"At ease, Captain," Renford said, returning her salute.
"Sorry I'm late, Admiral, but it was unavoidable. I was attacked this morning in my quarters."
The Admiral nodded. "I just got off the phone with Staff Sergeant Evans." He motioned Susan to a chair before his desk. "Tell me what happened."
As she sat, she looked to Hyatt, then back to Renford. "Is it all right to talk in front of him, sir?"
"He should hear anything you have to say." Renford turned to the civilian. "Fred, this is Captain Susan Tanner."
"Mr. Hyatt," Susan acknowledged, extending her hand. Hyatt made no move to take it, but gave her a close once-over, not unlike the look the dark man had given her before launching his attack.
"You're sure I should talk with a civilian present?" she asked, withdrawing her hand.
"I'm sure," Renford said. "Let's have it, Captain."
Hyatt's sharp and calculating gaze never left her as she told her story.
"…So I told Staff Sergeant Evans what I've just told you, then came straight here."
That wasn't entirely true. This time around, she had left out the part about her attacker vanishing into thin air. She told Renford simply that he had escaped; she had learned from Evans's reaction.
But had Evans said anything about it to the Admiral?
If so, Renford gave no indication. He scratched along his jaw line and opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Finally, he simply shook his head.
"This is the ship's pilot you told me about?" Hyatt asked, speaking for the first time since Susan had entered the room. His voice was extremely high pitched- much higher than it had seemed during his holo-vid broadcasts. It must be electronically altered during those broadcasts, she thought.
"Uh, yes," Renford said, abandoning his own thoughts with obvious reluctance.
"She's Art Tanner's daughter, then?"
The Admiral nodded.
Instantly, Susan thought about her father. Like Renford, he too had been an admiral with Fleet, highly decorated during the Oromine rebellion. Both her father and her mother had died when she was two, in the New Year's Eve riot of '47.
"And she was in command during the Aldebaran affair?"
"That's right."
"I understand there was considerable physical damage," Hyatt said, and Susan looked down at her hands resting in her lap. For the first time in years they felt unnatural, alien.
"Her arms and hands," Renford said, looking at Susan, "and a metal plate in her head. But she's perfectly fine now. Her prosthetics are much stronger than flesh and bone could ever be." Without thought, Susan flexed her hands. "She can do things with them you wouldn't believe."
"And she hasn't piloted a ship since?"
The Admiral shook his head, his shaggy brows coming together in a frown.
Hyatt fell silent for a few seconds. Finally he said, "I don't think she's right for this-there's still too much publicity surrounding Aldebaran. And now, someone's trying to kill her."
"What you mean is you don't want any leaks," Renford said. "It might cause political embarrassment."
"Hang the political embarrassment," the small man squeaked. "I've dealt with it before, and survived. But you're right, I don't want any security leaks; I won't lose General Fund money over this."
"So, that's what this is all about."
"What else is there?"
The Admiral took a moment to calm himself, then said, "She can still handle your assignment, whatever it is. She possesess some rather unique capabilities."
"Has she been tested?"
Renford nodded. "She checks positive."
Tested? For what? Before Susan could ask, Hyatt spoke again.
"I'm afraid I am at a disadvantage here. You know your people, and I don't."
Both men were silent for several seconds. Renford rocked on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, while the civilian chewed on his lower lip.
Finally, Hyatt said, "I suppose I must trust your judgement. Have her orders cut." He glanced at Susan, again fixing her with his gaze, then looked at his wrist chronometer. Without uttering another word, he strode from the room
Susan looked up at Renford. The Admiral glared at the door as it irised closed behind Hyatt. For the first time since joining his staff, she saw disgust in his gaze. Perhaps even hate.
"He's a strange one," she said, more to break the silence than for any other reason.
Renford nodded. "But he's one of the shrewdest, most intelligent individuals I've ever met."
Susan nodded noncommittally. "Why is he like that? Why such concern over General Fund money?"
The Admiral was quiet for a few seconds. Finally he shrugged and said, "You know the story of the Survey Service's formation?"
"Of course," Susan said. Everyone knew the Service's history. It was started nearly fifty years before, by a group of Federation Fleet officers who found they could no longer condone a military presence in space. Humanity should be peacefully exploring the infinite frontier, they proclaimed, searching for signs of intelligent life other than humankind, rather than suppressing its own struggling colonies. They felt the human race could better use its time and talents seeking an intelligence that had not yet been discovered and had not even left a clue to its existence, but which they none-the-less believed did exist. Their convictions were so strong they resigned their commissions in Fleet to form the Survey Service.
"Hyatt was one of the Service's founders." the Admiral said. "He was one of its first pilots, when General Fund money was tighter than it is now."
Again Susan nodded. "What was it you told him I'm right for?"
"A special assignment. He wants you to report to the Survey Service duty desk in Luna City by twelve hundred hours tomorrow."
"An assignment for which there are to be absolutely no security leaks."
"That's right." Disgust was again evident in Renford's voice.
"And just what is this assignment?"
The Admiral shrugged. "All Hyatt would say was that he needed someone with a background similar to your own-someone with extensive hand-to-hand training and experience in security. And he wanted a qualified ship's pilot."
Once more Susan thought of Aldebaran, and flashes of the nightmare entered her mind. "I'm no longer a ship's pilot."
"You're wrong," Renford said. "You were never stricken from the active roster. The only thing holding you back is your own lack of confidence. That's all that has ever held you back."
No, Susan thought, he is wrong. Although she had been vindicated ten years ago at her court-martial-it had been said more than once that she had done more for her crew than humanly possible, seeming to be in more than one place at a time-she knew it had been a mere formality, a way for Fleet to save face in a bad situation. If they publicly stated that she had done nothing wrong in Aldebaran system, then she would not have, and Fleet's record would remain unblemished.
But she knew better. She alone knew the true extent of her guilt. She had come away from that court-martial a hero, receiving a decoration and several letters of commendation, but she had lived with her guilt ever since. She was responsible for those deaths-it had been her decision to run the blockade. And, although she'd had the opportunity to save at least a portion of her crew, she could not remember making the attempt. Traumatic amnesia, the doctors had called it.