was more often told, or more widely believed, than that spacers called the Lonely Engineer.
Ali told it, as always, in thrilling performance. The fact that most of his audience knew the story word for word and had heard him tell it many times before actually seemed to add to their enjoyment, as they knew what was coming and that built a
nticipation. Tan, for one, was enraptured, and when the tale reached its climax he held his breath, only letting it out with a sigh when Ali brought the story to its poignant end.
‘It’s true, you know,’ a woman at the next table told Tan, while they were all applauding, ‘it really did happen.’
‘I know,’ said Tan. ‘I’ve seen the files.’
Three minutes later, he was up on the bar himself, pretty much hustled and shoved up there with a combination of challenge and entreaty, to tell them what he knew. Nobody had seen the Surehaul 7 files. They had been locked down by the authorities after the inquest, and locked down so tightly that not even nine ack alpha clearance could get you access.
‘It took some doing,’ Tan said. He seemed to be perfectly at home on the bar, sitting up there as casually as any spacer with a story to tell, and reaching out, too, to take the beer that someone thrust towards him. ‘Thanks. I had to pull strings, call in a few favours, and I wasn’t allowed to copy the files, only look at them in a sealed room. But I have read them, and seen the footage. And it is true; I’ve seen the recordings from the helmet cams of the boarding party. You can see them reacting to the sight of someone at the controls. They look so relieved, all of them, so glad to see that there’s at least one survivor. And then, you know, you see the shock and confusion when the figure they can see just disappears. One of them says, ‘Where’d he go?’ and they go forward, you know, looking, one of them actually feels in the chair and they’re saying all the obvious things, you know, ‘He can’t just have vanished,’ and ‘Maybe it was a holo,’ but they’re obviously unnerved, all four of them saw a man there and all four of them described, afterwards, independently, exactly what they saw – not an absolutely clear image, as if they saw him through fog, but they could describe what he looked like and what he was wearing. And they recognised him, too, when they found his body with the others. I won’t ever forget their terror, the horror of it. They ran, you know. They were fighting in the airlock to get off that ship and I’m sure I can’t blame them.’ He paused to take a sip of his beer, then choked and gave the glass a look which conveyed a high degree of horror in itself. ‘What the hell is that?’
