yours is it?”
“You may be interested to learn that four hours ago, consensus absolute time, the New Model Air Force—whose underwriting service you subscribe to—invoked the Eschaton clause in all strategic guarantees bearing on the Republic. At the same time, someone tipped off the UN Standing Committee on Multilateral Interstellar Disarmament that the New Republic is gearing up for war, in defense of a colony outpost that’s under siege. You aren’t paying the extra premium for insurance against divine retribution, are you? So right now you’re not covered for anything other than medical and theft.”
Martin turned back to look at her. “Are you accusing me of being a spy?”
He met her eyes. They were dark, intelligent, and reserved—absolutely unreadable. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
She shook a card out of her sleeve and opened it toward him. A head—recognizably her own, but with close-cropped hair—floated above it in holographic miniature, wreathed against a familiar backdrop. The sheer unexpectedness of it electrified him: shivers chased up and down his spine as his implants tried to damp down an instinctive panic reaction rising from his adrenal glands. “UN diplomatic intelligence, special operations group.
I’m here to find out what the current situation is, and that includes finding out just what last-minute modifications the Admiralty is making to the ships comprising the expeditionary force. You are going to cooperate, aren’t you?”
She smiled again, even more unnervingly, with an expression that reminded Martin of a hungry ferret.
“Um.” What the hell are the CMID doing here? This isn’t in the mission plan!
“This is going to be one of those trips, isn’t it?” He rubbed his forehead and glanced at her again: she was still waiting for his response. Shit, improvise, dammit, before she suspects something! “Look, do you know what they do to spies here?”
She nodded, no longer smiling. “I do. But I’ve also got my eyes on the bottom line, which is that this is an impending war situation. It’s my job to keep track of it—we can’t afford to let them run riot this close to Earth.
Being garrotted would certainly spoil anyone’s day, but starting an interstellar war or attracting the attention of the Eschaton is even worse, at least for the several planets full of mostly innocent bystanders who are likely to be included in the collateral damage. Which is my overriding concern.”
She stared at him with frightening intensity, and the card disappeared between two lace-gloved fingers. “We need to get together and talk, Martin.
Once you’re up at the dockyard and settled in, I’ll contact you. I don’t care what else you agree to or disagree with, but we are going to have a talk tomorrow. And I’m going to pick your brains, and confirm that you’re just a bystander, and tell your insurers you’re a safe bet. Do you understand?”
“Uh, yes.” He stared at her and tried to look as if he’d just realized that she was, in fact, a devil, and he had signed away his soul. He hoped she’d believe him—naive engineer, sucked in out of his depths, confronted with an agent of Higher Authority—but had a cold sense that if she didn’t fall for it, he might be in real trouble. Herman and the CMID weren’t exactly on speaking terms …
“Excellent.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a battered-looking, gunmetal-colored PA. “Speaking. Send: Rabbit green. Ack.”
The PA spoke back: “Ack. Message sent.” It took Martin a moment or two to recognize the voice as his own.
She slipped the case away and stood to leave the compartment. “You see,”
she said from the doorway, a quirky smile tugging at her lips, “life here isn’t necessarily as dull as you thought! See you later …”
Preparations for Departure
His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Ivan Hasek III, by grace of God the protector of the people of the New Republic, growled
“You may be interested to learn that four hours ago, consensus absolute time, the New Model Air Force—whose underwriting service you subscribe to—invoked the Eschaton clause in all strategic guarantees bearing on the Republic. At the same time, someone tipped off the UN Standing Committee on Multilateral Interstellar Disarmament that the New Republic is gearing up for war, in defense of a colony outpost that’s under siege. You aren’t paying the extra premium for insurance against divine retribution, are you? So right now you’re not covered for anything other than medical and theft.”
Martin turned back to look at her. “Are you accusing me of being a spy?”
He met her eyes. They were dark, intelligent, and reserved—absolutely unreadable. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
She shook a card out of her sleeve and opened it toward him. A head—recognizably her own, but with close-cropped hair—floated above it in holographic miniature, wreathed against a familiar backdrop. The sheer unexpectedness of it electrified him: shivers chased up and down his spine as his implants tried to damp down an instinctive panic reaction rising from his adrenal glands. “UN diplomatic intelligence, special operations group.
I’m here to find out what the current situation is, and that includes finding out just what last-minute modifications the Admiralty is making to the ships comprising the expeditionary force. You are going to cooperate, aren’t you?”
She smiled again, even more unnervingly, with an expression that reminded Martin of a hungry ferret.
“Um.” What the hell are the CMID doing here? This isn’t in the mission plan!
“This is going to be one of those trips, isn’t it?” He rubbed his forehead and glanced at her again: she was still waiting for his response. Shit, improvise, dammit, before she suspects something! “Look, do you know what they do to spies here?”
She nodded, no longer smiling. “I do. But I’ve also got my eyes on the bottom line, which is that this is an impending war situation. It’s my job to keep track of it—we can’t afford to let them run riot this close to Earth.
Being garrotted would certainly spoil anyone’s day, but starting an interstellar war or attracting the attention of the Eschaton is even worse, at least for the several planets full of mostly innocent bystanders who are likely to be included in the collateral damage. Which is my overriding concern.”
She stared at him with frightening intensity, and the card disappeared between two lace-gloved fingers. “We need to get together and talk, Martin.
Once you’re up at the dockyard and settled in, I’ll contact you. I don’t care what else you agree to or disagree with, but we are going to have a talk tomorrow. And I’m going to pick your brains, and confirm that you’re just a bystander, and tell your insurers you’re a safe bet. Do you understand?”
“Uh, yes.” He stared at her and tried to look as if he’d just realized that she was, in fact, a devil, and he had signed away his soul. He hoped she’d believe him—naive engineer, sucked in out of his depths, confronted with an agent of Higher Authority—but had a cold sense that if she didn’t fall for it, he might be in real trouble. Herman and the CMID weren’t exactly on speaking terms …
“Excellent.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a battered-looking, gunmetal-colored PA. “Speaking. Send: Rabbit green. Ack.”
The PA spoke back: “Ack. Message sent.” It took Martin a moment or two to recognize the voice as his own.
She slipped the case away and stood to leave the compartment. “You see,”
she said from the doorway, a quirky smile tugging at her lips, “life here isn’t necessarily as dull as you thought! See you later …”
Preparations for Departure
His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Ivan Hasek III, by grace of God the protector of the people of the New Republic, growled
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