“You have an impressive service record…Commodore Albert. Most impressive. It is not that often that someone from Bannon is both a flag officer and a hero.” Macks chuckled dryly. “And returns to tell of it.”
“CCA has an open invitation for experienced pilots,” Van offered. “I think I qualify on the experience.”
“That you do. That you do. You know we only work in-system. Not one of our ships has a jumpdrive in it. Not one.”
“I know. Before I became an RSF officer, I’d looked into becoming a commercial pilot.” Van smiled. “Back then, CCA was one of the multis that told me I needed military experience.”
“Oh, we like that experience. We still do.” Macks smiled wanly. “I’ve never met a commodore before. What is it like? Being a commodore, I mean, with all those people ready to obey your every order?”
Van laughed gently. “It’s not like that, at all. It’s much more like being an executive in a multi. All officers have to do what their superiors want. A commodore just has a little more freedom in accomplishing those objectives. Of course, you’ve also got more responsibility and accountability.” Van felt as though he were fudging over the issue, true as he knew his response to be, because he’d never been a real commodore.
“Yes, yes…that must be so. It’s just…I think this is the first time we’ve ever seen so senior an officer seeking a piloting position.”
“A good pilot is a good pilot,” Van suggested.
“A good pilot is a good pilot. I’ll have to remember that. It’s a good way of putting it.”
“CCA has a good reputation for the ability of its pilots,” Van added. “I’d like to think I could add to that reputation.”
“I’m sure you could, Commodore. I’m sure you could.”
Van decided not to press, but to wait.
Macks finally cleared his throat and managed to look at Van. “Ah…actually, Commodore…how can I put this…properly?” He glanced down, then back at Van. “I guess…really…there isn’t an easy way to put it. You’re too good and too experienced for us. It…well, it hasn’t happened this way before, but…you see, if we paid you what you’re worth…and then there’s the problem of who could train you to our methods, and…no…I’m so sorry, but it just wouldn’t work out. I really am…so sorry, I mean.”
Van almost felt sorry for Macks. The job of refusing Van had clearly been delegated, and for that alone, Van had a much lower opinion of CCA and its management. Quasar had at least handled him with a certain amount of class. Macks was doing his best, but his best wasn’t reflecting well on the multilateral.
“I think I understand.” Van stood. “I appreciate your honesty and forthrightness, Director Macks.” Hard as it was, he smiled. “The best of luck to you.”
Before the younger man could react, Van turned and left the office, making his way out and down the ramps to the walkway.
The CCA building was on the west side of Bannon Park. Van walked to one of the benches set opposite a flower bed filled with carmine and yellow sunflowers, almost ready to fade, but not quite. He looked back toward the CCA building, then accessed his personal link account. The only message was from Sappho, reminding him that he was having dinner with Aelsya and her on sevenday.
After a time of looking at the flowers, he again linked into the pubcomm and found TransMedia. Ashley Marson, please.
Surprisingly, after all his efforts without results, there was a response.
Marson, here.
Ashley? Van Albert. Are you free for a bite to eat shortly?
Van? Hold one…I’ll see what I can do.
Van waited.
I can do it. Café Metropole in fifteen?
See you there.
Café Metropole was actually set inside the old Twin Winters Hotel, long the staple for luxurious accommodations for travelers, and the last place where he and Ashley had eaten, nearly twenty years before. Trust Ashley to have remembered. The Twin Winters was on the east side of Bannon Park, only a short walk. Van rose and started off.
He reached the café first, and asked if Ashley had a table. The table was ready, and Van took it, but didn’t even have a chance to order something to drink before the newsie appeared.
“Same old punctual Van. It’s good to see you in less official clothes.” Ashley dropped into the chair across the table with a sigh. “I begged off a luncheon seminar on the need for a bottom-line approach to media success.”
Van winced. “I thought most of the media nets were fairly profitable.”
“They want us to stay that way.” Ashley looked up to the server—a human server was one of the amenities of the antique café. “Red Bandito Stout.”
“Whatever’s the best pale ale,” added Van, before turning back to Ashley. “You were saying?”
“Oh, I read the annual reports. TransMedia was only running a thirty percent profit last year. Only. You get the feeling that nothing is ever enough. I’m still an idealistic kid at heart.”
“If you’re so idealistic,” asked Van, grinning, “why did you go along with the returning hero story, anyway?”
“Still the same direct Van, aren’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
“First, because I am idealistic. Second, because Al asked me to. Third, because you damned well deserved it. And fourth, because you and your family never asked for anything.” Ashley shrugged. “Good enough?”
Van laughed.
“We ran it for three straight casts. That ought to help. You want to tell me about it?” Ashley paused as the server set the drinks on the polished teak surface. “Just a moment.”
Both Van and Ashley glanced over the discreetly projected holo menus.
“I’ll have the quail special, with the house salad.”
“The same, but with the small fruit plate,” Van added.
Ashley looked at Van. “What exactly did you do to upset the RSF enough to get you honored and retired almost on a pretext?”
“The injuries were real. Very real.”
“So it was a real pretext.” Ashley’s words curled with irony.
“I think they’ve always wanted to get rid of
