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Michael Williamson: When Diplomacy Fails…

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Michael Williamson When Diplomacy Fails…

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“Perhaps I will like this person,” Elke said. “I respect ruthlessness.”

“We’ll have to see. The public presence is not very nice, but people are almost never how the media present them, and of course, we don’t know how much is done as a public image.”

Bart said, “Alex, you are hedging your bet.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I expect we’re not going to be on great terms. We’ll see.”

Elke said, “I don’t need to like the principal. I just need to be able to do my job. This seems less of a problem than last time.”

“We won’t have time to run physical practice, but I do have sim programs we can play through. Bart, I’ll want you to take lead on this.”

“Is Aramis joining us?”

“A bit late, yes. There are political reasons.”

“Ah. Those.” The big man nodded understanding without expressing emotion.

“Yes, those. He’s discreet, she’s a friend of the company, and there’s a certain level of public visibility. I didn’t want him to rush. In fact, the six of us are more identifiable now, so we’ll likely stagger our transit and arrival in future as well.”

“A few more of these beers and I will stagger now,” Bart joked.

“Practice first, then stagger.”

“Of course.”

CHAPTER 2

“So why am I in a suit?” Ayisha asked in the back of the auto cab, and damn, did she look good even in business wear. Though that was likely in part because he knew she wasn’t wearing underwear. That made it even more aggravating. She looked very professional outside, her hair neatly up, and it was all a mask.

She hadn’t said much while boarding the Airstreak 5. She probably hadn’t known its actual value, but “expensive” was easy to figure. He’d expected that. She didn’t ask details of where in England they were going. Actually, they were going to Wales.

An hour later they landed, and she was still cool. I may have overplayed it, he thought. This was far more exotic and money-laden than anything they’d done, and he imagined she was put upon, or jealous, or worried at what kind of personal tag it carried, or if it was merely to show off.

The Skoda limo didn’t help, though she smiled politely as she accepted a third margarita. He’d mixed them light, for hydration more than intoxication. He preferred women alert and willing, not clumsy-drunk and pliable.

“Such pretty scenery,” she said. “I didn’t know there were still areas this undeveloped over here.”

“Not many, but there are a few. A few kilometers of hills hide a lot of things.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

It also helps when you own all those kilometers and get to decide who builds what, he thought. At one time, this had all been coal country, and the Prescot family owned it all.

It was a lovely sunny day as they pulled into the apron, past the polished and manicured flower beds and under the perfectly transparent rain dome. Ron Schenk, his opposite number for this team, was waiting.

Aramis said, “Uh, we have to be searched before we go in. Thoroughly.”

“Oh. Patted down?” she asked.

“ ‘Felt up’ is more like it. They’ll have a female guard.”

The driver opened the door, and Schenk said, “Hi, Aramis. And this must be Ayisha?”

“I am,” she agreed with a nervous smile.

Aramis spread arms and legs and let them scan, flash and grope him. Besides clothes, he had nothing except his wallet, feeling very naked unarmed, but that was one of the rules. He didn’t know who the female was, but she was Company, so she was a veteran and knew her stuff. It had taken him one tour with Elke to accept that there were women who measured up for this job, and he’d never questioned the idea since.

Then they were done and inside and Caron swept through the parlor in a dark blue dress.

“Aramis!” she said, and moved in for a hug and a warm kiss on the cheek. That was very nice of her, very nice of her, but probably wasn’t going to make Ayisha relax enough for anything.

Sure enough, Ayisha said, “Oh, my, I recognize you, but I’m afraid I don’t recall your name.”

“Caron Prescot. You must be Ayisha.” She extended a hand and smiled with a friendly crinkle of her eyes.

“You’re… her.” Yes, that had overloaded Ayisha’s brain.

Yes, Ayisha, my other girlfriend is the richest person in the universe. Oh, and scorching hot. Sorry.

“I am. Welcome to Wales. I have refreshments out and my staff will move your things.” She didn’t say to where. Aramis assumed adjoining rooms, giving Ayisha a choice. It wasn’t likely to help. And he wasn’t going to visit Caron’s room while Ayisha was here. Sigh, and dammit.

Caron continued, “Would you like a tour?”

Ayisha didn’t hesitate this time. “I would.”

“Then Aramis can mix drinks for us, and we shall be back soon.” Caron smiled at him and led Ayisha away. One of the guards followed at a discreet distance.

Yes, but first he’d mix himself one, strong. The Penderyn honey finish whisky was wonderful stuff, something that was affordable on Earth, and potent enough to dull his jitters.

He was on the couch, halfway through a second glass, when he saw them pass through the palatial public kitchen, separate from the professional one Joanne Crandall, the chef, used.

The two women were giggling and muttering, hunched close.

On the one hand, he was glad Caron was able to relax so easily. Things had improved for her. On the other hand, that pretty well ensured he was going to spend the weekend being a gentleman, and trying not to arouse jealousy in either of them.

He went for a third drink.

Joy Highland was irritated, more than usual. Minister of State was not her first choice of job, nor her final goal, but until the election she was stuck with it, and with having to do her best. That was fine. It wasn’t fine for her putative boss, that upstart little social climber, to load extra tasks on her. She wasn’t needed for the Summit on Mtali. It was just an excuse to get her off planet for a while leading up to the election. The outsystem votes weren’t enough to matter.

Some people would be happy managing international relations on Earth and in the colonies. Managing relations, however, was not directing or leading. Or not enough to suit her.

That upstart Cruk, when campaigning for secretary general, had violated plenty of finance and ethics policies and laws, and played the press off to his benefit. Fair enough, it got him, and the Equality Party, into power. It got her the position she held now, which was a good launching platform.

Now, though, he remained a cheat and thief, even to his own party and administration. He might get reelected, but it would wreck them as a party if he did. Hence her campaign. It was completely legitimate. The party caucus could decide if they wished to support another run by him, or by her. If they chose him, she was just young enough to run again on the next cycle.

Instead, he was trying to derail her early on, so he’d have minimal competition. Hunter was the only other candidate with a shot, and she could take him out any time with accumulated dirt. It wasn’t that he was dishonest. He was dishonest and clumsy.

Cruk’s solution? Get her off planet with a small staff, to block most of her public appearances and name recognition. Any comment of hers would be twelve hours or more after the fact of the event, and she’d have only recorded second-string facetime, nothing live or leading. Well done, fucker.

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