The guard stared at him. “Why?”
“So we’re accounted for. It’s policy for State and for our company.”
The man rolled his eyes, but grabbed a screen and passed it over. They each printed it and waited for it to acknowledge, then Alex handed it back.
“Thank you,” he said.
The response was a mumble.
It was less than a kilometer to the rec center, but they attracted some stares.
“Everyone drives, even here,” Aramis noted.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Want to go back, or remember that for next time?”
Bart said, “Next time we shall take a limo, just to show them up.”
“Discreet, Bart.”
“At two meters tall?” Yes, the man was huge, but they could at least try.
The weather was quite pleasant and the walk enjoyable. It was early enough that they were before shift change. That reminded him of the issue that presented.
The day here was 25 hours and change. The UN ran on Earth’s 24 hour clock, “To avoid schedule-related accidents,” and ran two 12 hour shifts. That meant a steady progression across the day. However, Highland’s appearances were mostly local day, though she, or rather Jessie, had planned some so the transmission times would hit certain areas of Earth, notably North America and Coastal Asia, during prime viewer time there, after being transferred from surface to ship, through the Jump Point then down to Earth. That was going to be murder on their own schedule.
For now, though, they should appear, participate and relax. Aramis was slightly ahead and held the door.
There were other contractors on base, but the Ripple Creek team were certainly the highest profile. Also, they were effectively combatants, while most of the others were either strictly technical support, or guards with nonlethal weapons and no authority outside the perimeter. This had caused tension before, and they expected it now.
It was made worse by their military non-uniforms. For now, they were wearing field pants with adjustable color, turned to dull gray, and collared sport shirts that had the obvious shine of nonnewtonian mesh. That said to everyone, “Contractors with assets.” Coupled with JessieM’s casual release of details, pretty much everyone knew they were Ripple Creek and Highland’s personal detail. It might be a good idea to not socialize until things had a chance to settle down and some favors were exchanged. Still, they were here now.
They picked a vacant sitting area, ignored the stares and offered an occasional polite nod, and sat down. There were a couple of mutters, but nothing seemed problematic. Of course, things might be better, or worse, after some action and interaction.
Or even right now. The lieutenant near the counter spoke loudly enough to be heard clearly.
“That’s not your problem, soldier. Contractors are exempt from all regulations. Just ask them and they’ll tell you. In exchange, they have to put up with more pay, better quarters and get to go to political banquets. It’s a rough job.”
Alex looked up and asked, in a quiet voice, “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”
The officer turned, and his expression wasn’t a smirk, but was provocative.
He said, “Pardon me for believing people like you should be under military discipline. It would change your attitude.”
Alex said, “We’re all veterans. It’s company policy.” He was irritated. Even a lieutenant should know better than to provoke a fight, though Alex wasn’t going to mention so, because that would be provocative.
“Yeah, I understand you left under questionable circumstances.” He pointed at Aramis and continued, “Anderson was asked to leave due to conflict of interest with your employer. Weil’s a surface sailor, which stopped being militarily relevant a century ago.”
Jason did smirk and said, “Want to say something about me, next?”
The lieutenant turned. “Yeah, you’re a colonial wannabe. It’s not like your forces will ever amount to anything. As to the others, Sykora is a glorified bureaucrat who joined a pseudo police force, and Mbuto’s ‘army’ doesn’t even exist anymore, nor does the second rate excuse of a nation it belonged to.”
Alex was still ticked, but Jason took over and flashed a big grin.
“Thanks. It’s always good to know where someone stands.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
Jason shrugged. “There’s not much to say. You didn’t offer anything to really argue about.”
Alex came out of it. Jason had defused that brilliantly. The lieutenant stood looking quizzical, then turned and walked off.
After he was gone, Jason said, “I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, and I think that was brain smoke trickling from his ears.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
Jason said, “No problem. We’re going to get more of that, though.”
“Yes, I believe we are.”
“I’m also disturbed that he had that much background on us. It’s searchable, if you know our names or get good face shots. Now, of course, we’re outed forever. If he can search us, so can any threats.”
“Yup. Thanks, JessieM.”
“That was a power play.”
“Yes. He wants us to know how connected he is, and that he thinks he’s better thereby.”
“How long are we staying?”
“Thirty minutes. Want to play a game of pool?”
“Sure. I’m terrible at it and will laugh at myself.”
“Can’t hurt.”
Aramis was eager to get on with the mission, but there was always groundwork. He knew it was important, and he took pains to make sure it was done properly.
In addition to the bailout bullion and cash, he’d been assigned discreet assets to use for his part of the groundwork. He was expected to furnish maps of as many areas as possible, with photos, on a non-connected system or actual paper. He usually went for both. Basic supplies of food, water, clothing and rucks would be stashed in several safe locations, along with weapons as they were able to acquire them by purchase, trade, battlefield pickups or outright theft from anyone who on paper wasn’t allowed to have them. Once, they’d even robbed a military armory. That had been life and death at the time, though. Planning ahead meant it might be unlawful, but shouldn’t come at a cost to anyone.
Cady and Jason had two safehouses arranged already, but he would like a third. No one else needed to know about it.
He reflected that three years before he’d been a pure mercenary, attracted by gobs of cash and the potential excitement. It now was more home to him than the military had been, still better paid, but with fantastic esprit de corps and a better sense of accomplishment. They kept people alive when no one else could. He took the task seriously. Still, there was a thrill of ancient gunslinging and swordselling in acquiring the assets they needed. Weapons, explosives and bullion made for a fine simulation of an adventure game, in the real world.
The beer wasn’t very good, but he finished it rather than waste it. He finished cutting the current map, saved it on both the “phones” he had wire-connected to the unit, and ran six copies through the printer on tough polymer sheet. The phones had no circuits for communication, only memory storage and display. One printed copy would go to each bugout location, and one each to Jason, Alex and himself.
At some point he’d have to make a shopping trip.
CHAPTER 7
Elke rose early. She was about to try something she hadn’t much experience with. Diplomacy.
Neatly dressed complete to a blazer, she took an apple and a chunk of havarti cheese for breakfast, and went
