Carbon was just shy of apoplectic after Gladwell left. They had discussed what to make of this, what options there were. What Alex’s personal contact information was aside from his Navy email, should a meeting with Rear Admiral Argueta that afternoon go poorly. Carbon returned to her quarters just before Dae came to collect them to finish up the paperwork that had not arrived in time for them to finish the day before. Dae dressed like he was a manager, wearing slacks and a tie, in sharp contrast to the more casual attire both he and Carbon had opted for. A weird dichotomy that got them a lot of looks on the way back to the conference room.
Alex didn’t even consider that it might have been the alien in the trio that was getting the attention.
When they arrived, Carbon had to initial a couple of places and sign once. Alex had another stack of folders waiting for him. While this one was not as prodigious as the last, this morning quickly turned into Carbon and Mr. Yeong chatting amiably over tea while he worked through yet more files about the details of the very bad things he’d done with that extremely expensive government property, some of which was on loan.
He’d finished it up just in time for lunch, and after that, they had been allowed to return to the Kshlav’o to retrieve their personal effects. Under escort, of course. Yeong pulled the first of several caution tape barriers down at the end of the gangplank and let them in the front airlock. Despite the damage, or perhaps because of it, there were no crews working on it today. The dorsal armor had been pulled off and left hanging from a bridge crane. The thick metal warped, and punctured in two places. How close the Eohm had gotten to killing them had never really clicked into place for him until now. The ship held through it, kept them both alive, and even facilitated their escape.
Alex really hadn’t been prepared for how that would make him feel. Certainly not for a ship he’d only spent a few months on. Despite the unexpected hitch in his throat he pushed on, past the suits and into the main corridor. The airlock to the bridge had been locked out with a steel bar welded to the door, the largest radiation warning stickers he had ever seen plastered over it multiple times, and sprinkled with a few smaller biohazard warnings.
There was a fair bit of him left in there.
Carbon and Dae continued down the hall as he ducked into his old bunk. Someone had returned a control computer to it, the air circulating quietly, and the lights back on. It took him all of a minute to grab that box of plastic bricks, a couple of pictures, and some personal media he’d brought and cram them into the bottom of a duffel bag. There, all his personal effects were taken care of. He had packed light, mostly just Civilian Pilot Program issued clothes. He hadn’t expected to be out there forever, after all.
Dae jogged back down the corridor as he pondered that, sliding the drawer he’d been storing things in open. All the CPP clothes in it, some still in their vacuum bag. He wasn’t going to be in the program for much longer. The thought left him gritting his teeth, molars grinding while he stuffed all of that into his bag too, anger he hadn’t realized was so readily available surfacing as the career he’d spent half his life working towards had been plucked out of his grasp, again. This time so some fucking spooks could update a manual.
He realized he’d been punching clothes into the bag more than stuffing them when he ran out, an empty fist packing the clothing down a few times.
He had left a jumpsuit and a t-shirt in Carbon’s laundry. The act of walking back down the hallway was strange after more than six months in zero g. He still reached out to a handhold on the wall to stop his forward momentum when he arrived at the open door to her cabin. “Hey, did I-”
Carbon’s bed was flipped open, the base containing the external frame for her boosted armor, said armor resting in a network of cables and straps, most of the back held open to allow ingress. Carbon herself was standing, halfway undressed, between a packed duffle bag and a neatly ordered spread of guns of Tsla’o make. “Did you?” She inquired, as though this was a perfectly normal thing you see all the time.
“Why do you have so many guns?” He suspected the answer would have been roughly the same as him asking how she’d gotten alcohol aboard a dry ship - it all went in before the ship was complete.
“To tailor my equipment to the expected threat.” Again she sounded like this was just an everyday sort of consideration.
“Okay.” Her first job as a Lan had been on a Tsla’o battleship, so perhaps it was. “Did I leave any of my clothes in your cleaner?”
“You did, I packed them into my bag.” She reached down to flip a switch on the frame, the head end of the suit rising until it was about 45 degrees from the floor. Carbon slipped out of her jumpsuit and stepped into the contraption, the armor sealing behind her. She glanced over at him as the fame disconnected piece by piece. “I admit that I assumed you would not mind if I returned them later. It is acceptable?”
“Yeah, that’ll do.”
Dae returned with a strip of red zipties in hand. “These should work for your firearms, they’re lockout tags with a cryptographic security- Is that combat armor?” His voice went up an octave, disbelief written across his face.
Carbon had pushed herself back out of the support frame and stretched her arms. “It is not rated for combat specifically. I will additionally need access to my tool room so that I can remove the frame,” she gestured at the array of machinery she’d just stepped out of, “all of this was gifted to me as an individual so I should not leave it on the ship.”
He sighed and looked a bit like he didn’t want to be dealing with this but had no choice. “Everything to the aft should be unlocked, and if it isn’t your access codes should still work.” He handed the lockout tags over, then loosened his tie. “Suppose I’ll find something to move all this gear with and somewhere appropriate to store it.”
It was late afternoon by the time Alex settled into a stiff chair in the Rear Admiral’s office. Getting all of that equipment out and into a secure locker, with a trip by station security to drop off a box full of alien guns and ammo for temporary storage in their vault, hadn’t taken nearly as long as it seemed like it would. There had even been time to do something akin to relaxing, though he couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease.
Alex shifted uncomfortably and took a moment to really look around the office. The room was too warm and weirdly anachronistic. Dark wood panels covered the walls and floor, the Admiral’s wide desk matching in color. Were it not for the modern terminal, he couldn’t be sure what era he was sitting inside of.
“I trust you have reviewed the changes to your contract?” Rear Admiral Argueta sat across from him, her back straight and eyes scrutinizing. She was older than the Captain, short silver hair streaked with black. Hard to tell how old, though. Navy personnel were more likely to spend significant time in low or zero gravity, that threw off estimations.
He reclined as far as he could, tried to feel comfortable and nodded slowly. The new contract just effected his transfer, providing almost no information on what he would be doing in Section 7. He had to look them up to find that they dealt specifically with alien concerns, from ship movements to artifacts. “Oh yes. I admit, I’m not exactly sure what an Intelligence Specialist does. But it sounds very desky.”
The Admiral blanched, if you could call the minuscule movement of her face anything. “The title is somewhat inaccurate. We do not have a job function that properly reflects what we would like you to do and this provides an adequate level of coverage for our purposes.”
Captain Gladwell had laid out what they wanted him to do clearly enough, even if the contract didn’t. “Spying on the Tsla’o?”
She didn’t like that at all. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
“The Captain told me when he delivered the papers.”
“Delivered?” Her eyebrows raised, just enough to make Alex think that Gladwell was not supposed to have done that. “Very well. Spying is an inappropriate term for our purposes. We have a significant intelligence disparity with the Tsla'o. Namely, we lack a solid understanding of their society, their mores and way of life.”
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“Uh-huh.” Alex nodded once in agreement. “The primer is kind of garbage.”
Alex wasn’t sure what the Admiral was thinking, deep brown eyes boring into his. Probably hadn’t appreciated that, though. “Our interest in you is twofold. Currently, you are the only Human with any sort of experience with the artifact you discovered. This alone would be enough to bring you on board as the investigation into it will be ramping up shortly.”
He hadn’t considered that, particularly since Gladwell seemed pretty focused on what Alex assumed would be the second half of her reasoning. “That’s understandable.”
“Beyond that, we have been made aware of your... dalliances with the Shipmaster Tshalen during your mission. We would like you to continue your relationship with her, ingratiate yourself into her favor and learn as much as you can about them. Considering your interest in anthropology, you seem to be particularly well equipped for this task.”
He smiled and laughed. His background in anthropology had been what made Carbon pick him to be her Pilot in the first place. “Just observing... secretly, to collect information?”
“Yes. There is a significant difference between observation and spying, Alex. You will not be trained in, or use any sort of tradecraft. Just pay attention and write reports on your findings. We would not turn down access to any books or data stores, but by no means should you attempt to acquire them surreptitiously.”
“Yeah, I’m not really the thieving type anyway.” He kicked the thought around for a long while. The way she laid it out was acceptable. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but it was... fine. Better than quitting and heading back to Earth with an unusually short stint as a pilot, and not able to discuss the actual why of the situation. Alex tamped down the part of himself that was excited he was basically going to be getting paid to date Carbon before he responded. “Alright, I’m in.”
A single eyebrow went up, altering the network of thin wrinkles around her eye. She didn’t say anything for a moment, apparently surprised at his response. “Excellent, welcome to the Office of Naval Intelligence. You should get the formal papers via your navy.mil email in the next day or two, and you will be issued appropriate ID on your way out. Beyond that, you should expect to hear from medical about having your wetware upgraded.”
“Upgraded?” It was his turn to be surprised. “If I’m not piloting I don’t need an Amp anymore.”
“You’ll retain your Amp. That’s part of the deal for CPP pilots, and the Navy will uphold that.” The Admiral had relaxed slightly, eyes on her terminal for a moment. “It’s a necessary part of the upgrade we have slated for you as well, a full Immersion Translator suite in the Tsla’o language.”
He let out a low whistle. Immersion translators would, depending on the model, translate four to sixty-four conversations at once. For human languages they were expensive, getting one for Tsla would probably be outrageous. “Nice. Though, ah... The only Tsla’o I know speaks English fluently.”
She sighed and looked at the clock. “It is being issued with the expectation that you will go on to meet other Tsla’o through her. There will be more of them in Sol, this is a guarantee. Perhaps you will be allowed to travel to their systems with less security than we are normally forced to endure. Time will tell.”
“And I’ll be listening to them without them knowing? Surreptitiously, you might say?”
“Listening is not spying.”
Alex had his doubts about that. “I suppose I’m not to tell anyone I’ve got one, though.” He already knew he'd be telling Carbon before he got it installed.
She nodded in agreement. “Not to anyone. While we are discussing your hardware suite, there is another item we would like you to test.”
“Test?”
“Yes. It is an experimental device based on the Whisper that may prove advantageous for trade with the Tsla’o.”
Whisper was the brand name for a less invasive version of the Amp, a sub-dermal circumcranial implant. They provided a less immersive experience, but it was a surgery that didn’t require opening up the skull at all. “I’m sorry, experimental?”
“Yes. You are familiar with the Tsla’o mind linking ability.” A statement there, not a question. “The Marines field tested the modified Whisper for enhanced unit cohesion via a similar, wireless, mind link several years ago. They passed on the concept, but now it appears that the Tsla’o may present an opportunity to not let this research go to waste.”
Alex was surprised at how tantalizing the idea of having the same ability as Carbon was, but he managed to keep any indication of that out of his reaction. “You want me to field test an experimental commercial product?”
“I want you to ingratiate yourself to the Shipmaster Tshalen and be allowed to experience their culture as fully as possible. This is not without benefit to them, either. Coming away from the disaster, one of the most common injuries noted by Search and Rescue crews was damage to the antennae. It seems to comprise an important part of their day-to-day life and we estimate at least a hundred million of them have partially or fully destroyed antennae. Anecdotal evidence indicates the loss of these can cause deep psychological trauma.”
Carbon’s stress from a few months of not having that connection was bad - and that was just because she was abstaining in a stressful environment. Having that ability taken away by an accident, never to have it returned... “It would.”
“For unknown reasons, they have not sought our assistance to regrow them using mediboards, and they do not seem to have any sort of technological replacement. If it works as intended, the Whisper would allow them to have the lost abilities back and generate goodwill towards us.”
His face twisted with disdain, words sarcastic. “And we could sell a fundamentally impaired people millions of units in the process. Stupendous.” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll go for it, but I’ll give it a try.”
Her head tilted, almost imperceptible as she ignored his tone. “Why would they turn an opportunity like that down?”
The question gave Alex a moment of pause. He was sure they had discussed this outloud on the Kshlav’o at least once. Did the black box not record audio as well as video? Or was this a test? “They don’t like invasive procedures or machines being ‘in’ their minds.”
The Admiral’s head leveled out and she looked like she was making a mental note. “Interesting. I would still prefer you try it, see if it is viable for them. The Shipmaster is likely well connected, a few good words here or there may change minds.”
“She’s well connected. I suppose it is a time of change for them in general, maybe something will come of it.” Carbon had said that very thing before he had left to meet Argueta.
“All we ask is that you try. Do you have any further questions?”
“No, not right now. I think I’m good.” Alex pushed the chair back as he stood, one of the feet squeaking across the floor. He reached down into his cargo pocket and retrieved a small data chip and set it on the desk. “Oh, there is one thing. Lan Tshalen sends her regards and a gift. Just some old books, but it should help us along.”
That, Rear Admiral Argueta definitely did not like. She started to stand, dark eyes burning. “You told her?”
“No. Your man Gladwell showed up and started flapping his jaws just after she got out of my shower. Speaking generally, she agrees that they have been too secretive for too long.” No sense in pretending the Admiral didn’t know they were in a relationship.
Her jaw worked as she sat back down, finally settling into a faint smirk. “Good. I’m glad she’s on board with this.”
Alex shook his head. “She’s not on board. Finds the idea that you would attempt to coerce me with what she perceived as a threat, even a minor threat, to be reprehensible. It offended her on a personal level, her first recommendation was that I should simply leave.”
There was more than little confusion on her face now. “I had nothing to do with what Gladwell said. He shouldn’t have even contacted you in person, this is something traditionally handled by email.”
“She sees things differently, Admiral. She is an alien. Her expectations for accountability in the chain of command are much more rigid. I did manage to convince her that hearing you out may clear things up and I feel it has, I would not give you the data otherwise.” He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, “but damn an email would have made today a lot less shitty.”
She considered everything for a moment. “She will not work against our goals?”
“No. She does not believe that I will be accepted widely by her people, but she is willing to show me around, and attempt to facilitate a better understanding of their ways.” This was all something Carbon wanted to do anyway, though her reasons were somewhat more selfish.
Argueta picked the chip up and flipped it over, a simple red and white logo marking it as a massed produced terabit unit you could pick up just about anywhere, the label that once read ‘Alexs Music’ struck out with a single line. “Will she help us more, directly?”
“Nope. She might have if someone had come to her and asked for help. Gladwell pretty much blew any chance of that. As I said, she was very offended by that exchange.”
She grimaced, the first full expression Alex had seen on her so far. It passed and she tapped the chip on the desk, nodding to herself. “Very well. When you see her next, give her my thanks. See if she will stop by so I can apologize for the Captain’s behavior in person.”