for you at the Captainâs Table. Please do your best not to embarrass your country.
Paulâs sense of humor is more like a humor singularity, from which nothing funny can escape. But the booze in the gift basket is pretty good.
I take a mini-bottle of rum over to the computer built into the work desk. Now that I know where Iâm going tonight, I canât resist doing some reconnaissance.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Edward Gabriel Santamaria, the captain of Dejah Thoris, stands nearly two meters tall. He towers over everyone else in the dining room as he strides toward the table where Iâm seated for dinner with eight complete strangers. Even in this huge, multilevel space filled with people and noise, he stands out. Also because of the cam-bot hovering at his shoulder for passenger photo-ops.
Iâve read up on the captain. Not in depthâwithout a secure communications link, I donât have access to the agencyâs full data warehouseâbut the promotional materials provided in my room were a start. An omnipedia search on the public Internet provided additional background.
It might seem silly for me to do all this, when Iâll just have to pretend I donât know these things later. Iâm sitting at the Captainâs Table every night at dinner. Wouldnât it be easier, and less confusing, to ask about his life instead of investigating him in secret? Especially when Iâm not even on the job, and thereâs no need for me to do the extra legwork?
I mean, itâs not like I have anything to prove here. Itâs not like I want to demonstrate to Paul and Donald and the Secretary of State and anyone else who might be watchingânow or laterâthat I can fly solo, that I can complete a mission without a babysitter. Itâs not like Iâm going out of my way to show off my operational skills so everyone can see that I am, in fact, not the weakest link in the chain.
And Iâm certainly not doing this because itâs easier to think of âKangaroo on vacationâ as a cover identity than to figure out what I would actually enjoy doing as myself, without orders or instructions, without any kind of direction.
Boy, whichever agency shrink draws the short straw when I get back is going to have a whale of a time. At least they wonât be able to grill me about my mother. I suppose thatâs one of the few benefits of being an orphan.
âGood evening, everyone,â the captain says as he arrives at the large circular table. Up close, his white dress uniform isnât quite as ridiculous as the bellhopâs was, but the huge shoulderboards and thick gold braids dangling under his arms look like they could lead a parade all by themselves.
We go around the table and introduce ourselves once again. I was the first one here, and Iâve heard some of these spiels three or four times now. Itâs interesting to watch how people puff up in the captainâs presence. The man sitting directly across from me, Jerry Bartelt, said he was a salesman when he first sat down, but now heâs a âregional sales director.â Whoa there, slow down, big man. I wonât be surprised if Jerry pulls out a cosmetics sample case or a set of steak knives for a demonstration at some point.
The captain politely gives everyone their fifteen seconds in the spotlight, including a handshake or hug for the cam-bot to record as a souvenir holo. Heâs got a pretty good mask on, smiling and nodding with great sincerity, but I can see in his eyes that heâs done this a lot, and itâs a bit too soon since the last time for him to really enjoy it. But heâs not distracted, not preoccupied or thinking about something else. He is actually listening to each person, quietly validating their claim that theyâre important or interesting enough to be sitting at the Captainâs Table. I wonder how much my seat here is costing the department.
Iâm
Paulâs sense of humor is more like a humor singularity, from which nothing funny can escape. But the booze in the gift basket is pretty good.
I take a mini-bottle of rum over to the computer built into the work desk. Now that I know where Iâm going tonight, I canât resist doing some reconnaissance.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Edward Gabriel Santamaria, the captain of Dejah Thoris, stands nearly two meters tall. He towers over everyone else in the dining room as he strides toward the table where Iâm seated for dinner with eight complete strangers. Even in this huge, multilevel space filled with people and noise, he stands out. Also because of the cam-bot hovering at his shoulder for passenger photo-ops.
Iâve read up on the captain. Not in depthâwithout a secure communications link, I donât have access to the agencyâs full data warehouseâbut the promotional materials provided in my room were a start. An omnipedia search on the public Internet provided additional background.
It might seem silly for me to do all this, when Iâll just have to pretend I donât know these things later. Iâm sitting at the Captainâs Table every night at dinner. Wouldnât it be easier, and less confusing, to ask about his life instead of investigating him in secret? Especially when Iâm not even on the job, and thereâs no need for me to do the extra legwork?
I mean, itâs not like I have anything to prove here. Itâs not like I want to demonstrate to Paul and Donald and the Secretary of State and anyone else who might be watchingânow or laterâthat I can fly solo, that I can complete a mission without a babysitter. Itâs not like Iâm going out of my way to show off my operational skills so everyone can see that I am, in fact, not the weakest link in the chain.
And Iâm certainly not doing this because itâs easier to think of âKangaroo on vacationâ as a cover identity than to figure out what I would actually enjoy doing as myself, without orders or instructions, without any kind of direction.
Boy, whichever agency shrink draws the short straw when I get back is going to have a whale of a time. At least they wonât be able to grill me about my mother. I suppose thatâs one of the few benefits of being an orphan.
âGood evening, everyone,â the captain says as he arrives at the large circular table. Up close, his white dress uniform isnât quite as ridiculous as the bellhopâs was, but the huge shoulderboards and thick gold braids dangling under his arms look like they could lead a parade all by themselves.
We go around the table and introduce ourselves once again. I was the first one here, and Iâve heard some of these spiels three or four times now. Itâs interesting to watch how people puff up in the captainâs presence. The man sitting directly across from me, Jerry Bartelt, said he was a salesman when he first sat down, but now heâs a âregional sales director.â Whoa there, slow down, big man. I wonât be surprised if Jerry pulls out a cosmetics sample case or a set of steak knives for a demonstration at some point.
The captain politely gives everyone their fifteen seconds in the spotlight, including a handshake or hug for the cam-bot to record as a souvenir holo. Heâs got a pretty good mask on, smiling and nodding with great sincerity, but I can see in his eyes that heâs done this a lot, and itâs a bit too soon since the last time for him to really enjoy it. But heâs not distracted, not preoccupied or thinking about something else. He is actually listening to each person, quietly validating their claim that theyâre important or interesting enough to be sitting at the Captainâs Table. I wonder how much my seat here is costing the department.
Iâm
Similar Books
