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ON HER FOURTH COFFEE in three hours, Khaifa was too wired to sleep even though she knew she should. To be fair, she wasn't sure she'd have been able to sleep even if she hadn't been pumped full of caffeine—the documents spread out before her had her mind spinning. Her meeting with Babacar and Van Der Berg had ended hours ago, but aside from a quick trip to get something to eat, the doctor hadn't left her office. In some twisted way, she didn't want to ever leave her office again—instead, she just wanted to curl up into a ball under her desk and wait for it all to be over. Wait for the ril-galas to leave, wait for normalcy and sanity to return to humanity.
Of course she knew that was absurd. The ril-galas weren't going to just leave of their own accord, just like normalcy wouldn't miraculously return to the human race.
And neither of those items would be encouraged to happen under the watchful eye of DeFreitas and Upshaw.
It had taken her far longer to realise it than she cared to admit, just how completely the two of them were...
She didn't even know what they were. Power hungry? Probably. Insular? Definitely. But what shocked her the most was how okay they seemed with maintaining the Commonwealth's current status quo. Just maintaining what the Commonwealth had and, of course, strengthening their own grip on it.
Holding up the one particular set of papers that caused her head to spin the most, Khaifa sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair. She noticed as she held the papers that her hand was shaking and tried to blame it on the caffeine, but she had always been a horrible liar.
Khaifa barely glanced up as Ironhorse entered the room.
"Captain," she said.
"Doctor. I brought cookies."
At that, she did look up.
"What?"
"Cookies," he said, setting a small paper bag on her desk. "Just sugar cookies, but they're fresh. There's a woman at the marketplace who makes them."
The marketplace was a former storage bay that had, out of necessity, been converted into the bastard love child of an open-air market and a shopping mall.
She opened the bag and the smell that wafted out almost made her mouth water. Pulling out a still-warm cookie, she took a bite and closed her eyes, savouring the sweetness.
"These are amazing," she said around a second bite.
"I know, I ate a whole bag on the way up here," said Ironhorse, without a trace of guilt. "I ran into Van Der Berg while I was down there."
Khaifa finished her cookie and took a sip of coffee to wash it down before looking up at the Captain, raising a brow. No one just 'ran into' Truus Van Der Berg, especially now.
"She did consulting for ATC Castle," he said.
"Yes, I know. She left CSID for the private sector, then came back about a year before the invasion."
He nodded.
"Just seemed odd, you meeting with a former PMC. Given the situation."
"How does the military feel about ATC Castle, Captain Ironhorse?"
The question appeared to catch him off guard and he stared for a moment as she took another cookie.
"I don't understand the question," he said finally. It was a stalling tactic of course and she knew it.
"Yes you do."
"There are some members of the Commonwealth Armed Forces who would prefer a more... distinct separation between our military and a private military contractor," he said carefully. "And there are others who look to ATC Castle as the future."
"The future of the Commonwealth?" she asked, her brow creased in a frown.
"Yeah, but more specifically the military. They have better pay," he admitted. "Better benefits. Gear developed by the company for their operators—top of the line stuff."
"You almost sound envious, Captain."
The right side of his mouth twitched upward in a half smile.
"I used to talk about Ciara Raze the same way, but it doesn't mean I was going to leave my wife for her."
Khaifa chuckled. Once upon a time, Ciara Raze had been the biggest music star in the Commonwealth and companies had stumbled over each other to hire her for their ad campaigns. She was also an incredible beauty and notorious party girl—and, if Khaifa remembered correctly, had partied quite a bit with one Kestrel Cagliari. Whether or not the celebrity was still alive, she had no idea. Though she assumed that if she was, someone, somewhere would have gotten word out.
"I didn't know you were married," said Khaifa. "I'd love to talk to your wife sometime."
"So would I. She was a flight attendant aboard the Astral Navigator."
"I'm sorry," said Kaifa, closing her eyes briefly and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk.
A luxury starliner, the Astral Navigator was the civilian equivalent of what the HMS Royal Sovereign was to the Commonwealth Navy—the biggest, most advanced ship in existence. It had also been lost with all hands, the last ship to be destroyed before the ril-galas had set up their blockade around Thor's Hammer. Between passengers and crew, nearly seven thousand lives had been lost.
"It seems like a long time ago," he said.
"It does indeed," she said quietly. "I lost my husband shortly after you lost your wife. He was... killed in action helping Radko."
It was a lie, but a reasonable one, one that wouldn't tarnish Harlan's memory. Wouldn't paint him as the villain, which is something that Radko had been adamant about despite the circumstances of her estranged husband's death.
Ironhorse just nodded.
"Why do you ask?"
"Pardon?"
"About the military. Their feelings toward ATC Castle."
Taking a deep breath, Khaifa shuffled some of the papers on her desk.
"Captain, do you know my official title here?"
"Minister of Health?"
"Director of the Ministry of Health, actually," she said. "It's an important distinction, because to be a Minister I would have had to be elected."
"But as Director, you were appointed," he said nodding. "Something that can't be done with a Deputy PM?"
"Yes. There's also this..."
She held up a paper that had several sections highlighted and she noticed again that her hand was shaking.
"This is a page from the Commonwealth Constitution," she said. "Section four, subsection G, clause seventeen. Constitutional scholars call it the 'Questionable Health' clause."
Clearing her throat, she began to read the highlighted excerpt.
"Should it be determined that the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth, due to physical or mental malady or disorder, be no longer fit to carry out the duties of his or her office, the office of the Director of the Ministry of Health shall serve notice and, with documentation of their findings, apply this clause to effect the temporary removal of the Prime Minister from office. The duration of said removal shall be for no less than thirty days and shall continue for as long as is medically required."
Ironhorse simply stared at her as she set down the papers and looked him in the eye.
"If the Prime Minister is removed, the Deputy Prime Minister would assume the role of PM for the duration of his removal."
"But we've already established that the appointment of Upshaw is unconstitutional," said the Captain.
"And so legally, we don't have a Deputy PM," she said, nodding slowly.
"So... who takes over...?
"The most senior member of the Royal family, believe it or not."
Frowning, Ironhorse shook his head.
"Well we don't exactly have a Royal hanging around, so is there a next best thing clause?"
Khaifa inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly. She was no longer meeting Ironhorse's gaze, instead focusing intently on the pages in front of her. When she spoke, reading again from the pages, her voice was unusually quiet, unusually devoid of emotion. Or perhaps it wasn't devoid of emotion—perhaps it showed nervousness? Fear?
"If no member of the Royal family is able to assume the role, the role of Prime Minister of the Commonwealth shall be filled by the Director of the Ministry of Health. The Director shall assume the duties of Prime Minister only until such time as the Prime Minister, Deputy Prime Minister or a member of the Royal family is able to assume the role."