Charles Stross - Singularity Sky

Handsome and determined is more like it.” Her smile acquired a slightly glassy edge.

Somewhere in the middle of the duel of the smiles, the waiter arrived and removed their bowls, replacing them with a main course.

“Oh, that looks good.” She relaxed slightly as she picked up her knife and fork. “Hmm. Don’t look around, but our shadow is looking away. You know something? You’re too much of a gentleman for your own good. Most of the men in this joint would have tried to grope me by now. It goes with the territory.”

“After about fifty or sixty years, most men learn to stop worrying that it’ll go away if they don’t grab for it with both hands. Trouble is, with no antiaging treatments here—” He looked uncomfortable.

“Yeah, and I appreciate it.” She smiled back. “Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you grin? I’ve spent so long in this dump that I’ve forgotten what an honest smile looks like, let alone how it feels to be able to talk like a mature adult. Anyway …” he started. Her toe had just stroked the inside of his left leg.

“I think I like you,” she said quietly.

Martin paused a moment, then nodded soberly. “Consider me charmed.”

“Really?” She grinned and slid her toe higher.

His breath caught. “Don’t! You’ll cause a scandal!” He glanced around in mock horror. “I hope nobody’s watching.”

“No chance, that’s what the tablecloth is meant to cover up.” She laughed quietly, and after a moment, he joined her. She continued quietly, ‘To get the business over with so we can enjoy the meal, tomorrow you’re going to go back aboard the Lord Vanek and they’re probably going to ask you if you want to earn some more money in return for an extension on your contract. If you want to line your pocket and maybe help save several million lives you’ll say yes . I happen to know that the admiral’s staff is gping to be using the Lord Vanek as flagship, and I’m going to be along too—“

“You’re what ? How are you going to do that?”

“As a diplomatic observer. My job is to make sure the Festival — and I wish I knew a bit more about who they are — don’t violate six different treaties. Unofficially, I want to keep an eye on the New Republic, too. There’s a bit more going on than anyone’s willing to admit; no, make that a lot. But we don’t want to let it get in the way of this meal, do we? If you agree, come home with me to a safe house, and I’ll fill you in on the rest, while the local Stasi will just think you’re making out like any other bachelor engineering contractor. So you’re going to go home with a nice fat paycheck, plus a big bonus paid by DeflntelSIG. Everything’s going to be just fine . Now, how about we forget business and eat our dinner before it gets cold?”

“Sounds okay to me.” Martin leaned forward. “About the cover story for the local Stasi.”

“Yes.” She picked up her fork.

“Does it extend to grabbing a bottle of wine on our way home? And chilling out together afterward?”

“Well I suppose—” She stared at him. He noticed that her pupils were dilated.

“You need someone to talk to,” he said slowly.

“Don’t I just.” She put the fork down. Under the table, out of sight, she rubbed his ankle again. Martin felt his pulse, felt his face flushing. She was focused on him, intent.

“How long has it been for you?” he asked quietly.

“Longer than four months.” Suddenly her foot was removed.

“Better eat up,” he said. “If you want our cover story to be any good.”

“Clear channel to Herman, PA.”

“Clear channel pending … connected. Hello, Martin. What can I do for you?”

“Got a problem.”

“A big one?”

“Female human-sized. Actually she’s from Earth, she’s gorgeous, and, uh, she does undercover work for the UN defense intelligence SIG. Specializing in causality-violation weapons, disarmament treaty infractions, that sort of thing.”

“That is interesting. Say more.”

“Name’s Rachel Mansour. Has what looks like genuine ID as a UN weapons inspector, and there’s no way in hell she’s a native or an agent provocateur — not unless they’re sending their female agents off planet for education. She says that New Prague is planning some kind of naval expedition to relieve this colony that’s under siege, and that she expects they’ll try to recruit me tomorrow to do wartime crisis work on the ships. What she wanted me to do — well, basically keep my eyes open for anything fishy or illegal. Strategic weapons violations, I guess. That’s an opening position. The question—”

“No forward-leaning analysis, please. Are you aware of any other UN inspectors in the vicinity?”

“Not directly, but she mentioned she has some kind of local backup and diplomatic credentials. She says she’ll be along on the expedition. I expect there’s a full-scale UN black ops team behind her, probably looking to do some low-key destabilization: it’s not as if the New Republic hasn’t been asking for it since they began the current naval buildup. I’m pretty sure she was telling me the truth about her mission goals, but only part of it.”

“Correct. On what basis did you leave her?”

“I agreed to do what she wanted.” Martin paused, unconsciously censoring his testimony, then continued,

“If you think it’s advisable, I’ll accept any offer of wartime work at hazard pay. Then I’ll do what she wants: keep my eyes open for illegal activities. Any objection? How bad do you think the situation is?”

“It is much worse than you think.”

Martin did a double take. “What?”

“I know of Rachel Mansour. Please wait.” His PA fell silent for almost a minute, while he sat in the dark of his rented room and waited anxiously. Herman never fell silent; like a machine running smoothly, his emollient debriefings made Martin feel as if he were talking to himself. Answers there might or might not be, but never silence …

“Martin. Please listen. I have independent confirmation that there is indeed a UN covert mission in the New Republic. Lead special agent is Rachel Mansour, which means they expect serious trouble. She is a heavyweight, and she’s been out of sight for almost a year, which implies she’s been in the New Republic for most of that time. Meanwhile, the agency representatives on Luna have bought out your personnel files and have been talking to MiG management about contracting you. Furthermore, they are substantially correct in their analysis. The New Republic is preparing to send the entire home fleet to Rochard’s World, going the long way around, where they intend to attack the Festival. This is a very bad idea — they obviously do not understand the Festival — but preparations appear to be too advanced to divert at this time.

“It is also quite possible that you will endanger yourself if you appear to be panicking. Given the current level of surveillance you are under, an attempt to cut and run to a civil liner will be seen as treason and punished immediately by the Curator’s security apparat; and Mansour is unlikely to be able to protect you even if she wants to. I emphasize, the New Republic is already on a low-key war footing, and attempting to leave now will be difficult.”

“Oh shit.”

“The situation is not irretrievable. I want you to cooperate fully with Mansour. Do your job and get out quietly. I will attempt to arrange for you to disembark safely once the fleet arrives. Remember, you are in more danger if you run than if you withdraw quietly.”

Martin felt a tension he’d barely been conscious of leaving him. “Okay. Do you have any backstop options for me if the UN screws up? Any ideas for how I can get out with my skin intact? Any information about this Festival, whatever it is?”