Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4) (88 page)

The First Lord had also come dashing over to the Affinity station in response to the Heron’s arrival. He was looking splendid in dress uniform. He was, however, only one member of the presidential retinue – President Tyborne had also brought along Karlos Gerard, the Diplomatic Corps’ equivalent of the First Lord, another diplomat introduced as Ambassador Katori, and a handful of lesser functionaries who hovered in the background.

It was Ambassador Katori who took charge of the Samartians once greetings had been exchanged. She would, she said, show them to their quarters and ensure that everything was as they wished.

Alex watched them go without regret. They had spent a lot of time helping the Samartians to prepare for this. It was a relief and a pleasure to see that they went away so confidently, with no more than a ‘goodbye and thank you’ to him and to Davie.

Davie, however,
did
watch them go with some regret, and some annoyance, too. He had been invited to this meeting at the particular request of the president, but he had already been informed that his offer to remain here and continue to work with the Samartians was being declined. It had taken some persuasion from Alex to get him to come to the meeting at all, on that basis, and even
more
persuasion to give his word that he would be very quiet and polite, at least while the Samartians were present.

The moment the doors closed behind them, though, it was the President who broke formal manners first.

‘
Alex!’
he exclaimed, with a crow of pure triumph, surging over to seize Alex’s hand and pump it energetically. ‘Oh, well
done
, well
done!
Better than our wildest hope – a
miracle
!’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Alex said, utterly unmoved. And he really wasn’t moved, either, behind his rigid poker face. He had never invited President Tyborne to use his first name, and the president would indeed have been deeply shocked if he’d found out Alex’s honest opinion of him. For Alex, though, it was inconceivable that he would give such an opinion, either to the President or about him. Marc Tyborne was the head of state, Alex was sworn to serve and obey the head of state as the League’s ultimate chief of staff, and he would, therefore, obey and respect Marc Tyborne
as
the president regardless of his opinion of him as a human being. As in previous encounters, though, the president chose to see Alex’s stiff demeanour as if he was just being modest, even shy.

‘And you’ve achieved so much, already – if there was any justice, you’d be coming home to a tickertape parade. But all I can say is well
done¸
Alex, very well
done!
’

He was clearly intending to continue on that theme for some minutes, telling Alex just how well he
had
done, but Davie’s boredom threshold, never high, had already been reached.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he interrupted irritably. ‘He’s brilliant, you’re grateful, let’s just take that as read. And no,’ he said, as the president turned to him, ‘do
not
start telling me how brilliant I am, too – I already know how brilliant I am, thanks. What I want to know is why I’m being given the bum’s rush, here, and shoved out of further dealings with the Samartians when I would have thought it was obvious even to a complete…’

He broke off as Alex gave him one of their signals, devised on the way out to Samart as entirely private codes between themselves. This one – a very slight shift of his weight to his left foot coupled with a one-second glance at the floor, was a firm and unequivocal
Shut up!
Davie had responded to that automatically before he realised that Alex was giving him an order, there, and by the time he’d realised
that,
he’d already recognised, himself, that his attitude was perhaps not as courteous as it should be to the duly elected leader of the League.

‘Karlos…?’ The President looked at the League’s most senior diplomat, clearly expecting him to pick up and answer that question. The Ambassador cleared his throat apologetically.

‘It isn’t that we don’t want you to have any more involvement with the Samartians, Mr North,’ he said. ‘Obviously, your expertise and experience with them is invaluable. But we do have something of a situation that we feel
may
be of more immediate priority.’

Seeing that he had Davie’s full attention, he proceeded, ‘During your absence, we have received some rather startling information from Quarus …
very
startling, frankly. We were aware, of course, that it was the quarians who bio-engineered you, in accordance with your father’s, uh, specifications, with the stated intention of creating a genome ideally suited to representing us in exodiplomacy. Which is, clearly…’ he saw Davie’s cold stare and abandoned the fulsome flattery he’d been about to deliver. ‘Well, obviously working out very well,’ he amended. ‘And it turns out, we find, that the quarians also thought this was an interesting idea. So much so, indeed, that in the light of the regrettably deteriorating relationship between them and ourselves, and our inability to achieve understanding even with the best effort and goodwill on both sides, it appears that they… well, that they decided to do the same thing. They have engineered an adapt, a genome, for themselves, and in that, we gather, have copied, almost exactly, the specifications your father gave them.’

Davie stopped breathing. His eyes went very wide and he stood very still, as if fixed in stasis.

‘They made a child,’ Karlos Gerard told him, ‘the year after they engineered you. And since she is now old enough to take up her diplomatic role, and is apparently happy to do so, they have told us about her. Her name,’ his tone acquired just the hint of despair that diplomats tended to get after any prolonged efforts at working with quarians, ‘is Ambassador. She is currently on one of our ships, en-route to X-Base Serenity, and we
were
…’

He found himself speaking to the empty space where Davie North had been, and by the time it took him to turn his head, the door was already closing.

Alex had seen, though. Working with Davie so intensively through the Samart mission had made him much more sensitive to high-speed communication, and he had already been watching Davie’s face far more closely than the Ambassador.

He had caught the glance that Davie gave him – so fast it was barely more than a flick of his eyes, but conveying so much information that Alex actually forgot where he was for a moment and broke into a grin.

Joy was too small a word for what Davie North was feeling right then. To be the only one of your kind in the known universe had to be an incredibly lonely thing to live with, and Davie did not attempt to deny that it was, either. He had already found the joy of friendship with Shion, the only person in League space who could communicate with him at his level and keep up with him both physically and intellectually. Even Shion, though, was not like him – their abilities were similar but she was genetically very different. So to be told that there was, in fact, another person out there who really was just like him, genetically, was a life-changing revelation.

Everything he felt about that was in the look he gave Alex, as obvious as if he’d yelled it aloud, and so too was the ‘Bye – see you!’ in the half second before he turned and started running for the door. He didn’t need to run, of course. It would take even the Stepeasy some hours to take on supplies and re-launch, and he and Alex would talk again before Davie left. For right now, though, Davie’s excitement was such that he just could not contain it, not even to the point of remembering to restrict himself to human levels while amongst those he called ‘norms’. He was gone in a heartbeat, leaving all of them just staring at the quietly closing door.

‘… wondering if you would like to go and meet her,’ the Ambassador concluded what he’d been going to say on a dry note, and looked at Marc Tyborne. ‘I
think
we may take that as a yes, Mr President.’

The president gave a little chuckle and a pleased nod – by the time he looked back across at Alex, the captain had wiped the brief grin off his face.

‘We’re not looking to involve you in that,’ the president told him. ‘At least, not immediately. Dix will give you your orders,’ he gestured at the First Lord, who smiled. ‘After a
well
earned rest at Therik, of course. We won’t keep you here any longer than we have to, Alex – but you
will
give me the pleasure of dining on your ship, yes?’

‘We would be honoured, sir,’ said Alex, and not even micro-analysis could have detected any outer sign of his inward sigh, at that.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said the president, and smacked Alex on the arm with robust, manly bonhomie. ‘
Very
well done,’ he said again, and with that, looked across at Ambassador Gerard with more than a hint of challenge, ‘don’t you agree, Karlos?’

‘Oh, certainly, Mr President,’ the Ambassador said, with more courtesy than sincerity. ‘Though I do still feel that it would be advantageous to provide Captain von Strada with an experienced diplomat in order to advise…’

‘You leave him be!’ The president overrode him, mock-jovially but with an edge which made it apparent that this was a debate they’d been having throughout. ‘The way he gets things done may not be according to your book, but he
gets
things done, and I won’t have you trying to stifle him with your procedures and protocols and policies for everything under the sun. He’s brought us an alliance with Samart, Karlos, with
Samart!
And you’re not going to tell me that any of your guys could have done any better than that.’

‘It’s a remarkable achievement, of course,’ said the Ambassador, ‘But with all due respect to yourself
and
to Captain von Strada, I do believe that there are some aspects which could have been improved upon with a little more knowledge of established diplomatic protocols. I mean,’ he looked at Alex then, holding out his hands in appeal, ‘did you
have
to agree to them calling us the
Backward
people? And for our consular base there to be on round the clock live
holovision
?’

Alex just gazed steadily back at him. Even if he’d wanted to reply, the president was giving him no opportunity to do so.

‘Who cares what they call us?’ He dismissed the Ambassador’s plea with an impatient gesture. ‘They’re willing to share their technology and weapons – that’s all that counts!’

‘It’s just basic diplomacy,’ the Ambassador stuck to his guns, courteous but immovable, ‘in first-touch encounters,
not
to set up normative precedents which found the ongoing relationship in awkward, difficult…’

‘Whatever difficulties there may be, I have every confidence you’ll deal with it,’ said the president, firmly, and with such a look that the Ambassador recognised the limit of permitted ‘advising’ amongst the chiefs of staff.

‘Yes, Mr President,’ said the Ambassador, and said no more, though Alex knew very well that there was a great deal more he
did
want to say, and not much of it complimentary.

‘All right,’ the president beamed back at Alex, seized his hand and shook it again. ‘
Very
well done,’ he said, for the ninth time. Then he released him with a flourish towards Dix Harangay. ‘Give him a drink,’ he commanded. ‘He’s earned it.’

‘Sir,’ Dix acquiesced, and gestured invitingly towards the door. ‘Captain?’

He took Alex to the office maintained for his use on the station, abandoning formality as he shrugged off his dress uniform jacket once the door had closed behind them.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he waved Alex towards a seat, and seeing the way that Alex glanced around, grinned, ‘Yes, I know.’

The room was twice the size of the First Lord’s office, groundside.
That
office was hallowed by centuries of tradition, regarded almost as a sacred space by many members of the Fleet.
This
office had been furnished by some very trendy designer given a very large budget and the brief, ‘make it imposing’. The décor was highly stylised, all the furniture angular and over-sized. Every surface either glowed with internal lighting or gleamed with high gloss. The overall effect was rather like being in an expensive wedding venue.

‘
Would
you like a drink?’ Dix asked, indicating a hospitality bar shaped like a geometric mushroom.

‘I’d love a coffee, thank you, sir.’ Alex said, declining the tacit offer, there, to disregard one of the most strictly enforced rules in the Fleet, and allow him a glass of something alcoholic.

Dix looked amused, but just got two coffees, making no comment.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Alex said again, accepting the cup from him with due appreciation for the fact that the First Lord had got him that coffee himself, rather than buzzing for his steward to serve them.

‘I think,’ Dix said, sitting down himself and regarding Alex with an appraising eye, ‘that now you are a flag officer yourself, it would be acceptable for you to address me as Dix, in private.’ A slight hesitation, and a diffident note. ‘Should you wish to do so, obviously.’

Alex grinned, fully appreciating the fact that Dix Harangay knew how he felt about being so liberally first-named by the President, and was giving him an opt-out if he felt that to be patronising from him, too.

‘Thank you,’ he said, and with just a hint of self-consciousness himself, ‘Dix.’ As the First Lord smiled, Alex took a sip of his coffee. ‘Excellent,’ he said, and looked at him expectantly.

Dix gave a little chuckle.

‘Okay,’ he said, recognising that that was as much small talk as he was liable to get from Alex. ‘To business, then. First, I have to ask you, Alex – what would your reaction be, hypothetically, to a suggestion that you might upgrade from the Heron to a larger ship – say, perhaps, a thunderstar?’

Alex put down his coffee.

‘If those are my orders…’ he said, slowly.

‘No, I’m asking what you’d
think
.’ Dix pressed.