Van set down the stories and reached for Emily Clifton’s envelope, taking out her press release, and comparing it to what had been aired and printed in various media. He nodded slowly. From what she had written, Van felt Emily was probably largely responsible for his commendation and promotion, rather than his appearance before another Review Board.
He looked down at the unread summary report. He’d have to read that as well. But not yet. He shook his head slowly, then looked outside, where the skies had darkened and even more snow had begun to fall.
Chapter 26
Intermittent fat flakes of late spring snow drifted down from dark gray clouds as the groundcar came to a stop outside the Taran embassy. A stocky commander, with streaks of gray in his hair, stood just outside, waiting as Van stepped from the embassy groundcar that had brought him from the rehab facility where he had spent the last two months. Van’s breath steamed in the chill, and he could feel the unseasonable cold knifing through him, despite the officers’ heavy winter coat.
“Commodore, welcome back. I’m Bert Maine.” The commander offered a warm smile. “Do you have any gear?”
Van held up the small duffel he carried. “Just a few personal items.”
After a moment, the older but junior officer asked, “How long will you be staying here?”
“Just a few days. I’m scheduled on a courier on sixday. The Morraha, I think.” Van knew the question was a formality, designed to confirm what Commander Maine already knew, that Van would only be at the embassy for five days.
“The ambassador wanted a few words with you as soon as you came in, and, after that, I’ll be giving you the general staff codes so that you don’t have to have an escort around the embassy. They were all changed after the Independence Day…incident.” He turned and gestured for Van to enter the embassy.
“I can imagine.”
The Taran Marine corporal on guard duty stiffened as the two officers neared.
“Carry on,” Van said quietly.
Once inside the embassy, Van followed Maine toward the stairs to the upper level.
“Shame to hear about your old ship, Commodore,” offered the commander.
His old ship? Which one? “The Fergus?” Van stopped.
Maine looked curiously at Van.
“You have to remember that for six months I was in an induced coma,” Van said gently. “I still haven’t caught up on everything.”
“Ah…” Maine nodded understandingly. “They didn’t tell me that.”
“The Fergus?” Van prompted.
“Yes. Sad thing it was. Must have happened not long after you were injured. Vanished in jump transit from here to Tara. RSF tried to keep that quiet, coming so soon as it did after the Collyns going missing, but word did get out to some of us, and then everyone knew.” Maine shook his squarish head. “At least now they can all see we need more and better ships, but it’s been a heavy price to pay.” He started up the steps.
Van stood at the bottom of the stairs. The Fergus…missing like the Collyns? How? The old cruiser had been checked over thoroughly, or should have been. Ships did occasionally vanish in mid-jump, but there had been only a handful in hundreds of years. Had the cruiser just been too old to repair properly? Or had the Revenants managed some hidden attack?
Van glanced up the steps, then followed Maine. He was breathing harder than he would have liked when he reached the top of the stairs in the office wing of the embassy. Rehab hadn’t gotten him back in the shape he’d been in, not by even a short jumpshift. He did sense the stronger screens, and the pulse of Commander Maine’s access codes.
Maine turned left. “The ambassador is anxious to see you, ser.”
Suddenly warm, Van slipped out of the winter coat and folded it over his arm, then followed the other along the corridor to the door at the south end.
Even the ambassador’s personal assistant was new, a round-faced younger woman who stood immediately as Van stepped into the outer office. “Commodore Albert. We had so hoped you would come back before you left for Tara.”
Van wasn’t aware that he’d had much choice. He smiled. “I’m very glad to be here.” That was true, especially given the alternatives.
“Ambassador George is waiting for you.” The assistant hurried to the door to the inner office and opened it.
“I’ll be back shortly,” added Commander Maine.
“Thank you.” Van set his small duffel on the floor and laid his coat across the back of one of the chairs before turning to follow the woman.
The ambassador—a lanky man with black hair and piercing hazel eyes—strode forward to meet Van. “William George, Commodore. You’re a very famous man, and I couldn’t overlook the opportunity to greet you on your return to the embassy.” The ambassador gestured to the leather armchair on one side of the low table before the replica hearth. Unlike his predecessor, he waited until Van had seated himself, then sat down. George leaned forward with a pleased smile. “I’d like to hear your side of the story, from you in person, but I do have a slightly official function to perform first.”
Wondering what that might be, Van just nodded and waited.
“You may not realize it,” the ambassador went on, “but your actions improved our standing immensely with the Scandyans.” He gestured to a simple pasteboard box on the table, measuring slightly less than a half meter on a side and roughly twenty centimeters high. “That’s a token from Premier Gustofsen. Personally. He said that he wished it could be more, but understood the limitations on gifts to RSF personnel.” When Van did not reach for the box, George lifted it and handed it to Van.
Van took it, then slipped off the top. Inside, surrounded by padding, was a second box, one of a dark wood, with two seals inlaid side by side on the hinged top, and connected by a chain that appeared to be solid gold inlaid into the wood. One seal was that
