by Jim Graham
‘Germaine?’
‘Father’s business manager. Innanovic is sick. He would have been our first choice: Germaine’s a bit slow, these days. That’s him, there,’ Thomas said pointing at him. He was as old as Reggie was, but not so spry, and a little heavier, shorter and craggier, if that were possible.
‘Petroff’s here. Is Old Man Spelling coming?’ Scat asked.
‘No. He’s staying at the Sports Club with the others. Reggie was sure Petroff would be here, and they agreed it would be best if he didn’t make a show. Besides, I think he wants his first meeting with Petroff to be outside of diplomatic circles, if you know what I mean?’
‘I do,’ Scat replied as he caught sight of Marvin chatting with Nettles. Nettles was looking back at him, beckoning him across. ‘Look, I gotta go. Keep your old man soft and fluffy.’
Scat re-joined Nettles who immediately gestured to a bald, compact, and fit looking officer in Marine Corps dress uniform standing in Petroff’s little circle. The older man had tucked his peaked cap under his left arm and was greedily devouring the contents of a small plate of food between quick sips of wine.
‘We’re fairly sure the military attaché is a Lynthax man,’ Nettles said, ‘so he won’t be here just to advise the Ambassador. He’ll have other tasks to perform.’
Scat turned his back on the Marine.
‘Anything like the ones you mentioned earlier?’ he asked.
Nettles waited while an NBC bugcam hovered close by. It saw nothing of interest, so it moved on.
‘Yes’, he replied, his eyes following the bugcam as it made its way to where the attaché was talking to Petroff. He leaned in a little, not wanting to shout. ‘And he’ll carry the weight of his office when he presses home the knife. But he won’t be working his patch just from Earth’s perspective—he’ll be factoring in Lynthax’s requirements as well.’
‘And we know he’s a Lynthax man, because ...?’
‘Marvin met him on Earth. He was on secondment to Lynthax, on some kind of business – military exchange. His name is Cotton, Colonel Cotton. Why don’t you introduce yourself? You’ll have something in common to talk about.’
Scat’s easy-going smile disappeared.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Scat, really. It’s not a party.’ Nettles added a smile. It was obvious Scat didn’t want to talk shop with Cotton, especially with Petroff being present. ‘Go earn your crust,’
As Scat walked across to them, Petroff caught Cotton’s attention. He raised his glass of wine in Scat’s direction.
‘Colonel Cotton, let me introduce Captain (retired) Sebastian Scatkiewicz. Scat to his friends.’
‘Hello Mr Petroff. Evening, Sir.’ Scat offered to shake the Colonel’s hand. The man’s hands were hot and sweaty.
‘The Captain Scatkiewicz?’ The Colonel asked, regarding Scat with intense green-brown eyes.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, I’m honoured to meet you, young man. A civilian now, eh? Pity.’ The others in the group were impressed that the Colonel was impressed—they just did not know why.
‘Yes, sir—since ‘03. Actually, I was working on Prebos until this thing blew up. I’m in the dog pound now, though.’ Scat glanced at Petroff.
Cotton looked at the two of them.
‘Explain!’ he said, as if he had an inalienable right to know.
Scat bristled and held his tongue. This was why he had not wanted to talk with him. He had had enough of explaining himself to people in uniform. And he noticed something else that he liked even less. The man looked as though he had come up through the ranks. He was older than the average Colonel. The beggar would be difficult to bluff.
Petroff grew embarrassed by the silence.
‘What he means by that, Ronald, is he made the mistake of tangling with my men when we kicked the Trevons off Prebos. Isn’t that so, Scat?’
Scat forced a smile, accepting Petroff’s version of events with a shrug.
‘Yes, sir. My fault entirely. Anyways, I just wanted to say hello, Colonel. It’s always good to meet up with a fellow professional. Not many of us in the Outer-Rim.’
‘I’m sure there isn’t Scat,’ Cotton replied, good-naturedly. ‘Not much need for armies out this way up until now. Let’s hope there isn’t a call for them in the future.’
‘Agreed, sir. Maybe you could remind Earth of that. Trevon is already aware of it.’
Cotton’s eyes narrowed. Petroff looked uncertain. Was this Scat playing his role as a spy, or was he simply letting off steam?
‘Don’t get mixed up in this, Scatkiewicz,’ Cotton said. ‘Not someone of your stature. You’re Earth born and raised. Leave it to us to work it out.’ The Colonel spoke in a reasonable, even-toned voice. He wasn’t annoyed. He was just offering some sensible advice for public consumption.
‘I intend to, sir. Anyway, good evening. I have to get back to work. Nice to meet you, Colonel.’
Scat turned to leave, grateful he could now re-join Nettles, but Petroff caught up with him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
‘We need to meet up for a few minutes, Scat. The anteroom on the second floor. Let’s say 10 minutes after the Ambassador’s finished his speech, shall we?’
48
The Leader of the House climbed the three steps onto the stage to welcome the Ambassador and his 200-strong delegation to Trevon. As he concluded his short speech, he expressed his desire for a peaceful and happy conclusion to Earth’s fact-finding tour.
The guests clapped.
The Ambassador then left his band of followers to join him. Dressed in a modern business suit, but sporting unfashionably long and curly grey hair that spread over his shoulders, he spoke clearly and with complete sincerity. He accepted Trevon’s welcome. He expressed his thanks to the Trevon people for remaining calm during such difficult times. Then he declared his faith in the two sides resolving the constitutional dispute over the next couple of weeks.
They were talking at cross-purposes, of course.
Trevon did not intend to let the Delegation negotiate it back into Earth's fold, and the Delegation was not here only to seek out the facts and then to return to Earth. It was here to bring Trevon to heel.
Scat could see he was in for an interesting two weeks, but the cocktail party was a bore. He was almost glad when it came time to slip away to join Petroff.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, still feeling the effects of 9/10ths ESG deep inside his legs. Once he left the grandly appointed Main Hall floor, the architecture reverted to its blander New World style of simple materials and functionality. He could have been in any office building, anywhere in the Outer-Rim.
‘In here, Scat,’ Petroff called, leaning through a pair of glass doors.
Scat walked across the landing and entered the room. Cotton was sitting on a sofa facing a faux fireplace, his dress uniform jacket fully unbuttoned, revealing a badly creased white undershirt. He did not attempt to button it up.
‘Evening again, Scat,’ he said, remaining seated. He continued to read a magazine on a public e-reader chained to the arm of his chair.
Petroff invited Scat to take a seat beside them.
‘We’re impressed,’ he said. ‘Dinner with the Irwin family and a job in the House—and with no less than Nettles. Not bad for 10 days work, Scat. Not bad at all,’
‘Thank you, sir. Fortuitous, really. Straightforward good luck. Thomas Irwin and I knew each other on Prebos, though I didn’t know he was connected, nor who his father was. We got on. So here I am.’
‘So what do you have?’ Cotton asked more directly, putting the e-reader back into its slot down the side of the chair. Again, there it was—the green and brown-eyed stare.
Scat paused before replying. The Colonel wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and Scat wasn’t yet ready with all his excuses.
‘Nothing, yet, sir. It’s a little early. I can’t push my way in. They have to draw me in—if they have anything to draw me into, t
hat is.’
‘Of course they do, Scatkiewicz,’ Cotton said, glancing across to Petroff, not believing him. ‘Nettles foams at the mouth when he speaks of freedom. That Old Man Spelling is a closet revolutionary, and Irwin is the alpha male of the independence movement. Don’t jerk us about, young man. This is serious stuff.’
‘I realize that, sir, but I’m a civilian. I’m willing to help, but as I told Mr Petroff—’
‘You’re a reservist who’s just been redrafted,’ Cotton announced, harshly and without softening the blow. ‘I’ve the papers here. Earth is deadly serious about ending this constitutional spat. You’ll have to put your civilian career on hold for a short while.’
Scat was shocked. He had forgotten he was obligated to 10 years of reserve service. Nevertheless, it was extremely rare for the Marines to redraft someone eight years out.
‘Am I to be uniformed?’
‘Don’t be a dolt, Captain: it doesn’t suit you. We want you where you are: in civvies alongside Nettles and the Irwins. We just want you to take it real seriously, that’s all. We want you to know that we approve of what Petroff has started, and we now want to see it come to fruition. You’re to take orders from Petroff as though they are coming from me. Is that clear?’
Scat was stunned but managed a reply:
‘Yes, sir. I understand,’ he said. His response had been firm—he had even added a nod—yet, behind a face full of false resolve, his heart was sinking fast. He wanted to run from the room and find a real big open space. Instead, his backside was rooted to the chair.
Cotton stood up and, as he buttoned up his jacket and readjusted the shirt’s detachable white collar, he made to speak more softly, for Petroff’s ears only. Scat pretended not to eavesdrop.
‘As with your other intelligence assets, Jack, make this one work quickly, no messing about, do you hear? They’ve to start delivering, or else they’re a waste of money, OK? Nor do we have the time to waste on niceties. Work them hard.’
Scat saw Petroff nodding quickly, looking in his direction.
‘Good,’ Cotton concluded. ‘I’ll leave you two here to talk things over. I’ve to brief the Ambassador on the local security situation at midnight, which means I’ve to go and get a briefing of my own. So, if you’ll excuse me ...’
He grabbed his peaked cap from the table by the door and left the room. Scat watched him leave and then turned to Petroff.
‘So let’s get this straight: I get paid by you, the House and the good old US of A?’
Part Three
Under Pressure
49
Marvin had seen Scat walk from the Hall, and curiosity had drawn him to the foot of the stairs to watch him disappear. He knew this was a difficult time for the young lad and felt that the sooner he decided to take sides, or leave the solar system entirely, the better Scat would feel.
He had read the lad’s personnel jacket on Prebos, as he did all the new comers assigned to his department, and having read of his military record, he had gone online to download a lot more about him.
Since their first meeting, he had noticed Scat was not a natural deep thinker; it was something he had to work on. His military training had forced him to think more deeply, to analyse a situation and look for solutions, but always within a tight timeframe. That time pressure protected him from overanalysing things. Given too much time he would do that, just to be sure he had not missed anything.
As he was no doubt doing now.
‘Penny for your thoughts, Marv,’ Thomas Irwin said, tapping him on his shoulder and looking up the stairs. ‘Did Scat go upstairs with the Beast?’
Marvin looked around. The corridor was empty, save for waiters running back and forth.
‘Yes, he did. They’re probably working on him.’
‘Worried?’
Marvin shook his head.
‘No. Not really. If he’s pushed, he’ll rebel. It’s in his nature.’
‘He got on with Nettles. That’s a start, right?’ Thomas asked, hopefully.
‘Yes, he did, didn’t he? Anyway, we’ll continue to pull, they can push. Scat will sense the difference.’
‘You sure there’s no one else?’ Thomas asked.
‘I doubt it, Thomas. He has the skills. He can train and organise others in these things. It’s what we need.’
‘But what’s in it for him—other than grief? He didn’t know Pierce that well. He won’t risk it all for revenge.’
‘I’m not sure yet—’ Marvin stopped talking as a guest wandered past them to the men’s room. ‘He wants a quiet life, that’s for sure. But he needs roots, and Trevon’ll be it. He can’t keep moving on. These problems will follow him around. The whole Outer-Rim is blowing up. We just need to find the right “hot button.”’
‘We can’t use some of the others?’
It was obvious Thomas meant the other doorstops, Lynthax’s security personnel, many of whom were military trained.
Marvin didn’t doubt Thomas’ physical courage, but he did question his strength of mind. Marvin considered Thomas to be something of a fresh-minded and woolly-headed thinker. He was the product of privilege, someone who had yet to experience some of this life’s harder knocks. As Reggie’s unofficial “manipulator-in-chief” for all things secessionist related, Marvin had taken it upon himself to help the lad along. The man-boy needed to toughen up, but at 26, Thomas was a work in progress, still. Thomas may have felt comfortable talking to him—after all, he had known him since he was a child, and had never dismissed his ideas out of hand, as did his father—but that could not account for all of his less well-guarded comments. And with his elder brother on Earth, and Reggie getting on in years, Thomas did need to think a little deeper, more realistically. In a few years, Trevon’s future may depend on his leadership, one way or another.
‘You’re not thinking deeply enough, young man,’ he said.
‘Eh?’
‘Think about it. Who holds their tickets back to Earth? Where are their families?’
‘You mean they can’t help, even if they wanted to?’
Marvin nodded slowly.
‘Do you think they can afford a ticket back to Earth on what they earn?’ he asked.
Thomas shook his head.
‘And would you pin your colours to a revolution with your family living in the enemy camp?’
Again, Thomas shook his head and looked up the stairs. Marvin waited for him to process his thoughts. Eventually Thomas turned to face him.
‘But if the downside of not doing anything were more costly ...’
‘But it isn’t, is it? They’re out-of-system contract workers. They aren’t invested, Thomas.’
‘Nor’s Scat.’
‘No,’ Marvin agreed. ‘But I’m hoping he will be.’
‘So, Scat’s it? No fall-back?’
Marvin smiled, nodding in the direction of a bugcam. He waited for it to return to the main hall.
‘Of course not. If he’s not up to it, we keep looking. Or we do things differently.’
‘But he’s the best we have for now?’
‘He is,’ Marvin conceded. ‘But only truth knows how it’ll start and finish. He’s not going to be predictable. Nor particularly subservient.’
‘Why do you say that? He’s alright.’
‘He is isn’t he? But you haven’t seen his jacket. Believe me when I say he isn’t a general’s darling.’
A voice from the main hall entrance interrupted them.
‘Thank you for coming Mr Cade. Thank you for your support,’ Trevon’s permanent Earth Representative, Khoffi Khan said, walking up to shake his hand, ignoring Thomas who slipped away, unnoticed. ‘I hope you have made your opinion clear to your House Representative. I’m looking forward to our meetings tomorrow.’
‘It’s a pleasure, Khoffi. And, yes, I have.’
‘I noticed you as I came out to use the men’s room. I thought ‘Aye, aye. Cade’s had more than his fair share of liquor and is slipping off
early’. Not true, though, eh? Not on such an occasion?’
‘Well, it’s almost true, Khoffi but I wouldn’t leave April behind. Don’t you still need to use the john?’
‘No, it can wait,’ he replied, waving it off with a hand. ‘I was just taking some time out. Whereas you must meet the Ambassador.’
Khan playfully pushed Marvin from the foot of the stairs and back into the Main Hall. Marvin let him. They got on well. Despite Khan being a mean-looking man at a glance, with a sallow face and a days-long five o’clock shadow that made him look semi-evil even under bright lights, he was harmless. He was a good listener; always keen to please; often sympathetic. He was a decent Earth Rep, not a company lackey. Then there was his ever-present smile; it was infectious. Besides, he was unusually strong for such a short, stumpy man.
They made their way through the crowd to the drinks counter, where the Ambassador and several local Trevon company directors were deep in conversation. They were talking about increasing the cargo flights between Trevon and Earth, and introducing direct flights between the New Worlds.
As the bugcams crowded in on them, jostling for position, the Ambassador was “seeing a pattern emerge”, “acknowledging the increasingly sophisticated needs of today’s New Worlds”, “taking into account the needs of commerce” and so on. Everyone, including Khan nodded. The Ambassador appeared to be acknowledging just about every social ill and uneven economic development that had taken place in the Outer-Rim over the past 20 years—everything that is, except the development that had caused him to come to Trevon.
About independence, he said nothing.
Nor did he need to.
His audience wasn’t going to raise the issue. Out of politeness, no one wanted to upset him, and out of ignorance, everyone accepted what he had to say. Let’s face it, Marvin thought, no one gets an invitation to an event like this were there half a chance he or she couldn’t play the game according to its rules—except, maybe, for Reggie.
Marvin mulled it over some more and decided he should let the conversation take its course. Don’t get involved. Spend your energies on more productive things, he told himself. He slipped away before the kindly Khan could find a break in the conversation to introduce him.