He looked at the driver. “I won’t be long.”
“That’s not a problem, Commodore. Take as much time as you need. I’ll be here.” She smiled warmly.
“Thank you.” As he walked through the slush that even the nanitic deicers couldn’t melt and remove fast enough, Van asked himself how long the respect and semi–hero worship would last. Not all that long, he decided.
There was no one in the corridors of the Coalition consulate, and, as had been the case when he had visited the Coalition consulate before, the door to the IIS office was open. Van walked inside, and toward the inner office with the open door.
Trystin Desoll had already sensed Van and stood in the doorway before Van reached it. The Eco-Tech wasn’t all that much taller than Van, but he was broader, and, in person, exuded a quiet sense of power and authority. Clearly, the man had been a commander of some sort.
“I appreciate your coming to see me, Commodore.” Desoll closed the door behind Van.
“I have the feeling you might have been a commodore or more yourself,” Van suggested.
Desoll laughed. The sound was warm, appreciative, and rueful, all at once. “No…the highest I ever got was senior commander.”
That surprised Van, although he couldn’t say why. He settled into one of the wooden armchairs, which, despite its lack of upholstery and padding, was shaped in such a way that it was surprisingly comfortable. “You said you were buying. What are you buying?”
Desoll sat in the other wooden armchair, both in front of the desk. He looked directly at the younger man. “I’m looking for a very senior officer and pilot to help us here at IIS. I thought you might be interested.”
“I’m not looking for a console job.” Not unless he couldn’t find anything else.
“I guess I wasn’t clear. I’m looking for an officer to command an IIS ship. It’s not as big as the kind of commands you’ve had—it’s about the size of a corvette—but with automated systems so that you and one tech can operate everything.”
“You can afford ships like that?”
“We have two. The third, the one we’d hope you’d consider, is almost completed. It’s scheduled for delivery in six weeks.” A smile followed. “That means seven or eight, but not longer than that because there are penalties for a later completion.”
Van nodded slowly. IIS was clearly more than it seemed. Very few multilaterals could afford to own and operate one interstellar ship, let alone three. And he’d never heard of a foundation with interstellar vessels. “I have to say that what you say intrigues me. I’ve never heard of a foundation with jumpships. I don’t want to seem too…presumptuous…but it would almost seem that there would have to be a…governmental link.”
Desoll nodded in return. “I can see where you would think that. Any reasonable and intelligent individual would consider that as the most logical possibility. I can assure you that the IIS is not funded, either directly or indirectly, by any government, or by any entity affiliated with any human government or bureaucracy anywhere.”
“That’s easy to say…”
“That’s true. As a condition of your employment, if you are still interested after I describe the duties and compensation, we will allow you access to all IIS records and systems. Furthermore, we will place a bond equivalent to one year’s compensation at any financial institution you choose, anywhere, and in your name. If you feel that you have been deceived in any way, all you have to do is request that bond be turned over to you, and that will be done.”
That was surprising. Van had never heard of any black operation willing to offer such conditions, nor one relying solely on the views of the would-be employee. After a moment, he asked, “Could you tell me more about the duties and responsibilities involved with…such trust?”
“Some of it’s very basic,” Desoll replied. “We develop proprietary information of all sorts and package it for clients across the Arm. It’s too detailed for economic transmission by standing wave, and not something we’d like to broadcast across the Galaxy. We also have developed some extremely sophisticated information handling and analysis systems which we prefer, for obvious reasons, to manage ourselves. We’ve grown to the point that two ships are no longer sufficient. In addition, because we have a reputation for scrupulous honesty and punctuality, we also take consignments of similar technology and information for large multilaterals and deliver them in the course of our own operations. We charge dearly for that service, but not so dearly as would be the case if they had to send couriers and buy commercial space without guarantees of security.” Desoll took a sip from the glass of water on the desk, then continued. “In addition, we want someone with the experience and stature to deal with the senior executives of both governments and multilaterals. We can find pilots, and we can find executives and politicians, but finding someone who combines both sets of skills—and who has a demonstrated record of accomplishment and unblemished integrity…That is very difficult.”
“I’m not a good politician. You should have discovered that by now.”
“I’d have to disagree, Commodore. You’ve survived three incredibly difficult situations in the RSF. Not only survived, but gained reluctant admiration.”
Van almost laughed. Instead, he asked, “Putting all that aside…why me?”
“You’re black Taran, right?”
“No secret about that.”
“What do you know about Eco-Tech culture—the racial aspect?”
Van stopped and looked at the other man—tall, blond, fair—a perfect Rev or Scandyan. Except, if he’d been born and raised in Cambria, he wouldn’t have been perfect, not when all the Eco-Techs Van had met were smaller, dark-eyed, with darker skins, and dark brown or black hair, and faint slants to their eyes. “I never
