“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, snapping the chip back out of the minicomp and restoring it to its proper storage slot before he handed the entire folio back to Maneka. “The Lieutenant will find Colonel Tchaikovsky’s office on the fifteenth floor. Number 1532. Take the center grav lift, turn right at the fifteenth floor landing, and continue to the end of the corridor.”
“Thank you, Corporal Morales. Could you tell me if there’s some place I could check my baggage while I report in?”
“Yes, ma’am. Press the ‘Housekeeping’ button on the building console. It’s located to your right, just inside the entrance.”
“Thank you,” Maneka repeated, and the corporal nodded, came back to attention, and saluted her once more. She returned the courtesy and stepped past him into the Admin Building.
The building console was where Morales had indicated, and Maneka punched up Housekeeping.
“How may I assist you, Lieutenant Trevor?” a pleasant voice asked, speaking through the Brigade transceiver surgically implanted in Maneka’s left mastoid.
“I need to put my baggage in temporary storage while I report in,” she replied to the empty air.
“Of course. One moment, please.”
Maneka watched as her floating baggage twitched slightly. The building’s artificial intelligence had automatically and instantly identified her from the IFF code programmed into her implanted Brigade communications system. It took the computer a few more seconds to derive the proper command channel frequencies and codes from her baggage hand unit, which had been a civilian purchase. But it was more than equal to the challenge, and Maneka stood back as the foot locker and duffel went gliding smoothly away down a side passage.
“Your baggage will be stored pending your return, Lieutenant Trevor,” the AI assured her. “Just press the recall button on your hand unit when you wish to reclaim it.”
“Do I have to return here for that?”
“No, Lieutenant Trevor. It may take somewhat longer to route it to you, but you may recall it from any point inside the Admin Building.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“You are most welcome,” the AI replied, and Maneka walked across the lobby towards the grav lifts.
She rather doubted that the building computer had a fully developed personality. One thing any Brigade officer, even one as shiny and new-minted as she was, understood was the combined expense and complexity of the advanced psychotronics which gave Bolos complete, autonomous, functional personalities as complex as any human being’s. But even AIs which lacked full personalities carried programming which recognized and responded to courtesy… and automatic consideration for the emotions of electronic individuals was an excellent habit for a Brigade officer to develop.
The grav lift delivered her to the fifteenth floor with its customary disorienting speed and efficiency. Mindful of Morales’ instructions, she turned to the right and quickly picked up the wall signage directing her towards “Office of the Commanding Officer, 39th Batt, Dinochrome Bgde.”
The sight of those words sent a sudden bright shiver through her. It was close now, so close!
She drew a deep breath, ordered herself to project an aura of calm, and walked briskly down the corridor.
Colonel Everard Tchaikovsky had discovered years ago that if he kept his computer’s holo display adjusted to exactly the right height and angle, it not only eased the strain long hours spent in front of it imposed on his neck, but also permitted him to look directly through it at the door of his office while obviously keeping his attention focused on his routine paperwork.
Now he let his eyes appear to linger on an absolutely fascinating breakdown of the most recent squabble between Central Depot Maintenance and the Battalion’s chief armorer while he actually studied the young woman Staff Sergeant Schumer had ushered into his office.
The young woman in question stood at parade rest, waiting with every outward sign of patience for him to notice her arrival. She was small, he thought. No more than a hundred and fifty-five or a hundred sixty centimeters tall, and so slender he was tempted to think of her as delicate. Her cobalt blue eyes, set in an oval face with high cheekbones, a determined-looking, high-arched nose, and slightly pouty lips made an intriguing contrast with her very dark black hair and sandalwood complexion. They had a pronounced epicanthic fold, as well, those eyes, he noticed, and wondered exactly which strains of humankind’s zestfully bubbling genetic stew had produced her.
He quirked an index finger, touching a function key on his virtual keyboard, and the logistical report disappeared, replaced by the concisely encapsulated abstract from Lieutenant Trevor’s records Sergeant Schumer had prepared and uploaded for him.
Graduated thirty-second out of an Academy class of eleven hundred and fifteen, he noticed. Top of her class in tactics, bottom third in psychotronic theory. Substantially and regularly above average in all of her other courses, and ranked fourteenth in military history.
Forty-plus Standard Years in the Brigade had taught Everard Tchaikovsky’s face to wear whatever expression he told it to, and so he managed to avoid any dramatic widening of his eyes or pursing of his lips, nor did he stand to applaud her arrival. She was certainly impressive on paper, although he had his reservations about her apparent weaknesses in psychotronics. But he’d seen quite a few passed-cadets who looked impressive on paper and never lived up to that apparent promise in the field.
He finished his perusal, cleared the display, and cocked his eyebrows interrogatively as he looked directly at the lieutenant for the first time.
“Lieutenant Maneka Trevor, reporting for duty, sir!” she said, snapping to full attention and saluting sharply.
Her Standard English had an interesting accent which gave a throaty, almost smoky edge even to crisp, formal military phraseology, he noticed. He felt certain that hint of soprano sensuality was both unconscious and unintentional, and he hid a mental grin as he contemplated how testosterone-challenged young bucks were likely to respond to it.
“Stand easy, Lieutenant,” he said, returning her Academy-sharp salute rather more casually. She dropped back into parade rest, rather than a full stand-easy position, her eyes gazing a regulation fifteen centimeters above his head.
“So, you’re our new Bolo commander,” he said.
Maneka’s eyes popped wide and, against her will, they dropped to Colonel Tchaikovsky’s face. Bolo commander? Surely she must have misheard him!
He simply sat there, gazing back at her with a mildly speculative expression, and she fought an urge to lick her lips nervously as she realized he was prepared to go right on doing it until she said something.
“Sir,” she began, surprised her voice didn’t quiver uncertainly, “my orders were to report to Fort Merrit for duty with the Thirty-Ninth Battalion. Exactly what those duties were to be wasn’t specified. However, I certainly never anticipated that someone as junior and inexperienced as I am might be considered for assignment as a commander.”
“Think you’re not up to the job?” Tchaikovsky let a deliberate edge of challenging coolness into his voice, but the young woman’s composure remained unruffled.
“Yes, sir, I believe I’m up to the job. I believe my Academy record demonstrates that I have the training and the native ability to command a Bolo in combat. I am also, however, as I said, very junior and aware of my inexperience. I’d anticipated an assignment to additional training with hands—on experience under the tutelage of a fully qualified and experienced Unit commander. That was what I was led to expect by my instructors at the Academy.”
“I see.”
Tchaikovsky cocked back in his chair, propped his elbows on the chair arms, and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. He considered her coolly for several seconds, then allowed the first millimetric hint of a smile to show.
“Not a bad answer, Lieutenant,” he told her. “And I’m sure that’s exactly what the Academy types told you to expect. But the truth is, the Brigade is experiencing some changes just now.”
Maneka’s eyes darkened. She knew exactly what he was referring to.
