03 - The First Amendment (6 page)

Stepping over to a projector, she touched a control. Lights automatically
dimmed as an image was thrown against a white wall. It shuddered and jerked,
presumably as the probe rolled out of the Gate and over a few rocks, and then
was still.

Nothing moved anywhere on the landscape that the probe surveyed. The ground
was charred gray and black, as if it had once been a velvety landscape that was
then hit by a solar flare. The horizon faded into a dull gray in the distance.
Nowhere within the scope of the probe’s lens were any signs of trees, buildings,
or even crumbled walls. Just rocks and uneven ground and ash.

“Ick,” O’Neill remarked comprehensively. “That’s it?”

“Pretty much,” Rusalka said. “We think the probe got stuck, because it hasn’t
moved from that point. This world is very Earth-like as far as gravity goes, but
the ground is rock and ash. We haven’t seen any sign of indigenous life—animals,
birds, or even any insects.”

“Radiation?”

“No. We don’t know what caused this, or how far it extends. It could be
Paradise just outside the range of the lens, but considering how still it is, I
wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Hmmm.” O’Neill was silent for a moment. Then: “Which one would you recommend
we tackle. Major?”

“Right now, none of them,” she responded promptly. “We plan to send a really
big
flashlight through to the first of the three worlds, see if we can
light up the place a bit. The probe has just been rolling around randomly,
bumping into things and changing directions. We have no idea at all what’s
there.

“The second location looks like just an all-round bad idea.

“And I’d like to see if anything changes on the third one before anybody goes
charging in there.”

“Recommendations noted.” O’Neill got up and waved a casual salute. “Thanks.
’Ah’ll be bahck.”

The two women rolled their eyes as he left.

“How much you want to bet he goes for Door Number Two?” Randolph asked,
reaching for a scrap of paper to start a new list.

“Are you suggesting our beloved colonel likes to go out looking for fights?”

“I’m suggesting our beloved colonel is bored out of his mind. He hasn’t been
anywhere for at least a couple of weeks. He likes Adventures.”

“Nasty things, make you late for dinner.”

“I wish I could go,” Randolph said wistfully. “It must be so…
awesome,
going to new worlds and stuff.”

“Yeah? You looked at the casualty lists lately?” Rusalka had very strong and
very practical views on the whole starhopping issue. “What would you do with
your girls? I’ll stay right where I am, thanks. And hope they don’t let anything
follow them home. It might want to keep us.”

The gray phone on Major Rusalka’s desk rang then, and both women jumped. With
one eyebrow hiked high, Rusalka picked up the receiver. Randolph watched with
growing curiosity as the major made noncommittal noises, scratched a neat
reminder on a memo pad, and finally hung up the phone. Her face was several
shades paler than when she’d begun the conversation. She stared at the
instrument, her hand on the receiver, for so long that Randolph thought she was
going to burst.

“Well?
What?”

“Oooooh, shit.” Rusalka’s hand finally fell away from the receiver, but she
continued staring at it for a moment longer, as if it had suddenly turned into
something poisonous.

“What is it?” Devorah had never heard her office mate use an expletive in the entire time they’d shared space. “What’s wrong?”

“You know those visitors they’re, having today?” Rusalka said, pronouncing
the words with difficulty. “Well, it turns out that one of them is a reporter.”

“So?”

“He’s Frank Kinsey. Senator Kinsey’s son. You remember Senator Kinsey?”

“Oh.”
Everyone at SGC remembered, with shudders, the last visit from
Senator Lyle Kinsey, who had come within a hairsbreadth of shutting down the
project completely. “The general is not gonna like this,” she predicted
somberly.

“Yeah, and guess who gets to tell him?” Rusalka muttered. She threw the other
woman a salute with one hand as she picked up the receiver again with the other.
“We who are about to die…”

“
You
die.
I’m
going to pull up everything I can find on the guy,”
Randolph muttered, spinning her chair once again to stop in front of her
computer keyboard.

Hammond’s lips tightened, and his knuckles went white around the receiver.
“Understood, Major.” He disconnected and scowled.

Senator Kinsey had nearly pulled the rug out from under him once before. It
couldn’t be a coincidence that his son was snooping around, no doubt looking for
a story. The “public” face of the Complex did provide the occasional tour for
the interested (and usually high-ranking) civilian, but it was always scheduled
well in advance and Pace made sure that Hammond was fully informed. Hitting him
out of the blue this way was a violation of their agreement: Pace provided cover
and no nasty surprises, and Hammond provided… no nasty surprises. The
difference was that Hammond pretty much knew exactly what kind of surprises Pace
could come up with, while Pace had absolutely no idea what he was being
sheltered from. It was another reason Pace didn’t like the arrangement.

Barely hesitating, Hammond got up and left his office, heading toward the
upper levels of the mountain.

It wasn’t quite time yet for his official appointment, but that was just too
bad. Hammond wanted to talk to the CinC
now.

As soon as he left his own area, a discreet escort fell into position behind
him. He might be supreme in his own bailiwick, but once outside it he was subject to regular CMC
security.

Rude, very rude to barge in on the commanding general this way. In medieval
times, Hammond would have used a herald with a trumpet to request a rendezvous
on neutral ground where two sovereign lords could treat with each other as
equals. Pace would have taken his time about considering the request and then
responded via a herald of his own.

Hammond had no intention of getting medieval. He charged ahead, letting his
escort fall further and further behind, and burst through clusters of
frantically saluting military types like a gun dog flushing coveys of quail.

The airman serving as receptionist outside Pace’s office shot to his feet and
quivered at full attention in the dazzle of Hammond’s general’s stars.

“At ease,” Hammond snapped, returning the salute. “Austin in there?”

“Um, he’s in a meeting with Brigadier Cassidy,” the airman quavered.

“Hmph. See if he’s got a spare scone for me.”

The airman swallowed and reached for a telephone, speaking softly and rapidly
into it while Hammond let go a long breath and wondered suddenly if this was
such a good idea after all. He didn’t mind facing down Pace; Cassidy was
something else. He was willing to tear into Pace anytime, but he’d never quite
understood the mild-mannered, steel-spined Canadian. Cassidy wasn’t quite
British, but he sometimes behaved like the very image of the upper-crust,
not-quite-all-there aristocrat—and he was assuredly both present and accounted
for at all times. Hammond sometimes thought that without Cassidy, Pace would be
completely lost as commander of Cheyenne Mountain. He didn’t bother to wonder
what either man thought of him, of course.

He briefly considered going back to his office and going through channels after all—no, that would look too much like a
retreat—when the door opened and Pace appeared, not at all surprised by
Hammond’s early, if infuriated, arrival. “George, great to see you! Come on in.
Ed and I were just having a little chat about things.”

“Scone, George?” Cassidy offered hospitably. The Canadian was attired in
semi-dress uniform, with epaulets and ribbons galore. The creases in his
trousers could cut glass. His black shoes gleamed with a mirror finish. By
contrast, though Austin Pace could pass inspection by the most critical U.S.
master sergeant, the American general in
his
uniform looked just the
least bit disheveled.

Hammond nodded, deciding not to be put off, and took a chair across a low
table from the other two men. He could play civilized with the best of them.
“Thanks. Skipped breakfast this morning.” The scone disappeared quickly and
efficiently, taking just enough time for Hammond to observe the twinkle in
Cassidy’s eye, the deep-seated dissatisfaction in Pace’s.

“All right,” he said, washing down the last bit and setting his coffee mug
down on the table with a decisive click. “Let’s get to the point. Austin, what’s
this I hear about you letting reporters in for a tour?”

“One reporter,” Pace corrected automatically. “And that’s not what he’s
coming as.”

“Yeah, Army beats Navy every single year,” Hammond snorted. “And I’ve got a
pig who makes a great copilot.”

Cassidy chuckled openly. Hammond glared. Cassidy chuckled again.

“He’s going to be escorted every minute,” Pace said. “Yes, we’re doing this
as a favor to his father, but he’s not going anywhere near your bailiwick. And
we have a few things
we’d
rather not share, too, you know.” He glanced
pointedly at the door to his office, outside of which Hammond’s escort waited patiently. Need to Know cut both ways. “I don’t intend to lose control of the
situation, George.”

Hammond grunted, not yet sure he was mollified. “You’re taking all
precautions, of course.”

“Naturally,” Pace said frostily. “Kinsey will be under escort at all times.
We’re not interested in turning loose a reporter any more than you are.
Particularly this one. He’s got a reputation as a good reporter, been in action.
I’ve talked to some of my colleagues, and they say he’s had the opportunity to
blow operations and knew when to keep his mouth shut. But he’s also fried a
couple of commanders for breakfast for stupid decisions, cost them their
careers. You heard about the Pinxley scandal? That was Kinsey.”

Cassidy added, “We’re told he’s doing a review piece for the
Washington
Observer
on the current state of space defense. I think we’ve got more to
worry about than you do, George.”

Hammond doubted that—the existence of NORAD, at least, wasn’t any secret—but
he decided to borrow a tactic from Sun Tzu and change directions, at least for
the moment. Kinsey might have precipitated his coming up here ahead of schedule,
but they did still have an agenda for this meeting, and he wanted to get those
issues sorted out too. “All right. I’ll take your word for it for the time
being—let’s not borrow trouble. As long as I’m here, let’s get to business.
We’ve got some other problems to talk about—they’re on the memo I sent up
earlier.”

“Oh,
challenges,
surely, George? Let’s not characterize them as
problems before we’ve even had a chance to look at them.” Cassidy set his cup
back on the saucer with a discreet clatter of porcelain. The Canadian supplied
his own cup; both Pace and Hammond preferred mugs for their caffeine, the larger
the better.

“Well, I must say it certainly was a
challenge
to find out how you
proposed to refit your entire internal communications system at Blue Book’s expense.” Hammond settled back into his
leather chair to begin battle. He could feel his initial anger at the identity
of the reporter ebbing as they moved on to more mundane issues. It wasn’t
NORAD’s fault, after all. And maybe it would turn out to be only a tempest in a
teapot after all.

Pace coughed as a swallow of scone went down the wrong way. Cassidy smiled
peacefully, maintaining a position as neutral observer, rather like a judge at a
tennis match. Point to Hammond for the unexpected serve.

“You admitted that it was your project that practically brought the mountain
down around our ears,” Pace volleyed back once the obstruction in his throat had
been cleared. “And our memorandum of understanding when you moved in clearly
stated that you would assume all costs of…”

“And we have. We fixed our little problem. Haven’t had any vibration for, oh,
months. Have we?”

“The damage still exists. And you have an obligation to assist us in
maintaining our battle readiness—”

“Which
I have done, and continue to do. Those repairs were made, Austin,
and you know it. What you’re asking for now amounts to a complete upgrade of
internal communications for the whole damn mountain, and that’s unreasonable.”

“I see no reason why—”

“I do. We’re very much aware that you’ve been a gracious host, and we’ve
tried to be a cooperative guest, but the fact that we’ve had a shakedown
cruise”—he ignored Cassidy’s snort of amusement at the pun—“in no way implies
that you can use us to justify your brand-new bells and whistles.”

Pace glared. “George, are you
sure
you’re not a Navy man?”

“No, but I can swear like a sailor if you want me to.”

“All right, all right.” Pace lifted a hand in defeat. “I’ll have my financial
people look at the numbers again. It’s possible they could have misplaced a
decimal point.”

Hammond just barely refrained from expressing raw skepticism. It was rather
more than
one
decimal point. He’d won, though, and he knew better than to
gloat. Next time it would be Pace’s turn, and Hammond would be the one having to
back down on an issue. Best not to leave ill feelings behind.

“All right, then. We may be able to contribute something to the
communications interface. I’ll see if I’ve got anything left in the budget that
will help.” He was feeling downright generous now, and decided to close one more
loop on the original subject while he was at it. “Oh yes, one more thing about
our unexpected visitor. I’d like a full itinerary sent down to my Chief of
Staff’s office, if you don’t mind, so I’ll know where to keep my people away
from. And some information about his escort, too.”