Heinlein's Finches

by Robin Banks

  “We have drafted a proposal of a series of measure we can implement to ensure a greater degree of protection for your wife. We’re hoping this will meet with your approval. Obviously, you must be aware that in your current condition you cannot be considered capable of protecting her yourself.”

  Asher goes from looking confused to blanching. Gwen’s mouth is hanging open. I don’t suppose it matters, because nobody’s looking at her. They’re just talking about her to Asher, as if she wasn’t there. As if she didn’t have an opinion, or wasn’t entitled to one.

  “We have asked your medic for an up-to-date account of the current state of your health, and his prognosis.” I can’t believe the man is so brazen. So much for patient confidentiality, hey. “His professional opinion is that there is no telling when, or even if, you will be able to resume your normal duties, and in particular to withstand space travel. Unless you were willing to undergo amputation to both limbs, that is.”

  The sound that comes out of Gwen right then is harrowing. That awards her a peeved glance from the Colonel, apparently finally reminded of her existence but unimpressed by the interruption.

  “That would clear you for space travel within a very short period of time, though your ability to continue in your present role would be doubtful. I believe there is no reason for us to consider that option at present.” Us? It’s Asher’s legs he’s talking about.

  “For the foreseeable future, we quite simply cannot expect you to meet the requirements of your duties, personal or professional. I understand that the Chancellor has already organized for someone to cover the upcoming training camp. I have commended him for the rapidity with which he has found a solution to this highly unsatisfactory state of things.” The Chancellor has the decency to look ashamed.

  “The most sensible course of action would be to transfer your wife to the station at the same time. Although this would delay her transfer by a few weeks, it would allow her to remain in somewhat familiar settings, surrounded by people she knows and can rely on. The station’s security is greater than that at the Academy. No offence meant to the Chancellor’s arrangements, obviously. It’s just the nature of things. Once your wife is removed to the station, it will be more practical for us to ensure that she is protected from any individuals wishing to do her harm. She can continue her work as normal, undisturbed and out of harm's way. Her research work is not tied to any geographical location. Her lectures can be recorded and transmitted to the Academy.”

  He leans back in the throne, glaring at Asher. “I am sure you will agree that, at present, this is the only way to properly reduce the risks to your wife to an acceptable level. It is regrettable that you would not be able to join her immediately. In the meanwhile, however, we cannot allow your current indisposition to put your wife’s life at risk. I’m sure you would not ask us to consider that.”

  I’m sitting there waiting for the guys to do something, to say something. But Asher’s frozen in his ATR, a look of unspeakable dread in his eyes, and Gwen looks about to cry.

  Then she does. She doesn’t just weep; she goes straight into full-blown sobbing hysterics, the tears practically exploding out of her eyes and her nose, her face contorted. It’s a miracle she can talk through it.

  “Chancellor, please. Don’t send me away. I couldn’t go on the tube. Not now, not alone, not ever. I couldn’t bear it. Improved security measures, yes, but the confinement… I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. I’d rather quit. And it’s so unnecessary at present.

  “You know we’ve always dealt with what has been thrown at us. We’ve always managed. The frequency of the attacks may have increased, but the seriousness has not. It cannot. Our security measures prevent that – the Academy security measures prevent that. All our staff are all combat-trained. Any of them would protect me. The student selection is clearly not filtering out all undesirables, but it’s still a careful selection process. And our students get combat-trained too, and they also would protect me. That’s what we train them for, protecting people.

  “We have developed a better screening technique for the attackers. That’s how the last two managed not to get anywhere near me. My husband being injured does not detract from my current security arrangements; he was never part of them in the first place. His participation in my security has always been incidental. We were planning for his absence anyway, with the upcoming trip. Regardless of his presence or absence, our precautions have always worked. I am unharmed. Nobody but the attackers was ever harmed. To say that our current arrangements are unsatisfactory is to ignore our success rate. One hundred per cent. How can that possibly be classed as poor performance? And we’re constantly adapting and improving.”

  She’s stopped sobbing now, but the tears still run down her face.

  “If you don’t want me here anymore, I will understand. I have strained the Academy’s resources and trespassed on your kindness. You’ve always done more than I asked for, and more than I have a right to expect. What the Academy has done for me has been above and beyond the call of duty. If you want me to go, I will go. I will resign my position. I will remove myself from the situation in the hope that once I’m not a part of it, it will go away. That whoever you choose as my successor will not be made a target.

  “But I will not besmirch the good name of the Academy by running away as if I’m scared. Because I’m not. To ship me off for safe storage to a secondary location as if we were incapable of handling our own affairs… That’s not a message I’m willing to send. I will not run away and show the terrorist that they’ve won. Because they haven’t. We have defeated them at every step. I have trusted the Academy all along and I continue to trust it. I have no reason to do otherwise.”

  With a last sniff, she stops speaking and just stares at the Chancellor, wringing her hands, her face red and blotchy. I never thought she could look so fragile and anguished.

  The Chancellor has sat transfixed throughout her outburst. When she finishes talking, he draws himself up. There’s a lot of him to draw up; not a small man under normal circumstances, he has the ability to swell to twice his normal size when he’s roused. And now he’s obviously roused.

  “Professor McGee, I am sorry if we’ve allowed our colleagues in the service to cause you undue worry. This meeting was purely designed to provide you with a set of alternative options in the event that you did not feel your current security arrangements to be adequate. Removing you to a station was one of those options. It is clearly not agreeable to you; and, as you’ve pointed out, it would do very little to preserve the image of our institution. A military academy, having to ship instructors away for safekeeping? Preposterous!”

  He turns to glare at the Colonel. “I am obviously grateful to the Colonel for making such a kind offer; an offer we’re all in agreement we will refuse at present, and have no need to discuss further.”

  The Colonel draws himself up too. They’re glowering at each other as if they were about to fight.

  “The Academy is still part of the Patrol.”

  “Nominally, yes. But our staff are not enlisted. The Patrol has neither the responsibility nor the power to dictate their location. As Professor McGee’s supervisor, I could ask her to relocate, if it met the strategic needs of our institution. But it doesn’t. So I won’t. If she doesn’t like my directives, she can simply quit. And there’s nothing the Patrol can do about it.”

  The Chancellor turns to us. He’s still scowling, but I believe the contortion of his lips is supposed to approximate a smile. “Professor McGee, Professor McGee, Adjunct Taua, thank you for joining us. I appreciate your contribution. You have satisfactorily answered all my questions on the subject. I am sure you will wish to return to your duties.”

  He gets up and marches to the door, opening it for us. It takes us a moment to snap out of our shock and make our exit. The door slams behind us, and raised voices follow us down the hallway.

  I finally find my tongue again. “What the fuck just happened?”

>   Gwen is wiping the mess off her face with her tunic sleeves. Not much of a loss there; her tunic is already a mess, anyway. “That’s what a worst case scenario looks like, I guess.” She sniffs. “God, I must look a fright. I hate this sort of thing. Even when it’s needed.”

  “I don’t believe this. Are you telling me you were pretending all along?”

  “Little bit. Not entirely. That guy did get me a bit wound up. I just decided to let it come out this way, instead of screaming the place down.”

  Asher takes her hand. “That, milady, was asshole wrangling of the highest order. That is, both the asshole and the wrangling were of the highest order. I’m sorry you had to carry the weight of that.”

  “Nothing you could do or say, anyway. They’d have played you rationally. Mock-rationally, anyway. There were enough holes in their plan to drive a fleet of ATRs through, but they would have just hammered away at you, fought every point, and probably won, because they wouldn’t have been playing fair. Gods, though, what an ugly mess.” She turns to look at Asher. “This changes everything, doesn’t it?”

  “Pretty much. I’ve seen the Patrol pull some stunts, but this is a whole new level. It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t coherent. It was plain unwholesome.” He finally erupts: “Where do those assholes get off talking about you as if you were my property? As if you couldn’t think for yourself? Of all the motherfucking unholy Terran absurdities…” He trails off, too angry to find adequate words. As we’re in a public corridor, it’s probably for the best.

  “Seriously. Trying to play you against me?” Gwen scoffs. “They must not have done their research.”

  “You were wonderful. Playing the Chancellor against them was masterful.”

  “Only way to do it. Asshole was already pulling rank on you. I am clearly a non-entity, only fit to be looked after. Gods, but I hate those people. I hate them so much. I could do absolutely anything, and it still wouldn’t prove to them that I’m their equal. Or, if it did, it’d gain me such a bitchslapping it wouldn’t be worth it.”

  “I’m glad you managed to keep your wits. I totally lost mine. I’m sorry.”

  “If you had said anything, you would have only undermined my position. Oh, fuck them. Fuck them all. Underhanded, manipulative, repugnant assholes.”

  I blurt out: “But why? Why did they do that… Whatever the hell that was?”

  Gwen shakes her head. “Fucked if I know. But they did it.”

  Asher’s voice sounds unusually hard. “You can’t expect the top brass to treat us like people. Well, some might, but many won’t. They have different priorities. To them, Patrolmen are like chess pieces. We are there to be used to perform certain tasks. If we get crushed in the process it’s unfortunate, but not a reason to change their plans. Their job is to use us to achieve what the Patrol wants, not to look after us.

  “It gets worse when they can’t agree on what they want, or when they want conflicting things. When they want something reasonable and they choose reasonable means to achieve it, then it’s not so bad. But if you expect them to be open and honest and respectful to subordinates, then you’re going to be disappointed. Maybe that asshole was following orders. Maybe he knows something we don’t. Maybe he’s just an assholes and that’s how he always deals with women. Maybe he’s got a toothache. I have no idea. But I did not see that coming. I’ve seen them do plenty of stuff they shouldn’t have, but never anything this blatant.”

  Gwen stops dead. “Holy shit. Did you notice something else?”

  “What?”

  “Nobody took minutes.”

  “So?”

  “So, neither the Academy nor the Patrol skimp on paperwork. Which means that this meeting never took place. Which makes me wonder why. The fact that I’ve been under attack is hardly a secret, so why treat the fact that we’re looking for solutions a secret?”

  I interject “Maybe they don’t want anyone to get their hands on the minutes? Because they were such assholes, and they planned to be all along? Maybe they’re wondering about a mole. Gods. If they are, they never mentioned it to us. Why would they keep that quiet?”

  “A mole where, a mole how? Digging for what? If they move me up to a tube the only thing they could keep secret is the ship I go up in. Once I got there, everyone would know.”

  “Unless they think that whoever is behind this has the firepower to take down a ship.” We both stare at Asher. “I’m not saying they do. It seems ridiculous. But no part of this seemed right, anyway. Maybe this is the new normal.”

  Gwen frowns. “Yeah. This doesn’t scan. It makes me wonder what other secrets they might be keeping.”

  We’re in Asher’s office, still struggling to make some sense of this, our frustration to process the events only adding to our fury, when the Chancellor turns up. As weird as the day has already been, it’s just gone weirder. The Chancellor has never come out here. He calls people over to his office for formal meetings, or crucifies them where he finds them. He doesn’t go chasing after underlings, particularly not underlings located outside the campus in a service building.

  To add to the weirdness, he looks contrite. Angry and contrite, to be accurate, but anger is basically his ground state so the contrition really shows.

  “Professor McGee, Professor McGee, Adjunct Taua; I have information to relate to you concerning your security measures. Is this an appropriate time?”

  Gwen rushes up to him to wave him into the room. “Of course, sir. Would you like a drink?”

  “Very much so. Thank you.”

  Asher grabs him a glass. “I’m sorry, but it’s moonshine or moonshine.”

  “That will do fine. Thank you.”

  “Would you like to sit down?” Gwen asks. She looks embarrassed. “I’m afraid it would have to be on a bed. We don’t entertain much.”

  The Chancellor gives out a long breath and lets himself drop on the edge of the bed. He looks suddenly exhausted. “There would hardly be the space for entertaining guests in this office of yours. We could have accommodated you better. We should have done. Thank you. I’m afraid I come with bad news.” Looking at our panicked faces, he hastens to add “no, nothing to do with that ridiculous scheme to take you away to a tube. Whatever that was about. But you need to understand… The Academy has a level of autonomy from the Patrol, but I often fear that the main reason we continue to enjoy it is that we hardly ever use it.

  “I absolutely support your decision not to retreat to a tube, though don’t believe for a moment that it is solely dependent on your desire to protect the image of the Academy.” His face darkens. “An image that, whatever our colleagues in the service may say, does not need defending. Our performance is outstanding across all measured standards. However, I am grateful to you for your consideration, though I personally suspect that you just want to stay together. And I cannot fault you for that.

  “The Patrol cannot force me to reassign my staff. Not without declaring a state of national emergency, anyway. I don’t think they’re likely to go to those extremes just to teach us all a lesson. However, they have the power to assign staff to us. Which is what they’ve done. You’ve met Captain Kendall, who took such an active role at that little event.” He rolls his eyes. “He’s their chief security officer. He has been assigned here to participate in your protection.”

  Gwen wails “Oh, what? Why?”

  “Because they can, and they want to. He’s been tasked to assist with monitoring and improving your specific security needs. There was nothing I could do about it. In all honesty, I cannot really disagree with their decision to do something about the situation. You put out a poignant case for how well we’ve been doing. I don’t think we have. And I’m increasingly unsure that we know what situation we are actually dealing with.

  “I have been concerned for some time that I might be failing in my professional duties towards you. On a personal level, I have been uneasy, too. You are a valued member of our staff, but you’re also a dear girl, if you’ll pardo
n me the expression. You’re not much older than my eldest daughter. And although the gods have not seen fit to bless my house with someone of your temperament, it’s hard for me not to look at the situation with a father’s eyes. And it isn’t a good situation. Not really.

  “Captain Kendall is a security expert. I am not. He will be able to provide us with expertise none of us have. He may be able to make arrangements to make the situation more tenable. Gods willing, he might resolve it. We won’t know without giving him a shot. So, I beseech you to not only put up with him, but to actually collaborate. I could order you to do so, but that would probably have the opposite effect.” He grimaces and shakes his head.

  “Anyway, I thought it best you heard it from me, and immediately. Whether it’s good or bad news depends on your point of view.” He gets up and makes his way towards the door. “Captain Kendall’s permanent quarters will be on the sixth floor of the tower. Until you’re back in your eyrie, he will be installed as close to you as practical. Though what he will organize and how long that will actually take remains to be seen. I’m not sure he would stoop to the current living arrangements this area offers.” He chortles. “Oh well. Maybe it will be formative for the lad. And now I’ll leave you to your inevitable gnashing of teeth, but I beg you to consider that this could actually be a good thing.”

  We stare at each other until he’s out of the room and out of earshot, then Gwen plops herself on the bed. “Oh well. We tried. Can’t win them all.”

  “I’m not entirely sure it’s a bad idea, really.” Asher notices Gwen’s expression and quickly adds “…though it may be an unpleasant one. Practical and pleasant don’t always go hand-in-hand, milady. I’m somewhat invested in you staying alive. And it will bring Captain Heartache near your loveling’s grubby hands, too. Only a floor between them, imagine that. And it’s not even your birthday, you lucky bastard.” He winks at me.