Vanderveen felt a stab of concern. Even though her mother might look like a helpless socialite, she was an active horsewoman and possessed an inner toughness. But working with the resistance? Shooting Ramanthians? That was hard to imagine.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Charles said as he took control of her rolling suitcase. “Because I made dinner. It may be humble, but my cooking beats the Foreign Service mess. You’re staying with me by the way. I scored a one-bedroom apartment back when such a thing was still possible. And the couch is yours.”
“Sounds good,” Vanderveen said as she took his arm. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
The apartment was located in the so-called old fort. It was small but included a kitchenette, bathroom, bedroom, and a sitting area. A far cry from the one-room “boxes” that were presently being constructed. And while the decor would never have passed muster with her mother, Vanderveen thought the comfortable mix of Naa artifacts, outdoorsy paraphernalia, and leather-covered furniture was just right for a bachelor dad.
The main course had been simmering for hours. It consisted of a hearty dooth stew, chunks of fresh bread purchased in New Town, and a bottle of Napa Valley red that had been given to Charles as a gift six months earlier. The whole thing was delicious and took nearly two hours to consume as they told stories and caught up.
Eventually, it was one such story that led Vanderveen to mention the issue foremost on her mind. “So you’re plugged in. What have you heard? Where am I headed?”
Charles looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know, hon. For some reason, people don’t talk about you when I’m around.”
Vanderveen could see the concern in his eyes and felt a sudden sense of apprehension. “Come on, Dad… Level with me. You know something.”
Charles shrugged. “No, I don’t. Not really. But I can make an educated guess. Odds are that Nankool and senior members of his team are rather conflicted where you’re concerned. And that’s understandable,” he said clinically. “The way I hear it, you formed a relationship with members of the Clone underground on Alpha-001 during a state visit. And after meeting with them, you came to the conclusion that their efforts to overthrow the government might be successful.
“So you shared that opinion with your superiors and recommended that they agree to some sort of a deal. They said ‘no.’ So you went AWOL. Ultimately, your judgment was proven to be correct. And thanks to your relationship with the rebels, the new government became part of the Confederacy. But, had the revolt failed, your actions could have done considerable damage to our relationship with the Alpha Clones. Is that a fair summation?”
Vanderveen could see the disapproval in her father’s eyes, and it hurt, largely because she knew he was correct. Her actions had been very dangerous indeed. And she had come to regret her relationship with the rebel leader, Alan Freeman. An affair that might have influenced her judgment-and violated the implicit agreement that she had with Santana. It was difficult to meet her father’s eyes. “Yes, that’s a fair summation.”
Charles leaned back in his chair. “Okay, then. So you can see the president’s dilemma. Should he punish you for disobeying a directive? Or reward you for bringing a powerful ally over to our side?”
“Which means?”
“Which means that your fate is probably up in the air. But that’s just a guess.”
There was a long moment of silence as Vanderveen looked away. Finally, when her eyes came back, his were waiting. “So I screwed up?”
Charles nodded. “I would break you down to file clerk 1.”
Vanderveen forced a smile. “Mom wouldn’t let you.”
Charles laughed. “No, she probably wouldn’t.”
“I’ll check in first thing tomorrow. Or four days from now, as the case may be.”
Charles laughed and raised his glass. “Confusion to the enemy.”
Vanderveen wondered which enemy he was referring to. The Ramanthians? The Foreign Service? Or something inside of her? She took a sip of wine. It was anything but sweet.
Her father’s couch wasn’t all that comfortable. And she had a lot to think about. So about three hours passed before Vanderveen was able to fall asleep. And when she awoke, it was to find that her father had already eaten breakfast and left for work. That made her feel guilty. Because she was used to working and working hard.
So she showered, put on a conservative suit, and made herself a light breakfast. Then, with a mostly empty briefcase in hand, Vanderveen locked the door behind her and went looking for the so-called government block, where Secretary of State Mary Yatsu’s office was located. Not that she would get to meet with the secretary. Because while Vanderveen was fairly senior, especially for a person her age, she wasn’t that senior. No, chances were that she would be handed off to an assistant secretary of state. And that was fine so long as it wasn’t Richard Holson, who had been in charge of negotiations on Alpha-001 and been very upset with what he referred to as her “antics” there.
The corridors were eternally crowded, and even though Vanderveen thought of it as morning, it was dark outside. Just one of the things Vanderveen would have to adjust to as she made a series of wrong turns and was forced to ask for directions. Ten minutes later, she arrived at the suite of offices assigned to the Foreign Service.
Blastproof duraplast doors sensed her presence and slid out of the way. The lobby was equipped to meet the needs of a wide variety of races and was already full of sentients who wanted someone to grant them a favor, explain an obscure law, or stroke their egos.
Vanderveen navigated her way around a table and the vase of flowery branches that sat on top of it, made her way over to the reception desk, and waited for the gray android to look up from the screen in front of him. The name CHET was stenciled across the center of his chest. “Yes? How can I help you?”
“I’m FSO-2 Vanderveen,” the diplomat replied. “I was ordered to report to Algeron from Alpha-001.”
“Welcome to Algeron,” Chet said tonelessly. “One moment please.”
A few seconds passed as the robot consulted his screen. “Ah, yes, here we are. You have an appointment to see Secretary Yatsu at 1500 hours local, five standard days from now.”
Vanderveen was surprised to hear that the appointment was with someone so senior and disappointed regarding the date. “ Five days? You don’t have anything earlier than that?”
“No,” the machine said unapologetically. “Will there be anything else?”
Vanderveen considered pitching a fit but knew it would be pointless. So all she could do was to say, “Okay, thank you,” and leave the office.
Disappointed, but determined to accomplish something, Vanderveen took the opportunity to visit the Foreign Service’s research library, where employees could access data on every known planet and culture. It was a long, rectangular room with partially screened workstations to either side, about half of which were occupied.
Having been told that Santana was on O-Chi 4, she sat down at a terminal. Once Vanderveen verified her identity, she was free to read about the planet, the products it was known for, and a rather superficial analysis of O-Chi civilization. There was a military summary as well, but it had been written in the immediate aftermath of a disastrous attack on a Ramanthian base and was badly outdated. Further efforts to find out what was taking place on O-Chi 4 were met with a polite, “The information you requested is not currently available,” which was govspeak for “mind your own business.”
All of which led Vanderveen to believe that Santana was on a special-operations mission of some sort. To attack the Ramanthian fortress mentioned earlier? The diplomat feared that was the case. She wanted to cry and bit her lower lip to prevent herself from doing so.
The walk to her father’s apartment was long and depressing. And when Vanderveen entered, it was to discover that an envelope with her name on it had been slipped under the door. She tore it open. The note was written in what looked like a feminine hand.