Seeing that he had Davie’s full attention, he proceeded, ‘During your absence, we have received some rather startling information from Quarus … very startling, frankly. We were aware, of course, that it was the quarians who bio-engineered you, in accordance with your father’s, uh, specifications, with the stated intention of creating a genome ideally suited to representing us in exodiplomacy. Which is, clearly…’ he saw Davie’s cold stare and abandoned the fulsome flattery he’d been about to deliver. ‘Well, obviously working out very well,’ he amended. ‘And it turns out, we find, that the quarians also thought this was an interesting idea. So much so, indeed, that in the light of the regrettably deteriorating relationship between them and ourselves, and our inability to achieve understanding even with the best effort and goodwill on both sides, it appears that they… well, that they decided to do the same thing. They have engineered an adapt, a genome, for themselves, and in that, we gather, have copied, almost exactly, the specifications your father gave them.’
Davie stopped breathing. His eyes went very wide and he stood very still, as if fixed in stasis.
‘They made a child,’ Karlos Gerard told him, ‘the year after they engineered you. And since she is now old enough to take up her diplomatic role, and is apparently happy to do so, they have told us about her. Her name,’ his tone acquired just the hint of despair that diplomats tended to get after any prolonged efforts at working with quarians, ‘is Ambassador. She is currently on one of our ships, en-route to X-Base Serenity, and we were…’
He found himself speaking to the empty space where Davie North had been, and by the time it took him to turn his head, the door was already closing.
Alex had seen, though. Working with Davie so intensively through the Samart mission had made him much more sensitive to high-speed communication, and he had already been watching Davie’s face far more closely than the Ambassador.
He had caught the glance that Davie gave him – so fast it was barely more than a flick of his eyes, but conveying so much information that Alex actually forgot where he was for a moment and broke into a grin.
Joy was too small a word for what Davie North was feeling right then. To be the only one of your kind in the known universe had to be an incredibly lonely thing to live with, and Davie did not attempt to deny that it was, either. He had already found the joy of friendship with Shion, the only person in League space who could communicate with him at his level and keep up with him both physically and intellectually. Even Shion, though, was not like him – their abilities were similar but she was genetically very different. So to be told that there was, in fact, another person out there who really was just like him, genetically, was a life-changing revelation.
Everything he felt about that was in the look he gave Alex, as obvious as if he’d yelled it aloud, and so too was the ‘Bye – see you!’ in the half second before he turned and started running for the door. He didn’t need to run, of course. It would take even the Stepeasy some hours to take on supplies and re-launch, and he and Alex would talk again before Davie left. For right now, though, Davie’s excitement was such that he just could not contain it, not even to the point of remembering to restrict himself to human levels while amongst those he called ‘norms’. He was gone in a heartbeat, leaving all of them just staring at the quietly closing door.
‘… wondering if you would like to go and meet her,’ the Ambassador concluded what he’d been going to say on a dry note, and looked at Marc Tyborne. ‘I think we may take that as a yes, Mr President.’
The president gave a little chuckle and a pleased nod – by the time he looked back across at Alex, the captain had wiped the brief grin off his face.
‘We’re not looking to involve you in that,’ the president told him. ‘At least, not immediately. Dix will give you your orders,’ he gestured at the First Lord, who smiled. ‘After a well earned rest at Therik, of course. We won’t keep you here any longer than we have to, Alex – but you will give me the pleasure of dining on your ship, yes?’
‘We would be honoured, sir,’ said Alex, and not even micro-analysis could have detected any outer sign of his inward sigh, at that.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said the president, and smacked Alex on the arm with robust, manly bonhomie. ‘Very well done,’ he said again, and with that, looked across at Ambassador Gerard with more than a hint of challenge, ‘don’t you agree, Karlos?’
‘Oh, certainly, Mr President,’ the Ambassador said, with more courtesy than sincerity. ‘Though I do still feel that it would be advantageous to provide Captain von Strada with an experienced diplomat in order to advise…’
‘You leave him be!’ The president overrode him, mock-jovially but with an edge which made it apparent that this was a debate they’d been having throughout. ‘The way he gets things done may not be according to your book, but he gets things done, and I won’t have you trying to stifle him with your procedures and protocols and policies for everything under the sun. He’s brought us an alliance with Samart, Karlos, with Samart! And you’re not going to tell me that any of your guys could have done any better than that.’
‘It’s a remarkable achievement, of course,’ said the Ambassador, ‘But with all due respect to yourself and to Captain von Strada, I do believe that there are some aspects which could have been improved upon with a little more knowledge of established diplomatic protocols. I mean,’ he looked at Alex then, holding out his hands in appeal, ‘did you have to agree to them calling us the Backward people? And for our consular base there to be on round the clock live holovision?’
Alex just gazed steadily back at him. Even if he’d wanted to reply, the president was giving him no opportunity to do so.
‘Who cares what they call us?’ He dismissed the Ambassador’s plea with an impatient gesture. ‘They’re willing to share their technology and weapons – that’s all that counts!’
‘It’s just basic diplomacy,’ the Ambassador stuck to his guns, courteous but immovable, ‘in first-touch encounters, not to set up normative precedents which found the ongoing relationship in awkward, difficult…’
‘Whatever difficulties there may be, I have every confidence you’ll deal with it,’ said the president, firmly, and with such a look that the Ambassador recognised the limit of permitted ‘advising’ amongst the chiefs of staff.
‘Yes, Mr President,’ said the Ambassador, and said no more, though Alex knew very well that there was a great deal more he did want to say, and not much of it complimentary.
‘All right,’ the president beamed back at Alex, seized his hand and shook it again. ‘Very well done,’ he said, for the ninth time. Then he released him with a flourish towards Dix Harangay. ‘Give him a drink,’ he commanded. ‘He’s earned it.’
‘Sir,’ Dix acquiesced, and gestured invitingly towards the door. ‘Captain?’
He took Alex to the office maintained for his use on the station, abandoning formality as he shrugged off his dress uniform jacket once the door had closed behind them.
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he waved Alex towards a seat, and seeing the way that Alex glanced around, grinned, ‘Yes, I know.’
The room was twice the size of the First Lord’s office, groundside. That office was hallowed by centuries of tradition, regarded almost as a sacred space by many members of the Fleet. This office had been furnished by some very trendy designer given a very large budget and the brief, ‘make it imposing’. The décor was highly stylised, all the furniture angular and over-sized. Every surface either glowed with internal lighting or gleamed with high gloss. The overall effect was rather like being in an expensive wedding venue.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Dix asked, indicating a hospitality bar shaped like a geometric mushroom.
‘I’d love a coffee, thank you, sir.’ Alex said, declining the tacit offer, there, to disregard one of the most strictly enforced rules in the Fleet, and allow him a glass of something alcoholic.
Dix looked amused, but just got tw
o coffees, making no comment.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Alex said again, accepting the cup from him with due appreciation for the fact that the First Lord had got him that coffee himself, rather than buzzing for his steward to serve them.
‘I think,’ Dix said, sitting down himself and regarding Alex with an appraising eye, ‘that now you are a flag officer yourself, it would be acceptable for you to address me as Dix, in private.’ A slight hesitation, and a diffident note. ‘Should you wish to do so, obviously.’
Alex grinned, fully appreciating the fact that Dix Harangay knew how he felt about being so liberally first-named by the President, and was giving him an opt-out if he felt that to be patronising from him, too.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and with just a hint of self-consciousness himself, ‘Dix.’ As the First Lord smiled, Alex took a sip of his coffee. ‘Excellent,’ he said, and looked at him expectantly.
Dix gave a little chuckle.
‘Okay,’ he said, recognising that that was as much small talk as he was liable to get from Alex. ‘To business, then. First, I have to ask you, Alex – what would your reaction be, hypothetically, to a suggestion that you might upgrade from the Heron to a larger ship – say, perhaps, a thunderstar?’
Alex put down his coffee.
‘If those are my orders…’ he said, slowly.
‘No, I’m asking what you’d think.’ Dix pressed.
‘Oh. Well, given the choice, I would rather decline, frankly,’ Alex admitted. ‘My feeling is that the Heron is just about as big as we can go while still retaining the unity and focus of a really strong team where we all know one another. A bigger ship, even with open comms…’ he shook his head, dubiously. ‘I don’t know if we could make that work, at least, not as well as we’re working already.’
‘Exactly what I said!’ Dix told him, with considerable satisfaction, and in answer to Alex’s enquiring look, ‘There was major pressure at Sub-Committee level – the waiting list for high flyer secondment has topped ten years at your current ability to take people on, and as was quite rightly pointed out, at that rate, people will have retired before they get the chance to serve with you. I am looking at alternatives, of course, including another high-funded unit with unlimited training opportunities, but there is a strong feeling, high up, that we should also increase your capacity. I’m pleased to tell you that I did win the argument over you being given a thunderstar – and just as pleased to tell you that I managed to persuade them to agree to your having a second ship, instead.’
‘Ah,’ Alex said, and picked up his coffee before giving the First Lord a shrewd look. ‘But…?’ he prompted.
‘Okay,’ Dix gave him a look which combined apology with amusement. ‘The second ship will be the Minnow.’
Alex continued to gaze at him, waiting. The corvette Minnow had been his own first command, and had itself been extensively upgraded during the years he’d been its skipper. Being given back his old ship was good news, and in no way accounted for the bad news vibe he was getting from the other officer. It felt like a brick suspended right over his head by a very thin thread. ‘Under Skipper Alington’s command,’ Dix said, and with that, the brick dropped.
Alex sipped his coffee again, saying nothing at all.
‘Sorry.’ Said Dix, and it was clear that he did mean that. ‘I know you’re not friends. But that can’t be a consideration in professional decisions, Alex. And this is my call, okay, not something from the Sub-Committee. I have to look at the bigger picture. You know how much the tagged and flagged programme costs, both in terms of funding and in the opportunities which are given to people on that scheme and therefore denied to other officers. By the time we get an officer to command rank the investment we’ve put into them both financially and professionally is massive. I am not prepared to abandon all that, in Harry Alington’s case, just because he was out of his depth on his first operation.
‘I know, I said myself at the time that I didn’t want to hear that he was young, on his first command, and facing overwhelming media hostility – if I remember rightly, I even commented that none of that had thrown you off your game. But in retrospect, I recognise, I really wasn’t being fair. He isn’t you, and expecting him to handle things the way you did is unreasonable. And I do have to take some responsibility as well. I knew, really, that he wouldn’t be up to it if things went badly wrong for him out there, but I allowed myself to be persuaded that it would be a character-forming, valuable experience for him.’
He didn’t say who had persuaded him, but then, he didn’t have to. Harry Alington had told Alex himself that it had been Terrible Tennet who’d asked for him to be assigned to Karadon, after he’d made some derogatory comments about Alex during a dinner party. It would, she had said, be good experience for him to find out the difference between scoring an A on a command school assignment and pulling off real operations. In theory, it should have been something he could handle, too, requiring little more than a sociable manner.
Unfortunately, Harry Alington had managed to flunk that mission every which way. He had alienated the merchant spacers he was meant to be forming useful contacts with, annoyed the Customs and Excise people he was supposed to be collaborating with, and ultimately offended the management of Karadon so much they’d banned him from the station. From his perspective, however, the biggest disaster of the mission was his own catastrophic collision with the media. Just as with Alex, there’d been a misunderstanding – in Skipper Alington’s case, due to his blithe burbling about the fraternity of the Sixty Four, which had led the media pack on Karadon to believe that they’d discovered a secret inner-circle within the Admiralty, a secret society which was actually running the Fleet from within.
‘He deserves another chance,’ said Dix, with a subtle subtext there of ‘I owe him another chance.’ ‘And since second chances are what the Fourth is all about, and I do believe that with some mentoring and more operational experience…’
He caught Alex’s eye, broke off, and grinned.
‘Okay,’ he said, abandoning the diplomatic version, there. ‘Bottom line, then. He is going to make flag rank, Alex, regardless – it isn’t even a question of influence, it’s just realism. To take him off tagged and flagged for messing up at Karadon would rip massive divisions through the Fleet, particularly as there are a lot of people who suspect that either he messed up there because he was trying to be you and couldn’t do it, or because you undermined him in some way. Either way, you don’t want it to be felt that involvement with you has cost another officer his career, do you?’
Alex was much struck by that – the fact that Admiral Vickers had resigned his commission for unspecified personal reasons was something he still felt sensitive about, and even obscurely responsible for, no matter how many times he was told that he wasn’t. Amongst the Fleet and wider spacer community it was generally assumed that the admiral had developed a drinking problem. The truth was a lot worse, embarrassing for all concerned and politically toxic. It wasn’t a drinking problem he had, it was an anger problem … anger of such intense rage and loathing that it had affected his professional judgement; anger directed with venomous ferocity at one Alexis Sean von Strada.
‘No, of course not,’ Alex said, and knew, as he considered that, that no matter how he felt about Harry Alington personally, he would do his utmost to help him. ‘I just have to ask – does he want to serve with the Fourth?’
‘I think want might be putting it a bit high,’ Dix admitted, cautiously. ‘We might go with ‘is prepared to’. But the point is, realistically, I can’t pull him off tagged and flagged over this, and that means he will reach flag rank within a few years. So there are two ways that can go, as I see it. Either we let him fall back into homeworld squadron postings, knowing very well what kind of admiral he’d be by the time he got into HQ, or we push him out there to learn front line operations from the best taskforce commander we’ve got. So, bottom line, you’re to train him up in ops skills and give him the experie
nce he needs to achieve his full potential. Think of it like a rehab posting.’
As Alex opened his mouth to protest, Dix held up a hand, grinning, ‘I know, I know! You can’t change other people, only support them in changing themselves – you may have mentioned your views on that, once or twice!’
Alex grinned back, conceding the point.
‘Well, ops are quite broadening, in themselves,’ he observed, which got a nod of approval from Dix.
‘Exactly,’ he said, and with an air of being about to give Alex an award, ‘and I think you’ll enjoy your next mission.’ He held the moment, tantalisingly, but seeing that Alex wasn’t going to rise to it, gave in. ‘You’re going on law enforcement operations – hunting pirates.’ Another pause. ‘In Sector Seventeen.’
Alex stared at him for the several seconds it took him to be sure that Dix Harangay was serious. Then he started to laugh.
‘Oi!’ said the First Lord, grinning, himself, but pointing a stern finger at the captain. ‘If the words Space Monster cross your lips, now or at any time during these operations, I will put you in front of a media call for open question time.’
The tone he gave that threat made it sound like will put you in front of a firing squad, and jokey as it was, Alex recognised that there was a serious issue there. The Space Monster of Sector Seventeen had been a legend amongst spacers for centuries. If the Admiralty was actually to admit that they were sending a task force out there to look for it, even the Fleet would fall about laughing.
‘You may, if you need to talk about it at all,’ Dix told him, ‘refer to it as the Phenomenon. And you will uphold the official position, there, that glimpses of the Phenomenon in Sector Seventeen are down to dirty space, glitching scopes or rampant imagination, yes?’
‘Understood,’ Alex said, though there was still a broad grin on his face.
‘Your job is to confirm that,’ Dix said, then, after a slight but significant pause, ‘or not, as the case may be. Either way, you’re to investigate the area of most frequent sightings and take whatever action you feel to be appropriate. You’ll get your orders and full briefing for that after your leave. In the meantime, this is strictly between us.’ He gestured back and forth between the two of them, and Alex smiled acknowledgement. His eyes were brightening, not just with amusement but with excitement. Whatever the Phenomenon in Sector Seventeen might turn out to be, investigating it would be as much fun as it was professionally challenging. Dix was quite right; he was going to enjoy this.
Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4) Page 67
