They were.

“Lieutenant Wilson, a word with you,” Abumwe said, as the room began to clear. “You too, Schmidt.” The room cleared except for the ambassador, Hillary Drolet, Schmidt and Wilson.

“Why did you ask about why there was a rush?” Abumwe asked.

Wilson made a conscious effort not to let the thought I’m being called on the carpet for that?show up on his face. “Because everyone wanted to know, but no one else wanted to ask, ma’am.”

“Because they knew better,” Abumwe said.

“Except possibly for Fucci, yes, ma’am,” Wilson said.

“But you don’t,” Abumwe said.

“No, I know better, too,” Wilson said. “But I still thought someone should ask.”

“Hmmm,” Abumwe said. “Lieutenant, what did it say to you that we have twenty hours to prepare for this negotiation?”

“Are you asking me to speculate, ma’am?” Wilson asked.

“It’s rather obvious that’s what I’m asking,” Abumwe said. “You’re Colonial Defense Forces. You no doubt have a military perspective on this.”

“It’s been years since I’ve been anywhere near actual combat, ma’am,” Wilson said. “I’ve been with CDF Research and Development for years, even before they lent me to you and the Clarkeas your tech consultant.”

“But you arestill CDF, yes?” Abumwe said. “You still have the green skin and the computer in your head. I imagine if you dig deeply, you might still have the ability to look at things from a military point of view.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wilson said.

“Then give me your analysis,” Abumwe said.

“Someone’s humped the bunk,” Wilson said.

“Excuse me?” Abumwe said. Wilson noted Schmidt suddenly looked paler than usual.

“Humped the bunk,” Wilson repeated. “Screwed the pooch. Gone FUBAR. Insert your own metaphor for things going sideways here. You don’t have to have military experience to see that; everyone in this room had that thought. Whatever this Sara Bair and her team were supposed to do, they blew it, and for whatever reason the Colonial Union needs to attempt a salvage, so you and your team are the last-minute, last-chance substitute.”

“And why us?” Abumwe said.

“Because you are good at what you do,” Wilson said.

Abumwe’s thin smile returned. “If I want smoke blown up my ass, Lieutenant, I could have your friend here,” she said, nodding toward Schmidt.

“Yes, ma’am,” Wilson said. “In that case, I’d guess because we’re close to jump, which makes us easy to reroute, that you’ve had at least some experience with the Utche, and that if you fail, and you probably will because you’re the last-minute replacement, you’re low enough on the diplomatic totem pole that it can be chalked up to your incompetence.” Wilson looked over to Schmidt, who looked as if he were about to implode. “Stop that, Hart,” he said. “She asked.”

“I did indeed,” Abumwe said. “And you are right, Lieutenant. But only half-right. The other reason that they picked us is because of you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Wilson said, now thoroughly confused.

“Sara Bair didn’t fail at her task, she disappeared,” Abumwe said. “Along with the whole of her diplomatic mission and a CDF frigate called the Polk. It and them, gone. No trace.”

“That’s not good,” Wilson said.

“You are once again stating the obvious,” Abumwe said.

“How do I matter here, ma’am?” Wilson said.

“They don’t think the Polkjust vanished, they think it was destroyed,” Abumwe said. “And they need you to look for the black box.”

“Black box?” Schmidt asked.

“A data recorder,” Wilson said. “If the Polkwas destroyed and the black box survived, then it could tell us what happened to the ship, and who killed it.”

“And we couldn’t find it without you?” Schmidt asked.

Wilson shook his head. “They’re small and they don’t send out a locator beacon unless they’re pinged with an encrypted signal, specific to that ship. It’s a military-grade cipher. You need a very tall security clearance for that. They don’t just hand those out to anyone, and not to anyone outside the CDF.” He turned his attention to Abumwe. “But they don’t just hand them out to random lieutenants, either.”

“Then we are lucky you are not just a random lieutenant,” Abumwe said. “I am told that in your history it seems that you once had a very high security clearance.”

“I was part of a team doing research on BrainPal security,” Wilson said. “Again, it’s been years. I don’t have that clearance level anymore.”

“You didn’t,” Abumwe said. She nodded to her assistant, who once again pressed on her PDA. Wilson immediately saw a ping light for his queue in his peripheral vision. “Now you do.”

“Okay,” Wilson said slowly, and scanned the details of the security clearance. After a moment he spoke again. “Ambassador, I think you should know this security clearance comes with a level of executive authority that technically means I can give orders to the Clarke’s crew in the furtherance of my mission,” he said.

“I would suggest you not try to exercise that privilege with Captain Coloma,” Abumwe said. “She hasn’t put anyone on the wrong side of an airlock, but if you gave her an order, she might make an exception for you.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Wilson said.

“Do,” Abumwe said. “In the meantime, as you’ve no doubt read by now, your orders are to find the black box, decode it and find out what happened to the Polk.”

“Got it, ma’am,” Wilson said.

“It’s been implied to me by my own superiors that your finding the black box is of equal or greater importance to me actually successfully concluding these negotiations with the Utche,” Abumwe said. “To that end I have detailed you an aide for the duration.” She nodded to Schmidt. “I don’t need him. He’s yours.”

“Thank you,” Wilson said, and noted that he’d never seen Hart look more pained than just now, when he had been deemed inessential by his boss. “He’ll be useful.”

“He’d better be,” Abumwe said. “Because, Lieutenant Wilson, the warning I gave to my staff goes double for you. If you fail, this mission fails, even if my half goes well. Which means I will have failed because of you. I may be low on the diplomatic totem pole, but I am sufficiently high enough on it that when I push you, you will die from the fall.” She looked over to Schmidt. “And he’ll kill you when he lands.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Wilson said.

“Good,” Abumwe said. “One more thing, Lieutenant. Try to find that black box before the Utche arrive. If someone’s trying to kill us all, I want to know about it before our negotiating partners show up.”

“I’ll do my best,” Wilson said.

“Your best got you stationed on the Clarke,” Abumwe said. “Do better than that.”

V.

“Please stop that,” Wilson said to Schmidt, as they sat in the Clarkelounge, reviewing their project data.

Schmidt looked up from his PDA. “I’m not doing anything,” he said.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Wilson said. He had his eyes closed, the better to focus on the data his BrainPal was streaming at him.

“I’m breathing completely normally,” Schmidt said.

“You’ve been breathing like a labored elephant for the last several minutes,” Wilson said, still not opening his eyes. “Keep it up and you’re going to need a paper bag to breathe into.”

“Yes, well,” Schmidt said. “ Youget told you’re inessential by your boss and see how you feel.”

“Her people skills aren’t the best,” Wilson agreed. “But you knew that. And as my assistant,I actually do need you to be helpful to me. So stop thinking about your boss and think more about ourpredicament.”

“Sorry,” Schmidt said. “I’m also not entirely comfortable with this assistant thing.”

“I promise not to ask you to get me coffee,” Wilson said. “Much.”

“Thanks,” Schmidt said, wryly. Wilson grunted and went back to his data.