‘If you wouldn’t mind, skipper.’ She indicated the signet ring on his finger, and Alex slipped it off at once, handing it to her without question or comment. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and headed off again.
‘Oh!’ Guiliano Espetti demonstrated that he wasn’t entirely stupid by working that out for himself. ‘For the little boy?’ he queried, and in the next moment could have kicked himself.
He had been told that Alex customarily gave his Top Cadet ring to the child who presented him with the bouquet, and was quite in the habit of bestowing them on any child he might encounter while in dress rig. It was rare, in fact, for him to return to his ship still wearing the signet ring. Buzz kept a box of replacements, the original long since ‘lost’ into a charity auction.
He had also, however, been advised not to make too big a deal about this, or about any other indication Captain von Strada might give of concern for any kids he might encounter. Everyone who knew anything about him knew that he had once had a daughter, and that she had been killed in a traffic accident, aged three. The media had made absolutely sure that anyone who knew anything about him knew that, and also that he had gone straight back to work after mandatory bereavement leave, got rid of all his daughter’s things and never talked about her again. He didn’t, it was said, even have so much as a holo of her.
The very few people who’d been in his sleeping cabin could have testified that that wasn’t true, but irrespective of whether it was true or not, the whole subject of children was considered so sensitive where he was concerned that it was a no-go area for conversation.
‘Yes,’ Alex said, apparently unmoved, though it had torn at him to hear the child crying like that, feeling that it was his fault. The most powerful effect of his own loss had been to make him hyper-protective of other children. He had come close, himself, to breaking ranks and going to comfort the child. He knew, though, that he could rely on Martine to make things better. And he had, at least, sufficient social skills to brush through the awkward moment – no shortage of practice at that, after all – switching on the look of cordial interest as the next person was being ushered forward to be introduced.
The best that could be said, really, was that the event passed over with no more casualties than a crying child and the guest of honour taking a drink in the face. It was with considerable relief that Alex returned to his ship, taking a moment while he showered and changed out of dress rig to check how things were going in the media.
The answer to that was usually ‘not well’, but there was some confusion, today. Many of the media pack at Kavenko were reporting for intersystem channels based either at Chartsey or Therik, and they were, as always, unrelentingly hostile. Besides all the usual activist groups whipping up a frenzy of protest and highly critical coverage of the Freedom of the Station ceremony, Lindy Marie was all over every channel giving her own highly dramatic version of the confrontation in the Panorama Suite. There was also considerable confused reportage of Captain von Strada having removed his ‘notorious’ signet ring during the party and given it to one of his officers, who’d left the reception with it, without explanation. Again, the fact that all three ships now belonging to the Fourth had Top Cadet skippers was being hashed and thrashed to death.
Alongside that, though, quite bewilderingly, were several Telathoran channels reporting the event with huge enthusiasm, commenting on Captain von Strada’s unemotional demeanour with interest, not condemnation. One channel was even reporting, accurately, that the Captain had sent one of his officers to comfort the distressed child at the ceremony, and had later sent his signet ring as a gift.
Accurate reporting from journalists was a new experience for the Fourth and they weren’t at all sure what to make of it. Neither, for that matter, were the other stations now catching on to what they called the pro-Fourth slant to the Telathoran reportage. Several channels, in fact, had hit the pitch at which they were now reporting on what other channels had broadcast.
‘I think we ought to offer a media call,’ Buzz observed, seeing how the journalists were whipping up into a feeding frenzy. It might seem counterintuitive, but actually giving them something real to report could often calm that down, even if it was only the opportunity to put their questions to a Fourth’s officer. Seeing the assent on Alex’s face, Buzz turned to Martine. ‘Flip you for it, dear girl?’ he offered, miming the flip of a coin.
Martine grinned. She too had changed out of dress uniform and was on the command deck, watching media output with a mug of coffee and a sandwich.
‘No, go on, I’ll take it,’ she said. Bizarrely to Alex, and even to Buzz, Martine Fishe actually enjoyed handling media calls, regarding them in much the same light as a hard fought sporting contest.
‘Just a moment.’ Alex had adapted quickly to command of a squadron, and recognised at once that this was something Harry Alington, in particular, might be sensitive about. ‘I’ll ask Skipper Alington and Mr Tarrance if they want to take it, first.’
Neither of them did. Harry Alington would rather have stuck pins in his own eyeballs than face another media call, and Dan had admitted that he doubted very much if he could get through one without cracking up laughing. Both agreed at once that Lt Commander Fishe was the appropriate officer to send, so Martine gulped down the rest of her coffee and went to get changed again while Buzz called the station to make the necessary arrangements.
Martine crossed paths with Yula Cavell, as she headed over to the station while Yula was on her way to the frigate. Her shuttle came to the deck seven airlock, but she was very quickly escorted up to the command deck.
‘I like this,’ she observed, with a glance around as she stepped out of the zero-gee ladderway. She spoke with the assurance of someone who knew what a Seabird-37 command deck normally looked like, fully appreciative of at least the more visible upgrades the Fourth had made. ‘Hey – no command console!’
‘First thing I got rid of,’ Alex said, welcoming her with a handshake. Old-style Seabird 37s had a command console raised on a plinth so that the skipper was perched above and separate from everyone else. Alex thought that was operationally limiting as well as ridiculously pompous. He’d installed a bigger datatable instead, where he sat with the watch officers. ‘You know Buzz, of course.’
‘Hey, Buzz.’ Yula gave him an unselfconscious hug as he got up to meet her, and he beamed back just as happily.
‘So good to see you again, dear girl,’ he said.
Yula, though, had more on her mind than catching up with old friends, and after just a few minutes of how-are-you chat, she commented that Buzz was obviously very busy and asked Alex if they might ‘have a word’, obviously meaning for that to be in private.
Alex took her to his daycabin, just a few metres away beyond the main-entry airlock.
‘I’d offer you coffee,’ he said, as he ushered her in, ‘but …’ he glanced pointedly at his wristcom, ‘four, three, two…’
A smart rap on the door heralded the appearance of Banno Triesse, who whisked a tray onto the desk, awarded the skipper and his guest a bright smile, and was gone before either of them could say anything.
Yula looked at Alex’s expression of wry amusement, and laughed.
‘Fastest steward in the Fleet?’ she teased, evidently aware that that was Banno’s claim to fame.
Alex nodded. ‘I could stop it, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But he enjoys it so much I don’t have the heart.’ He gestured invitingly to a chair, and noted what Banno had brought her, a raspberry tea he remembered making endless cups of himself while aboard her ship as a trainee. ‘Still drinking that stuff?’ he queried.
‘Uh huh,’ Yula confirmed, and spotting that it was not only raspberry tea but her preferred brand, chuckled. ‘He’s good!’ she said, but with that, got straight down to business. ‘This,’ she said, ‘is for you.’ She took a tape from an inner pocket, and handed them to him. ‘Compliments of Admiral Croker.’ Then, as he took them, she predicted, ‘You are not going to like it.’<
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She was right. Alex was not anticipating any difficulty working with Port Admiral Croker. They were old friends, too. Until quite recently Froggy Croker had been Port Admiral at X-Base Amali, putting in a tour of duty on exodiplomacy assignment while officially on sabbatical. Now he’d been assigned to Telathor. Many in the Fleet considered this controversial either because they believed that the First Lord had sent in an old mate of Alex’s to avoid problems of the kind he’d had at Novamas, or because they believed the scuttlebutt that several other admirals had refused the assignment.
It would hardly be surprising if they had. Irrespective of any issues they might have on working with the Fourth or with Alex von Strada personally, the port admiral of any world where they were on operations would have to contend with extreme harassment from media and activists, security alerts and operations which were, by definition, way outside the experience of a normal regular Fleet officer. Alex had been reassured to know that he would have a solid, capable Port Admiral in Froggy Croker, someone who would have his back.
As was so often the case, though, his friends could be rather more hassle to Alex even than his enemies.
In this case, as he opened the tape and read its contents, he discovered that Admiral Croker had serious concerns about his safety – his and the rest of the Fourth’s, but primarily, Alex’s. There was, he said, intelligence – unspecified – which indicated that there was a high risk of ‘extremist attack’. On that basis, he had raised the Fourth’s security status to the highest level and had put the matter of their security into the hands of Fleet Intelligence. Skipper Cavell, in fact, had been assigned to manage both the Fourth’s security, in general, and his, Alex’s, in particular.
The tone of the orders made it clear that this was not something the admiral regarded as open to discussion. It even referenced the First Lord’s own directive to Froggy Croker telling him what rules were already in place for Alex and authorising him to take whatever action might be needed in order to keep him safe.
Those rules were already pretty stringent. Alex was not allowed off the ship unless he was wearing uniform equipped with bullet-proof lining. He had to go armed at all times off the ship, too, carrying a stun-pistol in a pocket holster. The transport he used and the places he went to all had to be approved by security, with an escort whenever he appeared in public.
Alex had no choice about any of that, as attempts to get Dix Harangay to be reasonable about it had resulted in the First Lord pulling rank in no uncertain terms. And now there was this.
Yula chuckled again at his poker-faced reaction, knowing very well how he felt, but there was real sympathy, too, as she regarded him.
‘I know,’ she consoled. ‘Infuriating. But spare some thought for me, too. I mean, would you like to be made responsible for the security of the most stubborn, pig headed flag officer in the Fleet?’ As he looked at her in some surprise, she grinned. ‘Nightmare job, believe me.’
He couldn’t help but grin back.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I know, you’re just doing your job. But honestly, Yula – this kind of thing,’ he flicked dismissively at the tape, ‘is absolutely normal for us – routine. We really don’t need you – Fleet Intel – I mean, to come swinging in to protect us.’
‘Hmmn,’ Yula said, thoughtfully, and mused, as if to herself, ‘Always a tricky one, that. On the one hand, you want the client – that’s you – to be as unaffected by the protection as possible, so that they can focus on what they need to be doing and not worrying all the time about assassins under the bed. On the other hand, though, you do need to tell the client enough to ensure their full cooperation with you. Which, in your case, I’m afraid, means laying it on the line.’ She took a sip of her tea and looked at him, unsmiling. ‘Human Frontier is out to get you, Alex.’
Alex went as if to speak, broke off, and reached for his own coffee, looking very thoughtful indeed.
‘Ah.’ He said. He was kept informed, had the right to be informed, about potential threats to the Fourth, ranging from the kind of activists who might throw paint at their vehicles to extremists on rather more dangerous agendas.
Of those, the most significant by far were the various organisations loosely joined under the heading of Human Frontier. They varied considerably from world to world and there was no kind of central organisation to it – that was the point, since each of them were in their own way separatist groups, mutually hostile. ‘Human Frontier’, however, was a convenient catch-all for the type of group, whatever name they might go by on their particular world.
Human Frontier groups usually had slogans along the lines of ‘Our World for Our People’. They were inherently bigoted, regarding all foreigners as dirty, disease ridden and morally corrupt. They campaigned on such agendas as objecting to the building of new spaceports or other transit facilities, as it was a core belief of such groups that increased movement between worlds increased the threat of some virus arriving which would break out as a catastrophic plague. If foreigners had to come to their worlds, Human Frontier wanted them contained, quarantined, treated like the filthy contaminating immoral scum that was, as far as they were concerned, synonymous with ‘foreign’.
There were many levels of such extremism, of course. At its mildest there were the merely socially objectionable, airing their xenophobic views. At the rougher end there were the hard core thugs, using the Human Frontier cause as an excuse to storm around in gangs beating people up. One of their favoured stunts was to invade spaceports and spray disinfectant at people.
Beyond that, though, there were those who didn’t consider that even spraying disinfectant over cruise passengers was sufficient – typically, they used the term ‘soft protest’ for such antics. Their favoured method of getting their message across was to target spaceports, space stations and ships with bombs or biological weapons. The fact that most League citizens were unaware of that was testimony to how hard the League’s counter-terrorism forces worked, and how effective they were.
‘I thought Human Frontier membership is very low on Telathor,’ Alex said, after some moments to consider that.
‘It is. One of the lowest protest and extremist indices in the League,’ said Yula, with the voice of someone who knew what she was talking about. ‘They’re lovely people, on the whole – delightfully laid back, welcoming, a really warm and open culture. But there are 4.7 billion of them, Alex, so if even one in ten million holds fanatical beliefs...’ She gave a light shrug and let him work that out for himself. ‘There are currently three hundred and twenty eight of the Human Frontier breed on the round-the-clock watch list at Telathor, and while that is, yes, a far smaller number than you’d find on just about any other world, don’t let that lull you into a false sense of security. The fact that there are so very few of them feeds into the Martyr Effect, so what few activists there are, at any level, tend to be far more active than their equivalents elsewhere. There are, for instance, only forty eight members of Greenstar on the entire planet – you’ve got twenty three of them right here on the station and I guarantee that every one of them will be involved in active protests against you at some point. That isn’t a problem – as you say, routine – but it is an extraordinary level of active involvement when the norm, for Greenstar, is 98% passive membership. That’s how things are on Telathor, okay? And the Martyr Effect is intensified, if anything, by the fact that it is such a warm and laid-back society, as fanatics feel that they are ‘the only ones who know the truth’ and that they have an enormous wall of inertia to kick down in order to convince other people of that.’
Alex nodded – she did not need to explain extremist psychology to him, as she’d taught him that very well the first time they’d worked together.
‘I remember,’ he said. ‘But surely, three hundred-odd is manageable at our current security levels.’
‘Possibly,’ Yula said. ‘Though I should mention that we also have ninety six notifications of extremists travelling to Telathor and the timing of
that is unlikely to be a coincidence. But regardless, Froggy won’t settle for ‘possibly’ where your safety is concerned. And it is, yes, you, specifically, they are targeting. Any other member of the Fourth is a secondary target, but you are Public Enemy Number One as far as they’re concerned. Mostly because they believe that you are running illegal genetic experiments.’
‘What?’ Alex protested.
‘Yes, well, these things get said in the media, idiots see it and think if it’s on the holly then it must be true,’ Yula said. ‘And the subsequent retraction, as you know very well, carries no weight at all as people assume that that’s a cover-up. It’s the usual situation of people picking up half-understood rumours and constructing conspiracy theories around them – in this case, word on the goss that you have a fabulous new biovat technology in trials on your ship, coupled with rumours of you having people on your ship with superhuman abilities, and misunderstood reports about what happened to Ali Jezno. They have come to the conclusion that you are conducting experiments in genetic enhancement. Ludicrous, of course. But it strikes deep into their most fundamental fears of being invaded, changed, contaminated by ‘the other’. So they are, yes, I’m afraid, out to get you. And while we are confident in our security measures, there was an incident which frankly, between us, rather put the wind up Froggy.’
She paused, giving him a slight smile and continuing with a tolerant tone, ‘There was an attempt to infiltrate a bioweapon into mail being brought out to you – a carton of coffee allegedly being sent by a friend. It would never have succeeded, obviously. Security picked it up at first screening and even if it had by some chance made it out as far as the ship it would never have got through your airlock screening undetected. But it was, admittedly, a rather nasty pathogen, indicating a level of resource and sophistication beyond that you’d expect to find in bedsit fanatics. We tracked it back to a theft from a hospital lab more than three years ago, which the local guys had cold-cased long since as they believed the pathogen had been ditched. Evidently not, though, they were keeping it for a special occasion. That’s when Froggy maxed your security status – and you can’t blame him, really. He’s responsible for you, and it was admittedly a little unnerving to find that the Human Frontier boys had a stash of neuro-destructive pathogen we didn’t know about. Basically, one good strong cup of that coffee and your brain would start to dissolve.’
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