The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [29]
Janeway had been a problem, that much was certain. Covington had not fully appreciated the depth of Janeway’s devotion to her crew, even the Borg, even the artificial doctor. They needed to be safely away under suspicion, of course. The last thing Covington needed was two Borg and a doctor putting their heads together with Starfleet trying to figure out the virus. They would, she was certain of it. And both Covington and her carefully laid plans of the last several years would come to ruin.
Janeway was like the dogs Covington learned the admiral loved: dedicated, loyal, and not likely to surrender something once she had gotten her teeth into it. Her continuous yapping, fortunately, had alienated the one man she ought to be courting—Montgomery. The more Janeway demanded, the more he dug in his heels. It was all working out better than Covington had feared.
Not soon enough for Covington, Grady was spent. He whistled as he put on his uniform. He would be in top form today, she knew.
Harry didn’t say much during their lunch together. He toyed with his noodle salad and let his coffee get cold. When Libby tried to make conversation, her only reward was a monosyllabic response.
The average girlfriend would start getting suspicious at this point. She’d feel hurt and rejected, [85] wonder if there was someone else, or if her sweetheart was growing tired of her. Libby knew better than to jump to such outrageous conclusions. For one thing, she knew Harry. For another, she knew what Harry was involved in.
She didn’t know for certain, of course, what his specific plans were. It was a pity they couldn’t trust one another, but that was something she had accepted going in to Starfleet Intelligence on the level she desired. No one outside of a very few people in SI was to know what she was doing, or else she’d be of very little use. That included friends, concert managers, family ... and Harry.
She even wondered if she’d made a foolish slip by giving him the “code name” of Peregrine. No one in Intelligence used code names like that. But she needed a moniker of some sort and what had first flashed into her mind was the sight of the great, glorious falcon wheeling above them during their trip to the desert. She’d seen it shortly before sunset, when she was partway through the delicious meal with her beloved in the middle of nowhere, only a few hours before they had made love for the first time in over seven years.
The bird symbolized hope for her, and before she knew it, she’d picked it as her contact name. Fortunately, she had kept the peregrine close to her heart. Harry had noticed her looking at it but they had discussed it only briefly. With luck, he wouldn’t make the connection.
Her hunch that something big was going down with Harry and probably several other Voyager crew [86] members was confirmed when, at the end of the meal, Harry pushed aside his half-eaten entrée and announced, “I just wanted to let you know that I might be out of touch for a while.”
She sipped her tea. Her own lunch hadn’t stood a chance against her appetite and she’d almost licked the lasagna plate clean.
“Really?” she asked, hoping she had the proper mix of concern and trust in her voice. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Mentally, Libby shook her head and chuckled. Good heavens, but he would make a lousy spy. Aloud, she said, “Why not?” as she reached for his hand.
“I have orders.”
That confirmed what Libby suspected. Whatever Harry was planning, higher ranks than the junior officers were involved. She wondered if Harry realized how much information he was conveying while explaining that he couldn’t tell her anything.
He turned his hand over so he could entwine his fingers with hers.
“A mission?” Libby pressed.
He squeezed her hand, and then released it. “I told you, honey, I can’t discuss it.”
“How long will you be gone?”
To her surprise, he laughed, then sobered at once. “I’ve no idea.” Again, he had told her something. He wouldn’t just