The Jennifer Morgue - Charles Stross [29]
I shrug. “Yup. But then we wouldn’t get to do the real business, over coffee and biscuits.”
His expression clears. “Ah, now I see—”
The door opens. “Ciao, guys!” It’s Anna, short and bubbly and (I suspect) a little hungover, judging from her eyes. “Oh, my head. Where is everybody? Let us keep this short, shall we?”
She makes a beeline for the coffee pot. “Tell Andrew he is a naughty, naughty man,” she chides me.
“What’s he done now?” I ask, steeling myself.
“He got my birthday wrong!” Flashing eyes, toothy grin. “A, what is it, a fencepost error.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, I’ll do that.” I shrug. I’m still uncomfortable in this type of situation. Most of the people here were grades above me until six months ago, and half of them still are; I’m very much the junior delegate and Andy—who used to be one of my managers—is the guy into whose boots I’ve stepped. “Last time I saw him he was kind of busy. Overworked dealing with fallout from—” I clear my throat.
“Oh, say no more.” She pats me on the arm and moves on to say hello to the other delegates who’re letting themselves in. We ought to have a full house of security management types from Spain, Brussels, and parts east within NATO, but for some reason attendance today looks unusually light.
Delegates are beginning to arrive, so I head back towards my seat. “Who’s that?” Franz asks me quietly, with a nod at the door. I glance round and do a double take: it’s Ramona. She’s almost unrecognizable in a business suit with her hair up, but being this close to her still makes the skin crawl in the small of my back.
“That’s, um, Ms. Random. An observer. We’re privileged to have her here.” My cheek twitches and Franz stares at me from behind his rimless spectacles.
“I see. I was unaware that we had that type of guest present.” I get the feeling he sees a whole lot more than I told him, but there’s not a lot I can say.
★★Hello, darling, slept well?★★ she asks. I start: then I realize she’s still on the other side of the room, coolly pouring herself a cup of coffee and smiling at Anna.
★★No thanks to you,★★ I think at her.
I hear a rude noise. ★★A girl’s got to eat sometime.★★
★★Yes, but midnight snacking—★★ Invisible pink elephants. Think of invisible pink elephants, Bob. Think of invisible pink, throbbing elephants in the night—no, cancel the throbbing—
I sit down, dizzily. “Is something wrong?” asks Franz.
“Supper disagreed with me,” I say weakly. Ramona’s supper, that is: pâté de gros ingénieur. “I’ll be okay if I sit down.” A hot flush is trying to follow the shivers up and down my spine, I glance at her across the room and she looks back at me, blank-faced.
People are heading towards the table, apparently following my lead. To my annoyance Ramona oozes into the chair next to me then stares sharply at Anna’s end of the table.
“Ciao everybody. I see a lot of vacant seats and new faces today! This meeting will now commence. Badges on the table, please.” Anna looks up and down the table pointedly as clusters of conversation die down.
I reach into my pocket and slide my Laundry warrant card onto the table. Everyone else is doing likewise with their own accreditation: the air twists and prickles with the bindings.
“Excuse moi.” François leans across the table towards Ramona: “You have credentials?”
Ramona just looks at him. “No. As a matter of policy my organization does not issue identification papers.” Heads turn and eyes narrow around the table.
I clear my throat. “I can vouch for her,” I hear myself saying. “Ramona Random—” words slide seamlessly into my mind “—Overseas Operations Directorate, based out of Arkham.” ★★Thanks,★★ I tell her silently, ★★now get out of my head.★★ “Here by direct invitation of my own department, full observer status under Clause Four of the Benthic Treaty.”
Ramona smiles thinly. There’s a low buzz of surprised conversation. “Quiet!” calls Anna. “I’d like to welcome our . . . today’s observer here.” She looks slightly flustered. “If you could contrive some form of identification in future, that would be helpful, but—” she