“So,” the deputy minister finished up, “that is what we know Jefferson has bought. What else they have smuggled in must remain conjecture, for now. But that isn’t everything we’ve discovered, Colonel. We’ve also tracked news reports coming out of Jefferson, taking a look at how that pattern has shifted, and quite frankly, it’s alarming.”
“I can well imagine.”
Tathagata inclined his head. “I’m sure you can. Vishnu and Mali have a number of concerns. Given the way the Deng/Melconian war is shaping up, our High Chamber can’t afford to jeopardize economic and political ties with Jefferson. It’s starting to look mighty lonely, out here, Colonel. We can’t afford to antagonize one another at a time when we may well need each other just to survive.
“At the same time, we,” he indicated himself — and by extension, everyone in the Ngara system — “can’t support a government that has all the hallmarks of a violent and oppressive regime. We’ve been aware for many years of the serious worsening of conditions on Jefferson. The number of refugees is down dramatically, but the ones who make it are in far worse shape, by every measurement you care to use.
“The tension between Granger refugees and POPPA officials — and their children — are reaching an alarming state. If the propaganda reports coming out of Jefferson are intended to hide a major program designed to violate human rights in clear violation of treaty agreements governing the conduct of allied worlds, we need to know. The sooner the better. We can’t afford that kind of neighbor.”
“From what I’ve seen,” Simon muttered, “the only way to get POPPA to abide by the provisions of a treaty — any treaty — is to hold a very large gun to their heads and threaten to squeeze the trigger.”
Tathagata’s eyes flickered. “Your assessment matches ours.” He leaned forward, resting elbows on knees in an attitude of candid confession. “I’ll be frank with you, Colonel. We need an observer on the ground, out there. Someone who can tell us what’s really going on, provide us with basic intelligence. Did you realize that Jefferson’s government has outlawed private ownership of SWIFT units? That the only messages coming out of Jefferson are controlled by the government?”
“Oh, yes. They confiscated those right after they confiscated all privately owned weapons.” He did not add that there were a few, brief-duration, coded messages going out, from rebel broadcasters who’d managed to lay hands on a SWIFT transmitter during an attack on a P-Squad office. They didn’t dare use it too often, however, and kept the unit in motion at all times, aboard one groundcar or another, twenty-five hours a day. “What are you proposing to do about it?”
“We want to send someone in. Someone who knows what to look for, knows the culture, the major players, the background on POPPA’s takeover. We want someone who can determine whether or not POPPA has overstepped its legal authority, allowing the Concordiat to revoke its treaty status or to force the current regime to step down. And if they are doing what we’re afraid they’re doing, if they’re using their Bolo to do what we think they are, we need someone who knows Bolos. Specifically,” Tathagata clarified his point, “Mark XXs.”
“If all you want is basic intel on what POPPA’s up to, why the interest in a Mark XX’s capabilities?”
“Our High Chamber is inclined to sell Santorini the parts he wants and provide the technicians. Not for profit, you understand, but because it’s a perfect opportunity to get our people in the middle of exactly what we need to know. The fly in the ointment is simple enough. Mark XXs are so old, our lab engineers need a technical advisor, someone who knows the Mark XX’s systems. Its capabilities and weak points. How to adapt parts that aren’t Brigade spec to begin with, and how to mate them to a Mark XX’s older technology interface.”
“I see.” And so he did. Very clearly.
Sheila Brisbane spoke up. “It’s more than that, Simon. If Jefferson has suborned your Bolo into maintaining an illegitimate regime, the Brigade will be forced to take action. They can’t spare an officer to come all the way out here to deal with one potentially renegade star system and its Bolo. I can’t deal with it, because I can’t abandon my duty station and the Brigade would never authorize me to leave the system, not even to investigate charges that serious. That leaves the Brigade with only one clear choice.”
Simon saw where she was headed and drew in a sharp breath.
“You know his command codes,” she added gently. “Including the destruct sequence.”
Simon shut his eyes for just a moment. After all he and Lonesome Son had gone through, together… It was one thing to supply Kafari with data on Sonny’s most vulnerable spots, trying to knock him out of commission long enough for the rebellion to seize control back from the thugs in POPPA’s employ. It was quite another to face the prospect of killing Sonny with the transmission of a single code phrase. Simon could have done that, at any point, although he’d have faced prison for the rest of his life. And destroying Sonny would have left Jefferson utterly defenseless, in the event of armed trouble from the Deng or Melconians. Simon was still a Brigade officer. He didn’t have the authority to destroy a Bolo on active duty assignment. No matter how desperately he wanted to protect his wife and her family.
“You’re the only asset we have, Simon,” Captain Brisbane said, voice hushed. “If necessary, I’ll contact Sector for official permission to use those codes.”
“They might,” he said harshly, “even grant permission. Jesus…” He drew a deep breath and met Tathagata’s gaze squarely. “The government of Jefferson,” he said, aware of the harsh edge in his voice, “is the most dangerous thing this side of the Melconian battle front. They’ve tried to kill me, once. That just might give us an edge.”
Tathagata’s eyes widened. “That’s a serious charge, Colonel. And how, exactly, would that give us an advantage?”
Simon didn’t answer. He stalked into his bedroom and came out holding a carefully framed photo. “That’s my wedding picture.”
The deputy minister stared from the picture to Simon and back again, several times. “Yes, I see your point. Very clearly, indeed.” He set the photograph down, very gently. “She was beautiful, Colonel. Can you go back? Without giving way to the anger that they killed her?”
Simon held his gaze for a long moment, before coming to his decision. “Let me show you something else, Mr. Tathagata. Something not even my daughter knows.”
The deputy minister frowned slightly, glancing at Sheila, who shook her head, because she didn’t know, either. Simon stepped back into his bedroom and tapped security codes into his computer, shunting the output to the large view-screen in the living room.
Kafari’s first message began to play. The others followed, in sequence. Simon watched Tathagata through narrowed eyes. After the first moment of stunned, wide-eyed realization, the deputy minister sat forward, intent on every word, every nuance of tone, every fleeting expression that crossed his wife’s face as she spoke. When the last recording finished, Simon closed the messages and locked them again with a security code that not even Yalena was sharp enough to crack, despite her aptitude for psychotronic programming.
Sahir Tathagata probably could have broken into Simon’s files, given time and incentive, and Sheila’s Bolo would’ve made short work of it, but Simon was fairly certain that neither the Deputy Minister of Military Intelligence nor Captain Brisbane had seen any of those files, before today. It took a fine actor, indeed, to fool a Brigade officer.