Clifton had stood as he entered. “How can I help you?”
“It’s an odd question, but…Have you ever been to Cliff Spire?”
Her expression turned quizzical. “No. Should I have been?”
“I don’t know. Several people have recommended that I go see it.”
“That’s the historical site—the house of the last Argenti planetary governor, isn’t it? I always wondered why the Scandyans made it a memorial.”
“Perhaps we should go out there on one of the enddays and see why?”
“If that is an invitation, Commander, I will accept.” Again, the smile smoothed out the severity of the third secretary’s face.
“If you’re accepting, it’s an invitation.”
They both laughed.
“How are things going?” she asked.
“More slowly and in a more complex fashion than I’d hoped, but about as I had expected.”
“You’re a realist. I imagine you’ve had to be.”
“Yes. One learns.”
She nodded.
Van cleared his throat. “That’s all I had, but…thank you, and we’ll work out the time for sevenday—if that’s all right with you?”
“Sevenday will be good.”
With a nod, Van ducked out of the third secretary’s door.
Back in his own office, Van realized what had bothered him. Commander Cruachan had been on leave for a week before the “accident,” and Van could have sworn that some of the reports were dated during that period. He used his implant to set up another netsystem search.
Search complete, announced the net after several moments.
Before reviewing those search results, Van checked the netsystem for any background on Commander Cruachan. As Van had suspected, all personnel details on the commander had been removed after his death, and there was no way to get to them, except through the headquarters personnel system at RSF HQ.
Van went through the commander’s reports. Four of the reports, although dated before Cruachan’s death, indicated that they had been changed more than a week after his reported death date. One had been dated “officially” six days before the commander’s death, and there was no way to access the more secure levels of the embassy from outside the embassy—not unless Cruachan had been more than a mere attaché, and that raised even more questions.
Van called up the first of the reports with the altered dates, reading through it carefully.
…Local news sources have reported increased high-tech info-trades between Scandya and the Coalition and between Scandya and the Argentis. The Scandyan Trade Ministry has declined to provide details, citing the information as privileged…
The report went on to provide data on Scandyan microtronics production. Why would the commander have even bothered with a report dealing with standard microtronics? That area was Cordelia Gregory’s.
Van called up the second report with the anomalous date. It was about local shellfish production. He’d wondered about it when he had first skimmed through Cruachan’s reports. With a smile, he tried another inquiry against the complete planetary database.
Match found, the net announced.
The match was a local business story in an economic report, and the text was identical to that of Cruachan’s report.
Van leaned back in his chair. Someone had replaced the original reports. But who? What had been in those reports? Was there any way to discover who had done so, and from where?
Van went back to work.
Two hours later, he was little wiser, if hungrier, having worked through the lunch. There was no record of who had made the changes, not even a link to an individual, a console, nothing but the change date. While it would have been easy to disguise or falsify the date on a personal console, trying that on a unified system would have left more traces than leaving the date alone—unless the falsifier were extremely skilled and had a great deal of access and time on the system.
That told Van that whoever had altered them had known the system better than most, but that whoever did hadn’t had much time.
Commander? came the Meg MacDonagh’s inquiry on the netsystem. The ambassador would like to see you and Dr. Hannigan. Are you free at the moment?
I’ll be right there. Did he say what the meeting was about?
No, ser, and you’d best make it five minutes.
Van leaned back in his chair. What did the ambassador want?
He waited four minutes, then walked to the ambassador’s outer office. Meg MacDonagh smiled, but it was a professional smile. Van smiled back. Hannigan appeared, and they both walked into the ambassador’s office.
Rogh didn’t say a word, but Van could sense the pulse from his implant. Then, after the privacy cone swirled into place around the three men, the ambassador looked at Van, then at Hannigan. “I’ve received a report from ministry headquarters that suggests something may take place during the Scandyan independence week celebration. The ministry doesn’t offer any specific details, except to note that both the Revenant and Argenti fleets are in an increased state of readiness, and that the Coalition has dispatched three heavy cruisers to Mara—that’s the closest Coalition system to Scandya.”
“The same thing happened last year,” Hannigan said mildly. “Nothing occurred.”
Rogh looked at Van. “Have you come across anything that might shed light on this?”
“I just met with Commodore Petrov at the SDF. I was still going over things when you called the meeting.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He was very pleasant. He said he was dispatching all the material he would have given to Commander Cruachan. I haven’t had a chance to go through it. He did suggest that the ship that attacked the Fergus could not have been Argenti, according to the Scandyan SDF.” Van studied Hannigan as he spoke, but the first secretary didn’t seem at all surprised.
“Did you bring that up?” Rogh’s voice sharpened ever so slightly.
“No, ser. But he knew. He said, fairly clearly, that the Fergus had apparently encountered a much larger vessel. I told him that we had encountered some excessive EMP activity, as I’d reported to orbit control when they asked, but that I hadn’t been able to identify the source.”
Rogh nodded. “All you could say, I imagine.”
“I’d rather not lie outright at this point, not when
