need you, Michael!
— Calbert
*
Michael looked up at Alliras, blinked, and then forced an equable smile on his face.
“Something has come up.”
“Everything all right?” Stall asked, fishing for information.
“Of course. You know SOPs: every time there’s a blip on the astrographs, they have to have it signed off.”
“A find?” Stall pressed.
Michael smiled. “If it is, I’ll make sure to send you an advance press release. And now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
The look on Ian Pocetello’s face was a mix of concern over the emergency, and relief that he would not be corralled that night.
The timing was horrible, but Michael had to get back and assess the situation; he trusted Calbert not to exaggerate any catastrophe. If anything, his aide was apt to understate the case; and that scared years off Michael’s life. If damage control was needed, he had to get to the SMD event center quickly.
As Michael turned to go, Alliras said, “You don’t mind if I tag along?” He read the emotion on Michael’s face, and knew that the message was more important than lobbying the finance minister.
“Please do.” Michael said it as casually as he could.
Alliras motioned to one of his aides, who hurried over. “Please inform our wives we’ve been called away, and see that they get home safely.”
“Certainly, sir.” The man gave a quick nod, and hurried off.
Making apologies as they left, Michael and Alliras made their way out of the St. Lawrence Charity Hall, and into the Minister’s awaiting limo.
*
“Dammit,” Michael cursed once they were inside the vehicle. “Two months trying to get into the same room with Ian Pocatello, and this happens.”
He handed the memo to his superior. Before reading it, Alliras commented, “A bit medieval, sending a message on plastic. Quaint, as the Honerable Ian Pocatello put it, but still medieval.”
“It’s something that Calbert initiated; public thought-comm traffic is mimocorded by the government. CSIS has legislation allowing them to monitor any thought-comm or AV conversation, even encoded transmissions. Even the CCP can get access to the Corp’s messaging system, in a crunch. A hand-delivered message is about the most secure form of communication available to us, as ironic as that is.”
“Ironic,” the Minister repeated.
“If one of the CSIS agents, or even a worker at the communications network, is of the disgruntled variety, there’s always the chance of them selling any vital information over the border. We normally have a code we use over the thought-comm network, but I turned off my system for the charity function.”
Alliras read the plastic slip inside the envelope. He whistled. “What does this mean?”
“I’m going to find out soon enough,” Michael replied, already tapping in the number for a direct AV comm line to Calbert Loche, powered under SMD’s private and secured lines, to allow his superior to listen in. An AV comm, conducted through thought-link patches, could be heard by one person on either end of the transmission.
“What about your internal security?” Alliras prompted.
As the signal beeped that transmission was taking place, Michael answered, “We have our own code for department lines, just like your office, I assume. We use it for emergencies, so no one will have enough examples to decode.”
“You take your history lessons to heart, I see.”
“I learned from my superior, rather than from textbooks,” Michael complimented. Alliras nodded in concession.
To his consternation, Michael’s call was bounced to Raymond Magrath, Calbert’s capable assistant.
“What’s going on?” Michael demanded. “I got the message. Where’s Calbert? Get him on the line.”
Raymond looked sheepish. “Sorry, Director; Calbert has his hands full. I know he needs to speak to you, though. Urgently.” He struggled to think of what could be said over what passed for a “secure” line.
“There’s a…a kind
— Calbert
*
Michael looked up at Alliras, blinked, and then forced an equable smile on his face.
“Something has come up.”
“Everything all right?” Stall asked, fishing for information.
“Of course. You know SOPs: every time there’s a blip on the astrographs, they have to have it signed off.”
“A find?” Stall pressed.
Michael smiled. “If it is, I’ll make sure to send you an advance press release. And now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
The look on Ian Pocetello’s face was a mix of concern over the emergency, and relief that he would not be corralled that night.
The timing was horrible, but Michael had to get back and assess the situation; he trusted Calbert not to exaggerate any catastrophe. If anything, his aide was apt to understate the case; and that scared years off Michael’s life. If damage control was needed, he had to get to the SMD event center quickly.
As Michael turned to go, Alliras said, “You don’t mind if I tag along?” He read the emotion on Michael’s face, and knew that the message was more important than lobbying the finance minister.
“Please do.” Michael said it as casually as he could.
Alliras motioned to one of his aides, who hurried over. “Please inform our wives we’ve been called away, and see that they get home safely.”
“Certainly, sir.” The man gave a quick nod, and hurried off.
Making apologies as they left, Michael and Alliras made their way out of the St. Lawrence Charity Hall, and into the Minister’s awaiting limo.
*
“Dammit,” Michael cursed once they were inside the vehicle. “Two months trying to get into the same room with Ian Pocatello, and this happens.”
He handed the memo to his superior. Before reading it, Alliras commented, “A bit medieval, sending a message on plastic. Quaint, as the Honerable Ian Pocatello put it, but still medieval.”
“It’s something that Calbert initiated; public thought-comm traffic is mimocorded by the government. CSIS has legislation allowing them to monitor any thought-comm or AV conversation, even encoded transmissions. Even the CCP can get access to the Corp’s messaging system, in a crunch. A hand-delivered message is about the most secure form of communication available to us, as ironic as that is.”
“Ironic,” the Minister repeated.
“If one of the CSIS agents, or even a worker at the communications network, is of the disgruntled variety, there’s always the chance of them selling any vital information over the border. We normally have a code we use over the thought-comm network, but I turned off my system for the charity function.”
Alliras read the plastic slip inside the envelope. He whistled. “What does this mean?”
“I’m going to find out soon enough,” Michael replied, already tapping in the number for a direct AV comm line to Calbert Loche, powered under SMD’s private and secured lines, to allow his superior to listen in. An AV comm, conducted through thought-link patches, could be heard by one person on either end of the transmission.
“What about your internal security?” Alliras prompted.
As the signal beeped that transmission was taking place, Michael answered, “We have our own code for department lines, just like your office, I assume. We use it for emergencies, so no one will have enough examples to decode.”
“You take your history lessons to heart, I see.”
“I learned from my superior, rather than from textbooks,” Michael complimented. Alliras nodded in concession.
To his consternation, Michael’s call was bounced to Raymond Magrath, Calbert’s capable assistant.
“What’s going on?” Michael demanded. “I got the message. Where’s Calbert? Get him on the line.”
Raymond looked sheepish. “Sorry, Director; Calbert has his hands full. I know he needs to speak to you, though. Urgently.” He struggled to think of what could be said over what passed for a “secure” line.
“There’s a…a kind
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