The Human Division #1: The B-Team (7 page)

Wilson estimated he had fifteen minutes of air left when the Utche shuttle sidled up to his position and opened an outside airlock for him. On the inside, a space-suited Utche guided him in, closed the airlock and, when the air cycle had finished, opened the inner seal to the shuttle. Wilson unsealed his head, took off the oxygen mask, inhaled and then suppressed his gag reflex. Utche did not smell particularly wonderful to humans. He looked up and saw several Utche looking at him curiously.

“Hi,” he said to no one of them in particular.

“Are you well?” one of them asked, in a voice that sounded as if it were being spoken while inhaling.

“I’m fine,” Wilson said. “How is the
Clarke
?”

“You are asking of your ship,” said another, in a similar inward-breathing voice.

“Yes,” Wilson said.

“It is most damaged,” said the first one.

“Are there dead?” Wilson asked. “Are there injured?”

“You are a soldier,” the second one said. “May you understand our language? It would be easier to say there.”

Wilson nodded and booted up the Utche translation routine he’d received with the
Clarke
’s new orders. “Speak your own language,” he said. “I will respond in mine.”

“I am Ambassador Suel,” the second one said. As the ambassador spoke, a second voice superimposed and spoke in English. “We don’t yet know the extent of the damage to your ship or the casualties because we only just now reestablished communication, and that through an emergency transmitter on the
Clarke
. When we reestablished contact we intended to offer assistance and to bring your crew onto our ship. But Ambassador Abumwe insisted that we must first retrieve you before we came to the
Clarke
. She was most insistent.”

“As I was about to run out of oxygen, I appreciate her insistence,” Wilson said.

“I am Sub-Ambassador Dorb,” said the first Utche. “Would you tell us how you came to be floating out here in space without a ship around you?”

“I had a ship,” Wilson said. “It was eaten by a school of missiles.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand what you mean by that,” Dorb said, after a glance to his (her? its?) boss.

“I will be happy to explain,” Wilson said. “I would be even happier to explain on the way to the
Clarke
.”

Abumwe, Coloma and Schmidt, as well as the majority of the
Clarke
’s diplomatic mission, were on hand when the Utche shuttle door irised open and Ambassadors Suel and Dorb exited, with Wilson directly behind.

“Ambassador Suel,” Abumwe said, and a device attached to a lanyard translated for her. She bowed. “I am Ambassador Ode Abumwe. I apologize for the lack of live translator.”

“Ambassador Abumwe,” Suel said in his own language, and returned the bow. “No apology is needed. Your Lieutenant Wilson has very quickly briefed us on how it is you have come to be here in place of Ambassador Bair, and what you and the crew of the
Clarke
have done on our behalf. We will of course have to confirm the data for ourselves, but in the meantime I wish to convey our gratitude.”

“Your gratitude is appreciated but not required,” Abumwe said. “We have done only what was necessary. As to the data”—Abumwe nodded to Schmidt, who came forward and presented a data card to Dorb—“on that data card you will find both the black box recordings of the
Polk
and all the data recorded by us since we arrived in Danavar space. We wish to be open and direct with you and leave no doubt of our intentions or deeds during these negotiations.”

Wilson blinked at this; black box data and the
Clarke
data records were almost certainly classified materials. Abumwe was taking a hell of a risk offering them up to the Utche prior to a signed treaty. He glanced at Abumwe, whose expression was unreadable; whatever else she was, she was in full diplomatic mode now.

“Thank you, Ambassador,” Suel said. “But I wonder if we should not suspend these negotiations for the time being. Your ship is damaged and you undoubtedly have casualties among your crew. Your focus should be on your own people. We would of course stand ready to assist.”

Captain Coloma stepped forward and saluted Suel. “Captain Sophia Coloma,” she said. “Welcome to the
Clarke,
Ambassador.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the ambassador said.

“Ambassador, the
Clarke
is damaged and will require repair, but her life support and energy systems are stable,” Coloma said. “We had a brief time to model and prepare for the missile strike and because of it were able to sustain the strike with minimal casualties and no deaths. While we will welcome your assistance, particularly with our communications systems, at this point we are in no immediate danger. Please do not let us be a hindrance to your negotiations.”

“That is good to hear,” Suel said. “Even so—”

“Ambassador, if I may,” Abumwe said. “The crew of the
Clarke
risked everything, including their own lives, so that you and your crew might be safe and that we might secure this treaty. This man on my staff”—Abumwe nodded toward Wilson—“let four missiles chase him down and escaped death by throwing himself out of a shuttle and into the cold vacuum of space. It would be disrespectful of us to allow their efforts to be repaid with a
postponement
of our work.”

Suel and Dorb looked over to Wilson, as if to get his thought on the matter. Wilson glanced over to Abumwe, who was expressionless.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t want to have to come back here again,” he said, to Suel and Dorb.

Suel and Dorb stared at him for a moment, and then made a sound that Wilson’s BrainPal translated as [laughter].

Twenty minutes later, the Utche shuttle left the
Clarke
with Abumwe and her diplomatic team aboard.

“Thank Christ that’s over,” Coloma said, as it cleared the bay. She pivoted to return to the bridge, without looking at Wilson or Schmidt.

“The ship’s not really secure, is it,” Wilson said, to her back.

“Of course it’s not,” she said, turning back. “The only true thing I said was that we had no deaths, although it’s probably more accurate to say that we don’t have any deaths
yet
. As for the rest of it, our life support and energy systems are hanging by a thread, most of the other systems are dead or failing, and it will be a miracle if the
Clarke
ever moves from this spot under her own power. And to top it all off, some idiot destroyed our shuttle.”

“Sorry about that,” Wilson said.

“Hmmm,” Coloma said. She started to turn again.

“It was a very great thing, to risk your ship for the Utche,” Wilson said. “I didn’t ask you to do that. That came from you, Captain Coloma. It’s a victory, if you ask me. Ma’am.”

Coloma paused for a second and then walked off, with no response.

“I don’t think she likes me much,” Wilson said, to Schmidt.

“Your charm is best described as idiosyncratic,” Schmidt said.

“So why do
you
like me?” Wilson said.

“I don’t think I’ve actually ever admitted to liking you,” Schmidt said.

“Now that you mention it, I think you may be right,” Wilson said.

“You’re not boring,” Schmidt said.

“Which is what you like most about me,” Wilson said.

“No, boring is good,” Schmidt said, and waved his hand around the shuttle bay. “This is the shit that’s going to kill me.”

Colonel Abel Rigney and Colonel Liz Egan sat in a hole-in-the-wall commissary at Phoenix Station, eating cheeseburgers.

“These are fantastic cheeseburgers,” Rigney said.

“They’re even better when you have a genetically engineered body that never gets fat,” Egan said. She took another bite of her burger.

“True,” Rigney said. “Maybe I’ll have another.”

“Do,” Egan said. “Test your metabolism.”

“So, you read the report,” Rigney said to Egan between his own bites.

“All I do is read reports,” Egan said. “Read reports and scare midlevel bureaucrats. Which report are we talking about?”

“The one on the final round of negotiations with the Utche,” Rigney said. “With the
Clarke,
and Ambassador Abumwe and Lieutenant Wilson.”

“I did,” Egan said.

“What’s the final disposition of the
Clarke
?” Rigney asked.

“What did you find out about those missile fragments?” Egan asked.

“I asked you first,” Rigney said.

“And I’m not in the second grade, so that tactic doesn’t work with me,” Egan said, and took another bite.

“We took a chunk of missile your dockworkers fished out of the
Clarke
and found a part number on it. The missile tracks back to a frigate called the
Brainerd
. This particular missile was reported launched and destroyed in a live fire training exercise eighteen months ago. All the data I’ve seen confirms the official story,” Rigney said.

“So we have ghost missiles being used by mystery ships to undermine secret diplomatic negotiations,” Egan said.

“That’s about the size of it,” Rigney said. He set down his burger.

“Secretary Galeano isn’t going to be very pleased that one of our own missiles was used to severely damage one of her department’s ships,” Egan said.

“That’s all right,” Rigney said. “My bosses aren’t very pleased that a mole in the Department of State told whoever was using our own missiles against your ship where that ship was going to be and with whom it was negotiating.”

“You have evidence of that?” Egan asked.

“No,” Rigney said. “But we have pretty good evidence that the Utche sprung no leaks. The process of elimination applies from there.”

“I’d like to see that evidence about the Utche,” Egan said.

“I’d like to show it to you,” Rigney said. “But you have a mole problem.”

Egan looked at Rigney narrowly. “You better smile when you say that, Abel,” she said.

“To be clear,” Rigney said, “I would—and
have,
you’ll recall from our combat days—trust you with my life. It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s everyone else in your department. Someone with a high enough security clearance to know about the Utche talks is engaging in treason, Liz. Selling us out to our enemies. Which enemies, we don’t know. But our
friends
don’t blow up one of our ships and try to go after a second.”

Egan said nothing to this, choosing to stab a fry into ketchup instead.

“Which brings us back to the
Clarke,
” Rigney said. “How is the ship?”

“We’re trying to decide which will cost less, a complete rehaul or scrapping it and building a new ship,” Egan said. “If we scrap it, at the very least we recoup the salvage value.”

“That bad,” Rigney said.

“The CDF makes excellent ship-to-ship missiles,” Egan said. “Why do you ask?”

“For a B-team, Abumwe and her team were pretty impressive, don’t you think?” Rigney said.

“They did all right,” Egan said.

“Really,” Rigney said, and held up a hand to start ticking off points on his fingers. “Wilson and Schmidt develop a new protocol for locating powerless CDF black boxes and retrieve data revealing what happened to the
Polk
. Then Wilson takes multiple spacewalks clad only in a CDF combat unitard and discovers a plan to destroy the Utche diplomatic mission with our missiles. He destroys four of those missiles and then Captain Coloma sacrifices her own ship to make sure the last missile doesn’t hit the Utche. Coloma then flat-out lies to the Utche about the state of her ship to make sure Abumwe has a shot at the negotiations, and Abumwe basically strong-arms the Utche—the
Utche
—into completing their negotiations. Which they
do,
with only a day’s preparation.”

“They did all right,” Egan said again.

“What more would you
like
them to do?” Rigney asked. “Walk on water?”

“Where is this going, Abel?” Egan asked.

“You said the most notable negotiation these folks did before this was another situation where they were forced to think on their feet and improvise,” Rigney said. “Has it occurred to you that the reason Abumwe and her people are on your B-list is not because they’re not good at what they do, but because you’re not putting them in the right situations?”

“We didn’t know these negotiations were going to be the ‘right’ situation,” Egan said.

“No, but now you know what
are
the right situations for them,” Rigney said. “High-risk, high-reward situations where the path to success isn’t laid out but has to be cut by machetes through a jungle filled with poison toads.”

“The poison toads are a nice touch,” Egan said, reaching for another french fry.

“You see what I’m getting at,” Rigney said.

“I do,” Egan said. “But I’m not entirely sure I’m going to be able to convince the secretary that a bunch of B-listers is who she wants for high-risk, high-reward missions.”

“Not all of them,” Rigney said. “Just the ones where the usual diplomatic bullshit won’t work.”

“Why do you care?” Egan said. “You seem awfully passionate about a bunch of people you had no idea existed just a week ago.”

“You say it yourself every time you scare your State Department middle managers,” Rigney said. “We’re running out of time. We don’t have the Earth anymore, and we need more friends than we’ve got if we’re going to survive. Part of that can be something like the
Clarke
crew already is—a fire team we parachute in when nothing else is working.”

“And when they fail?” Egan said.

“Then they fail in a situation where failure is an expected outcome,” Rigney said. “But if they succeed, then we’re much better off.”

“If we appoint them to be this ‘fire team,’ as you say, then we’re already raising expectations for whatever they do,” Egan said.

“There’s a simple solution for that,” Rigney said. “Don’t tell them they’re a fire team.”

“How awfully cruel,” Egan said.

Rigney shrugged. “Abumwe and her people are already aware that they’re not at the grown-ups’ table,” he said. “Why do you think she browbeat the Utche into negotiations? She knows an opportunity when she sees it. She wants those opportunities, and she and her team are going to beat their brains in to get them.”

“And destroy their ships to get them, apparently,” Egan said. “This fire team idea of yours could get expensive, fast.”

“What’s the plan for the
Clarke
’s crew?” Rigney asked.

“It hasn’t been decided,” Egan said. “We might put Abumwe and her diplomatic team on a different ship. Coloma’s going to have to face an inquiry about intentionally putting her ship in the path of a missile. She’s going to get cleared, but it’s still a process. Wilson’s on loan from CDF Research and Development. Presumably at some point they’re going to want him back.”

“Do you think you could put any decisions on the
Clarke
’s crew on hold for a few weeks?” Rigney asked.

“You seem awfully excited about these people,” Egan said. “But even if I did put them in career limbo for your own amusement, there’s no guarantee the secretary would sign off on your ‘fire team’ concept.”

“Would it help if the CDF had a list of fires it would prefer to be put out through diplomacy than gunfire?” Rigney asked.

“Ah,” Egan said. “
Now
we’re getting to it. And I can already tell you how that idea’s going to go over. When I first joined the secretary’s team as CDF liaison, it took her six weeks to have a conversation with me longer than three words, all monosyllables. If I come to her with a list of requests from the CDF and a handpicked team, she’ll communicate to me with grunts.”

“All the more reason to use this team,” Rigney said. “It’s full of nobodies. She’ll think she’s screwing us. Tell her about the request and then suggest these people. It’ll work brilliantly.”

“Would you like me to ask her not to throw you in the briar patch while I’m at it?” Egan asked.

“Just this one request for now,” Rigney said.

Egan was quiet for a few moments as she picked at her fries. Rigney finished his burger and waited.

“I’ll take her temperature on it,” Egan said, finally. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

“I never get my hopes up,” Rigney said. “It’s how I’ve lived this long.”

“And in the meantime I’ll keep the
Clarke
crew from being reassigned elsewhere,” Egan said.

“Thank you,” Rigney said.

“You owe me,” Egan said.

“Of course I do,” Rigney said.

“Now I have to go,” Egan said, pushing up from the table. “More children to scare.”

“You have fun with that,” Rigney said.

“You know I do,” Egan said. She turned to go.

“Hey, Liz,” Rigney said. “That estimate you give the kids, the one about humans having thirty years before we’re extinct. How much exaggeration is in that?”

“Do you want the truth?” Egan asked.

“Yes,” Rigney said.

“Almost none at all,” Egan said. “If anything, it’s optimistic.”

She left. Rigney stared at the remains of their meal.

“Well, hell,” he said. “If we’re doomed, maybe I will have that second cheeseburger after all.”