‘Just a point, skipper,’ it was Lt Allison who spoke – their new Ordnance officer. ‘Are we going for the full ace hand in advanced gunnery?’
‘No!’ Alex shook his head. ‘That’s never been an operational objective, Mr Allison. Our ship’s company at the time decided to go for the full ace hand in circumstances where we found ourselves with a super-abundance of live targets. I’d merely offered the opportunity for anyone who wanted to do so to upgrade to advanced gunner. I have never asked, or even particularly wanted, every member of my crew to hold advanced gunnery qualifications. Basic, yes, I do require that, but advanced? No. No need. And we certainly have better things to do right now with our time and energy.’
‘Understood, skipper,’ said Lt Allison, but then, with a hopeful note, ‘But if people want to…?’
Alex glanced around, not just at those on the command deck but at the screens showing crew listening in from all around the ship. He heard the silence, felt the tension, recognised that he was fighting a losing battle and smiled resignedly.
‘Well, I wouldn’t refuse anyone advanced gunnery training,’ he conceded. ‘And I will make an opportunity for live-fire when we’re on our Van Damek. But I don’t want any pressure being put on anyone to do it, no pressure, Mr Allison, understood?’
‘Yes skipper.’ Lt Allison grinned happily, already well aware of how keen the crew was to restore the frigate’s status as the only warship in space in which every member of the crew was an advanced-qualified gunner. ‘Thanks.’
Alex gave him the little acknowledging nod, too, then turned to the third officer who’d raised a hand, another of their Subs who was now looking distinctly embarrassed.
‘Sorry, skipper,’ she said. ‘Commander Bonatti already asked what I was going to.’
Alex gave her a smile. He had stressed to all of them, officers and crew, that the key to success on this mission would be honesty. They had learned that in working with Silvie. People who were honest even when that was embarrassing came out of encounters with her very much better than those who tried to cover up or make themselves look good.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Well, if that’s it…’ he glanced around again and gave a general nod. ‘Briefing dismissed.’
Later that day, he and Buzz had lunch together in his quarters; the first opportunity they’d had to catch up since they’d come back aboard. Alex hadn’t seen anything of him while the ship was at Therik. To start with he, Alex, had been raced off to Chartsey within hours of the frigate going into port, with a courier there waiting to take him. That had not come as any surprise; the arrangements had been made for that before they’d even left Telathor. That was very much preferable for Alex than taking his own ship to Chartsey and delaying the crew desperate to spend time with their families. By the time Alex had got back, Buzz had been whisked off by his own family and kept right away from the base till the day, the very hour, when he had to report back. Since then, they’d only had the briefest opportunities to exchange news.
‘So,’ Buzz said, as soon as the food was served, ‘your parents came to Chartsey?’
His manner was incredulous, as well it might be. Alex’s parents had never left their homeworld and most observers would have bet that they never would, either. Alex himself, aware of the incredible fuss and anxiety that went on in the von Strada household even when they were just going for a local river-cruise for a few days, had accepted that they just could not cope with the idea of travelling intersystem by liner. They had not come to Chartsey for his graduation, even though free transport and accommodation had been offered to them, even though he was graduating Top Cadet of all the Fleet’s academies and would be making the valedictorian speech. Since he had never found the opportunity to go home, he had not actually seen them since he’d left Novaterre at the age of eighteen.
‘I know!’ Alex was still marvelling about it too, and laughed. ‘Who’d have believed it? But it’s all thanks to Joe from the Embassy.’
Buzz made a circling movement with his fork, indicating come on, give! and Alex obliged.
‘They’ve been talking about him for a while,’ he said, ‘It’s always ‘Joe from the Embassy popped round’, ‘Joe from the Embassy gave us a hand with the rockery’, ‘Joe from the Embassy took us out for lunch.’’ He grinned. ‘I don’t know why they always refer to him that way, it’s not as if they know any other Joe that I’m aware of, but there it is, he is always, you see, Joe from the Embassy. Actually he’s Josippe Pascale and he’s their security guy.’
Buzz nodded understanding. Alex’s parents had no idea that the Diplomatic Corps was providing security for them. The whole point of it, after all, was that they could continue to live their normal lives untroubled by the fallout from being the parents of an infamous son. Generally, they were very well protected anyway both by legal restrictions protecting their privacy and by the media’s own recognition that there was nothing inherently newsworthy or even interesting about Alex von Strada’s parents. Even so, it was possible for really dedicated and unscrupulous people to find out who they were, and where they lived. The Diplomatic Corps ran interference for them, keeping away any activists, extremists or nutters who might feel that von Strada’s parents made a legitimate target when they couldn’t get to von Strada himself. They had forestalled such a raid only a few months before, from an extremist group planning to invade and trash the von Strada home as a protest against his declaration of war against Carrearranis.
‘Anyway,’ Alex said, ‘Joe from the Embassy told them that I would be going to Chartsey and that President Tyborne had said he hoped very much that they could come too.’
Buzz choked a little on the food that he’d been swallowing, but gulped it down and gave Alex a broad grin. He knew very well how Alex felt about the League President, who’d latched onto him with all the possessive determination of a limpet to a rock. Marc Tyborne might not be the brightest president the League had ever had, but he possessed two remarkable talents. One was the ability to look the part, the big high-powered high-energy president always on the move and talking to three people at once. The other, more subtle, was the ability to spot people who would get things done and would make him look good in the process. He had struck gold in that regard with Alex von Strada, and he knew it.
Alex, for his part, was really not a fan. He had high respect for the presidential office but no personal respect for the buffoon who currently occupied it – the man, moreover, who had proved what an impatient self-serving buffoon he was by asking the Solarans to get them past the Olaret Guardian at Carrearranis. Not only had that resulted in the destruction of the Guardian but in the mass withdrawal of all Solarans from human space. Nobody knew when, or even if, they would return. Knowing how badly he had messed that up, Marc Tyborne had been heartier with Alex than ever, calling him ‘Al’, which he loathed, and insisting on him coming to Chartsey so he could be congratulated and honoured as he deserved. Given the choice, Alex would very much rather have spent the time in prison.
For Alex’s parents, though, the personal message they’d received from the League President the previous year had been one of the most extraordinary and wonderful events in their life. It had been kind, Alex had to admit, a thoughtful gesture from someone who’d suggested to the president that it would be an honour Alex truly would appreciate. And he did, too, not only for the thrill it had given his parents but because it had satisfied all doubts, once and for all, that the things being said about their son in the media were untrue and that he really was doing very important work.
Since then, of course, there’d been the announcement that the Fourth had discovered an inhabited world and that Lex, their Lex, was acting as the League’s ambassador, that he’d even been appointed a Presidential Envoy. Fortunately, his letter to them explaining the decision to declare hostilities had arrived before that story broke on the news, so they were able to tell their friends, smugly, that the media had got it all wrong. They had been fairly bursting with pride.
But to be invited to the capital world by the League President himself and meet Lex there went so far beyond their wildest dreams that it had been days before they could even believe that that was true.
‘Joe from the Embassy,’ said Alex, ‘told them that he happened to know of a twenty-berth charter yacht that was going to Chartsey and that he could get them a cabin. He took them on a visit to see the yacht and meet the skipper, too, who told them the other passengers would be people just like them, quiet folk who don’t like all the fuss and grandeur of travelling by liner.’
‘And they believed this?’ Buzz was amazed that anyone could really be that naïve, but Alex laughed.
‘Fell for it hook, line and sinker,’ he assured him. ‘Not a clue that Joe had chartered the yacht himself, still less that the other passengers were either trainee field agents or people who’d been vetted and offered a free ride. My parents…’ he shook his head affectionately, ‘live in a very simple world, you know. It just wouldn’t occur to them that Joe works for Diplomatic Corps Intelligence, let alone to suspect that getting them safely to Chartsey and back was a security operation. Anyway, they were delighted with it and very much enjoyed the trip, too – just like being on a river cruise, my Mum said, only without the views and stopping off at places on the way.’
Buzz gave an appreciative hoot. ‘I dread to think what they made of Chartsey!’
‘Oh, they loved it!’ Alex assured him. ‘Joe arranged for them to have a self-catering apartment – a safe-house, of course, but they didn’t know that, and they were keen to go self-catering, too, in case they didn’t like the food.’
He paused to eat some of his own lunch, and Buzz’s eyes widened.
‘They didn’t…’
‘They did,’ Alex confirmed. ‘An entire suitcase full of Novaterran food. Anyway they had this nice quiet little apartment out of town, and Cindi from the Chartsey Embassy met them at the spaceport and took them there and made sure they knew how everything worked and they had everything they needed, she was ever so nice…’ He paused to eat again while Buzz gave another merry little hoot. It was funny, but it was so touching, too, to think of that modest, ordinary couple completely oblivious to the fact that they were being escorted to a safe-house by intelligence agents. If they’d known that, it would have frightened the life out of them.
‘And they had,’ said Alex, ‘met ever such a lovely couple on the yacht, who’d promised to take them around and show them the sights. And they did, too – all the places they’ve seen on the holly, even a private tour of the Senate. They had a bit of a wobble when they saw the demonstrations at the spaceport over my arrival, but then we were able to meet and that was…’ he smiled, remembering. ‘That was lovely. I was in a lot of meetings, of course, but we were still able to spend time together. They ducked the formal receptions – wise move, too, they’d have been no happier in that environment than I am myself – but Dix had us round to dinner at his house and talked to them intelligently about gardening – I never knew he knew anything about gardens – and they liked him a lot. I think it helped, you know, that they really couldn’t grasp the difference in housing values between Chartsey and Novaterre, so the fact that he lived in a house no bigger than theirs back home made them feel quite at ease there.’
Buzz chuckled again. Land prices were so high on Chartsey that many people lived in underground housing, or if they were rather better off, in tiny apartments in the mighty towers which blocked out so much of the sky from ground level. To own a house on Chartsey at all was the sign of great status and wealth, and that little house with its scrap of green was worth millions. Dix, of course, was Admiral Dix Harangay, First Lord of the Admiralty.
‘And did they meet the president?’ Buzz enquired.
‘Oh yes.’ Alex’s tone was dry, at that. ‘Twice. He was glad-handing them big time.’ He broke into a reluctant laugh. ‘Quite funny really,’ he admitted. ‘He kept slapping my shoulder and calling me ‘Al’, while making a big fuss of them.’
‘Don’t have a go at me, see how nice I’m being to your mum and dad?’ Buzz suggested, and Alex grinned.
‘Exactly,’ he agreed. ‘He really seemed to feel that I might call him on the Solaran decision – sometimes I wonder if he understands at all, in any way, that I am an officer under command and not allowed to express political opinions. But some harsh words have been exchanged, I gather, behind closed doors – rumour has it that Dix called him a blithering idiot, though I didn’t ask, of course. At any rate he seemed quite relieved that I didn’t have a pop at him, so relieved that he invited us to lunch – privately, you know, at one of the hospitality places. My Mum was in raptures – I gather it’s a place where he entertains visiting system presidents, a famous historical building. Anyway, nothing could have made her happier, and what makes her happy makes my Dad happy too.’
‘And what makes them happy,’ Buzz said, and pointed his spoon at Alex.
‘Well, yes,’ Alex agreed. ‘I was so worried, I thought they’d hate it, even be frightened by all the noise and crowds and traffic. But the Corps could not have managed it better for them – nice little sightseeing trips just at their level, and they never had to negotiate public transport or organising anything. It was wonderful to see them enjoying it so much, and really special to spend time with them like that. Next time, they’ve said they’ll come to Therik. They could have come this time, transport had been arranged in case they wanted to come over with me, but they’d never been away from home so long before and the idea of heading off to another new world, no, just too much. But it was great, really was, and I can’t thank the Corps enough for the care they’re taking of them. I did tell Ambassador Gerard how impressed I am by ‘Joe from the Embassy’.’ He laughed again. ‘He told me to keep my thieving hands off.’
‘Tut tut,’ said Buzz. ‘Such undiplomatic language from the head of the Diplomatic Corps.’
‘I said that too,’ said Alex, ‘and he said that he’d given up being diplomatic with me. Which is nice, when you come to think about it – friendly. I do just wish he wouldn’t keep trying to steal me from the Fleet.’
‘Well, you’ve got to give him credit for persistence,’ Buzz observed, and picked up his glass of water, ‘But anyway…’ he raised his glass in a toast. ‘Joe from the Embassy!’
‘Joe from the Embassy!’ Alex echoed, and they clinked glasses and drank.
‘So…’ Buzz gave him a teasing look then. ‘Do I ask about the transport back to Therik, or not?’
Alex gave a spluttering little laugh. ‘President Tyborne,’ he said, ‘tried to make out that was his idea, but Dix told me it was actually Terese.’ Senator Terese Machet was chair of the Sub-Committee which decided what operations the Fourth would undertake and what funding they would receive. ‘She asked Admiral Smith to arrange it and he, obviously, did.’ Admiral Smith was the code name for the admiral commanding the First Fleet Irregulars, aka Fleet Intelligence. Yula Cavell reported to him in much the same way as Alex himself reported to Dix Harangay. Yula was a legend in intelligence circles – a legend only enhanced by the fact that she had got Alex von Strada not only to cooperate with security measures but even to wear a face shield. The way she’d picked him up and thrown him into the fighter after the assassination attempt on Telathor had made it to poster status, too, on many an intelligence agency notice board. Even the LIA had a copy of that picture on display, though admittedly in their case it was more likely to be because it showed Alex stunned and bleeding than because of Yula’s heroism. ‘Anyway,’ Alex said, ‘whoever we have to thank for it, it was a huge surprise and just wonderful.’
He’d been expecting to go back to Therik either by courier or hitching a ride on a Fleet ship if one happened to be going there. Terese and Admiral Smith, though, had arranged for Yula to pick him up from Chartsey and take him to Therik aboard her ship. And, since he was by then stood down from duty and technically on leave, there’d been no bar to them rekindling their relationship. Yula ha
d stayed, too, when they got back to Therik, taking her own leave entitlement to spend it with Alex. He had never enjoyed a shoreleave more, hadn’t imagined that shoreleave could be that much fun, at least not since his personal life had disintegrated at the death of his daughter. He was piecing it together again now, and trusting enough to be in a warm, affectionate relationship. It was no more than that, though. They had parted on the same terms as before, breaking up with the understanding that anything might happen in the future. Either of them could meet someone else or they might just never see one another again. If they did happen to find themselves on the same planet again and neither had become attached to anyone else, well, who knew? But it was a holiday romance, and with the lives they both led, realistically, could not be anything more.
‘I noticed,’ Buzz said, ‘that the TG3 is still under cover.’
The TG3 was an old wreck of a shuttle which Alex had bought to give himself something to do on shoreleave. It had been installed in a workshop at the base, shrouded in tarpaulin until such time as Alex could begin work on it.
‘We did take the cover off and work on it for a while,’ Alex said. ‘But there always seemed to be something better to do. Anyway, we had a great time, thank you. So what about you? How’s the family?’
It took Buzz some time to bring Alex up to date on the various doings of his very big family, so much so that they were lingering over their coffee by the time he’d finished. And they were still sitting there chatting, talking about how much the base had changed while they’d been away, when the action stations alert went off.
It was a drill. In this phase of training action stations drills were set to go off randomly once in twenty five hours, so there’d be a drill at some point during the day but even Alex himself didn’t know when.
‘Action stations secured, sir,’ said Buzz, ninety seven hectic seconds later. Everyone aboard the ship had scrambled into survival suits, everyone had got themselves to the correct sector, all stations which had to be manned were manned, airlocks had been sealed and riggers had swept away any loose items which could become hazards in freefall.
Quarus (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 6) Page 7