And yet he was puzzled. Puzzled how to proceed.
His eyes half closed. The ceiling light dissolved into a blur that somehow reminded him of Ashton’s Star, and a time three years ago…
Ashton’s Star was an actinic glare high overhead, burning to bleached violet the blue of the sky. A few high clouds, baked dry, crumbled to shards and dissipated. The tall spires and towers of Windward City shimmered and shone like a mirage. The tracery of trees and shrubs that separated the buildings drooped disconsolately.
Troy ducked through the archway into the transport tube, glad of the shelter and the cooler air that met his face. The contact implants that protected his eyes from Ashton’s ultraviolet rays lightened, adjusting to the more comfortable intensity of the tube.
The tube sped him out of the city. In minutes he exited into the bowels of Windward Naval Command. He approached the nearest lifter, said, “Commander Lafrey’s office,” and stood still as the null-gravity lifter whisked him several stories up a transparent shaft.
A young male ensign with close-cropped blonde hair and prominent eyes regarded him curiously as he entered the office. Troy felt vaguely irritated by the scrutiny.
“Troy Kuchera to see Commander Lafrey,” he said. “I have an appointment.”
The ensign consulted his workscreen. “Ah, yes, Lieutenant. You’re expected. Please have a seat and I’ll tell the commander you’re here.” He shook his head slowly.
“Is something wrong, Ensign?” Troy asked.
“Uh, no, sir. I was—I was just wondering if you would have any more success than the last Military Information officer who was here.”
“What happened to him?”
The ensign’s color deepened. “I’d better not say, sir.” He busied himself with his workscreen.
Troy glared. This Lafrey must be a real witch. He was about to press the ensign for an answer when the commscreen activated.
“Send that MI in, Phelan.”
The ensign motioned towards a door in the far wall. “Through there, sir.”
“Thank you.” Bracing himself, Troy stepped in range of the scanner and the door opened.
His first impression on entering the pleasantly apportioned office was that he was staring at one of the most attractive women he had ever seen. An aquiline nose enhanced well-proportioned features, a high, intelligent forehead and finely arched eyebrows. A healthy tan almost obscured the small dimple in her right cheek. Hair that mixed blonde and brown—tawny—framed her face, reaching softly to brush the four stripes of a full commander—red, orange, yellow and green—on her shoulder. He had never seen green eyes so vivid.
His second impression was that he had stopped breathing.
The third, that the commander was staring with unmasked annoyance.
He realized he was gawking and made an effort to steady himself. “Troy Kuchera, Commander, the new MI officer. It's a great pleasure—”
“Please be seated, Lieutenant Kuchera.”
Her voice was as finely proportioned as the rest of her. But it was cool. Her neutral tones neither welcomed nor dismissed him.
He dropped into a chair, facing her across her desk.
“Have you worked with Naval Intelligence before, Lieutenant Kuchera?”
He squared his shoulders. “Not directly, ma’am, but I’m experienced. I’ve worked with a variety of officials with whom I have had cordial relations. I venture to say that I’m a well-known MI writer—I wrote the standard history of the Expansion. Have you read any of my books?”
“No, I haven't.”
“Maybe I could encourage you to, ma’am.”
“Maybe.” The tone of her voice indicated her lack of interest. Troy began to feel as if he was ploughing through one of the blizzards that descended unexpectedly on Windward's arctic nightside. He decided to try another tack.
“I understand that there were certain difficulties with my predecessor—”
“Your predecessor,” she cut him off, “was an arrogant chauvinist who seemed to think he was assigned to this office for his personal amusement.”
“I apologize for any misbehavior on the part of a member of my profession,” Troy said, realizing as he did so how trite the words sounded.
“So you’re good,” was all she said.
Troy swallowed his disappointment and decided to make the best of the situation. “I think I am, yes, ma’am.”
She pursed her lips. The movement made him quiver.
“All right, Lieutenant Kuchera. Here’s the way it goes. You get your information from me. Not my aide, not the staffers, not the maintenance technicians. Both Naval Command and Governor Sessions’ office would appreciate it if you consulted me before publishing anything too far-fetched.”
Troy nodded numbly.
“Intelligence is a sensitive area, and any compromise could be exceedingly harmful. Wild guesses have sometimes been too close to the truth.”
By the time he left, almost half an hour later, Troy felt as small as when he’d been brought down to size by his first writing instructor.
But her face still lingered before him, a little too prominent at the angles of the jaw to be considered heart-shaped, but enchanting all the same.
And, strangely enough, he was looking forward to seeing her again.
No matter that she outranked him. He’d entered the military late, after a steady if unspectacular career as a civilian journalist. He was used to being outranked by people his own age or younger.
The ventilator in his small room whispered as it lowered the temperature in his room for the night, the sound somehow reminding him of the times later in their relationship when he and Jade used to converse softly with each other.
Troy rolled over and smiled to himself. He had seen her again. Over the two years of their association, a friendship had developed. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to. And he thought that she reciprocated.
But there had always been a certain reticence on her part, as if she was holding back. He prided himself on his understanding of women. She was attracted to him, he was sure. But there was always something, a barrier or distance between them that had nothing to do with rank. She would get so close but no closer. It was as if they reached a certain point and then she pushed him away. Was it anything to do with him, or something else entirely? He didn’t know.
He could see the pain in her eyes when the longing to draw closer became strong and she resisted it.
But he’d been too much the gentleman to push her.
For all that, it was only when he’d been transferred off Windward that he realized he was in love.
For the privilege to see her again, he’d accept assignments to a dozen Covenants.
His eyes closed completely. With Jade Lafrey’s face smiling in his mind, Troy Kuchera drifted off to sleep.
Central Committee Member Georgia Maricic stretched out her long limbs in the large chair in the lounge area of her luxurious quarters. She wore a loose-fitting gown that shimmered with every movement, accentuating her figure. Her left elbow indented the armrest; two slender fingers caressed her cheek. She studied Blair Iverson closely. She let the Political and Ideological officer remain standing. He shifted from one foot to the other.
“What do you make of the members of the negotiating team?” Maricic asked.
“Their official files—”
“I’ve read the files,” Maricic interrupted. “I want your professional impressions.”
Iverson took a deep breath. Maricic followed his gaze as he looked past her to a large abstract painting on the far wall, a grotesque assemblage of dismembered torsos and heads. It was the type of painting that made people uneasy. She liked that.
“Governor Travers is what we call ‘soft’. No one questions his political acumen, but he does not express his ideology as strongly as we would like. He is monitored.”
Maricic spread her fingers on her cheek and waited.
Iverson continued, “Admiral Gellner is ideolo
gically correct, as befits the Chief of Naval Operations. So is Koharski. Admiral Stalker has no black marks against him.”
“Otherwise we would not have chosen him to be the subject of a biography,” Maricic said. She shifted languidly in her chair, and crossed her legs. Her gown rode up her thighs. Iverson’s focus of attention dropped and bounced back up.
Maricic smiled to herself. Men were so easy to manipulate. Show them a few square inches of flesh and they became complete idiots. Iverson couldn’t have kept a secret from her even if he’d wanted to. Not that she expected him to try. But she played games by her own rules—that’s how she’d gained and maintained her seat on the Central Committee. Little people could occasionally derail large-scale plans; she made sure that never happened.
“Yes, Member,” Iverson said. “But—” He paused, obviously unsure whether to continue.
Maricic motioned for him to proceed.
“In his staff appointments he has sometimes overlooked incidents.”
“Serious ones? Confirmed issues of disloyalty or incompetence?”
“No. But not all of his appointments have met with unreserved Political Bureau approval.”
Maricic shrugged. “That’s irrelevant. What about Gellner? Will he hold up?”
Iverson licked his lips. “His nerves seem to be deteriorating. He’s using a neuralstim, I’m sure—”
“Will he hold up?” Maricic repeated.
“I think so, Member. For a while. Long enough.”
“Good.” Her hand dropped to her throat. She toyed with her necklace. “What about Lafrey?”
Iverson’s face darkened. He made a sharp movement with his hand. “She shouldn’t be here.”
“Because she’s a Stalker appointment?”
“She’s been involved in incidents.”
“Expand.”
“When Lafrey was a junior lieutenant she rescued a Gara’nesh captain after Felton 114. The incident was investigated and dismissed as youthful folly.” The scorn in his tone was evident.
“Perhaps it was,” Maricic said.
“And then when Lafrey was aide to Second Admiral Chadwick five years ago on the Farhope operation, a political officer died in suspicious circumstances. The death was listed as an accident.”
“Was Lafrey implicated?”
“No, Member.”
“Political officers have been known to lose their lives in the line of duty,” Maricic pointed out.
“Admiral Chadwick was forced to retire despite repulsing a Gara’nesh attack,” Iverson said, “yet Lafrey obtained a promotion and went on to receive command of a sector for Intelligence. I believe that there’s more to what happened at Farhope than has been made public.”
Maricic cut him off. POs became tiresome after a while, particularly if they believed every death to be a suspicious one. “Do you have proof that Lafrey acted in a manner of which the Central Committee would disapprove?”
“No,” Iverson said, sounding regretful.
That was the way of Political Officers, Maricic thought. They were never happy unless they were implicating someone in disloyalty. Rampant paranoia was one of their distinguishing characteristics.
“I suspect that there are many operations of which you don’t know the full details,” she said. “What action are you taking?”
“I’m keeping an eye on her, Member.”
“Do so.” Maricic folded her hands in her lap. “Are you staring at something, Major?”
Iverson gulped and swallowed. He seemed to have trouble breathing. “I ought to return to duty, Member.”
Her lips tightened. “Dismissed.” Maricic waved a hand towards the door.
Iverson turned and stumbled from the room.
Maricic watched him leave.
Pitiful.
Iverson was so pliable, it was hardly worth toying with him. There was no challenge in dealing with men like him.
She shook her head, and reached for a drink.
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am…”
Jade groaned, rolled over in bed, and answered the commlink, leaving the visual off on her end. She wasn’t presentable. “What is it, Rick?”
Emmers looked grave. “I ran that detailed check on Lt. Kuchera.”
Her heart quickened, and she sat up straight. Emmers wouldn’t have bothered her this late for nothing. “What did you find?”
“For the most, he’s as clean as the proverbial whistle.”
“But…”
“He was approached by IID about six months ago.”
She pursed her lips. The Internal Investigative Department. The Navy’s way of spying on itself. “How’d you learn that?”
Emmers couldn’t keep a satisfied smile from his face. “Hacked into their database, ma’am.”
“What?!” Jade exclaimed. “Do you know what happens to people who hack into IID files and get caught?”
“They tend to disappear. If they get caught,” Emmers replied.
“When, not if,” Jade said. “Look, Rick –“
“You wanted me to be thorough,” Emmers protested.
“Yes, but—”
“I thought it was important enough to take the risk.”
Jade exhaled. “Maybe, under the circumstances…but be careful, for heaven’s sake.”
“Always, ma’am.”
“Every department will be hyper-vigilant while the peace negotiations are underway. If you get caught, both our heads are likely to roll.”
“Understood,” Emmers said.
“Anything since?” Jade asked.
“That’s it. I couldn’t find anything that said why, or if he’d been recruited…he might have turned them down.”
Or, Jade thought, he might not have. And she had told him of the defining moment of her life. Had his interest and ignorance been genuine? Or did he already know about it, and was merely seeing if he could get her to talk?
“Thanks, Rick,” she said, and closed the link.
Troy Kuchera as an IID agent? She couldn’t see it. But she couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility, either.
She lay down, knowing that there was absolutely no way that she was going to sleep. So she prayed.
THREE
The following morning found Jade in a half-way state; not exactly refreshed, but not totally sleep-deprived, either. Given the barrage of emotional upheavals, it could have been worse.
“Distrust yourself and sleep before you fight,” was a maxim her father—who knew little about physical conflict, but much about political infighting—had drilled early into her. She could no longer remember who had coined the phrase, although she thought it sounded vaguely Roman.
When she arrived in the conference room, she found Sector 4's civilian governor reading through the official notes of the previous day. A well-built man in his early fifties, the clean-shaven Richard Travers’ bushy brows matched the blonde hue of his hair. A sag to his otherwise pleasant face spoiled what Jade thought could have been good looks.
Star systems were grouped into sectors based on their Roessler-spatial proximity, since travel considerations outweighed realspace location. The quirks of Roessler-spatial geometry meant that Sector 7 intersected Sector 4. In consequence, Jade had frequent contact with Travers. Privately, she thought that he relied on her for information more than on Sector 4's Intelligence commander. She’d certainly had more contact with Travers than with any other sector governor except her own.
“Good morning, Commander.” Travers glanced up from his notes.
“Morning, sir.”
“Not a bad start yesterday, was it?”
“All things considered, no.” Jade peered over Travers’ shoulder.
He didn’t object, merely said, “Are you ready for another session?”
Jade made a correction in one of the notes. “That should read ‘according to Ambassador Halaffi’. Our interpretation of those events is quite different.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“In an
swer to your question, yes, although I hope we can forgo ancient history.”
“Those who forget it are condemned to repeat it.”
Jade nodded. “Admiral Stalker said something similar. But rehearsing past grievances will only lead to new hurts.”
“Or clear the air.”
“Perhaps, sir. But hopefully we can move on today.”
“That will be up to Member Maricic. I thought she did well.”
“Surprisingly enough, yes.”
Travers’ brows rose. “Why surprising?”
“One doesn’t normally expect either diplomacy or a willingness to listen to the other side from a Central Committee Member.”
Travers chuckled softly, then raised a cautionary finger to his lips. “Not normally. But of all the members, Maricic has the reputation of being the most moderate, open minded, and level-headed.”
“Had you met her before?”
He shook his head. “Only by reputation.”
Jade perched on the edge of the console. “I didn’t hear how you came to be selected, sir.”
“There’s something Intelligence doesn’t know?” Travers teased.
“Well, if I was to use official channels to satisfy personal curiosity…”
“Heaven forbid.” Travers saved his file of notes. “As it was explained to me, the Committee wanted representation of both pro-war and pro-peace viewpoints. As Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Gellner was selected to represent both Command and the opposition.”
“He must have changed since I knew him,” Jade sighed. “I’d have expected him to be pro-peace.”
“The only constant is change,” Travers said. “Many people and factions have high stakes in the war continuing.”
“True.”
“Koharski was chosen similarly, although from what I’ve observed, her concern is mainly with making sure any terms are as favorable to us as possible.”
“Can’t blame her for that.”
Travers grunted. “For the pro-peace side, Admiral Stalker was an obvious choice. The Committee also wanted somebody non-military involved, and it came down to me and Kissia Norton from Sector 2. I got the nod mainly, I think, because Sector 4 has historically been more heavily involved in the war. Georgia Maricic was the Central Committee’s choice because she was viewed as someone relatively impartial who could be expected to listen to both sides and make a reasoned decision in the Hegemony’s best interest.”
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