Nilis clapped his hands, and his Virtuals crumpled up and disappeared. “Fascinating, fascinating. I am studying Chandra’s central singularity now, what we can tell of it through the external features of the event horizon and the surrounding spacetime. Even there, deep in the heart of the black hole, there is structure. That thing at the center of the Galaxy, you know, is like an onion; just when you’ve peeled away one layer, well, my eyes, all you find is another layer underneath, another layer of astrophysics and life and meaning — quite remarkable — I wonder if we’ll ever get to the bottom of it.”
Pirius didn’t know what an onion was, and couldn’t comment. But he could see Nilis was restless. “You seem unhappy, Commissary.”
Nilis said ruefully, “Perceptive as ever, Pirius! But it’s true. I am frustrated. I thought I would make fast progress with this work here at Arches, now that I am so close to the object of my study. But suddenly it has become much more difficult. I’m being denied access to records. When I do track down an archive I find it’s been emptied or moved — I’m even short on processing power to analyze it!” He shook his head. “I try not to be paranoid, any more than any citizen of our wonderful Coalition has a right to be. In Sol system I was given assistance with my studies. Now it feels as if I am being impeded at every step! But if it’s purposeful, what I don’t see is why — and who is trying to block me.”
Pila said, with her usual cold sarcasm, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your absorbing work, Commissary. But you called us here.”
“Quite so, quite so.” He took a sip from some tepid drink that had been standing so long on the table it had dust on its surface. “Let’s get on, then. I wondered how the new squadron is doing. What are your priorities, Pirius?”
That was easy. “We have to assemble the hardware and the crews. Then we will run two parallel programs: technical development, to get the new equipment fitted to the ships and make them combat-worthy, and training, to get the crews ready to fly the mission.”
“Good, good; nobody would argue with that. But time is short. What actual progress have you made?”
“I’m proud to have been given this commission, sir…”
The Commissary’s sharp, moist eyes were on him, and Nilis clearly noticed the patches where Pirius had ripped off his epaulettes. “You haven’t actually got anywhere, have you, Squadron Leader?”
“He is overpromoted,” Pila said coldly.
“No,” Nilis said. “This is a battlefield promotion. Needs must, madam. Pirius is right for the job, I’m convinced of it. I’ve seen his work in two different timelines! But where he lacks experience, we must find ways to help him.”
Pila looked at him suspiciously. “Which is where I come in, is it? I think you’d better get to the point, Commissary.”
Nilis turned to Pirius. “Pilot, have you selected your adjutant yet? Every squadron leader needs one.”
Pirius felt even more out of his depth. “I’m not even sure what an adjutant does, sir.”
Nilis laughed. “Of course not. Which is why your choice is particularly important. Your adjutant is your key member of staff. She is your personal assistant, if you like. She is responsible for the day- to-day running of your squadron, leaving you to concentrate on the flying. She drafts your orders, filters demands on your time, and ensures you get the resources you need, everything from GUTdrive parts to ration packs. You see? Now, have you any thoughts?”
Pirius shrugged. “Torec, perhaps—”
Nilis said gently, “Torec is a fine woman, a warrior, and a close companion. But she doesn’t have the skills — the political, the administrative — that you’re going to need now.”
Pirius suddenly saw where this was going.
Pila’s face was extraordinary; Pirius would never have imagined that so much anger and contempt could be expressed with such stillness. She said, “Are you joking, Commissary? Me?”
“Joking? Not at all,” Nilis said breezily. “Think about it for a moment. The job won’t be so terribly different from what you do for Gramm. You undoubtedly have the administrative skills. And with your, umm, strong personality you will cut like a blade through the buffoonery and obstructionism of the various turf warriors here at the Base. You could even pull levers at the Ministry of Economic Warfare if you have to. Besides, as one of the party who came with me from Earth, you understand the nature of our unique project better than anybody at Arches.
“And,” he said with a dismissive wave, “it needn’t interfere with your primary duty, which is spying for Minister Gramm. You can do that just as effectively while getting on with some worthwhile work as welclass="underline" ”
Color spotted Pila’s cheeks, but she still hadn’t moved a muscle. “You wouldn’t dare say that if Gramm were here.”
“Oh, he already knows! I discussed the idea with him before broaching it with you. He’s quite agreeable. I think he finds the idea of you having to cope with frontline soldiery quite amusing.” He folded his hands in his lap, and looked from one to the other.
Pirius took that as his cue. He stood up. “I think we’re done here.”
“So we are, Pilot,” Nilis said genially.
“Madam, welcome aboard—”
“Don’t even talk to me, you twisted little freak!” In the windows of her pale eyes he saw the contempt of this earthworm for the soldiers who fought and died to protect her.
But Pirius held his nerve. “Working together is going to be interesting. But I think the Commissary is right. And we only have ten weeks. There’s an empty room down the corridor. Maybe we should start right now.”
Pila stood stock still, and Pirius wondered what even the Commissary could do about it if she refused to cooperate. But with a last murderous glance at Nilis, she stalked out.
Nilis was immersed in his Virtuals before Pirius had even left the room. But he called, “Oh, Pirius. Get those epaulettes sewn back on. That doesn’t look good, not good at all.”
Reluctant or not, Pila was remarkably efficient. Within forty-eight hours she had secured Pirius a small office of his own — small, plain, with hardly any facilities, but a room in Officer Country nonetheless. And she had already pulled various bureaucratic levers effectively enough to line up candidates for the squadron.
The first of them was a woman, a former pilot called Jees.
Long before Jees reached his office Pirius could hear the whir of exoskeletal supports as she clumped down the corridor. When she came in, he was shocked. Her lower body had been sliced away on a line that ran from her ribs on her right hand side to her pelvis on her left, the flesh and bone and blood replaced by a cold mass of silvery prostheses. When she sat down, the chair creaked at her inhuman weight.
But her hair, cut short, was a bright blond, and her skin was unlined. She was even beautiful. She could have been no more than his own age — but her eyes were dull.
She told him her history. She had been involved in two actions. She had survived the first, but had been caught by a starbreaker in the second. She had been lucky to live at all, of course. Most of her squadron, cut apart, hadn’t. She told this story unemotionally, lacing it with dates and reference numbers that meant nothing to Pirius. “If you get back to base they fix you up. The medics.” A half- smile crossed her face. “As long as there’s a piece of you left, they can replace what’s missing.”
It was impossible to feel pity for her; she was too damaged for that.
“Your current assignment is ground crew.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You really think you can fly again?”
“I volunteered,” she said. “I’m a pilot, not a mechanic. You’ve seen my evaluation. My reflexes and coordination and all the rest are as good as they were. Augmented, some of them are better, in fact. But—”