The ratings nodded. One of them, green-faced, gulped, and Moronici swiftly yanked a sick bag from the back of an adjacent seat and held it in front of the man’s face. Rachel saw what he was trying to do; the pep talk was as much a distraction from the disorientation of free fall as anything else.
Rachel closed her eyes and breathed deeply — then regretted it: the shuttle stank of stale sweat, with a faint undertone of ozone and the sickly-sweet odor of acetone. It had been a long time since she’d prayed for anything, but right now she was praying with all her might for this ride in a tin can to come to an end. It was the crummiest excuse for a shuttle she’d been on in decades, an old banger like something out of an historical drama. It seemed to go on and on. Until, of course, it stopped with a buffet and clang as they latched on to the Lord Vanek’s stabilized docking adapter, then a grinding creak as it pulled them in and spun them up, and a hiss as pressure equalized.
“Erm, Colonel?”
She opened her eyes. It was CPO Moronici. He looked somewhat green, as if unsure how to deal with her. “It’s alright, Chief. I’ve gone aboard foreign naval vessels before.” She stood. “Is there anyone waiting for me?”
“Yes’m.” He stared straight ahead, as if outrageously embarrassed.
“Fine.” She unbuckled, stood, feeling the uneven gravity of the battlecruiser’s spin, and adjusted her beret. “Let me at them.”
The airlock opened. “Section, present — arms!”
She stepped forward into the docking bay, feeling the incredulous stares from all sides. A senior officer, a commander if she read his insignia correctly, was waiting for her, face stiffly frozen to conceal the inevitable surprise. “Colonel Mansour, UN Disarmament Inspectorate,” she said. “Hello, Commander—”
“Murametz.” He blinked, perplexed. “Ah, your papers? Lieutenant Menvik says you’re attached to the Admiral’s staff. But they didn’t tell us to expect you—”
“That’s perfectly alright.” She pointed him down the corridor that led to the ship’s main service core.
“They don’t know about me yet. At least, not unless Archduke Michael warned them. Just take me to see the Admiral, and everything will be alright.”
Her luggage rolled quietly after her, on a myriad of brightly colored ball bearings.
The Admiral was having a bad morning: his false pregnancy was causing problems again.
“I feel ill,” he mumbled quietly. “Do I have to — to get up?”
“It would help, sir.” Robard, his batman, gently slid an arm around his shoulders to help him sit up. “We depart in four hours. Your staff meeting is penciled in for two hours after that, and you have an appointment with Commodore Bauer before then. Ah, there’s also a communique from His Royal Highness that has a most-urgent seal on it.”
“Well bring it — it — it in then,” said the Admiral. “Damned morning sickness …” Just then, the annunciator in the next room chimed softly. “I’ll just check that, sir,” said Robard. Then:
“Someone to see you, sir. Without an appointment. Ah — it’s a what? A—oh, I see. Alright then. He’ll be ready in a minute.” Pacing back into the bedroom, he cleared his throat. “Sir, are you ready? Ah, yes.
Ahem. You have a visitor, sir. A diplomat who has been seconded to your staff by order of Archduke Michael; some sort of foreign observer.”
“Oh.” Kurtz frowned. “Didn’t have any of them back at Second Lamprey. Just as well, really. Just lots of darkies. Bloody bad sports, those darkies, wouldn’t stand still and be shot. Bloody foreigners. Show the man in!”
Robard cast a critical eye over his master. Sitting up in bed with his jacket wrapped around his shoulders, he looked like a convalescent turtle — but marginally presentable. As long as he didn’t tell the ambassador all about his ailment, it could probably be passed off as an attack of gout. “Yes, sir.” The door opened and Robard’s jaw dropped. Standing there was a stranger in a strange uniform. He had an attache case clasped under one arm, and a rather bemused-looking commander standing beside him. Something about the man shrieked of strangeness, until Robard worked it out; his mouth twisted with distaste as he muttered, “Invert,” to himself.
Then the stranger spoke — in a clear, high voice. “United Nations of Earth, Standing Committee on Multilateral Disarmament. I’m Colonel Mansour, special agent and military attache to the embassy, attached to this expedition as an observer on behalf of the central powers. My credentials.” That voice!
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was a woman, thought Robard.
“Thank you. If you’d come this way, please, my lord is indisposed but will receive you in his sleeping quarters.” Robard bowed and backed into the Admiral’s bedroom, where he was mortified to find the old man lying back on his pillows, mouth agape, snoring quietly.
“Ahem. Sir! Your Lordship!” A bleary eye opened. “May I introduce Colonel, ah—”
“—Rachel Mansour.”
“—Rachel Mansour”—he squeaked—“from Earth, military attache from the embassy! His, er, credentials.” The colonel looked on, smiling faintly as the flustered batman proffered the case to the Admiral.
“S’funny name for a c-colonel, Colonel,” mumbled the Admiral. “Are ye sure you’re not a, a — ah—” He sneezed, violently, then sat up. “Damn these goose-down pillows,” he complained bitterly. “And damn the gout. Wasn’t like this at First Lamprey.”
“Indeed not,” Rachel observed drily. “Lots of sand there, as I recall.”
“Very good, that man! Lots of sand, indeed, lots of sand. Sun beating down on your head, ragheads all over the place shooting at you, and not really anything big enough to nuke from orbit. Whose command were you in, eh?”
“As a matter of fact, I was with the war crimes tribunal. Sifting mummified body parts for evidence.” Robard went gray, waiting for the Admiral to detonate, but the old man simply laughed raucously.
“Robard! Help me up, there’s a good fellow. I say-ay, I never expected to meet a fellow veteran here!
To my desk. I must inspect his credentials!”
Somehow they managed to migrate the fifteen feet or so to the Admiral’s study without his complaining bitterly about the cost of maternity wear or gingerly inspecting his legs to make sure they hadn’t turned to glass overnight — one of his occasional nightmares — and the effeminate colonel discreetly slid himself into one of the visitor’s chairs. Robard stared at the man. A woman’s name, a high voice, if he didn’t know better, he could almost believe that—
“Duke Michael agreed to my presence for two reasons,” said Mansour. “Firstly, you should be aware that as an agent of the UN it is my job to report back impartially on any — I emphasize, any—violations of treaties to which your government is a party. But more importantly, there is a shortage of information about the entity which has attacked your colony world. I’m also here to bear witness in case they make use of forbidden or criminal weapons. I am also authorized to act as a neutral third party for purposes of arbitration and parley, to arrange exchanges of prisoners and cease-fires, and to ensure that, insofar as any war can be conducted in a civilized manner, this one is.”
“Well that’s a damn fine thing to know, sir, and you are welcome to join my staff,” said the Admiral, sitting upright in his bath chair. “Feel free to approach me whenever you want! You’re a good man, and I’m pleased to know there’s another vet-eteran of First Lamprey in the fleet.” For a brief moment, he looked alarmed. “Oh dear. It’s kicking again.”