“He arrived yesterday, unannounced. A Political officer, obviously, previously attached to Sector 5 Command, but now assigned to Central Command. Like you, he’s a non-voting member of the team, but his opinion will carry weight.”
“Can’t do anything without the Politicals butting in.”
Stalker sniffed. “He’s opposed to the peace process.”
“Naturally. So that’s why you’ve had me studying—”
“I thought something like this might happen. You’re probably as much of an expert on the Gara’nesh as Iverson. Maybe better. I need you to provide an unbiased version of what the Gara’nesh are thinking and doing.”
Jade nodded slowly. “You can count on me, sir. And I’ll run a check on Iverson. And the other function?”
“There’s an Information officer named Kuchera-”
“Troy Kuchera. I know him.”
Stalker’s eyebrows rose.
Jade favored the admiral with a small smile. “I’ve worked with him before.”
Stalker gestured for her to continue.
“We met about three years ago. I was second in command of Sector 7 Intelligence at the time. Kuchera was assigned to the sector governor’s office.”
“Hmm. That may be an asset.”
“But I don’t know why he’s here.”
Stalker ran a hand across his forehead. “This may come as a surprise to you, Commander, but I’ll be retiring after this conference.”
“Surely not!”
Stalker interlaced his prominent knuckles. He rested his elbows on his desk, and his chin on his folded hands. “It wasn’t my choice, but the Central Committee has made it painfully evident that they want somebody younger.” He shrugged. “There are other things I can do. And besides, if truth be told, the years have taken their toll. But before I ride off into the sunset, the CC wants to get the most out of me, and have assigned Kuchera to write my biography.”
Jade started. “Biography?”
“It’s sure to be a big propaganda piece,” Stalker continued, “especially on Finzi’s Landing.” He lowered his hands. “Hometown boy becomes war hero and staunch defender of the Hegemony, that type of rot. But there it is. I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d take Kuchera in tow. I’ve got enough on my mind as it is.” He leaned forward, his tense jawline underlining the seriousness of his request.
“Unusual, isn’t it?” Jade asked. “Sending an Information officer to a conference like this?”
“Irresponsible!” Stalker barked.
Jade smothered her amusement. “Censorship is normally the prerogative of the Political Office, sir.”
“Normally, yes. But the Committee wants the biography to appear to be uncensored. Bureaucratic doublespeak, obviously, since the POs will get their grubby mitts on it anyway.” Stalker straightened. “I don’t know what else Kuchera is writing for Military Information, but it’s crucial that he be as circumspect as possible. I can guarantee the Gara’nesh will be monitoring our communications. Keep Kuchera in check, Jade.”
She felt uncomfortable. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to play nursemaid to Troy Kuchera. “He has a reputation for fairness and impartiality,” she said, trying to sound soothing. “As well as respecting confidences.”
“It needs to be more than that, Commander. Let me put it this way. The negotiations will be very sensitive, and involve a multitude of issues. Irresponsible reporting could jeopardize the process. If Kuchera puts a foot wrong—” Stalker spread his hands. “Very serious repercussions could follow. The life of one Information officer would not weigh very heavily.”
A chill crawled up Jade’s spine. “Surely you wouldn’t-”
Stalker gave her a baleful look. “I wouldn’t countenance it. But I might not be able to prevent it, either. History of one sort or another will be made at this conference. Keep him in check, Jade. It’s up to you.”
“Isn’t there anyone—”
“Nobody I trust.”
That was that, Jade thought. No way out. “Aye, sir,” she said.
Jade mulled Stalker’s warning as she made her way to the office assigned to her, on the same level but down the corridor from Stalker’s.
Already the conference had assumed a greater depth than she’d anticipated.
She swung through the door of her office.
“Snap to it, Lieutenant,” she said to a man working on a computer console.
Lt. Rick Emmers bounded to his feet. “Commander!”
He delivered a poorly-coordinated salute. Jade kept a straight face. The zeal with which Emmers saluted more than made up for the movement’s lack of polish.
“Good to see you, ma’am.”
“And you, Rick.” Jade returned the greeting. “Admiral Stalker tells me you have the situation under control.”
Emmers had been her aide for nearly two years now. When she’d received command of Sector 7 Intelligence, she’d reached into the past and promoted the man who had been her aide once before, five years previously when she herself had been aide to Second Admiral William Chadwick at Farhope.
Emmers looked as young and boyish as ever, but the innocent expression in his clear blue eyes concealed a mind that could manipulate the most advanced computer. His perpetual enthusiasm and zest for life hadn’t waned. Emmers regarded everything as an adventure. Maybe he’d outgrow it when he hit thirty, but Jade hoped not.
“I think so, ma’am,” the lieutenant replied. He yielded the seat behind the desk to her. His lanky build made him appear taller than his actual height, which matched Jade’s. Emmers draped himself over a desk-side chair. “I haven’t found any evidence that there’s much happening, beside the obvious.”
“Any word from Neilson?” Jade asked.
“Starwind’s refit ought to be finished by now; I expect Neilson has her underway.”
“Good. I don’t like having to rely on other people for transportation.” She regarded Emmers severely. “Speaking of which, you weren’t on hand to meet me. Instead,” she pursued, “I find a Military Information officer.” She cocked an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Emmers’ cheeks flushed scarlet. He gulped, making his prominent Adam’s apple bob frantically. “He said he was a friend of yours, ma’am.”
“Ah. He called you, did he?”
“Yes, ma’am. He asked when you were arriving and could he have the pleasure.”
“Most generous of you, Lieutenant.”
“I…uh…”
“Are there any more social arrangements you’ve made for me?”
“No, ma’am! I hope I wasn’t out of line.”
“I’ll think about it. You did check his background first, didn’t you?”
Emmers nodded. “Routine survey. He’s clean.”
She decided to let Emmers off the hook. “No harm done,” she said. But still, people could change over time. “To atone for your lapse, I want a full check run on him—not a routine. Turn over every rock. I want to know Troy Kuchera over the past two years better than he knows himself.”
“Um…he’s got Central Committee clearance to be here.”
“That’s precisely why I want you to check him out.”
“If there’s any dirt on him, it might be hard to find.”
“Then dig deep.”
“Will do.”
“Now,” she said. "Fill me in.”
Emmers turned to the computer, not bothering to hide his relief.
“Here’s to the most charming commander in the sector.” Troy Kuchera raised his fluted glass, its dark purple liquid swirling perilously close to the brim.
Jade pretended to look bored. “Only the sector? I’m disappointed.”
“The whole Hegemony.”
“That’s better.” Jade raised her own glass of exotic juice and mineral water. “And here’s to the most flowery-tongued writer this side of the frontier."
The glasses clinked. Jade sipped her drink and set
the glass down. “This place doesn’t look half bad.”
The briefing with Emmers had lasted until dinnertime. When seven o’clock approached, Jade dismissed her lieutenant, and found her way to D sector with the dining lounge that occupied its upper level. Sector A comprised the negotiation room, B command-level quarters and offices, C other rank quarters, and D everything else.
Large clearsteel windows fronted the barren, rocky surface of Covenant. With no atmosphere to support clouds and Gamma Hydra 4 a mere twinkle in the sky, the stars shone continually. The cliffs formed a vertical black slab, reflecting starlight into inky infinity. Nothing gave scale to the eerie, shattered landscape. The knife-edge rocks glinted as sharply as they must have when formed eons ago.
Momentarily, Jade envisioned Covenant as a world without a soul, or a world where a soul could be lost, to wander forever among the crests and ridges and crevasses, crying mournfully upon a wind that never blew.
She told herself not to be morbid and brought her gaze back to the warmth of the dining area. About three-quarters of the tables and booths were occupied. No-one sat in those closest to her and Kuchera, giving them a modicum of privacy.
Kuchera pulled up a holographic menu and Jade studied it.
“What are you considering?” he asked.
“The mahi-mahi looks good.”
Kuchera shook his head. “That fish hasn’t been within a dozen parsecs of Earth. Try the naghi instead.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s similar to the mahi, but better. It comes from Blue, and they know their fish.”
“You sound confident.”
“I’ve been here for three weeks. I’ve tried everything multiple times.”
“Fine.”
Kuchera entered the order. “So, what have you been up to?” he asked when he was done.
“The usual.” Jade made a vague gesture.
“I was sorry to hear about your mother. I’d hoped to meet her someday.”
“She went quickly. It was probably a blessing in disguise.” Jade buried her face in her glass. When she looked up, it was to see Kuchera watching her, concern creasing his forehead beneath the receding v of his hairline. “I—”
Words failed her. What did a woman say to a man she’d cared for, but had walked away from? But not because of anything Troy had done, not at all.
“Are you thrilled to be a part of history in the making?” Kuchera asked.
Jade appreciated the change of subject. She chuckled. “Don’t be silly. Fifty years from now nobody will remember we were here. Or care.” She reached for her glass and ran her tongue around the edge, tasting the tang of lime. “Tell me what MI’s ace writer has been creating. Still questing for literary immortality?”
Kuchera pulled a face. “Just when I was finally getting Governor Session’s information office up to a half-way decent level of respectability, some bonehead personnel-shuffler transferred me to Central Command, where I languished, picking up what few tidbits fell my way.” Kuchera’s eyes brightened. “Then I learned that the CC was seeking somebody to write an official biography. Since it was obvious that nobody could do it better than I—”
“Stalker told me.”
“Oh.” Kuchera’s expression dropped.
Jade regretted stealing his thunder.
He continued, “Rumor said that Stalker would be assigned to the conference, and I guessed that the sector’s NI commander would be here too, so I angled for the commission.” Kuchera blew out his cheeks. “It wasn’t easy.”
“They didn’t snap you up?”
Kuchera shook a finger in her direction. “You haven’t lost that wit, have you? Incomprehensible as it may sound, I had to wheel and deal.”
“I bet.” Despite her teasing, she knew Kuchera to be a talented writer. A biography of an officer as important as Charles Stalker was a choice plum. The competition for the commission must have been intense. “How’s the bio coming?”
He scowled. “It’s not. The MI department on Finzi’s Landing unearthed some childhood snippets for me, but beyond that, almost everything is classified. Ever try to write a biography without information? It’s known as fiction.”
“It’s really that bad?”
“Swear it. I thought I’d use the peace conference as a framework, but nobody will talk to me. Stalker brushes me off as quickly as if I was a Last Chance sand-gnat.” He waved towards the window. “How much can you say about rock?”
Jade pillowed her chin on her palms. “The frowning cliffs glowered like the rugged brows of Admiral Charles Stalker as he prowled the decks of his ship, inscrutable and impenetrable.”
Kuchera choked.
“Too much for you?”
“Stick to the Navy, Jade.”
Jade looked down. Drop it, Troy, she wanted to say. Forget the biography and get as many parsecs away from this place as you can. But she couldn’t. It was too late for that. Kuchera couldn’t simply walk away from a Central Committee commission.
A slot in the table slid back, revealing their meals. “At last.” Kuchera pulled them out and passed one to Jade. She regarded it appreciatively. The naghi certainly smelled delicious, and it was artfully surrounded by swirls of some turquoise-colored vegetable that she didn’t recognize.
“We’re going to be working together,” Jade said, digging a fork into the naghi.
“How’s that?”
“Stalker has assigned me to be your watch-dog. Your link to the negotiations.”
Kuchera’s face lit up. “Great! Inside info!”
“Not so quickly, hotshot. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“The story of the century.”
Jade shook her head. “Nope. Well, yes, but—Stalker said to make sure you watch what you say.”
“What I say? C’mon. You know me, Jade. I want this conference to succeed as much as you do.”
“No doubt. But Stalker hinted that your life could be in danger if you release information unacceptable to the Central Committee.”
Kuchera dabbed at his moustache. “So who determines what’s acceptable and what’s not?”
“I do.”
Kuchera stared at her for a long moment. His hazel eyes clouded. “So that means your life could be on the line too.”
“Exactly.”
“Wonderful world we live in. All right, Jade. I’ll be a good boy and let you censor my immortal prose. Promise.”
Jade smiled. “Thanks, Troy. And I’ll try to see you get some good copy. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Kuchera held out his hand. Their fingers intertwined.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment,” he said.
Jade released his hand. It felt too much like old times. And she wasn’t prepared to revisit—or relive—the past.
An annunciator chimed in an office located in sector B, around a corner from Admiral Charles Stalker’s office.
“Enter.” Naval Chief of Staff Fleet Admiral Lewis Gellner called. He beckoned without looking up. While most personnel had already retired to dinner or other relaxation, Gellner worked late. He’d always been a man of late hours—a factor that had contributed to the breakup of his marriages.
“A delivery for you, sir.” A lieutenant commander crossed the office and halted by Gellner’s desk.
Gellner held out his hand.
The man dropped a transport cube into it. Gellner turned the ten-centimeter per side cube over. A tiny red light winked beside a rectangle inset on one corner. Gellner pressed his index finger to the rectangle. The DNA scan took seconds, then the light winked to green and the cube split along its seams and opened out.
Gellner removed the computer wafer that the cube contained, slotted it into his terminal, and entered his personal ID code. The glow from the workscreen illuminated Gellner’s lean, ferret-like face, and accentuated the azure blue of his eyes. His narrow black moustache twitched like a cat’s whiskers as he studied the report.
/>
He tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk, then spoke to the lieutenant commander waiting patiently across the desk.
“How did this arrive, Molloy?”
“Special courier, sir.”
“Sealed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anybody else have access?”
The lieutenant commander shook his head. “No, sir. Just you and the sender.”
Gellner nodded. “Where did it come from?”
“Sender’s listed as Political agent Drew Harper. Last stationed on Clementine.”
“Is he still there?”
“I presume so, sir.”
“Good.” Gellner toyed with his moustache. He glanced from Molloy to the screen and back again. “Dismissed.”
Lt. Commander Molloy saluted and turned on his heel.
Gellner’s smile broadened. “Very good, in fact.”
He studied the single alien word—Nessh'uarin—and set of coordinates that agent Drew Harper had discovered—how, he had no idea. Harper had promised to secure these data, and he had delivered.
Gellner wondered if he should commit the word and numbers to memory. Best not. Forgetting a single digit could render the information useless. Such a stroke of luck might never occur again; he couldn’t afford any mishap.
He saved the file under his most secure personal code with as many safeguards as he knew. There. He leaned back and smoothed his hair. He now possessed information unique in the history of the Hegemony. Vital information that he had waited years to obtain.
And it was his alone to do with as he liked.
Not quite.
One other person knew this information.
Gellner tapped open a commlink, and when a Political Office staffer answered said, “This is Admiral Gellner. Send Major Iverson to my office immediately.”
Gellner snuggled into his chair while he waited. Finally, the door parted to reveal a heavy-set, sandy-haired man in a maroon Political and Ideological uniform. Gellner gestured him in. “I have a job for you to do, Iverson. A Political agent named Drew Harper has become a security risk. Check the files. He should be on Clementine.”
Iverson made a note. “Yes, sir.”
“An expedient dismissal is in order.”
Wreaths of Empire Page 6