Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (3 page)

“Those people are my bosses the way that Bill Gates is the boss of a lowly Micro-Vac programmer,” Eric said. “I'm not even going to try to figure out why they asked to attend. All we have to do is survive the reception and we're out of here.”

“You just want to do more than what my mother refers to as 'spooning,' ” Brooke said, grinning.

“I just want to get out from under the gaze of the commandant,” Eric said, smiling back. “Not to say that I'm not looking forward to tonight.”

“And no alcohol for you at the reception,” Brooke said, crawling onto his lap. “At least that's what Mom suggested.”

“ 'Wine giveth the desire but taketh the ability,' ” Eric quoted.

“Is that from the Bible?” Brooke asked.

“Close,” Eric replied with a grin. “Shakespeare.”

“Captain,” Admiral Townsend said, nodding at Weaver.

“Admiral,” Weaver replied.

The reception had turned into an odd affair. Held at the Quantico Officers' Club, it was buffet style with tables and chairs but no defined places. It had started off rather aggressively split between the civilian attendees and the military. That slowly changed as it became evident that many of the civilians, the male ones at least, were former military. The town Eric and Brooke derived from had more than its share of veterans and while they tended to avoid the “brass,” they had been more than willing to seek out the more junior officers, and the few enlisted permitted for this occasion on hallowed ground, for conversation.

The ladies, on the other hand, had completely ignored the civilian/military divide. Which had Brooke's grandmother, who, with only few exceptions had never left the confines of a small West Virginia town, in deep conversation with Mrs. Admiral Townsend, both of whose children had been born outside the contiguous United States, one in Hawaii and one in Japan.

“I'm waiting for someone to ask why we're all here,” the CAO said.

“You're looking at the wrong captain, sir,” Weaver replied. “I've spent more than half my total career in black operations. I don't ask questions unless they're germane.”

“Touché,” Townsend said, chuckling. “I'd forgotten you were in the black community before you got shanghaied.”

“I wouldn't call it shanghaied, sir,” Weaver replied, shrugging. “I volunteered.”

“I talked to Jim Bennett, who in case you didn't know it was the guy who greased your skids,” the admiral said, referring to a former Chief of Naval Operations. “He said he knew from the beginning that there wasn't a Naval officer who was going to be right for the Blade, one who really understood space. One choice was pulling back one of the Navy officers with NASA. But most of them were more expert at near-space, which wasn't going to get us anywhere. Then there were some officers associated with the Observatory, but they were a bit . . .”

“Geekish?” Weaver asked.

“Probably the best way to put it,” Townsend admitted. “But the SEAL after-action reports from the Dreen War indicated that you were anything but geekish. Bennett quietly arranged, without either you or Columbia realizing it, to pull you off the project over and over again, figuring you'd get fed up and try another tack. When you volunteered, it fit his plans exactly.”

“So I was manipulated into becoming an officer?” Weaver asked, aghast. “He could have just asked.”

“Probably what I would have done,” Townsend admitted. “But Jim was a bit more Machiavellian than I. Anyway, just thought you should know.”

“Shiny,” Bill said. “Somehow that gives me the courage to ask. Are you all here because Berg is a really nice kid or for some other reason?”

“Oh, Berg is a nice kid,” Townsend admitted. “But the President wanted to come and couldn't. So he ordered me and the commandant to attend. Spectre was coming, anyway. Everybody else? I think they just assumed if we were attending . . .”

“It must be mandatory,” Weaver added with a chuckle. “More or less what Chief Miller said, except for the first bit.”

“What the President doesn't realize is that this could have been a disaster,” the CAO continued. “On many levels. One of them being curiosity. So far the press hasn't asked why we're all here. They still may. They're getting closer and closer to the truth.”

“I saw the article in the Washington Times, sir,” Bill said. The “Inside the Ring” column speculated, based on a number of data items, that the U.S. either had a space drive or was approaching having one. An earlier article had reported from “an anonymous source” that the Dreen had been located in real space and were somewhere near the Orion stars. That had probably come from the destruction of the HD 36951 colony. But with all the money that was going towards planning the Space Navy, the appointment of the CAO, the changes in training for every branch of the Navy . . .  The reality was bound to break sooner or later. “I think the President's playing a very dangerous game in not releasing the information.”

“He's the Commander-In-Chief,” the CAO responded. “It's up to him, not us.”

“Understood, sir,” Bill replied. “Just my opinion as a citizen, not an officer.”

“And one thing to learn as an officer is that that is a very fine line,” the CAO said. “That was not a reaming, just pointing it out. You skipped a bunch of steps in your professional development and that might not have gotten through to you. We may have private political opinions, especially those based on our proprietary knowledge. We may voice them with close friends and peers. But we don't act on them except in the privacy of the ballot box. Among other things, even when we think we have the knowledge necessary to make a decision, often we're not privy to everything.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill said, trying not to smile. “And the officers who clearly have too many friends in the press corps?”

“If I find them, I will quietly move them out of any position of proprietary knowledge at all,” the CAO said. “I'd, frankly, prefer to move them to Davy Jones's Locker, but there is so much paperwork involved in something like that. Diego Garcia will have to do. But so far the details are holding. So far. I should leave.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Bill said.

“Young Bergstresser appears to want to introduce his bride to you,” the CAO said, gesturing with his chin.

The bride and groom were circulating and being congratulated. Weaver had been watching one of the bridesmaids, a particularly pulchritudinous example of womanflesh, and hadn't noticed Berg and his bride getting closer and closer. As he glanced over, though, he caught a flash of Two-Gun looking their way and it was obvious he was unwilling to approach with the CAO there.

The next time Berg looked up, Weaver caught his eye and gestured with his head for him to come over. Berg's glance at the CAO was clear so Weaver repeated the gesture.

“Sir, Two-Gun has faced some of the worst monsters in the Galaxy,” Weaver said as the bride and groom approached. “He can face the Chief of Astronautic Operations.”

“Admiral Townsend,” Berg said, nodding formally at the CAO, “may I present my bride, Mrs. Eric Bergstresser.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” the CAO said, taking Brooke's hand and bowing to kiss it formally. “Mrs. Bergstresser, you are a vision. It is said that every bride is beautiful but you exceed all expectations.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brooke said, blushing.

“I know that you feel you've picked the finest man on earth to marry,” the admiral continued. “And I agree. Sometime, sometime quite soon, you will be finding out just how extraordinary this young man is.”

“Does that mean that his missions won't be . . .” Brooke's forehead furrowed for a moment then she shrugged. “I think the term is 'black'? Eric won't really talk about what he does.”

“He can't,” the CAO said, nodding. “I'm sorry for that but that's the rule and I'm glad to hear that he's following it. But, yes, pretty soon the operation will go white. How soon, I'm not at liberty to divulge.”

Weaver's ears perked up at that. One bit of information that the CAO clearly had, and Bill did not, was that the decision to go white had been made and there was timing on it.

“But when it does, all will become clear,” the admiral continued. “Including what an extraordinary man you've married.”

“I already know he's extraordinary, sir,” Brooke said. “But thank you.”

“Two-Gun,” the admiral said, “you've got a week. Use it well.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, nodding. “Can I get a hint?”

“We're becoming archaelogists,” Weaver replied. “I think that's indirect enough, isn't it, sir?”

“Just fine,” the CAO said. “Archaeological mission, Lieutenant. Should be routine.”

“Our normal routine, sir?” Berg asked, trying not to grin. “Or 'routine' routine?”

“Routine routine,” the CAO answered. “But we never know, do we?”

“No, sir, we don't,” Eric admitted. “And, Brooke, this is Commander Weaver. I told you about him.”

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” Brooke said, looking him up and down. “You don't look like . . . what I expected.”

The CAO barked a laugh at that and shook his head.

“People tend to say that,” Bill replied. “They generally expect someone older and with less hair. And, please, call me Bill.”

“Actually, I was wondering that you're not ten feet tall and breathing fire,” Brooke corrected, grinning. “Bill.”

“In that case, Eric has been exaggerating,” Weaver said. “I have to add my compliments to the admiral's. You are truly stunning. Eric is a very lucky guy.”

“That I am, sir,” Berg said.

“What are your plans?” the CAO asked. “And to be clear, I'm referring to after the honeymoon.”

“I've secured off-post quarters, sir,” Eric replied. “Brooke will be occupying those and intends to apply for college.”

“Well, it'll be easier to survive on lieutenant's pay, that's for sure,” Townsend said. His aide whispered in his ear for a moment, then handed over a message form. The admiral read it, his expression unchanging, then looked up and smiled. “I hope you both do well. The captain and I, however, have a previous appointment.”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Berg said, tugging at Brooke's arm. “Thank you for coming.”

“Get Admiral Blankemeier and General Holberg,” Townsend said to his aide. “I'll take Captain Weaver in lieu of Captain Prael. Is transportation laid on?”

“Yes, sir,” the Navy captain said.

“Let's do this.”

“May I ask what my previously scheduled event is, sir?” Bill asked quietly.

“We have to go to Camp David,” the CAO said. “There's a meeting there in the morning. It seems the Russians and the Chinese are aware of the Blade.”

“Who is the girl with the blue hair?” Brooke asked, gesturing with her chin to a girl in a skimpy black dress dancing with a tall, incredibly stiff Marine. The girl looked to be in her early twenties and had bright red hair with a shock of blue dye at the front. “Is that a girlfriend I should know about?”

“We went out clubbing, once,” Eric replied. “But girlfriend would be stretching it. She's a linguist, a really good one. Sort of a savant.”

“I'm not sure what that means,” Brooke admitted.

Eric thought of the linguist in the Cavern of the Dragons, stretching out her hand and directing the opening of the gates. Nobody had been able to figure out the puzzle, but it was as if the linguist was God-touched in some way. She certainly was strange enough.

“I'm not sure I can explain it, either,” Eric admitted. “But she's special. Not retarded special, the other way. Gifted. Almost scary sometimes. We work with a lot of top-flight people but Miriam's . . .”

“I can see you like her,” Brooke said, tightly.

“Not that way,” Berg replied, grinning at her. “She's way too weird for me. But, yeah, I like her and admire her. Same deal with the guy she's dancing with. Sergeant Lyle. We call him Lurch cause he's so messed up. And tall.”

“That's not very nice,” Brooke said.

“Worse than you think,” Eric said. “He got that way in a roll-over. Spent most of a year in therapy then nearly as much time convincing the Marines to let him back on active. Then he went back through Force Recon Qual and operator training to get in the line units. Gotta admire that much determination. Good operator.”

“And that means what?” Brooke asked. “For that matter, what are quarters? You said something about 'securing quarters.' I figure you don't mean the coins . . .”

“Quarters are where you live,” Berg said, pulling Brooke towards the twosome. “Securing off-post quarters meant I got us an apartment.”

“Why not just say you got an apartment?” Brooke asked curiously.

“It was the CAO,” Berg replied. “That's how we talk. You'll get used to it.”

“Two-Gun,” the tall sergeant said. “And his lovely wife. Do I get a kiss?”

“Of course,” Brooke said, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He still had to bend over. The sergeant was tall and thin as a rail but with a wiry toughness that was apparent even in formal attire. “You're Mr. Lyle?”

“Sergeant Lyle,” the sergeant said. “But you can call me Lurch.”

“And this is Miss Moon,” Berg continued, gesturing to Miriam.

“Miriam,” the linguist said, shaking Brooke's hand then giving her a hug. “I'm so glad you two are together. You seem so right for each other. You're staying in Newport?”

“Norfolk,” Berg corrected. “Housing in Newport is impossible. I was looking at a small house, but an apartment made more sense.”

“I haven't even seen it, yet,” Brooke admitted.

“Not how it's supposed to go, Two-Gun,” Lyle said. “Wives are in charge of quarters.”

“I'm letting her get her feet on the ground,” Berg admitted.

“I wonder what sort of officers' wives club the new CO's going to run,” Lyle said. “I heard it was pretty good under Mrs. Spectre.”

“Just have to find out,” Berg said. “But, again, I'm going to let Brooke get used to the whole idea first.”

“What is an officers' wives' club?” Brooke asked. “I'm getting a bit lost here.”

“The military is a specialized culture with a tremendous number of traditions,” Miriam said, looking at her almost sorrowfully. "As with any subculture, it has its own language and customs. Some of them are unnecessary holdovers from days when it was often physically separated from civilization or at least its home civilization. Think of Army officers and their families stationed in cavalry outposts on the Great Plains or the Naval officers stationed in the Phillipines or even Hawaii before it became fully developed. Surrounded by strangers, many of them hostile and all of them from societies that were alien. The only social life they had was their own kind.