2075 - Space Corps Central Command Office

The day passed quietly—too quietly, Harlow thought, as if holding its breath in anticipation. But he was grateful, nonetheless.

Colonel Moore arrived exactly when he was supposed to that afternoon—a minute early, even.

Time came at a premium for members of senior command, and rescheduling a meeting on short notice was something many would’ve balked at. But as Colonel Moore stood in the vestibule browsing the pictures on the wall as he waited to be escorted inside, Harlow knew he’d likely done so without the slightest hint of complaint.

He’d read Moore’s file. The man’s life was so closely intertwined with his job, the two were practically indistinguishable. He wanted this promotion more than anything.

When they were formally introduced, Harlow studied his face, but—as was the case for most senior officers—he was met by a stony mask irreflective of emotion or intent. Colonel Moore was in his early thirties—younger than most of the candidates Harlow would see today, but still older than the chief of staff presiding over their branch.

“Colonel Moore,” Harlow said once they’d exchanged pleasantries and sat down, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Moore nodded back. “Likewise, Sir. Thank you for having me.”

Harlow leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure you’re aware of the reason for our visit, but allow me to reiterate.”

Colonel Moore waited expectantly as he collected his thoughts.

“You’re on the shortlist for a promotion,” Harlow finally said. “A nomination for the rank of general is no trivial matter, and I like to meet those candidates personally. You must’ve worked very hard for this, I’m sure.”

“Yes, Sir,” Colonel Moore said, and Harlow detected a hint of pride flickering across his face.

“I understand the level of effort it took to get here, and I respect that immensely. But I have to ask,” Harlow leaned forward, “are you truly enthusiastic about this promotion, given the rate at which the Council has been churning through generals lately?”

Moore’s face fell a bit, and Harlow could see that he was struggling to come up with a reply.

“I have mixed feelings, Sir,” he finally said. “I’m honored to be in consideration, but I find those statistics worrying, as I’d imagine most do.”

“A diplomatic answer,” Harlow replied. “It seems diplomacy is becoming a lost art these days.”

Moore frowned, and Harlow sensed that he needed to move the conversation forward quickly.

“How long do you want to stay here, Colonel Moore? Truly? Because if nothing changes, your tenure on the Council will probably be about eight months, which is what we’ve averaged over the past three years—and that number is getting shorter.” He held Moore’s gaze. “Do you want to be promoted to general under the assumption you’ll hold the rank for less than a year? Because I don’t like that, Colonel Moore, and I think you feel the same.”

Moore shifted uncomfortably, and Harlow drew a deep breath. “There’s a reason you’re here today, and it’s not simply because you’ve distinguished yourself. You came very highly recommended—so highly, in fact, you had a personal endorsement from a Council member.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “I don’t like those statistics one bit. I’m committed to peace, as you well know, but certain members of the Council have been . . . problematic in that regard.”

Moore’s demeanor changed, and he seemed to sense that he’d been called here for a reason beyond the stated purpose. “You mean the asshole you threw a chair at several days ago?”

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Harlow shrugged. “I see you’ve been paying attention.”

“I’m always paying attention.”

Harlow leaned forward, and when he spoke, his voice contained an uncharacteristic air of desperation. “I need your help, Colonel Moore. General Lin is completely out of control, and getting worse by the day.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “This isn’t simply a matter of insubordination—his recent behavior has been frightening. He fears nothing, and he’s grown bold enough to openly intimidate a chief of staff—he did it right there in the Council chamber, in front of multiple witnesses. I shudder to think what life is like for those under his command, or civilians in that territory he seems hell-bent on taking. If this is the way he behaves toward his direct chief, in public, then what must go on in private?” He drew a halting breath. “I turned to one of the only sources I could rely on for help, and they gave me your name. Please,” he met his eyes, “if there’s anything you can do to remedy this situation, I’m listening.”

Colonel Moore seemed taken aback by the bluntness of this request.

“That’s the whole purpose of these interviews, isn’t it?” he finally said. “Clever. I thought it was odd that a chief commander wanted to personally interview Council nominees. Normally they just content themselves with a handshake at whatever black tie event they choose to get drunk at. You used this as a pretense to contact me without drawing suspicion.”

Harlow nodded.

“Not only that,” Moore continued, “you did such a good job of it, I doubt even your boyfriend out there knows.” He nodded at the door. “He thinks this is a normal round of interviews, doesn’t he?”

Harlow said nothing; he simply shrugged.

Moore leaned forward and scrutinized him carefully. “It’s one thing to hide your intentions from other officers or the Council, but quite another to hide it from him. You’re desperate, aren’t you?”

Harlow didn’t respond, and after a while, Moore let out a deep sigh. “I’d hoped someone in senior command had a means of stopping Lin—some secret plan I wasn’t aware of—but now? Hearing this from our chief?” He shrugged. “We’re well and truly fucked, aren’t we?”

Harlow remained silent, and after a few seconds, Moore spoke again.

“Just so you know, I’m very picky with my clients. I only take referrals, and I vet them thoroughly, but in this case I might be willing to make an exception.”

“Thank you,” Harlow said quietly.

Moore nodded back, and their eyes met again. “First things first—who gave you my name?” he asked sharply.

“I’m not disclosing that,” Harlow replied.

Moore paused, then gave a frustrated nod. “Fine. What sort of ‘help’ are you looking for?”

“At this point, I’ll take anything you’re willing to offer. I just want to get us out of this mess. Lin seems intent on destroying this branch, and I haven’t found a single thing to deter him. I was hoping you could offer further guidance.”

“I offer plenty of things, but something you should understand up front is that none of them come cheap.”

Harlow looked away. “I expected as much. Name your price, Colonel.”

Moore returned the faintest hint of a smile and slouched back in his chair. “I mostly deal in information. The riskier the target, the more it’ll cost you. If I have to do more than that—obtaining physical records or conducting active surveillance, for example—I negotiate on a case-by-case basis.”

Harlow briefly considered this. “We’ll start with information, then. I’d like you to tell me everything you know about—”

“That’s not how this works,” Moore cut him off. “If we’re playing that game, I’ll take one question at a time. You ask, I’ll answer. Payment up front.”

He must’ve seen the look on Harlow’s face, because he shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be cash. I’m willing to barter.”

Their eyes met, and Harlow knew exactly what he wanted.

“If you’re asking for a promotion in exchange for information, Colonel Moore, the answer’s ‘no.’ You’re still in consideration for the position, of course, but your evaluation will be fair, just like everyone else’s.”

Moore’s face fell a bit. “Figured it was worth a try,” he shrugged. “In lieu of that, I’d accept a strong drink as payment. It’s been one of those weeks. If you’ve got whisky, that’ll do just fine.” He nodded at the bookcase spanning the far wall. “I know you've got the good stuff stashed in there.”

Harlow paused for a moment, then sighed.

“Truth be told, I’m not much of a drinker,” he said as he stood and crossed the room. He shoved a few heavy volumes out of the way and retrieved a bottle from the bottom shelf. “You’re in luck, because this is all I’ve got.”

He removed a set of glasses from the cabinet behind him, placed them on the desk, and filled the one closest to Colonel Moore.

Moore reached forward, took the glass, and sampled it.

“Not bad.” He nodded toward the bottle. “I’ll be taking that with me.”

Harlow followed his gaze, then slid it across the desk. “Consider that yours. How many questions is that worth?”

Moore picked it up and inspected it closely.

“Four,” he said. “I can probably get three tall glasses out of whatever’s left in there, and I’ll throw in an extra for good measure.” He glanced at Harlow again. “I hate the bastard as much as you do.”

He took another long sip, then crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “Get to it, then. I don’t have all afternoon, and I know you don’t either.”