The nondescript brownish groundcar rolled into the parking area behind the visiting officers’ quarters, swinging carefully into an unnumbered and unreserved spot.
After a delay of several minutes, Jimjoy stepped out, wearing the rumpled working ship blues of a Service Captain and carrying a ship bag. He locked the car and stepped away, scanning the area, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
The cubelike building before him, three stories tall, with its greenish-white permacrete finish, looked like a smaller-scale transplant from Alphane City. The few straggly trees between the parking area and the quarters had managed to hang on to a few handfuls of yellow-green leaves, and the yellowish dust collected around the permacrete walk from the groundcar parking area to the side entrance to the quarters.
Nearer the building were the reserved spaces, only one of which was filled, with an official-looking black car with tinted windows.
Jimjoy smiled. That one had to belong to the Security duty officer. He walked across the spaces, stepping aside as a small blue electric runabout darted toward him. He waved, then waited, as the runabout screeched to a halt.
Another officer, female, also in ship blues, popped out of the runabout.
“Off early, Freres?”
“Off late. Been on since 2400.”
“Ooooo. That sounds like you’ve had a few problems.” The solid and pale-skinned Lieutenant shook her head. Her lacquered hair scarcely moved.
Jimjoy grimaced. He didn’t have to act. The jungle-flower perfume was overpowering. “Who hasn’t, these days?”
“I know what you mean. It seems as though everything is happening. All at once. And the Intelligence types…something really has them unglued.”
“Can’t believe that. Nothing upsets that bunch. Deep-space ice in their hearts.”
“Not today. Why, Captain…well, I shouldn’t say, but they are really turning the base upside down…and they won’t say a word.”
“Still don’t think it sounds like them.” He turned and matched her shorter strides as they headed for the quarters.
“I suppose they’re human. Something must upset them, at least sometimes.” She tossed her head again, but the lacquered blond hair under her uniform cap still remained immobile. “And what about you? You up for something later?”
He grinned widely.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It isn’t?”
“You know it’s not.”
Jimjoy grinned even more widely.
“You’re impossible!”
“That’s entirely possible.” He swung the bag over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, I have been on my feet—”
“For once.”
“—since 2400 this morning. And to be up for anything, possible or impossible…”
“You need some sleep. I know. All you do is sleep off duty.”
“Not all.” He grinned again.
“Let’s avoid that. If you actually manage to rouse yourself after obtaining whatever rest is necessary, and are interested in something besides the impossible, you might think about calling me later.” She entered the quarters before him.
“Kkkkchewwww…” He sneezed from the combination of the perfume in the enclosed area and from the drifting yellow dust that swirled around them as the portal swished behind them.
“Maybe you do need some rest.”
“Just dust.”
“Think about it, Freres.” She smiled warmly as she took the right-hand corridor away from him.
“I will…after I get some rest.”
Jimjoy admired her spunk, though not necessarily the solidity of either her figure or her makeup. Without the overabundance of artificial fragrance, it would have been even nicer to chat with her.
He took the left-hand corridor, heading around the corner toward his own small, but adequate, room.
Although he had hoped for a bit more time before the Intelligence community began turning over stones, in some ways he was surprised to have gotten as far as he had before the reaction had become obvious. The fact that it was obvious indicated that they had no real leads—yet.
Still, he let his steps slow as he neared the room where he had spent the last several weeks, on and off.
Quiet. Far too quiet.
“Shoooo…”
He turned and moved back around the corner, wearing the disappointed expression of a man who has suddenly remembered that he forgot something. He maintained that disappointed look as he marched back up the hall and out to the small groundcar.
Knowing that his current official identity as the good Captain Dunstan Freres could come under scrutiny at any time, he had left only a few uniforms in the officers’ quarters, and a few real and a few spurious papers and documents supporting the identity of one Dunstan Freres.
The additional funds supplied by the Institute had come in very useful in procuring the range of uniforms and accessories necessary to his plans. He’d been more than a little surprised at Thelina’s insistence on his accepting the funds.
But he certainly trusted her judgment, at times perhaps more than his own.
His steps clicked lightly on the pavement as he headed back toward the groundcar, hoping that Prullen had not seen him, although she probably wouldn’t have thought of his mere return to the car as anything more than a personal rejection—he hoped.
It was almost time for him to surface at Intelligence Headquarters, assuming that his information packages had reached their intended destinations—the key media, the Admiral, and Commander Hersnik.
The media would probably attempt to verify the noncritical sections first, and that would blast a few more orbits, and another Intelligence crew would likely end up nosing around trying to discover who had leaked certain classified material.
Hersnik he trusted not at all, but he needed Hersnik to make the decisions, preferably without too much chance to think things over. So his reemergence and entrance would have to be abrupt enough and public enough to avoid the kind of unpleasant details that the late Commander Allen had specialized in.
He shrugged as he climbed into the groundcar. He had done what he could. Now he would see what kind of fool he had been.