War Stories (Book 1) - Keith R.A. DeCandido [12]
DuVall pounded the desk with his fist and stood up. “Dammit, what the hell kind of chicken outfit are we running here?”
“Sir, you can tell the admiral that everything’s under control, that our team is together, and that they will work hard to crack the code as soon as possible.”
“We need it sooner than that, mister, if we’re going to win this thing.” He sat back down. “All right, have the damn meeting without me, if you think it’ll do any good. But I expect a full report and transcript, and I want progress reports from both of you twice a day, understood?”
Bart stood up, taking the phrasing as a dismissal. “You’ll have those reports, Commander, I promise.”
“I’d better. Dismissed.”
“If you’ll come this way, Mr. Faulwell,” Mark said, indicating the door to DuVall’s office with his hand.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Bart said, “Let me guess, you deliberately set the meeting for 1900 because you knew he had that meeting?”
Mark sputtered a laugh. “Was I that obvious?”
“No, but he was.”
“Yeah, well. He’s not as bad as he seems.” Mark chuckled. “In fact, he couldn’t be as bad as he seems. But he’s a very good administrator, and he’s run this place phenomenally well for the last ten years. It’s just—”
“What?” Bart prompted.
“He’s got Starfleet in the blood. Mother was Starfleet, grandfather was Starfleet, all four great-grandparents were Starfleet—all the way back to’61.” Mark didn’t need to explain which year ending in “61” he meant—everyone knew that was shorthand for 2161, the year the Federation was founded. “But they all had pretty impressive careers—ship captains, war heroes, historic first contacts, that sort of thing. All he’s done is distinguish himself as a bureaucrat. And then a war hits, and he finds himself on entirely the wrong end of it.”
Bart nodded as they entered a turbolift. Starbase 92 was about as far from the front as possible, which was why so much important crypto work was being done here, away from the fighting.
“Habitat level.” The turbolift started to move horizontally. “So he makes up for it by doing the tough-guy military act. We all make sure he feels properly appreciated as the last line of defense against the Dominion, and everyone’s happy. Things actually run pretty smoothly here.”
The lift started to move downward. “So who all is on the team? I assume Novac is Roxana Novac?”
Mark nodded. “Terence Throckmorton is her partner—they’ve been working together since the war started.” He grinned, a bright smile that seemed to light up the turbolift. “I also think that she’s going to ask him to marry her, if he doesn’t beat her to it.”
Bart returned the grin. Always good to know some of the gossip going in—
“The others are T’Lura of Vulcan—”
“Good.” Bart had never met the woman, but her work on translating the notoriously difficult Breen language had been invaluable.
“—Ganris Phrebington—”
A Gnalish, his knowledge of sibilants in particular might be useful in this sort of work. Bart had met Phrebington a few times, and found him off-putting, and not nearly as talented as he himself thought he was.
“—and Janíce Kerasus.”
Blinking, Bart said, “Kerasus? She’s still alive?”
Again, Mark grinned. “If you’re very nice to me, I won’t tell her you said that. Yeah, she’s still alive. A hundred and sixty-five, and still going—well, not strong, exactly. She spends more time in the infirmary than any other single place, but her mind’s still as sharp as ever, even if her body’s breaking down on her.”
The lift came to a stop and the doors parted. “So what’s the problem with this new code?”
“Hell if I know,” Mark said with a shrug. “I’m just the liaison officer. All I know about language is that my universal translator mostly works.”
“Fair enough.”
“Here we are,