Warnocki gave them some credit, actually listening to what they had to say, but even he was more disbelieving than otherwise. Gill and the corpsmen were investigating time-shift effects, with Hernandez helping with the net search, and at any rate neither Peters nor Todd had learned much that would be interesting to the medics. The worst was Howard. CTs had to be bright to get the rate, and got a lot of training; they were used to being the smartest people in any given room, and having a couple of juniors ahead of him made this one grumpy and hard to get along with.
Around 1500 they broke for coffee and head calls, and when they got back a man and a woman, dressed upscale and carrying briefcases, were sitting at the table with the Master Chief, with a pair of Federal Security goons in green blazers standing behind them, arms folded. “Like you to meet Agent Styles and Agent Cade of the IRS,” Joshua introduced them, face and voice studiously neutral. “We’ll be gone for quite some time, and we have to have our ducks in a row with the tax people. Agent Styles?”
The man stood. “Thank you, Mr. Joshua. Gentlemen, as you can imagine this situation causes a great deal of difficulty for us at the IRS. You’re scheduled to leave before the end of the tax year, and you may not return for as many as three cycles. We’ve carefully studied the Executive Order that authorizes this expedition, and the tax implications aren’t at all clear.” He hesitated as the sailors exchanged glances, then went on, “This has been put together much too quickly for us to determine policy. As an interim measure, we need for you all to complete your forms for 2053 before you depart. For those of you with no income other than your Navy pay the end of the tax year will be as usual; simply include your pay for December as income. If you have other income, you’ll have to fill out a 9327A to end the tax year on 1 December. We can stretch the regulations to push your December income into taxable year 2054. After that we don’t know what provisions will be made.”
One of the sailors raised a hand. “Mr. Styles, won’t we be on combat exclusion?”
“Please stand and give your name,” Styles said. “And I prefer ‘Agent Styles,’ if you don’t mind.”
“Kiel, Corpsman Second Class.” Kiel stood slowly. “In an exclusion zone we don’t pay taxes on our Navy pay. Won’t it be that way on this deployment?”
Styles shook his head. “That determination hasn’t been made, Mr. Kiel, and in any case you’re required to file even when the combat exclusion is in effect. Furthermore, income other than your Navy pay and benefits isn’t subject to the exclusion; you would have to file and pay tax if you have such outside income.” The agent pursed his lips in an expression of distaste. “The best we can do is let you terminate the tax year early, so you’ll be in compliance for 2053. Further determinations will have to made when you return.”
“It would really be best if you had an agent who stayed behind,” the woman put in. “Your pay and other income will be accrued here, and such an agent could file for you. There’d be the irregularity that your signatures wouldn’t be present, but that’s minor. I’m sure the penalty could be waived.”
“Hire a lawyer to keep our tax forms current while we’re gone?” Hernandez objected. “That’d eat up my whole paycheck.”
Styles regarded him with disfavor. “We can’t help that. You’re required to file.”
“Perhaps a dependent,” the woman suggested.
“None of us has dependents,” Chief Gill objected. “It was one of the requirements for volunteers.”
“Then a tax lawyer would really be best,” the woman noted.
“But it isn’t an option for most of us. Do you have any other suggestions?” Gill asked.
Styles lifted his chin. “We are not authorized to advise taxpayers on methods of compliance,” he said frostily. “Agent Cade has already gone much farther than she should have. We will leave a supply of paper forms with Mr. Joshua for those of you who aren’t able to file electronically or don’t care to. We very much prefer electronic filing, but we understand that it may be impossible in the circumstances. Beyond that, all we can do is advise you to comply with the law. There are severe penalties for not complying fully.” He looked at the Master Chief. “I believe that’s all we have for you.”
The Master Chief nodded but didn’t rise. “Thank you, Agent Styles,” he said in a monotone.
Styles stared for a long moment. “Laura,” he said, half-questioning, and made a little comealong gesture with his left hand. One of the FedSec goons went to the door, looked up and down the hall, and nodded shortly. The woman stood and went ahead of Styles, who glanced impassively back at the group as he left, and the other goon followed, keeping his head turned toward the sailors until he closed the door.
“Hunh,” said Gill contemptuously. No one else commented, and the Master Chief brought his hand down on the table in an explosive slap, wham! “Let’s get back on track,” he said. “I’ll pass out the forms when I get them. Chief Gill, I think we were talking about foods and allergies before we broke for coffee. Any more you want to ask about?”
They broke for chow, at the EM club again, and got back at it, and it was almost twenty hours when Chief Joshua finally called a halt. He handed Peters and Todd copies of the IRS forms, then whistled up the Suburban and driver that had brought them to the Naval Air Station. Dee’s watch read a few tle before the fourth utle when they pulled up by the athletic field at Mayport. “Thanks,” Peters told the driver.
“No prob’, man.”
“And here’s our ride.” Todd pointed above the admin building, where the dli was ghosting in, still improbably silent. The driver’s eyes were wide in the dark. “See you another time,” Todd told him.
“Yeah, see ya,” the driver said abstractedly, eyes following the white shape as it settled on the grass. A Marine challenged them, but contented himself with a cursory scan of their ID blocks, and Dreelig appeared at the hatch. It said a lot about their day that his alien face looked welcoming, a comforting relief.
Chapter Eight
“You look very tired,” Dreeling observed. “Were you successful?”
Peters just grunted. Todd answered, “Yes, I think we were, but it was pretty wearing. What about yourself?”
“Very well.” Dreelig was smiling. “We did not accomplish much, but the social interactions were fascinating. Secretary Averill was very deferential to Donollo.”
“That’s great,” Todd told him. “Oh, shit, I almost forgot. Dreelig, what’s the ship made out of?”
“I don’t understand the question,” the Grallt confessed.
Todd waved at the ceiling. “The ship up there. What material is it made of? Steel, aluminum, titanium, or what?”
Dreelig’s eyes were wide. “I have never thought to ask. Do you need to know at this moment?”
Todd yawned. “Yes, right now if possible. I need to send a message.”
“Then please wait a few moments. I will ask Gell, perhaps he knows.” The two sailors stood just inside the hatch, glad to be out of the wind, until the Grallt returned. “Gell doesn’t know the word in your language, and neither do I,” Dreelig told them. “He says it is the substance found at the center of planets like this one, or almost the same. Does that help?”
“Not really,” Todd said, but then a dim memory surfaced. “You know, it does help after all. I’ll be right back.” He climbed down the step to chat with one of the sentries. “I left a message with the Marines,” he told them when he got back. “God only knows if Warnocki’ll get it.” He yawned again and stretched. “I am beat, let me tell you.”