Charles Gannon - Raising Caine

Gaspard glanced at him. “I beg your pardon? Everything is in order; I made certain of it.”

Riordan shook his head. “No, I’m not referring to the legality of the document. I mean I’ve been boosted up the ranks far too quickly. Even if this is just a diplomatic convenience to give me necessary authority, I don’t have the command experience or training to warrant this.”

Gaspard frowned, folded his hands, thought for several very long seconds. “I am not eager to share this with you, Monsieur Riordan — it is not my way — but I must be frank: I consider your concerns largely unfounded. Firstly, I have worked with many flag rank officers who have never seen combat at all — or worse yet, with others who have commanded contingents with dire results. You, on the other hand, have distinguished yourself on this mission, and earlier, in the battles for both Barnard’s Star and Earth itself. Have you commanded large warships? No, but neither have most of those so-called admirals.”

Gaspard’s frown deepened. “But that is merely the formal part of my argument. I must add my personal observation as well, and it is this: your innate abilities will more than compensate for the unevenness of your professional preparation. I do not pretend to be an expert on military matters, but as a diplomat, one of my most important skills is to be able to assess the character and capabilities of the individuals around me. Yours are beyond reproach; you are, as the American expression has it, the right person for this job, Captain — no: Commodore —Riordan.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out if you’re right.” Riordan shook his head. “But I’ll never be much of a diplomat.”

Gaspard’s smile widened. “So you keep claiming, in blatant disregard of all the evidence to the contrary. What you mean to say is that you do not wish to be a diplomat and that you have never claimed that as your career. But it has apparently chosen you. With enviable clarity, it would seem to me.”

Riordan discovered that he was smiling slightly. “If I didn’t know better,” he commented, “I’d say that sounds like a compliment.”

“I suppose it does.” Gaspard almost smiled back. “Come; we must inform the others of what roles they will play when the legation is divided.”

After Gaspard left the room with the members of the legation who were continuing on to Beta Aquilae, Riordan sat in silence, letting the others absorb all that they’d been told. The entirety of the surviving security contingent — Bannor, Tygg, Peter Wu, and Miles O’Garran — had received the news with the disinterested detachment of professional soldiers. So much of their life had been defined by getting unceremoniously shipped from one strange place to another that it hardly made any impression on them now.

Karam Tsaami didn’t react much differently. He’d been piloting in different systems for almost ten years. Probably the only way in which this was a change from his accustomed routine was that he was going to keep seeing a lot of the same faces: in his line of work, that had been a rarity.

Tina Melah and Phil Friel sat close together and had actually smiled upon hearing the news; anything that kept them together was apparently fine by them. Melissa Sleeman’s exchange of glances with Tygg strongly suggested that, although their mutual attraction might be at an earlier stage of development, it was every bit as strong.

The only person who looked at all ill-at-ease was also the only person whom Caine had been surprised to be named to his team, and apparently at her express request, Pandora Veriden. Her arms crossed, she furtively looked at the others, her frown contrasting oddly with the surprised expression on her face. Riordan had the distinct impression that the source of her surprise was herself, or more specifically, that she had asked for this posting. She certainly could have elected to continue her lucrative contract as Etienne’s personal security expert, and Riordan suspected that if Downing were here, he would have been of the opinion that she should continue on in that role.

But she had chosen otherwise once Yiithrii’ah’aash had assured Gaspard and Caine, repeatedly and effusively, that the legation would not be exposed to further risk. A Slaasriithi shift-carrier designed for war— Unassailable Aerie —had arrived to carry them to Beta Aquilae. And several security ROVs that seemed to be almost as autonomous as robots now followed the remaining legation personnel everywhere, their sensors alert, the crowns of their small pop-turrets just barely visible.

Karam was the first to speak. “Morgan’s not coming with us? He could be pretty handy if we run into any trouble — and if he can keep from shitting his shorts.”

Despite her hard-assed self, Dora giggled. Positively giggled.

Riordan smiled. “No: he can’t be spared. Part of the deal we worked out with Yiithrii’ah’aash is that Morgan gets to look at a variety of shipboard systems while traveling with them, and later on as well. Including their shift-drive.”

“Which seems to have better than a one-light-year range advantage over the Arat Kur drive,” Bannor murmured with a satisfied nod.

“Exactly. With all the technical intelligence we got from the Arat Kur, and now the Slaasriithi, we’ll be a lot closer to achieving parity with the Ktor.”

Dora folded her arms again. “Exactly what is our end of this deal you worked out with the Slaasriithi? And why do I think it has to do with our heading to Delta Pavonis Three?”

Riordan shook his head. “I’d like to be able to answer that, Dora, but I can’t.”

Neither Dora’s face, nor her eyes, moved. “You can’t answer, or you won’t answer?”

Riordan just smiled.

Dora nodded. “Yeah. I thought so. Okay, no surprises. So how do we get there?”

“Yiithrii’ah’aash is taking us. We bring all our gear, the armored shuttle the Ktor left behind, all their gear, the clone for continued debriefing, and they repair Puller on the way. According to your specifications, Karam. Morgan’s going over the finer points of our engineering and our weapon systems with them right now, but I don’t expect any problems; our technology is embarrassingly basic compared to theirs.”

Tina’s face had contracted into a vinegary frown. “Why are we taking the clone equipment with us? Hardly seems to be worth the space.”

“Well, firstly, it’s all evidence. And we’re taking everything of forensic value back with us, including the bodies.” And particularly the two mostly-intact Ktor. We didn’t get a chance to harvest any usable DNA from Shethkador, but now we’ve got sources that can’t invoke diplomatic privilege and immunity. “But secondly, in a pinch, we might have want of their gear. Any gear, for that matter.”

“What, us? Hell, you’re a commodore now. Bannor’s a major. We should be able to whistle up whatever we need, I figure!”

Phil smiled, slipped a hand in Tina’s. “And how are we going to do that? Just dock Puller wherever we please and draw from any installation’s stores? We won’t have business being in any system we pass through. They won’t have any record of Puller on any inbound carrier’s manifest. And if they did have any record of us, they’re not going to be rolling out the welcome mat; they’re going to hit the alarm button, because we’ll be about fifty light-years away from our last reported position. And if they were to ask us how we got there—”

Her eyes opened wide. “God, yes: we won’t have arrived in a human shift carrier.”