from the desk unit.
That fast. He’d agreed. They were in it.
2
“Banichi-ji,” Bren said under his breath, sitting in the office chair, and using the pocket com while there was still time, “please advise security everything’s under control and proceeding well.”
Advise the atevi establishment, that was, and
under control
was tolerably true. He sat in Jase’s office waiting for Sabin to show up on a small hours of the morning, on a minor emergency call, waiting for all else that might fall out—and the second worst situation he could think of was that Cenedi might have waked the dowager to advise his ultimate authority what was going on upstairs. The second worst. The
very
worst thing he could think of, outside of a complete malfunction of the ship’s engines, was the dowager deciding to come up here in person to have morning tea and reason with Sabin.
Tea
was not a word of fortunate history, under those circumstances.
Kaplan, however, had indeed come into Jase’s office just for that purpose, to make tea . . . a nominally Mospheiran herbal item, one of those light mass planetary amenities that the ship’s crew had taken to as passionately as they took to fruit sugar.
Polano and Banichi and Jago made a living wall of security outside . . . that sense of presence Jase deemed a very good idea.
Sabin had gotten the message from C1, and hadn’t objected to Jase’s office as the venue. She might, Bren thought, have breakable objects in her own.
It was a level of not-quite-critical summons that meant she could take a decent amount of time responding. She
might
even stop for breakfast, if only to try Jase’s patience, but they made strong tea, all the same. It was pushing five hundred hours, not too far off first shift’s ordinary waking.
Bren’s pocket com beeped. So did Jase’s desk unit.
She’s here,
was the general advisement. Heads up.
A few beats later the door opened and Sabin walked in. She was a thin, past-sixties woman with close-clippedgray hair, uniform sweater and uniform coat. She didn’t walk into a room: she invaded it—gave an habitual scowl to their security, who folded in after her—their security, then her security, two men, Collins and Adams, intent on coming inside if the rest were bent on it.
Bren stood up, a courtesy. Jase poured a cup of tea and set it on his desk edge.
She didn’t take it. She didn’t sit down. “Nature of the emergency. I trust there is an emergency.”
“A fairly major one,” Jase said. “The tape, captain. The tape. And I’m not about to let Mr. Cameron go out of here seeing what he’s seen without hearing your side of this.”
“
What
in hell have you done?”
“Well, looked for answers, for a start.” Jase’s eyes could be perfectly innocent, on demand. “Unfortunately I’ve stirred up more questions than answers, but I have every confidence you had a reason for restricting the tape record. I’m equally confident that you were testing me to see if I could get it. I did. So I’m not sending our ally below with half the truth to work on. I’m certainly not having our allies wait until they get to the station to see what any eye can see—that Reunion was under an immaculate one
g
rotation nine or so years ago, while we were docked and refueling, contrary to the image provided belowdecks; and certainly the crew will see it, and recall all too keenly that
isn’t
what we all saw on our screens, so there’s a whole other question. So I think we ought to talk about this, captain, and I’m sorry about waking you early to do it, but Mr. Cameron’s knowledge of the situation—for which I take full responsibility—provides a certain urgency. Unhappily my watch falls during your sleep, and I apologize. Considering the hour, I at least made you some tea. My aides will provide whatever else you might want.”
Dead silence. Sabin was fully capable of wishing them in hell and walking out, all questions hanging.
She didn’t. “So
That fast. He’d agreed. They were in it.
2
“Banichi-ji,” Bren said under his breath, sitting in the office chair, and using the pocket com while there was still time, “please advise security everything’s under control and proceeding well.”
Advise the atevi establishment, that was, and
under control
was tolerably true. He sat in Jase’s office waiting for Sabin to show up on a small hours of the morning, on a minor emergency call, waiting for all else that might fall out—and the second worst situation he could think of was that Cenedi might have waked the dowager to advise his ultimate authority what was going on upstairs. The second worst. The
very
worst thing he could think of, outside of a complete malfunction of the ship’s engines, was the dowager deciding to come up here in person to have morning tea and reason with Sabin.
Tea
was not a word of fortunate history, under those circumstances.
Kaplan, however, had indeed come into Jase’s office just for that purpose, to make tea . . . a nominally Mospheiran herbal item, one of those light mass planetary amenities that the ship’s crew had taken to as passionately as they took to fruit sugar.
Polano and Banichi and Jago made a living wall of security outside . . . that sense of presence Jase deemed a very good idea.
Sabin had gotten the message from C1, and hadn’t objected to Jase’s office as the venue. She might, Bren thought, have breakable objects in her own.
It was a level of not-quite-critical summons that meant she could take a decent amount of time responding. She
might
even stop for breakfast, if only to try Jase’s patience, but they made strong tea, all the same. It was pushing five hundred hours, not too far off first shift’s ordinary waking.
Bren’s pocket com beeped. So did Jase’s desk unit.
She’s here,
was the general advisement. Heads up.
A few beats later the door opened and Sabin walked in. She was a thin, past-sixties woman with close-clippedgray hair, uniform sweater and uniform coat. She didn’t walk into a room: she invaded it—gave an habitual scowl to their security, who folded in after her—their security, then her security, two men, Collins and Adams, intent on coming inside if the rest were bent on it.
Bren stood up, a courtesy. Jase poured a cup of tea and set it on his desk edge.
She didn’t take it. She didn’t sit down. “Nature of the emergency. I trust there is an emergency.”
“A fairly major one,” Jase said. “The tape, captain. The tape. And I’m not about to let Mr. Cameron go out of here seeing what he’s seen without hearing your side of this.”
“
What
in hell have you done?”
“Well, looked for answers, for a start.” Jase’s eyes could be perfectly innocent, on demand. “Unfortunately I’ve stirred up more questions than answers, but I have every confidence you had a reason for restricting the tape record. I’m equally confident that you were testing me to see if I could get it. I did. So I’m not sending our ally below with half the truth to work on. I’m certainly not having our allies wait until they get to the station to see what any eye can see—that Reunion was under an immaculate one
g
rotation nine or so years ago, while we were docked and refueling, contrary to the image provided belowdecks; and certainly the crew will see it, and recall all too keenly that
isn’t
what we all saw on our screens, so there’s a whole other question. So I think we ought to talk about this, captain, and I’m sorry about waking you early to do it, but Mr. Cameron’s knowledge of the situation—for which I take full responsibility—provides a certain urgency. Unhappily my watch falls during your sleep, and I apologize. Considering the hour, I at least made you some tea. My aides will provide whatever else you might want.”
Dead silence. Sabin was fully capable of wishing them in hell and walking out, all questions hanging.
She didn’t. “So
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