New Title 2

by S J MacDonald

  Alex looked at her, picked up his mug and drank, very deliberately, making her grin again.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, answering the unspoken act of defiance, the statement that he would not, ever, allow such extremists to intimidate him. ‘But see this from Froggy’s point of view. As he says, he is not going to let you get murdered while you’re on his patch. So…’ she spread out her hands and smiled. ‘You’ve got me. Like it or not. And I know you don’t, so you don’t have to be tactful about it. Just work with me, Alex, okay?’

  He didn’t have a choice, he knew that. Well, he did, of course. There was always a choice. But the choice here came down to accepting and obeying the legitimate orders of superior officers or committing mutiny.

  ‘All right,’ he said, with a philosophical air. ‘Tell me the worst.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got people on an additional level of mail and supplies screening,’ she told him, ‘and protection for any of your people while they’re over at the station. I have to ask you not to let them go aboard liners or any other ships unless they’ve been cleared by us, either now, en-route or at Telathor. Shoreleave at Telathor may be an issue – I’ve arranged for you to have the use of secure groundside facilities, a ground-base and a leisure resort.’

  Alex’s eyebrows shot up, and she gave him a very innocent smile in return.

  ‘No trouble at all,’ she assured him. ‘The ground base is a training facility which the army was happy to lend, and the resort is the official presidential hospitality venue, which President Arthas is pleased to put at your disposal.’

  That cracked him. There was one frozen moment while his mug hovered in the air, then he put it back down on the desk, breaking into laughter.

  ‘You haven’t borrowed us a base from the army!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Did too,’ said Yula, with a happy grin. ‘I never have understood this Fleet/Army rivalry thing – we’re all in the same service, or should be. Anyway, the colonel is a mate, and organised it for me, no trouble. It isn’t a base, as such – nothing like on the same scale as your base at Therik. It’s just a facility where the army runs secret officer-training courses – like a country house hotel, kind of thing, but high security. There’s accommodation for a couple of hundred, and we could put in more if you need it. Anyway, it’s yours for the duration. And Palas Island – the resort – was offered by Joy Arthas before the security thing even arose. She’s great, you’ll really like her. Honestly, you’ll love Telathor. They have a saying, there – ‘my hand, your hand’. You’ll hear it at least twenty times a day, for sure. It basically means ‘I will give you anything you need’, and they really mean that, too, it’s no empty courtesy. Anyway, you can count on her for any help she can give – she’s offered rafts of stuff. I only accepted the resort because we do have security issues with shoreleave and it’s the best solution, really.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Alex conceded. ‘Though we’re not planning on taking any significant leave there, anyway – if the quarian ambassador agrees to go there we’ll be busy supporting that, and for our part it’s just a touch and go courtesy visit.’

  ‘Yes, well, you may find that a little more difficult than you anticipate,’ Yula grinned. ‘Issues over the quarian visit aside, Telathorans have their own notions of time and urgency, you know?’

  Alex laughed.

  ‘Actually, I do know,’ he said. ‘We’ve had a pretty extensive briefing anyway, but one of our crew is from Telathor – Leading Star Micky Efalto. He’s a great guy, really is, and the most talented ordnance tech I’ve ever met, by far. But we know that when he says ‘ten minutes’ he really means ‘two hours’.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Yula agreed. ‘You’ll find three kinds of time operating on Telathor – there’s Chartsey Central Time used only for shipping timetables and the like, what they call ‘clock time’ which is the local time zone, and what they call ‘people time’ which takes hardly any account of clock-time at all. The idea of having a set or regular time for meals, for instance, is just so foreign to them that they think it’s hilarious. They eat when they’re hungry, sleep when they’re tired. Work that has to be done to any kind of schedule or deadline is considered very anti-social and has to be very highly paid. Shift work like holding watches, especially – they don’t think Fleet people get paid nearly enough. So they are very generous in looking after Fleet people on posting, there. You may as well just accept now that you will not be allowed to pay for supplies, that you’ll be inundated with gifts and invitations, and that you’ll only need to look as if you might want something for it to be provided. Hospitality is very important to them, too, and since it really would be seen as extremely rude of you to refuse invitations from the president, you should expect even a ‘touch and go’ visit to take at least two or three weeks.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Alex.

  ‘And don’t think that doing the Novaterran thing at them will put them off,’ Yula warned. ‘They are fascinated by the Novaterran thing – there’ve been documentaries on their holly about it now for weeks. To them, you’re like this amazing alien about to visit. Honestly, Alex, no joke – Joy Arthas can’t wait to meet you. She’s almost as thrilled about that as she is about meeting Shionolethe.’ A slightly self-conscious grin, there, and an aside, ‘Kind of thrilled about that, myself.’ Then, going back to discussing the Telathorans, ‘Not to mention the possibility that they may get the quarian ambassador, too.’

  Alex nodded. He had seen that in the brief meeting at the reception – not one word had been said either about Shion or the impending arrival of the quarian, of course, but he had seen their delight and excitement.

  ‘But anyway,’ said Yula, ‘none of that is my responsibility – I’m working closely with the Diplomatic Corps, of course, and other security services, but my priority is taking care of you. I have been made personally responsible for your safety, Alex. Sorry. But you are going nowhere without a bodyguard.’

  Alex considered that, and rather to her surprise, grinned.

  ‘What goes around comes around,’ he observed, and at her enquiring look, ‘I made Quill Quilleran have a bodyguard during the Karadon operations, and I wouldn’t take any argument from him about it. So I’m hardly in a position, now, to argue about it myself. So, all right, fair enough. Just, you know,’ he looked at her imploringly, ‘can we do this discreetly? Please don’t have some hulking guys in shades lurking at my elbow every time I turn around, huh?’

  ‘Trust me,’ she drew a cross over her heart, ‘no hulks in shades. I may slip an adjutant along with you for meetings, but they’ll be very unobtrusive and otherwise, you won’t even notice the escort. The one thing I will insist on, though,’ she indicated his uniform collar, significantly. ‘Maximum setting any time you’re out in public.’

  Alex made a protesting noise. The First Lord had decreed that he had to wear bullet proof uniform when off the ship, which wasn’t too bad since the technology was concealed within the lining and he could forget it was there. The head-guard, though, was a forcefield generated from rings within the collar. It was annoying even at low settings, creating an odd tickling feeling on the scalp. At a high setting for any length of time it caused neck tension which often led to headaches. It was also awkward to work with. Bringing a glass or fork to your mouth too quickly might trigger the automatic power-burst to deflect an incoming object, so you’d spill the drink or food all over yourself.

  ‘No argument,’ said Yula, and before he could even begin to make a case, ‘If it had been on the setting it was supposed to be on for a social event, you would not just have taken a cocktail full in the face.’

  Alex couldn’t deny that, and since he was guiltily aware that he habitually left the head-guard turned off altogether in situations where he didn’t feel it to be necessary, he could only give a reluctant ‘Hmmn.’

  ‘And as for an escort on social occasions…’ she smiled brightly at him and waited for him to figure that out for himself.

  ‘Ah,�
�� said Alex again, and realising at once how rude that was, gave her an apologetic look. ‘Sorry – it’s just, you know…’

  ‘I know,’ Yula said, tolerantly. ‘People will think we’re an item, and that’s difficult for you on all sorts of levels. But it is the best, most efficient way of providing protection in social environments. And look on the bright side. If people think you’re with me, they’ll stop trying to fix you up with blind dates, yes?’

  ‘There is that,’ Alex conceded, with some feeling. ‘Just – nothing personal, Yula. Just – rather outside my comfort zone.’

  ‘I know,’ she repeated, with an understanding look. ‘But it’s just cover ops, Alex. And we have done that cover before.’

  She had the right of that – some of Alex’s friends believed even now that he and Yula Cavell had been an item at one time, though hardly more than a shoreleave romance. He knew, too, that that cover had worked as convincingly as it had because they did like one another, with an edge of chemistry between them which could, in other circumstances, have become rather more than friendship.

  ‘True,’ Alex admitted, and having considered for a moment, recognised that he was being unnecessarily sensitive.. ‘All right,’ he said, and remembering Fleet Intel jargon, held out his hand, fist closed. ‘Game on.’

  Yula punched his fist gently with her own, grinning back with as much relief as pleasure.

  ‘Game on,’ she agreed, and then, as an afterthought, ‘Oh – I should probably mention, too, that the LIA are trying to muscle in. There was some argument, I gather, that your protection ought to come under their remit as Defenders of the League, or some such. They’ve got a ship on scene,’ she spoke with tolerant scorn, ‘I daresay you noticed – the Comrade Foretold.’

  She shook her head. ‘They think we don’t know about Comrade Life. I mean, honestly, ask any taxi pilot on Telathor where the LIA building is and they’ll point out Comrade Life and Finance. As always, they just cannot resist having their roof so thick with high-tech comms that they might as well put a sign up saying ‘LIA HQ’. They know who we are too, of course, but we’re doing that silly inter-agency thing of pretending that we don’t know that they know that we know who they are. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about it – just ignore them, that’s the best way.’

  Alex gave her a patient look. ‘What happened to ‘We’re all in the same service, or should be’?’ he asked.

  ‘The LIA is not even remotely on the same agenda as we are,’ Yula said. ‘I doubt sometimes that they even inhabit the same galaxy. They actually believe, for real, that it is possible to operate a League-wide intelligence agency with total denial that such a thing even exists. Those guys live in denial, you know? You try getting them to understand even the basic concept of open secrecy. It freaks them out. They’re all control freaks anyway, because you don’t get into the LIA unless you are an uber-control personality type, and they just can’t handle the idea of accepting that there is just no way to prevent spacers figuring stuff out and telling one another about it. They’ll be much happier in their own little world, believing that nobody knows who they are.’

  Alex chuckled at her patronising tone, but didn’t attempt to argue the point. He had high and well justified confidence in his own problem solving abilities, but even he recognised that there was no point even attempting to get Fleet Intel and the LIA to play nicely together.

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ Yula gave him a nod, continuing briskly, ‘The Diplomatic Corps also tried to chip in on the grounds of your ambassadorial accreditation. They’ve been told to back off, both of them, but don’t be surprised if you do spot the odd guy in shades lurking about – chances are they’ll be LIA or Embassy, okay?’

  ‘All right,’ he said, with philosophical resignation, and seeing that she had finished her tea, looked hopefully at her. ‘How about we get the ball rolling on the goss, then – I’d love to show you round the ship.’

  Yula looked a little surprised.

  ‘You’re not too busy?’ She queried, with a glance towards the wall screens which were now showing Martine Fishe taking her place at the podium in front of about fifty very noisy journalists.

  ‘No,’ Alex followed the direction of her glance and smiled. ‘I’ll keep half an eye as we go round. And I’d love to – I never get to do the tour, normally.’

  Yula laughed. It would indeed be so unusual for the skipper to give anyone a tour of the ship that it would be commented on by the crew, and when that person was an attractive woman known to be a personal friend, that would get the gossip-mill grinding.

  ‘Fair enough,’ she said, and got up, as keen to see the ship as he was to show it. ‘Can we see comms, first?’

  Alex took her on a tour of the ship which they both enjoyed very much. It was a rare opportunity for Alex to show off his ship to someone who really understood and appreciated the upgrades they’d made, and enthralling for Yula, too, to get a sneak preview of tech most which would not be rolled out to the rest of the Fleet for at least another year or two.

  They did keep half an eye on ops screens, though, Alex wanting to keep track of how things were going for Martine. She was, as she would have said herself, batting high, slamming to the outfield, and never more so than when she addressed the hammering blitz of ‘Where is Murgat Atwood?’

  Alex paused the tour for a couple of minutes at that point, watching on a comscreen as Martine rolled her eyes in theatrical amazement.

  ‘Oh, come on, guys!’ she said, reprovingly. ‘Where the heck do you think she is? If you haven’t found out by now that Murg Atwood is a top class data analyst then you need to be having words with your researchers. So, knowing that we are going on ops and that she isn’t on the ship just now, you honestly can’t come up with any more likely scenario than that she died and we shoved her body out an airlock? And if it’s just push to get the story you do want, you can’t honestly think for one moment that I would actually stand up here on camera and tell you that Murg Atwood is an intelligence analyst currently on top secret assignment, huh? You’ll be expecting me to tell you next that she was working undercover for Fleet Intel at Karadon and we headhunted her there.’

  The journalists went berserk, because that was indeed what they knew and what they had not been able to report, and as Martine giggled like a kid, Alex burst out laughing, too.

  ‘Oh, she’s great!’ Yula said, and Alex recognised the look on her face at once.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, giving her a mock-warning look, ‘even think about pirating her, Yula.’

  ‘You,’ Yula retorted, with a grin, ‘are in no position to warn me off pirating your people. All’s fair in love, war and intel recruitment, Alex. And she’s got talent.’

  ‘Well, I can’t stop you making her an offer, of course,’ Alex said, with good humoured resignation, and they continued the tour, then.

  It hit a minor glitch, just for a moment, when Alex took her in to see the Second Irregular’s lab. It had been converted from the old wardroom, with sleeping cabins surrounding a space which was supposed to be zoned into lab, dining area and lounge.

  The team currently on board, however, had decided that they did not need either the lounge or dining area, using the lounge for additional storage and the dining table as an additional lab bench. There was, unusually, only one team aboard. They often had three or four different research projects going on, but for right now the Second had pulled everything else back to put in a major nanotech research team. Several of the very expensive new bits of tech in the lab had been installed at Therik for the nanotech projects, and the Fleet had sent a destroyer from Chartsey to Therik at high speed, too, just to bring two of the researchers out to them in time.

  One of those was Professor Parrot. It really was his name – pronounced, as he would explain with infinite patience, ‘Pah-roh’. Alex had found himself wondering, once, just how much of his life the professor had spent telling people how to pronounce his name, and how very mu
ch simpler it would have been either to change it or accept people using the obvious pronunciation.

  Professor Pah-roh, however, was not a man who gave up on things because they took a long time or were tedious, and nor was he a man who would be comfortable with allowing any error to go uncorrected. He could very easily have been a pedantic bore. But he was saved from being a monster by an air of gentle vagueness that made even him seem quite harmless and even amusing. He was ninety four – by no means old when most people expected to live to a hundred and forty or more, but certainly the oldest passenger they’d had aboard the Heron. He was not great in freefall – even with an anti-sickness chip he said it made him bilious – but he had learned to put on a survival suit for himself and he could, now, after more than a month on the ship, find his way around it without needing to stop and peer at deck-plans more than once or twice a day.

  It was the professor who looked up when Alex took Yula into the lab, and blinked in owlish astonishment.

  ‘A civilian?’ he observed, and looked suddenly alarmed, glancing around as if just for a moment he was trying to work out what was most important to conceal.

  The answer to that, basically, was everything. The Second’s team were currently attempting to reorganise the lab so that they could fit in another three crates of supplies that had been waiting for them at Kavenko. The passenger-liaison Sub was attempting to convince them that it wouldn’t matter how many ways they moved things around, as it was simply not possible to fit as much as another shoebox of stuff in there, let alone three more cargo-crates. It was just not possible to look in any direction in that lab and not see highly classified equipment, materials and experiments in progress.