Kate, perhaps surprisingly, agreed. She could have skipped much of the first year of training, as there was some provision for that in the Fleet for cadets coming in with exceptionally high qualifications. But Kate had done it all, right from day one, taking classes which were for her as ludicrously simple as adding up and taking away. As she had said herself when telling Alex she was applying to the Academy, she had a lot to learn about people, and where real life and social skills were concerned, her fellow cadets were streets ahead of her.
So she was, just then, working stolidly through a module on optic telemetry while her instructor sat by, technically supervising but in fact doing some work of her own.
‘Sir!’ Kate was in cadet uniform and on cadet time and so behaved accordingly, snapping to attention and gazing respectfully at Alex’s right ear so as to avoid the crime of ‘eyeballing’ or dumb insolence. ‘Reporting as ordered, sir!
‘Ms Naos,’ Alex spoke with the impersonal, lofty manner of the academy commandant he was standing in for, ‘Mr Fox has requested permission for you to think about the Barnardt data. Do you assert that you are able to think about the Barnardt research without compromising your cadet training, your funded research or health and safety restrictions on workload, Ms Naos?’
‘Sir, yes, sir!’ Kate responded, in the Academy Yap which first years acquired in their first week or two and which was then so difficult for them to lose when they graduated. Suggestions that academy training might be made more realistically like actual shipboard service, though, would run into the duralloy wall of Tradition. The Academy Yap was as much a part of cadet training as seniors hazing juniors or the mind-numbing boredom of first year classes, which were meant to be extremely tedious even for cadets of average ability. Learning self-control, compliance and professionalism were even more important, after all, than the mechanics of starship operations.
‘Very well,’ Alex said. ‘Permission to think granted. Dismissed, Ms Naos.’
If she giggled, it was only in her head.
‘Thank you, sir!’ she saluted, whirled on the ball of her foot and marched herself away.
‘Thanks, Alex,’ Byl chuckled, amused at the sight of Kate behaving like that and understanding that the ‘permission to think granted’ was humorous.
‘Well, as you say, difficult to prevent someone thinking about something,’ Alex said. ‘And I wouldn’t want her to be worried about it.’ Byl was already getting up. ‘Sure you won’t stay for a coffee?’ Alex asked, hospitably.
‘No, thanks – I’ll go and tell Ecky the good news,’ Byl said, and then, as if it was an afterthought, as he moved away, ‘He’ll need to bring an aquarium, but the guys in the lab have said they’ll wriggle about so it can fit in.’ He gave Alex a bright smile, as he was already at the hatch to the airlock area, and accelerating. ‘Bye!’
Alex opened his mouth to call him back, momentarily indignant as he realised that Byl had pulled a fast one, there, failing to mention the aquarium until permission had already been given. But then he just laughed. A fish tank was not even the weirdest thing they’d had in that lab, and if they could fit it in, fine.
And a few minutes later, he had a postcard from the spaceport – a holo-message consisting of a snapshot and text. The image was of Ab Abnedido sitting in the spaceport lounge with a mug in his hand, raising it to toast the camera, with Bonny on one side and Ali on the other, both giving thumbs-up. Ab looked a little emotional, still, but it was with relief, now, and amazement at his own achievement, like someone standing on top of a mountain it had taken them a great deal of effort and endurance to climb. The text read simply Thank you, skipper.
Alex smiled, filing it into the rehab record and sending back a brief Well done – enjoy your shoreleave.
It wasn’t the end of Ab’s journey, not by a long way. The spaceport here was tiny, hardly more than a landing zone with a waiting room. But it had, like all spaceports, that phased exposure which meant walking through a series of zones. You did not normally step out of a shuttle straight into planetary environment; few spacers would be happy doing that and it was a recipe for instant bioshock where first-voyage passengers were concerned. Civilians arriving for the first time on a new planet were shepherded through the zones in a process deliberately designed never to take less than an hour. Spacers could just walk through.
For Ab, though, getting to that lounge had had nothing at all to do with bioshock and everything to do with getting past Security and Customs. Not that there was much of either, here. It had occasionally happened that some unauthorised ship had found their way out here, and when that happened, security people from the Embassy would come to the spaceport just in case an unauthorised shuttle came in to land. Other than that, ‘security’ here was just an automated system, cameras and a buzzer in the Embassy which would alert them if there were any problems. Customs was even less intrusive. New arrivals – civilians – had to pass through Customs on the space station, but those who’d been pre-cleared, like the Fourth, could just land and go through the Customs gate. This was no more than a passage with a polite sign indicating that if anyone had anything they wanted to declare they could use the button on the desk to summon assistance.
It was the absolute lowest impact officialdom of any spaceport anywhere – for most of the time, there wasn’t even a single member of staff on site, as all the facilities were automated. Both the Embassy and Customs, moreover, had been advised about Ab’s phobia so there was no risk of any untoward incidents. It would be a long road from this for Ab to be able to walk through a major civilian spaceport with all the watchful, patrolling armed security and suspicious Customs. But still, it was a first step, and a vital one if Ab was to succeed in Fourth’s service, so Alex was more than pleased. He asked for a coffee, too, to celebrate, and went back to his personnel files with a happy feeling that the day, and their visit, was going very well.
Eleven
It wasn’t all fun, though. The following day Alex sustained a visit from the Diplomatic Corps. They arrived in a pair – not the AWB’s who’d been materialising coincidentally every time that Alex set foot groundside, but a young woman who introduced herself as Assistant Attaché Lyn Sauder, accompanied by an older man who was introduced but who took no active part in what followed.
‘Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us, Captain,’ Lyn said pleasantly, when they were seated in Alex’s cabin. The request had been for a private meeting, and the fact that AA Sauder was with the security division indicated that it was likely to be a delicate matter. Alex thought he knew what it would be about. A party of his shoreleavers had had just a little too much fun at the base the previous evening. Spurred on by high spirits, they had dared one another to climb over the railings as the morning earthquake had approached. All six of them had done so, ignoring urgent warnings from the security people who’d come rushing over from the Embassy. They could take it, one of the shoreleavers had shouted, it was nothing compared with a warship launch.
Injuries had been minor – mostly bruises, some scrapes and a bloodied nose. The shoreleavers had learned an important lesson; that a warship launch experienced wearing a survival suit and safely tethered was quite a different thing from being in a 5.3 earthquake, and that even the supposedly ‘mild’ 5.3 which shivered the trees and looked so much fun could throw a person off their feet to collide with trees, bushes, painful parts of other people’s anatomy and, ultimately, the ground.
Alex was perfectly prepared to apologise, though he would also observe that this kind of thing fell under the heading of ‘kicking up larks’ for Fleet shoreleavers and no disciplinary proceedings would be instigated.
As it turned out, though, the Embassy was not taking that incident any more seriously than the Fourth themselves. Lyn Sauder was here on a very different matter.
‘It is,’ she said, ‘rather a delicate matter, Captain.’
She paused, looking at him, and Alex understood at once what was going on here – not the matter
she wanted to raise, but the nature of her visit. Lyn Sauder was the lowest possible rank they could send to speak for the Embassy, so junior that if this went wrong her superiors would immediately apologise for her and make the whole thing her fault – an over-zealous youngster, so sorry, please do not be offended. The Diplomatic Corps called it ‘relationship rescue’. Others knew it as a pawn sacrifice manoeuvre.
Alex knew it well. He’d been the pawn on more than one occasion. That was, in fact, how he had embarked on his exodiplomacy career, as just about the only method left to attract the Gider’s attention was so outrageous that no real diplomats could take the risk.
Intrigued, and quite sympathetic, Alex made a noncommittal noise indicating that she might go on.
‘It relates,’ she said, very carefully indeed, ‘to the incident involving a member of your ship’s company at the spaceport, yesterday… I refer, of course, to Ordinary Star Abdnedido.’
Alex stiffened, the already dispassionate formality of his expression hardening into a very cold look.
‘I am unaware,’ he said, ‘that there was any ‘incident’.’
‘Please…’ Lyn gave him an appealing, apologetic look. ‘The last thing I want to do is to offend you, Captain, believe me. And perhaps incident was the wrong word… situation?’ she ventured, and when he didn’t object to that, continued, ‘We had received, of course, your security advisory informing us that Mr Abnedido would be transiting the spaceport yesterday and requesting that we have no personnel on site during that period. Customs and Excise, I understand, received the same request. Which we, of course, were very happy to comply with. But it would be foolish to deny, sir, that we are aware of Mr Abnedido’s history in relation to… situations… at spaceports, and foolish to deny, too, that we observed his transit remotely. From this it was apparent that he was escorted by a senior officer and that he was … somewhat agitated… during the transit. And without the least intention in the world of causing you the slightest offence, I am obliged to raise the matter as one of … concern… in the light of your forthcoming mission to Quarus.’
Alex carried out an exercise he had learned for conflict resolution, which was to attempt to put himself on the other side of the desk, mentally, and try to see things from the other person’s point of view.
Actually, there wasn’t a desk. His cabin was in lounge-mode so he was sitting in an easy chair while she and her silent colleague occupied the sofa. But the principle was the same.
Yes, he thought, after a few moments trying to set his own emotions aside and empathise with the Diplomatic Corps perspective. The security people here were not only responsible for keeping order at the base but had a responsibility to vet everyone who went on to Quarus. They would obviously have concerns about a man with a criminal record which included incidents of violence, and it was not unreasonable for those concerns to have been heightened by seeing him become so emotional even passing through the empty spaceport.
All the same, there were other factors which they ought to have taken into consideration.
‘One,’ said Alex. ‘Mr Abdnedido has already been positively vetted by the recruitment process for the civilian rehab scheme which goes to great lengths to ensure that candidates present no present or future threat to anyone aboard our ships or any member of the public. Two, I personally reviewed those evaluations before offering Mr Abnedido a berth aboard my ship. Three, Ambassador Silver has also assessed him and is entirely happy with him as a member of our crew. Four, he was not escorted by a senior officer in any sense of being under escort; he was accompanied as far as the landing pad by his rehab officer who then made her way through the spaceport by an alternative route and met him again in the lounge. The gentleman Mr Abnedido was with was a personal friend and simply going on shoreleave with him as a shipmate. Five, you were advised that Mr Abnedido suffers from location phobia so the fact that he displayed some anxiety in transiting the spaceport should not have come as any surprise to you. Six, that quiet transit was an important step in his rehab and we are all proud of the courage and determination he showed in overcoming a distressing, even disabling condition. Seven, I will not discuss details of Mr Abnedido’s history or rehab with you as these are, of course, confidential. And eight, Mr Abnedido is now a full member of our crew on the same basis as everyone else and I will not permit any external agency to call that into question.’ He looked steadily at her. ‘I believe that covers the key points.’
‘Captain,’ Lyn acknowledged, not flinching even under the steely glare. ‘I understand and respect your position, of course, and I will readily, happily accept your assurance that he presents no risk to members of the public. If you will allow me to say so, however… I am sure that you will be aware that Mr Abnedido’s record will make him a ‘person of interest’ to the authorities on any world where the Fourth is operational. It might be of significant benefit to you if the Embassy was able to circulate the necessary assurances in the correct formats to the appropriate people, informing them that we had carried out our own independent evaluation of that situation and that in our view he presents no more risk than any other serving member of the Fourth, or of the Fleet.’
‘That would be appreciated, thank you,’ said Alex, deliberately obtuse.
There was a silence.
‘In order to do that…’ Lyn broke it with another of her charming, apologetic smiles, ‘it would be necessary for us to have access to more information than is currently available… sight of Mr Abnedido’s file, perhaps. With his permission, naturally, which he might be willing to allow if it was explained to him that it would be of benefit to him in the future.’
She was good, Alex gave her that. Having to come aboard the Fourth’s flagship and ask to see the confidential file of their most controversial recruit would have given most diplomats palpitations. But she’d eased through it so reasonably and so skilfully that it actually sounded as if the Diplomatic Corps would be doing Ab a favour by invading his privacy.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I will not ask him to do that.’ He did not tell her that the ability to make such disclosure was too far ahead in Ab’s rehab to justify asking him to leapfrog to it, because that in itself was confidential. ‘What I will do,’ Alex said, ‘is to suggest that you consider three significant facts. The first is that if Mr Abnedido truly had aggressive tendencies he would not have been accepted for Fleet service – and do please remember that recruits joining us on the civilian rehab scheme are assessed on exactly the same criteria as candidates for regular Fleet service. The second is the nature of location phobia. Significant location phobia may trigger panic attacks, extreme anxiety, and if the person concerned is unable to get themselves out of that location, even a fight/flight response. Three, it is as you just mentioned yourself the habit of spaceport security to stop and question anyone arriving whom they consider to be a ‘person of interest’ due to previous convictions. If you put your mind to it, Ms Sauder, and taking due note of the fact that all of Mr Abnedido’s convictions involved conflict with authorities in spaceports, you really ought to be able to figure out for yourself the cyclical dynamic which has been in operation there.’
‘Oh, I see!’ She looked more than enlightened, she looked really fascinated. ‘Yes, of course…’ she was figuring it out. ‘He’s a person of interest so they stop him; he’s anxious and becomes verbally agitated so they detain him, he kicks off in a panic so they arrest him and he’s charged with public order and/or violent affray… which means that next time he goes to a spaceport the security people will go straight on alert and… oh, lord…’ she swung her finger around in the air, expressing the cyclical dynamic which Alex had mentioned. ‘But, surely, some kind of medical intervention…’
‘Please,’ said Alex. ‘You’re in security yourself. Please tell me what you believe the reaction of a busy spaceport security team would actually be to being notified that an incoming spacer – a spacer, mark you – suffers from a medical condition in which being approached by secur
ity or customs personnel in a spaceport environment may trigger a panic attack. How many of them do you believe would even treat that seriously, let alone sympathetically, and how many of them do you think would instantly assume that it was a con to get things past customs?’
‘Oh… yes, I see what you mean,’ she said, regretfully. ‘On the whole, it would probably trigger more intercepts than it would stop.’
‘Indeed,’ said Alex. ‘The fact that you are here, yourself, after we gave you medical advisories telling you that Mr Abnedido suffers from location phobia, is proof in itself that even a colleague agency with every reason to trust us did not take that on trust and is treating it as a security incident.’
‘Oh – I am sorry,’ she said, with apparently genuine remorse. ‘I really am, Captain. It isn’t, I do assure you, that we didn’t believe you. It was just that, well, frankly…’
‘A spacer who is phobic about spaceports,’ said Alex, ‘does not seem very likely, does it?’
‘Well, no.’ she admitted. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever come across anything like that. People being anxious in spaceports because they’re scared of going aboard ships, yes, that’s quite common, and we occasionally have spacers who’ve developed planetary agoraphobia and panic at going outside, but… fear of spaceports on arrival, I don’t believe I’ve come across that one at all, even amongst groundsiders. Which I’m guessing is a factor in why it took so long to be recognised, diagnosed… and my guess would have to be that his rehab with you is to overcome that, and given how that situation was handled yesterday, through behavioural therapy, supported, phased exposure… and you won’t put him into any high risk environment until you are sure that he can cope with it. That’s it, isn’t it, Captain?’
Quarus (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 6) Page 34