Michael Williamson - When Diplomacy Fails…

She did everything as required, watching her sector, keeping position and distance from Highland, and putting a visual void over that aircraft.

Once aboard, she took a seat facing aft, fastened her restraints and donned helmet. She made a cursory visual check for any threats, then gave her attention to her sniffers and scanners. Jason would check also, and the military had done so when it landed. It was also politically inadvisable for their host to stage an attack, so he’d have made his own checks. Between them, the only threat that should remain was pilot error and shoddy maintenance. She shivered again.

Alex had a familiar expression on his face, and was looking at Jason. Jason gave a nod and a thumbs up. She translated in her mind.

If need be, can you toss this yokel out the hatch and land us intact?

Yes, no problem.

Somehow it didn’t reassure her.

“Intercom check. Playwright.”

“Argonaut.”

“Julien.”

“Babs,” she said in turn.

“Pirate.”

“Musketeer.”

“Witch and Black Cat accounted for. Pilot reports ready to lift.”

And they did, as Elke stared straight at the bulkhead.

Ten minutes into the flight she unfastened two suit buttons for ventilation. It was crowded and warm, faintly chemical, and not in the sweet way Comp G smelled, and the vibration hit a frequency that irritated her bladder and stomach. She was glad she’d not eaten or drunk yet today.

“A bit turbulent,” Jason said.

It was more than a bit, in her view. Of course, she didn’t like heights, altitude or movement anyway. The engine tone shifted periodically. That was perfectly normal, she knew intellectually. It still made her flinch.

It was only five minutes later that Alex announced, “Landing.” Though it took over 200 seconds to make the approach, gauge the winds and reflections, and put the beast down.

They were in a large compound ringed with low, but multiple walls and fences at comfortable distances, each in overlapping fields of fire. She could even draw the range markers. At least someone here understood basic tactics. Now as long as they respected Highland, or Ripple Creek, enough to not start trouble.

Bart and Aramis debarked first, she was last, being female and not the principal. She knew some women who’d be incensed over that. It was Alex’s order, and how things were done here, so she did it.

The Most Beneficent Mohammed Saliman al-Khazra actually greeted Highland in person. His own entourage was clearly a factotum and six guards in silly uniforms, with pompoms on their boots, pointy hats with neck cloths, and pink piping on white tunics and shorts. At that, it was better camouflage than the army issued.

He even spoke respectable English.

“Madam Minister, you grace my humble abode with your presence,” he said with a nod that wasn’t quite a bow, combined with an extended hand.

Highland reached between Bart and Aramis, who stepped obliquely back.

“Effendi, I greet you.”

With that in progress, Elke eyed their opposites, who were probably very respectable infantry, from the gear and muscles under those ridiculous outfits. She had no doubt that if Bart and Aramis couldn’t smash four of them, that Jason could drop the rest with one bullet each, and she could shred their legs with a disc explosive.

Shortly, all the guards sat in a ring, six on each side, sipping from sealed bottles of juice, while the two politicians and their aids sat at a table and chatted, under a hush hood, over a doc screen. Elke’s only significant activity was to escort Highland and JessieM to the toilet, and take a turn herself, while Aramis and Shaman stood guard outside.

After that, it was another grueling flight back. She’d rather have a firefight than a decrepit aircraft, but at least it was objectively brief, even if it felt like hours.

Alex appreciated the casual event. If only more could be like that, but then of course, they’d not be employed.

Nothing. Not even a handful of protesters with signs outside the gate, and it was obvious who’d be on that flight, given its departure point.

In several ways, that was more disturbing than the violence. It implied both an outside agent, and that a single one, or one that had significant influence over the others.

The pattern continued.

Tuesday was a summit on “Environmental Compassion” at the conference center. That afternoon, they met with interest groups to answer questions. Highland spoke like a politician, and gave vague answers. She was professionally competent at raising morale and causing smiles, though how long those lasted after the event he couldn’t gauge.

Wednesday was a forum debate in the National Parliament, which all groups sent representatives to, but it seemed to be a contest to see who could send the least important flunky with the most impressive name.

After a week with no threats, Alex was more disturbed than ever.

“It’s an indication of something, but what?”

The team was in their armory, being the most secure room. He had a chart up on their secure system, showing the events, locations and which groups were involved, incidents, her running popularity figures, and whether or not they’d had military support. They gathered around in an arc. This was a war council.

Elke said, “Her popularity increased after each unsuccessful attack.”

“Yes, which makes me anticipate a successful one.”

Aramis said, “That, or obscurity as a tactic.”

From behind a tall glass of raspberry juice, Bart said, “Have her supporters also reduced their actions? There have been no low-level attacks as they do. Those boost her popularity.”

“They ran out of money,” Aramis said.

Jason said, “No, I suspect collusion.”

“Sure, but how?”

“Okay, let’s go through it. She’s arranged some low-level harassment for PR. Some of her fans picked up on the riff. She’s refused to coordinate that with us, but gets upset at our response. She may have asked them to back off, fearing we’d actually kill someone. Again.”

“Yes,” Alex said. “Her conflict was between coverage for bravery and headlines, and the risk of us being stuck to her.”

“But she managed to stick us on Cruk.”

“Right. So she was benefiting anyway.”

“Which suggests her random fanbody activist attacks were coordinated by one of her people.”

Elke said, “It would make sense. They all had the same goal in mind, and were all relatively low-scale, and similar. Random attacks with nonlethal stuff.”

Aramis said, “And this recent attack, again, not enough to be lethal, but certainly to look so.”

“That’s aimed at us,” Jason said. “They want us to overreact, to try to bring her ratings down. So that is hostile activity, not propagandist.”

“Hostile against us, but dialed back against her,” Bart commented.

“Yes,” Jason agreed, looking thoughtful. “So, all her propaganda seems to have one source. Attacks against us seem to be a second.”

Alex said, “Which leaves the rioting that increased, then stopped suddenly.”

Aramis said, “Hostile attempt to either intimidate her, or provoke over-reaction from us-meaning overreaction from a press perspective, not reality.”

Jason said, “I understood you. So that’s a possible third source.”

Alex said, “Which leaves a potential fourth aspect or source, if ignoring her doesn’t lower her popularity, which it seems to not be doing.”

“You expect a bonafide professional hit.”

“That’s why we’re hired. Someone is spending a lot of money on us, from both her campaign and the administration, to keep her away from her regular security. Part of that is political. She can’t use them while campaigning. But they’re splitting the cost due to some accounting method. So who insisted on us?”