John Ringo - Cally's War

“I… I… ah, hell, I got stuck behind the second big fucking wreck I ran into on the way here just a mile up the road, and it was so screwed up I figured I’d get here faster on foot. If I’d been there…” He trailed off numbly.

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Cheryl mumbled.

“You don’t know that.” His voice was bitter.

“Yeah, we do. Unfortunately.” The cab drove on.

The Tir was awakened out of a sound sleep by the melodious chiming of his AID. It took the usual three measured breaths to fight down the urge to kill something. The AID, out of long experience, heard and correctly interpreted the change in the pace of his breathing, waiting patiently until its master was more controlled.

“Intercept of local transmissions indicates the live capture of an enemy agent. Agent is in the custody of Fleet Strike personnel, currently in transit to the Detention Facility Dome for processing and interrogation,” it said.

“Get me the Human Minister of Defense. Date a resolution of a Council of Ministers’ vote from now appointing me an authorized observer for the Council based on the commercial ramifications of the espionage. Cite appropriate precedents and get the signoffs of the other Ministers’ AIDs, of course. Forward the resolution to the Human Minister.” His ears pricked in sudden alertness, whiskers twitching in barely leashed excitement.

“Resolution transmitted. Stand by for the human Li.” The cool, melodic voice combined with his breathing exercise to restore him to his usual full control.

“Cancel that personal contact. Instruct him to pass the relevant orders down the line. Have his AID ensure that it is done immediately. Monitor the passage of orders and inform me when they get down to the guards at the detention center.” Avoiding personal contact was better in this case. The more intelligent and competent the human underling, the more nervous they tended to be as recipients of direct, personal Darhel attention. Normally, this was a plus, but at the moment he needed efficiency more than intimidation.

He motioned with one hand for his body servants to attend him. He hated going out late at night, but it couldn’t be helped. They had his sleeping robe halfway over his head when the AID chimed again.

“Traffic analysis data, Your Tir.”

“Report.” At least he was already awake.

“Our human service providers report the unfortunate demise of three hostile agents. Traffic records a transmission immediately prior to the capture of local enemy agent by Fleet Strike personnel. Area of transmission was department that initially provided the intercepted data revealing these specific enemy agents. Projected transmission and processing times suggest this leak as the probable cause of the fourth identified hostile agent failing to meet as scheduled with our human service providers,” it said.

“One in the hand here, for one out of reach there. A favorable trade.” He stalled the Indowy with the waking robe with a brief gesture, motioning for another to bring a plate of food. After it left, he allowed the first to resume robing him. He would need to eat before transit to the Detention Center. He would also have his traveling attendant bring stimulants. It was likely to be a long night.

AIDs were both a blessing and curse. Peter Vanderberg’s wife tended to be a bit jealous of Jenny. Oh, she hadn’t been at first, but a wife could only hear a female voice reminding her husband of personal appointments, time to take his medicine, errands to run, interrupting casually at even the most intimate moments for just so long before beginning to get just a bit ticked off. The crowning indignity was, of course, Peter knew, her having to watch his own growing emotional attachment to Jenny. Explaining that it was a normal design feature for greater efficiency did not help.

Ultimately, a separation had been his only recourse. He hadn’t been willing to lose his wife, and he’d finally seen that the only way to preserve his marriage had been to ensure that his wife virtually never had to endure contact with Jenny. Strangely, although his AID had resented the exclusion from certain portions of his life and had gotten quite snippy at first, ultimately she had seemed happier, too. But an AID couldn’t be jealous of the other woman, could it?

Anyway, the compromise meant that instead of his AID chiming in whenever a message came in, she very lightly vibrated if the message was urgent, so he could excuse himself, and otherwise he checked in once an hour or so. And usually he followed up immediately if she indicated he had an urgent message. Tonight, it being Jane’s birthday, he had known better and had had to wait a few minutes before excusing himself. When Jenny buzzed him a second time, he figured it must be pretty important. He tactfully excused himself for the restroom. Jane’s eyes narrowed a bit as he left. He doubted she was fooled.

“Jenny, I hope this message really is urgent. Jane’s birthday is very important to me.” Okay, not getting Jane pissed at me by her thinking I’ve slighted her birthday is important to me. Same difference. I was hoping to get laid tonight, not be in the doghouse.

“I’m sorry, Peter. You have two urgent messages. Morrison unfortunately has to report failure. They had them, but snipers on the roof killed the prisoners before they could be fully secured. Colonel Tartaglia on behalf of General Stewart reports a success, however. They have captured an enemy agent alive and transported her to the Detention Center on Titan Base for interrogation. Oh, third message. Defense Minister Li advises you and your subordinates that a Darhel delegation under the leadership of the Minister of Commerce and Trade, the Tir Dol Ron, will be observing the interrogation. Your orders are to ensure that your people give the Tir’s delegation every assistance,” it said.

“That’s weird.” Um… better think about that in private. “ Jenny, relay the orders to General Stewart and Colonel Tartaglia. Uh… Jenny, does the message say why it was sent by the Colonel and what happened to General Beed?”

“General Beed is deceased, at the hands of the prisoner, one Captain Sinda Makepeace, his secretary. Or a Jane Doe masquerading as a Fleet Strike captain, although Fleet Strike biometric procedures make that impossible, of course. General Stewart was injured in the conflict and is currently unconscious and undergoing medical treatment. Full recovery is anticipated.”

“Thanks, Jenny. Again, please hold any messages unless they are urgent.” Or I may not get to sleep in my own bed tonight.

“Certainly, Peter. I understand,” it cooed softly.

The Indowy Aelool took a small sip of his water and returned to a socially acceptable state of quiet contemplation. Normally, in Nathan O’Reilly’s office he tried to interact a bit more in the human custom of little talk. It seemed to put his friend at ease.

Given the present situation and the continuing repercussions of the Cally O’Neal debacle, and the presence of the Indowy Roolnai, more traditionally decorous behavior was the better political move.

Roolnai had left his water untouched, disdaining to interrupt his contemplation, perhaps as a subtle rebuke to Aelool. Perhaps just to control personal nervousness. It was, after all, a tense situation they were gathered to monitor.

It was not turning out to be a good night for the Bane Sidhe.

Roolnai’s AID chirped a rapid rush of Indowy. Roolnai raised his head and turned to O’Reilly.

“It is confirmed that the Human Cally O’Neal has been captured alive. It is confirmed that none of Team Hector was taken alive, neither due to our intervention nor their competence, but instead due to the Darhel’s unwillingness to let Fleet Strike have those live agents. We presume the reason is that there are no Darhel currently on Earth to monitor or control the interrogations. Such is not the case on Titan. The Tir Dol Ron will preside there. We are also extremely fortunate that the perhaps precipitous action to retrieve one agent from Team Hector was adequately covered by the O’Neal transmission. Our information sources have not been compromised.” As Roolnai spoke, Aelool hoped that O’Reilly was not enough of an adept at their language to catch the very subtle patronization in the tone. He was not confident in that hope. There was a slight glint in O’Reilly’s eye that often accompanied human perceptions of subtleties.