Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

From the front, Bart said, “We have escort from respectable armies.”

“Yes. I’m glad to see them.”

Highland asked, “Who are they?”

“Brazilian troops in one, Finnish in the second, Kazakh in the third.”

“I like the Finns. They have such an earnest, hardworking culture. The Brazilians are very mixed and equitable.”

Alex said, “Yes. Though in this case, they’re good soldiers first.”

“Of course.”

Then they rose over the first speed hump and stopped.

Bart swore in German, threw the vehicle into reverse and tried to work it back.

Alex said, “We’re supposed to have sufficient clearance. What happened?”

Horace looked around. There were no apparent threats, but this was not good. He saw a camera crew outside the fence zooming in. They were exposed and stuck.

Bart said, “I believe the surface collapsed from the mass of heavy vehicles. The difference is enough, with our load, to cause this.”

“Will debarking help?”

“It is worth a try.”

“Right. Ms. Highland, please remain aboard.”

“Of course I will,” she said, sounding incredulous someone would expect her to walk.

“Lionel, stay with her. Everyone else out. Bart, I’ll drive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Horace bounced out and took another survey while breathing the clean air, tinged with exhaust next to the car. Bart took his frame out, Alex slipped in, and tried again. The car scraped and dragged, but made it over the hump. It shrieked over the next two. That got them outside the gate, though.

Horace jogged forward. The gates locked behind them, Bart resumed his position, and they all slid back in.

Highland looked offended.

“It seems no one cares about the dignity of my office,” she muttered loudly enough to be heard.

Alex had his phone out and was almost certainly demanding engineers fix those depressions at once. Whether military, BuState contract, local hires or several Company people with shovels, someone had to fix it fast. It was an accidental choke point, now revealed on camera.

“Shaman, radio link with the escort, please.”

“Radio, roger.” He grabbed the small encryption module and clicked it on. “Patent Three to Roller Six, over,” he said. The call signs were good. There were neither three nor six vehicles in either contingent.

“This is Roller Six, go ahead Patent Three, over.” If that was a Finnish accent, it was very interesting.

“Patent Three to Roller Six, please advise on weather, ongoing, over.”

“Clear, visibility at five zero, no storms. Expect light precipitation throughout, over.”

That translated as no current combat, no traffic snarls for five kilometers, but some traffic expected. They had a feed from State’s traffic scanners, and their own, and now the military’s.

“Understood, Roller Six. Patent Three listening, out.”

“Roller Six listening, out.”

Of course, all the OPSEC was for naught with JessieM churping away.

She spoke to Highland. “Ma’am, we’re getting churpcades all along. The crowd should be drastic.”

“Good.”

Alex said, “I thought this was a private meeting?”

“The meeting, yes, but I always like to make time to greet the people who matter.”

Horace watched his quarter. At this point, everyone with any kind of node access knew where she was. It was irritating. Could they arrange to exclude Jessie?

He was most nervous when they slowed, though they never quite stopped. The military vehicles used sirens and PA to keep the way clear. This was one of the more prosperous areas, only fifty years out of date, or three centuries ahead of Celadon. The buildings were extruded concrete with little variation save size, featureless overall. The people were apparently mostly of the conservative Muslim sects, in robes and headgear. Though as they traveled the peoples’ appearance grew more western.

“Patent Three, this is Roller Six, over.”

He raised the small box and said, “This is Patent Three, go ahead, Roller Six, over.”

“Arriving in nine zero seconds, over.”

“Understood, Roller Six. Thanks for the ride, out.”

“Anytime, Patent. Roller Six out.”

Horace was out first, followed by Lionel and Corcoran. Highland and Jessie stepped onto the walk, and Alex and Jason filled in the rear. Bart would stay in the vehicle.

There wasn’t a lot of attendance outside. This was a basic, boring policy meeting, and there was no reason for it to be public, nor even face to face. Diplomats and politicians liked their formal traditions, though.

It was anticlimactic. They strode in through a cordon of guards, all with beards and bushy mustaches. A wave of cool, dry air washed over them as the doors opened. There was a receiving line, and they parted so Highland could shake hands with dignitaries. An usher appeared and led them to a waiting area with sandwiches, water and soft drinks, and they weren’t even asked to disarm.

They had a choice of vids, and the locals and some of the other details seemed absorbed. The Ripple Creek team mostly stood, snacked lightly, and kept to themselves, while following news and updates. They could see Highland, though it was amusing to know that image was sent to a satellite and back even though they were perhaps a hundred meters away. JessieM sat back with other escorts, associates, factota and significant others. He caught a brief glimpse of her churping away.

Jason said, “I’d like to hear from our other contingent.” He meant Aramis and Elke.

Alex nodded. “Babs pinged a note. They’re still working.”

“Good, that was my concern.” He looked relieved.

Lionel said, “You guys operate seamlessly. You’ve been at this as long as we have, yes?”

Horace said, “About the same. We started when the company first got launched, when the military deployed to Salin and needed protection for diplomats.”

“This is much more interesting than facilities. Apart from occasional device threats and rockets, we have a consistent routine, or else it means something’s gone east.”

“This is a quiet one so far. I’d like it to stay that way. You noticed the baggage we have?” He meant JessieM of course.

Lionel nodded. “Yes, that’s inconvenient. We were advised to extend all courtesies.”

“Yes. It’ll get settled on the tab afterward.”

Lionel sipped his drink and faked watching the screen. “That’s hard for you to deal with, though, I presume.”

“Hard enough. We have ROE to cover it.”

“I’m interested in more of that.”

Horace grinned. “It pays a little better, but it’s not routine.”

“Yes, I know. I don’t particularly crave adventure, but it’s something I want to pursue.”

He wanted to offer something positive, even though this was just time-wasting chatter. “Well, good luck. We don’t seem to want for business. You’re steady and seem mature.”

“Thanks. Any antics you can share?”

“We stayed in a cave off a mine once, on Govannon. Carved rock, shelf bunks, vacuum-evacuated toilet. It was big enough for one and we had seven. Porn on the walls, processed worm meat and stabilized rice to eat.”

Lionel grinned. “Wow. That’s something we don’t get on the perimeter. The worms weren’t optional?”

“No. Chewy, a bit like squid, but beefy tasting.”

“And now I know.” He chuckled, but seemed put off as well.

Two hours later they embarked, convoyed and returned. Lionel looked amused rather than bored, and still paid attention to his threat sector.

So far, this was mission was aggravating, but quiet.

“What now?” Aramis asked.

“How are you at cooking?”