Part 52 (1/2)
”I ... Commander Sa.s.sinak, I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. That code is known to me, yes-it's from the IG's office. But . . .”
”I don't like secrets on my s.h.i.+p, Dupaynil! I don't like junior officers receiving IFTL messages to which the captain is forbidden access. And encrypted messages at that. I don't like people going over my head to the IG's office. What's your gripe, eh?”
Dupaynil, she was sure, was not as upset as he looked. He was too smart by half. But he was responding to her obvious anger and had lost some of his gloss. ”Commander, the IG's office might have reason to contact me about the Security work I've done here-if nothing else, about that-you know ...” His voice lowered. Sa.s.sinak let herself calm down.
”I still don't like it,” she grumbled, but softly. Someone smothered a cough, over in Weapons, and nearly choked from the effort. ”All right. I see what you mean, and from what Lunzie said that whole thing was cla.s.sified. Maybe there is a reason. But I don't Tike secrets. Not like this, at a time when we're all . . .” She let her voice trail away. Dupaynil's lids drooped slightly. Was he convinced? ”Take your d.a.m.ned message, and unless you Uke causing me grief, tell me what's so important I can't even read it.”
Dupaynil moved to the decryption computer and entered his pa.s.sword.
Sa.s.sinak turned to the communications watch officer, and said, ”Take over. And make sure I know about any incoming or outgoing messages. From anyone.” This last with a sidelong glance at Dupaynil.
The Security officer was staring at the screen as if it had grown tentacles; Sa.s.sinak controlled an impulse to laugh at him. He glanced at her, a shrewd, calculating look, and she spoke immediately.
”Well? Are you supposed to clap me in irons, or what?” He shook his head, and sighed.
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”No, Commander, it's nothing like that. It is ... odd . . . that is all. May we speak in your office? Privately?”
Sa.s.sinak nodded shortly and left the bridge with a final glower for everyone. She could feel the support of her crew-her own crew-like a warm blanket around her shoulders. In her office, she put her formal desk between herself and Dupaynil. His brows rose, recognizing that for what it was, and he sighed again.
”Captain, I swear to you ...”
”Don't bother.” Sa.s.sinak turned away, briefly, to glance at the hardcopy he offered her, then met his dark eyes squarely. ”If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you don't-but I cannot ignore anything like that. It nearly cost me my life twenty years ago.”
”I'm sorry. Truly sorry. But just as you received unwelcome orders a short while ago, I have now received unwelcome orders to leave this s.h.i.+p-unwelcome and even stranger than yours.”
”Oh? And where are you supposed to go?” She saw Dupaynil wince at the unbending ice in that tone. She could care less, as long as she rid herself of a potential traitor.
”To the Seti-to the Sek of Fomalhaut, in fact. One of my past sins come to haunt me, I suppose. Apparently there's some kind of diplomatic problem with the new human amba.s.sador to the High Court, and I'm supposed to know someone who might be of a.s.sistance.”
”But you can't,” Sa.s.sinak said sharply. ”You can't leave: we're all under orders to proceed to Federation Central, you most of all. You were in on all of it; your testimony ...”
”Can be recorded, and will have to be. I'm sorry. Truly sorry, as I said, but these orders take precedence. Have to.” His finger tapped the authorizing seals and codes; in the labyrinthine regulations of Fleet and FSP, the IG's signature outweighed even the Judge Advocate General's. ”Besides, I might still be of use to you. The Thek hinted that the Seti were involved, but they had no solid data, or none they pa.s.sed to us. That's something I can look into, with my contacts in the Seti diplomatic subculture. They estimate the as- 44.
signment proper will take me only about six standard months; I can be back in time to share what I've learned, and testify if called,”
Sa.s.sinak heaved a dramatic sigh. ”Well. I suppose, if you have to, you have to. And maybe you can find something useful, although the Seti are the least likeable bunch of bullies I've ever met.”
”They do require careful handling,” Dupaynil murmured, almost demurely.
Sa.s.sinak wondered what he was up to now. She did not trust him one hairsbreadth. ”Very well. Where are we supposed to drop you off?”
”It says your orders will be in shortly and I'm to leave at the next transfer point. Wherever that is.”
”Somebody's entirely too clever,” Sa.s.sinak growled. She hoped she hadn't been clever enough to trip herself with this-but so for Dupaynil seemed convinced.
Just then the junior com officer tapped timidly on her door, and offered a hardcopy of her second faked IFTL message, the one telling her to drop out of FTL drive, and proceed to the nearest Fleet station. The nearest Fleet station was a resupply center with only monthly tanker traffic and the occasional escort or patrol craft dropping by. She remembered it well, from her one previous visit fifteen years before. She showed Dupaynil the orders.
”Supply Center 64: says there's an escort in dock. You'll take that, I imagine?” At his nod, she said, ”I'll expect you back at 1500, to give your deposition; we'll have the equipment set up by then, and an ETA for the supply center.”
The rest of that day Sa.s.sinak hardly dared look at Ford; she would have burst out laughing. Dupaynil came back, gave his testimony while she asked every question she could think of before she sent him off to pack his gear.
They popped out of FTL s.p.a.ce within a few hours of the supply center. Sa.s.sinak had already dispatched messages to it and the escort vessel (whose pilot had been planning an unauthorized three-day party with the supply center's crew). Escorts, not large enough to house a
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Ssli, were out of the IFTL links. Once aboard, Dupaynil would have only sublight ways of checking up on his orders.
Docking the Zaid-Dayan at the supply station was simple: the station had equipment to handle large transports of all shapes, and the small escort took up only a minute s.p.a.ce at the far end of the station. Sa.s.sinak indulged herself, as she rarely could anymore, and brought the cruiser in herself, easing it to the gantry so gently that no one detected contact until the status tights changed color.
”Nice job!” said the station Dockmaster, a Weft. ”We'll have air up in the tubes in a few minutes. Is your pa.s.senger ready to transfer?”
”Ready when you are.”
Dupaynil would leave by one of the small hatches, an airlock on the second flight deck. Even with a Fleet facility, Sa.s.sinak didn't like opening up real interior s.p.a.ce to a possible pressure loss. She glanced at Dupaynil, visible on one of the side screens, and flicked a switch to put him on-channel.
”They're airing up the tube. Sure you don't want a pressure suit?”
”No thank you.”
He had already explained how he felt about pressure suits. Sa.s.sinak was tempted to teach him a lesson about that, but under the circ.u.mstances she wanted their parting to be as friendly as possible.
”Fine . . . we're standing by for your departure signal.” She could see, in the monitor, the light above the hatch come on, flick twice, and steady to green.
”On my way,” said Dupaynil. Then he paused, and faced the monitor-cam squarely. ”Commander? I did not intend to cause you trouble and I have no idea what that initiation code means to you. You may not believe me, but I have no desire to see you hurt.”