The image that appeared was that of Shennen, the head comm tech. “Republic ship Fergus, Tech Shennen. How might I help you, ser…Ser? Commander?”
“It’s me, Shennen. Is Commander Baile available?”
“Let me check, ser.”
The image of the trim, graying, but youthful-faced commander appeared almost instantly. “Commander Albert, what can I do for you?”
“I just thought I’d check back with you, to see if there was anything I might have overlooked, and also, out of interest, to see how the repairs were coming.”
Baile’s face offered a warm smile. “It’s kind of you to check, but you were most effective, and left everything in good order. We’ve had some delays because we’ve had to get replacement shield generators from Tara, and a systems check indicated we probably should also replace one of the jump generators, just to be safe. But it won’t be long now.”
“That’s good to hear.” Van paused. He couldn’t really ask where the Fergus was headed or whether the ship was going to stay in Scandya system. “Have you heard anything about the previous station-keeper?”
“You know I can’t…” Baile shrugged.
“I know.” Even if Baile knew about the fate of the Collyns, he couldn’t have said, but his expression as much as told Van that he didn’t know.
“Is there anything else, Commander?” asked Baile.
“No, you’ve been most kind. Tell the crew I’ve been thinking of them.”
“That I will.”
The screen blanked. Van didn’t know much more than before, but he had checked.
At thirteen forty-five, after reading more reports that said little, and a meal Van didn’t recall even right after he’d eaten it, Van was in the back of the embassy groundcar being driven by Stefan southward on Knutt Boulevard. The Eco-Tech liaison office was a small building less than a third the size of the first floor of the Taran embassy. There were no guards in front—just a carpark set amid a gardenlike space. Stefan parked the car, and Van walked to the front entrance and into the entry foyer, where he studied the holo screen projected there. Major Murikami’s office was to the left.
The first doorway on the right—open—was labeled IIS, with no explanation of the initials. As Van walked by, he glanced inside, taking in the compact room where a tall and trim blond man was talking to a younger man. Although the older man wore a simple black shipsuit without insignia, his bearing was military. Van wondered if he happened to be a former Coalition officer.
The next office on the left was the one he wanted: SERVICE LIAISON—MAJOR M. MURIKAMI. He’d always pondered why the Eco-Techs called their military forces the Service, but he’d never gotten a real answer from the few Coalition officers he’d encountered.
He stepped inside, catching the security screening, the autoweapons focused on the entryway, and the pulsed Welcome that his implant picked up. The space inside was small, no more than three meters by four, and held four armchairs and a low table.
“You must be Commander Albert,” said the officer in the olive green shipsuit standing in the doorway to an office off the reception area. On his chest were the wings of a deep-space pilot, and the shoulder insignia were the triple bars of a Coalition major.
“Major Murikami?”
“Come on in.” Major Murikami was trim and muscular, and a good ten centimeters shorter than Van. He led the way into the inner office. A series of narrow windows overlooked a garden containing a pond set among rocks and trees. The setting radiated peacefulness.
Van paused and studied the setting.
“It’s very restful. Too restful at times.” Murikami smiled wryly and sat down at the desk.
Van took one of the two armless chairs across from the major. “I was a little surprised to find that the Coalition didn’t have a full embassy here in Scandya.”
“We don’t have full embassies anywhere, Commander,” returned Murikami. “It reduces problems and costs. Our consular operations are designed for practicality. We gather and disseminate information and decide on the suitability of potential immigrants. We provide local analysis of economic and political conditions, but we don’t get involved in local or Arm politics, and we leave actual military decisions to the High Command.” The boyish-looking major added, “In short, we do everything an embassy does, except with a lower profile and a much lower cost.”
Van laughed. “And you avoid the entanglements of local politics.”
“The Coalition’s found that for us it works better that way.”
Van wondered if the Coalition were as open as Murikami made it seem. Or did the Coalition handle its political and covert operations totally outside any obvious channels?
“Well…” Van began, “is there any information that I can provide?”
“We’ll take anything you’d like to send us, but we’re under strict orders not to press, snoop, or spy.” Murikami offered the boyish smile once more.
“This is my first liaison assignment,” Van said. “I’m probably revealing my ignorance, but is that a standing policy for all Coalition liaison officers?”
“Absolutely. It has been for more than two hundred years.”
“Since the end of the Eco-Tech-Revenant conflict?”
“Approximately. I don’t know the exact date the policy was implemented.”
“What else goes on here? I noticed an office as I came in…it doesn’t seem to fit…”
“Oh…IIS. They’re a private foundation that gathers information on economic and social structures throughout the Arm. We had extra space and leased it to them—just for the next year. Generally, they spend a year on a planet, doing an in-depth survey, provide a copy to the government gratis, then move on, but leave a smaller office behind.”
“They must have a considerable endowment.” Either that, or they were the covert operation Van was looking for—except they were right out in the open.
“I don’t think so. They sell their data to a wide range of multilaterals and businesses. The free copy to the government is to allow some local check on the use of the data.”
“Then,” asked Van, intrigued in spite of himself, “what’s to keep the various multis from getting the
