“Carry on.” Van moved briskly, at the pace of an officer on his way to work.
He had already decided that Sub-marshal Vickry’s office was one target. Vickry had to know what had gone on, and Van doubted strongly that all the information was contained just in Vickry’s mind. He did not head for the sub-marshal’s office immediately, not with the morning influx of officers and support personnel, but toward the small senior officers’ mess, really a glorified set of formulator bays and tables where it would not be out of place for a visiting commodore to stop and sit and wait.
Van used the blank datacard, one with credits on it, and no ID, to get himself a mug of very strong café and a scone. A man with a scone was always less suspect than one with merely a mug of café. Then he took one of the small empty tables near the archway that led to the ramps up to the second level.
There, he slowly sipped the café, with a very occasional bite of the scone, and listened, letting his implant and the analyzer that Eri had programmed that looked like a datacard, scan the security challenges at the top of the ramp.
“…glad it’s sixday…”
“…been a long week…”
“…hear about the Revs trying to take over another blind zone system…”
“…which one this time?”
“…don’t recall…”
Van wanted to lean forward. Instead, he took another sip of café and waited, listening.
“…some place spinward…Shannar, that was it…halfway between Hyndji and Argenti systems…”
Shannar? The name was vaguely familiar.
“…might as well let them have it…if it’s a blind zone…”
“…cuts two ways…could marshal a fleet there…never know…”
“…closer to the Kelts…”
“…can’t trust them, either…not after the assassinations…”
The voices of the two majors faded away as they passed the security checkpoint at the top of the ramp.
Van checked the time again. Eight-twenty. Still not late enough. He took a sip of the now-cool café.
Two junior commanders walked up the ramp.
“…we still on for tomorrow?”
“Why wouldn’t we be? Unless you’re getting tired of getting whipped?”
“Last sevenday, you got whipped. Remember? I was thinking about…”
“That won’t change anything. Vice marshal says everything on Sulyn’s quiet now. Same on Kerry.”
Quiet on Sulyn? That could have a number of meanings. Van decided to finish the scone and the too-cold café. Before leaving the senior officers’ mess, he linked with the analyzer, through the implant, then transferred the information and the recommended protocol. Finally, he stood, brushed off the uniform, leaving the mug and plate on the table as he walked toward the ramp.
The security net reached out, and Van offered the handshake through the implant. Eri’s handiwork was good, and there wasn’t even a blip or hesitation as the security system announced, Cleared, Commodore Albert.
Van walked briskly down the corridor. The entire south wing was devoted to the public affairs section—door after door, all dealing with the presentation of the RSF to the public through the media. He’d passed the offices once before, when he’d been in headquarters to be debriefed and retired, but hadn’t really noticed. He wanted to shake his head.
At the end of the south wing, Van turned right and followed the corridor—this time past the offices of the marshal for M&P—maintenance and procurement. All told, there were only four doorways that he passed. An entire corridor for public relations—and just a third of one for the acquisition and maintenance of an entire fleet and all the outlying stations, installations, and associated equipment. Dad Cicero could have expressed it logically. Van couldn’t, only that it felt insanely wrong.
Ahead of him, halfway along the west corridor, Van could sense the second security check area—the one surrounding the intelligence and strategy offices.
There was no one ahead of him, and no way to check whether his implant and what he’d gathered so far would work. He paused, glancing around, as if he had missed where he was supposed to go, all the time letting the analyzer scan the screens.
Surprisingly enough, at least to Van, the analyzer reported that the protocols were almost identical to the lower security screen.
Van straightened, like a man who had regained his bearings, and walked straight toward the hidden screens and the equally concealed stunners above them in the high ceiling. Again, he offered the security handshake, linked to his modified ID datacard. He also kept the analyzer focused on the system.
This time, there was the faintest hesitation before the system offered him clearance.
As he walked past the unseen screen, Van just hoped that each successive clearance did not get harder. He also worried about his return, since the systems did not discriminate directionally.
He continued past a closed and unmarked door, one with a separate clearance system that probably belonged to the RSF office of intelligence and strategy. The next door was the one that Van had entered before, the outer office of those associated with Sub-marshal Vickry.
Van paused short of the door, reading the outside inscriptions and letting the analyzer pick up what it could. His implant detected nothing, as if whatever security system existed was independent of the building system and had been placed on standby for the workday.
He continued along the corridor, past the office of Marshal Connolly, the chief of RSF intelligence and strategy. He did not pause this time, but continued to the end of the corridor, where he turned into the fresher facility. Not only did it give him a reason for stopping, but after the café and his nervousness, he needed to use those facilities.
He took his time, then returned the way he had come.
He stopped at the main office of public affairs, where he stepped inside.
“Ser?” asked the young-looking major crossing the outer office.
“I was looking for the hard copy releases—yesterday’s and today’s…the marshal…”
Van looked apologetic, with the kind of expression that suggested he knew that there was no reason to want paper copies, but that
