by Peter Grant
Steve laughed. “Yes, that was me. I was a Petty Officer Third Class at the time – a corporal, in Marine terms.”
“Looks like it did your career nothing but good.”
“Yes, Radetski definitely gave me a boost when it came to passing the Officer Selection Board the following year.”
“I believe it. The mission there helped me, too. I picked up a Lancastrian Star in Bronze for leading a patrol in a fight with some terrorists. That helped me get promoted to Captain a year later, after the minimum required time-in-grade as an O-2.”
The two men grinned at each other. Gallegros picked up his coffee mug, saluted Steve with it, then drained it. As he replaced it, he said softly, “I’m seriously worried by what I’m seeing planetside. I can’t put my finger on it… I’ve no hard evidence… but I get the feeling something’s about to blow on Devakai. It reminds me of the tension we felt on Radetski. I find myself wishing I had a rifle in my hands and a company of Marines at my back, because the hair on the back of my neck is prickling. I hope we can complete our mission and be gone before anything happens.”
Steve regarded him soberly. “I wish I could issue you a rifle. I can’t, of course; we’re an unarmed diplomatic courier.”
“I suppose not. Still, I don’t like what I’m sensing down there.” He sighed. “Oh – I forgot. There’s something else. The Devakai administration wants you to be part of our meeting with the President of Devakai on the twenty-ninth. Marisela says if you can be with us by eleven, we’ll travel to the meeting together. You’ll be able to assess the mood planetside for yourself.”
“I’ll do that. Just be ready for trouble. Do you have a personal satphone?”
“Mine doesn’t work with Devakai’s satellites.”
“Before you go, I’ll issue you one of our units. It’s a small model, very discreet, and its communications are quantum-scrambled. It talks to our own drones, which we’ve deployed over the capital. We keep a listening watch on its frequency, so if you call, someone will hear you and put you through to me or my First Lieutenant. If anything goes wrong, give us as much warning as you can.”
Gallegros looked surprised. “I didn’t know you had drones like that. They’re not standard Fleet issue, surely?”
“For us, they are. I’ll say no more about them, though, if you’ll forgive me.”
“Yes, of course.”
“All right. Now, let’s go and get some supper.” Steve half-rose from his chair.
“Before we do, there’s something else.” Gallegros’ voice dropped as Steve sat down again. “I… I’m not supposed to say anything about this – hell, I wasn’t even supposed to hear anything! Still, once a Marine, always a Marine; and from that perspective, you’re a fellow officer. I can’t keep you in the dark. That’s the main reason I suggested to Marisela that I should come up here. I was looking for an excuse to speak to you alone and in private.” He took a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of, or had dealings with, a senior Department of State official named Anthony Beauvoir?”
Steve frowned. “Not that I know of.”
“Amongst other things, he’s head of the committee that selects ambassadors, consuls and envoys. In terms of the Commonwealth Civil Service, he’s the equivalent of a low-level Admiral in the Fleet. Like most senior people, he has favorites, people whom he mentors and whose careers he helps along. Marisela’s one of them. That’s how she got this job. She’d normally have been a little too junior to be an Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, but a word from Mr. Beauvoir to the Secretary of State cleared the way for her.”
Steve’s eyebrows rose. “So he’s got the ear of a Minister of State? That’s influential, all right.”
“Yes – and I’m afraid you’ve made an enemy of him.”
Steve sat bolt upright. “What do you mean? I’ve never even heard of him!”
Gallegros sighed. “Marisela’s not his only protégée. Another is assigned to the Secretariat of State’s mission on Cassius. His name’s Dennis Mixson.”
“That idiot! He screwed up horribly during the Eskishi crisis last year. He gave bad advice to the senior Fleet officer there, and the two of them compounded that by pissing off the Governor of Eskishi with some very ill-advised remarks. The Board of Admiralty were so concerned that they sent out a flag officer to investigate. His report was damning – he accused Mixson of ‘grievous errors of judgment’, among other things. I was told the Board officially complained to the Secretary of Defense about Mixson’s interference. I suppose the Secretary took it up with his counterpart – your big boss, the Secretary of State.”
“Yes, he did. I’m too junior to know all that went on, but I gather there was a lot of high-level consternation and monkeyhouse. It wouldn’t surprise me if a little of that stuck to Mr. Beauvoir. There was probably more than enough to go around! Since then, Mixson’s career has been effectively shut down. Unless evidence can be found to exonerate him, he’ll never be promoted or given a responsible position again. The thing is, evidence like that would also clear Mr. Beauvoir’s name, so he’s looking for it. I found out about all this when I overheard a conversation between Marisela and that journalist, Solveig Soldahl. I realized it involved you; and, like I said, I’m still a Marine at heart. I waited until they finished, then copied part of the recording of their conversation onto my comm unit.”
“They recorded their conversation?” Steve’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline.
“Not intentionally. They were in our conference room. All proceedings there are recorded automatically, so that anything important can be transcribed later. They left the door slightly ajar. I was busy outside, so I overheard what they were saying. As soon as they left, I went inside and copied this excerpt. Shortly after I’d finished, Marisela hurried back. She’d obviously just remembered about the recording, and must have been afraid someone might hear it. She erased it.”
He took his comm unit from his belt, tapped the screen a few times, and set it down on the desk. Steve listened as Solveig’s voice opened the recording.
“... they just clam up and won’t talk about where the ship’s been, or what they’ve done, or what their skipper is like. I can’t imagine why they’re so secretive unless they have something to hide.”
“They may have,” Marisela’s voice answered thoughtfully. “Rumors have circulated for years that some Fleet ships conduct clandestine missions. That would be secret, of course, but I can’t help but wonder whether a ship like Pickle mightn’t be very useful for that sort of thing. After all, she’s not assigned to a regular Squadron or flotilla, so it’d be hard to keep track of her movements.”
“Perhaps. What are you trying to find out about Lieutenant-Commander Maxwell, anyway? You never told me why you were interested in him.”
“It’s not that I’m personally interested, but Dennis Mixson – I told you about him, remember? – his career in State is effectively over after his reprimand. He’ll have to resign and look for better prospects in the private sector, unless it can be proved that he was more sinned against than sinning, if you follow me.”
“You mean, if it can be shown that Lieutenant-Commander Maxwell did something to make him look bad, whether accidentally or deliberately? That whatever happened wasn’t entirely your man’s fault?”
“That’s right.”
“Why are you doing this? Is this Mixson related to you?”
“No, but my mentor, Anthony Beauvoir, asked me to find out more about the matter, if possible. He’d tried to help Mixson in the past, you see, so Mixson’s disgrace reflected on him.”
“I get it. He’s hoping that informal questions can ferret out the little details that official inquiries might have ignored or overlooked, and perhaps exonerate Mixson – which would clear his name, too.”
“Yes. I owe him a lot, and you’d asked me to alert you to assignments that would be interesting and rewarding for your career, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone by bringing you along.�
�
“Mmm… I’m grateful for that. I think I can build up my reports on this trip into something that’ll be very useful to me, professionally speaking. Still, I honestly don’t think I’m going to find any flies on Maxwell. The more time I spend with him, the more he strikes me as a very professional, highly competent officer.”
“I get the same impression.”
“Uh-huh. What’s more, I don’t think any of Pickle’s crew were with him on Eskishi, so they won’t be able to tell me anything. My recordings won’t be any use, either. You read the notice we all had to sign. All our activities, anywhere aboard ship except in our cabins, are monitored and recorded by the ship’s security system. Even if your mentor were to edit my recordings to make them sound incriminating – not that I’m suggesting he’ll do that, of course – Maxwell could simply produce the official recordings, to prove what had really been said.”
“I suppose you’re right. You couldn’t ask to meet him in his cabin or yours, where the ship’s systems wouldn’t record you?”
Solveig chuckled ruefully. “Use my feminine wiles on him, you mean? I tried that early on. He refused before I’d gotten half-way through my request. He cut me off very firmly, and said that the only places we would meet were in public areas and his office.”
“Well, so much for that, then. I guess you’ll just have to keep trying to learn anything you can.”
“Don’t get your hopes too high. He seems very security-conscious. Still, I'll keep recording him, as I'm recording everything on the ship. Perhaps we'll be able to dig out a few hidden nuggets.”
“Be careful! You know you're not allowed to make clandestine recordings on board – only those authorized by Lieutenant-Commander Maxwell.”
“Hey, you know what they say – it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“Just don't record our private conversations. That would destroy my career as surely as the Eskishi affair destroyed Mixson's!”
“I won’t.”
The playback ended. Gallegros picked up the comm unit and tapped a couple of commands. “I’ve just erased that recording. I don’t want anything incriminating me for leaking it.”
Steve shook his head. “I… I still don’t believe what I’ve just heard! How dare they treat an official diplomatic mission as an opportunity for private snooping? The Department of State would go ape if they learned that – not to mention the Fleet!”
He wondered whether he should remind his visitor that all conversations in this office were recorded as a matter of policy. There was even a warning about that posted on the bulkhead, but Gallegros had clearly forgotten about it… or had he? Was he deliberately ignoring it? Either way, Marisela’s and Solveig’s conversation was now in the ship’s memory banks.
Gallegros nodded. “I’m sure they would. I can’t report this officially without destroying my own career, but I hope that forewarned will be forearmed as far as you’re concerned.”
“It certainly will. I’m very grateful to you.” Silently Steve added, And Miss Soldahl isn’t going to enjoy it when I ‘discover’ her covert recordings in due course. Well, she signed the form acknowledging the ship’s and the Fleet’s security restrictions, so she won’t have a leg to stand on when she’s called to account for violating them.
He rose to his feet. “I need to get something from my cabin, then I’ll arrange that satphone for you while you clean up before supper. Come with me.”
Gallegros followed him down the narrow central corridor to the side passage holding tiny private cabins for the officers and warrant officers. Steve’s, as Commanding Officer, was bigger than the others, but was still no more than three meters square. Steve motioned his visitor inside, then closed the door behind them.
“I brought you here because nothing is recorded in this cabin,” he said softly. “I wanted to coordinate action with you if anything goes badly wrong planetside. You said you had a feeling that things might be ready to explode down there?”
“Yes.”
“All right. We may – I emphasize may – have a possible way to retrieve you in an emergency, given sufficient warning and a lot of luck. I won’t go into details, but I need you to watch the situation very carefully. If you think that the Kotai are about to start something, give me as much warning as you can via the satphone. D’you know where our liberty hotel is situated – the one used by our crew members while on planetside liberty?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’ll give you the address after supper, and show you its location on a map. Work out a route to it from your residence, and if possible drive it in a taxi or something like that, to familiarize yourself with it. Try to arrange some sort of standby transport, even if it’s only a taxi waiting on permanent hire near your villa. If anything goes down, get the delegation together, head in that direction, and call the senior NCO there using your satphone. The ship will put your call through to him. He may have moved the liberty party from the hotel for security reasons, so he can tell you where they’ll be and where you can join them. Use your Marine training and experience to help them defend themselves and the delegation while waiting for pickup. If necessary, be prepared to disarm some of the locals and use their weapons yourselves. It’s not a lot to offer, but those are the best arrangements I can think of under the circumstances.”
“They’re a hell of a lot better than nothing! I’ll do it. Of course, the rest of the delegation may not listen to me. They’ve had no military training or experience at all.”
“It’ll be up to you to make them understand, if it comes to that. If some of them won’t listen to you, abandon them. Save those you can. It’s just that brutally simple.”
“I hear you.”
“All right. I’ll see you in half an hour for supper.”
As soon as Gallegros was out of sight, Steve summoned his First Lieutenant and the Chief of the Ship to meet him in his office. They arrived within minutes.
“We have a problem,” he said when they were seated, and explained what Gallegros had just told him about the situation planetside. “If things blow up, we may need to get the diplomats out in a hurry, perhaps without any co-operation from planetary authorities.”
“If those authorities have been suborned or replaced, they might try to stop us, sir,” Senior Lieutenant Laforet pointed out.
“Yes, they may. That being the case, I’m going to take precautions. Number One, I want the ship kept at immediate readiness for departure, pending only the return of our liberty party and the diplomatic delegation. Keep the gravitic drive and reaction thrusters on standby, and make sure the Plot keeps a constant watch on all orbital traffic. If we have to get out of here, I want us to be able to move within minutes. Also, have Warrant Officer Macneill reinstall the cutter’s stealth systems, in case we need to pick up our people planetside. Both our pilots are very experienced, and I’m sure they can handle it, but warn them it may be a dangerous mission. They may have to use their initiative to make rendezvous and get clear of the planet.”
“Aye aye, sir. It won’t be the first time they’ve done that. Remember Nordea?”
“I’ll never forget it!” The three exchanged meaningful glances as they recalled their extraction of a compromised agent, in the face of a planet-wide police search for him and orbital patrols determined to prevent his escape.
Steve turned to Aznar. “Senior Chief, I want you to hand-pick five spacers to go on liberty with you tomorrow. Choose those whom you trust to back your play in a tight spot. Warn them they may need to help the diplomats get back to orbit in a hurry. As soon as you get to the hotel, I want you to arrange for one or two vans, enough to seat a dozen people. Park them in a secure location, ready for use. I’ll give you cash and gold taels for the purpose. Rent them if you can, buy them outright if you must. If necessary, you may have to use them to get to a rendezvous with the cutter. We’ll look at the map before you go, and plot a few likely points for future reference.”
“Aye aye, s
ir. What about the following day’s liberty party?”
“There won’t be one – at least, not planetside. We’ll allow orbital liberty if there’s enough demand for it. If the Devakai authorities ask, the six of you planetside are on a two-day liberty pass. If we need to provide coverage for longer than that, we’ll send down another five or six spacers to replace those with you, but I want you to stay down there. If anything goes wrong, I need someone I can rely on in charge of the ground party.”
“Understood, sir.”
“I’ve arranged with Mr. Gallegros, who’s a former Marine officer, that in the event of trouble, he’ll try to bring the diplomats to rendezvous with your liberty party. Listen out for his call via the ship on your satphone. If that happens, we’ll probably send the cutter down from orbit, using all its stealth systems to avoid detection. I daresay, if things get that far, it’ll be time for the ship to leave as well. She’ll sneak out of orbit and move to a rendezvous a quarter of a million kilometers above Devakai’s north pole. She’ll imitate a hole in space there, waiting for the cutter to return. If the SPS is looking for her, she may have to take evasive action, but she’ll try to get back to that position as quickly as possible. Got it?”
“Understood, sir.” Both his listeners spoke in unison.
“Right. Let’s get to work.”
November 29, 2851 GSC, 08:00
Steve buckled his belt, then glanced down at his shoes, polished to a mirror-like finish, to ensure he hadn’t scuffed them while pulling on his trousers. It wouldn’t do to look anything less than his best when he appeared before the President of Devakai. He reached for his Number One uniform jacket, with its gleaming full-size medals and the splash of color from their ribbons, then hesitated, looking longingly at the small safe set into his cabin’s bulkhead. He normally carried a personal weapon whenever he left the ship, just in case… but on this mission, he couldn’t. The captain of a diplomatic courier vessel was required to be as unarmed as his ship and its passengers, so he’d had to leave his pulser at home on Lancaster. He’d have to rely on his karate and Fleet unarmed combat training in case of need.
