Michael Williamson: When Diplomacy Fails…

An hour later they stopped, gasping and sweating and with unfocused eyes. Caron kissed Ayisha sloppily, then him, then bounded off the bed and into a kimono. She headed for the kitchen, as Ayisha headed for the bathroom. Ayisha came back with cool, damp towels. Caron returned with three glasses of tart limeade and a bucket of ice.

They wound up sitting in a triangle, and he gauged them. They seemed comfortable enough, neither fawning each other nor shying away. They grinned when they made eye contact.

Even if he wanted to tell anyone, no one would ever believe this.

“Thanks much,” Ayisha said as she accepted a glass.

“You’re welcome,” Caron replied. “I’m feeling dehydrated. And worn.” She ran a hand through her dark, tangled waves of hair.

Shortly, he was massaging Caron’s feet with mint lotion, while Ayisha braided her hair, and they talked about chocolate. Aramis liked it darker, but wasn’t an aficionado, really. Caron was, and could readily afford to be, and took a quick trip to the kitchen for several high-end mixes.

Ayisha didn’t seem to have any complaints about the weekend. She tried nibbles of five different mixes, and fed the balance to Caron, whose head was in her lap.

“I’m not sure about the hazelnut,” Ayisha said. “Wonderful, but I like the effect of straight chocolate. This is too good to blend.”

“I like the contrast,” Caron said. “Also the Guatemalan pure with the bare hint of jalapeno. I always wondered about that.”

“It’s all good,” he said, to say something, trying to ignore her feet on his belly. “Some is better than others, depending on mood.” He didn’t say that he couldn’t tell much difference in his current state.

“Well, I suppose,” Caron said, sat up and reached behind him to the table. “Ayisha, do you know what Aramis really likes? Ice cubes.”

He could have wrestled them both off if he tried, but why?

When he woke the next morning, he was alone. He clutched around as Caron called from the desk, “It’s okay, I gave her a ride home.”

“I’d hoped she’d say goodbye.”

“She did, about an hour ago. Don’t you remember?” She rose and came over.

He didn’t. Damn, they’d worn him out.

Caron was dressed in a business pullover and blazer, and even that was sexy as hell on her. She had literally everything, and all the sorrow that went with it, not to mention her murdered parents, psychotic uncle, and occasional assassination attempts. Would she rather trade her beauty or her money for a normal life? But she was who she was.

“I have to report in soon,” he said.

“Well, be safe,” she said, taking his hand as he rose from the bed. “I’ll expect you in one piece, and ready for dinner when you come back.”

“I’ll do my best,” he agreed. Yeah, getting busted up was not on his list. He stretched.

“The weekend was great,” she said with a grin. “I don’t promise I’ll ever do that again. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“No worries,” he said, blushing a bit now. Yes, she looked amazing face down on another woman, but it required the right woman, right time and place, and right mindset. “I’m glad I was there for it.”

“So am I. Thank you, Aramis, for being here for me. Be safe,” she insisted again, firmly and with finality.

“I will,” he said.

Her smile broke to a concerned frown as she turned. She probably hadn’t wanted him to see that.

A half hour later, her goodbye kiss was warm, but hesitant. They definitely had something. That was a complication.

That, and he probably should have mentioned to Ayisha that the security detail was definitely watching via camera. They were utterly professional about it, but probably enjoyed at least some of it.

He wasn’t sure if the regret was a reaction, or something deeper.

Bart sighed. The trip up to orbit was the usual spine-grinder. It was possible to run at lower acceleration, but it used more fuel. That raised costs. They could have larger couches, same story. He always felt imprisoned by the close confines of the seats, and they were either sticky or coarse, depending on the covering. He never complained out loud, though Jason did, and it was amusing to hear complaints about shuttle seats from a man who would very casually return fire in combat.

Next to him, Aramis seemed caught in thought. He was not as cocky as he had been. Some of that was maturity, which also meant less edge. Still, he seemed introspective, not worried. Everyone assumed his relationship with Caron was intimate, but he’d never said, and his expression was thoughtful.

Elke and Shaman both had seemed their usual calm selves, but they were seated behind him and he couldn’t tell. Alex was never relaxed, but never stressed. He was seated diagonally ahead, and had something encoded out to work on.

On their first mission, he’d had more executive protection experience than the others. They were all catching up now. Still, he went through mental exercises on procedures. It would probably again be his task to teach the principal the necessary movements for evacuations and relocations, though she might already know some of that, with her background. He also considered how her personality might clash with theirs. She was strong willed.

There were incidents in her background. It was one thing when a principal wanted more freedom than safety allowed. It was entirely different when they didn’t like consulting with their detail, or ignored them.

Then there were potential threats, with a high-ranking bureaucrat and former assemblyperson who had made numerous people and groups unhappy. Fortunately, most of the more violent ones didn’t have a significant dislike of her or a threat record against her.

Though it was often the quiet ones.

In the BuState compound on Mtali, Jason stretched out knots. He’d found the worst, most frustrating aspects of the job possible: Ignorance.

Not that people were ignorant, though he was sure a lot of them were. No, it was that they ignored him.

He had scaled responses for any contingency, from polite greeting, diplomatic request, urgent demand, rude insult, angry threat, punch to the face, shoot in the face, to “call Elke.” Some issues here were simply not responsive. The people in question refused to respond to him, or acknowledge him in any fashion.

That was the most aggravating response possible. He could accept a “no,” though he’d certainly try to manipulate it to a “yes.” He could appeal up the chain as was indicated by the urgency of the matter. Completely ignoring him put him in a helpless corner.

He couldn’t use any violent means at this juncture. His lesser means were being ignored. He didn’t want to call Corporate. He was supposed to be able to handle this, and if he wanted promotion he certainly had better. Their response would also be delayed, and watered down by distance.

He had connections, and he had some responses. Cady’s team had landed the day before, and were busy securing the Ripple Creek section of the diplomatic compound, which was the Minister’s residence and their adjoining apartments. That went smoothly enough; the military, contractors and agencies had no choice but to do as the BuState letterhead demanded.

There were mild complications with Highland’s assistant deputy chief of staff, a position he wasn’t even cognizant of. It seemed the man’s task was to handle all the routine requests from Very Important People with Something to Say to the Minister, and scheduling of meetings with such groups, around the stuff Highland and her deputy chief of staff, who was on Earth, scheduled first. Magerin Rausch was a nice enough guy, spotless background, and on the list to be admitted with minimal hindrance. On paper, his credentials were impressive. How much of that actually meant something, Jason didn’t know. He was also filling in as Protocol head, and in that capacity they would need to talk to him.