Strapped into the back seat of an enclosed All Terrian Personnel Carrier, she kept her gaze locked on her personal PADD, studiously reviewing the brief. Never mind that the constant jostling and low voices of the five grunts strapped in beside her made concentration almost wholly pointless. Without their black, skull motif helmets, they looked like ordinary, approachable young men and women. Their hair colours were so limited, though; auburn, black, brunette, a hint of chestnut like that fellow from the arcade. Motoki? Yes, that must be it.
"Sir?"
The masculine voice projected in her direction, but unaccustomed to the deference, she did not react, until:
"Commander Mizuno, sir?"
Blue eyes sought the source as she tilted her head upward to the front of the APC. She said, "Yes?"
"We're approaching Lone Star, sir," said the driver. "Less than a click, now."
"Right," she answered, and returned her attention to learning more about their work with ley lines. She understood that a network of these incomprehensible sources of magic encircled the planet, and effectively equalized the balance of power between the Coalition and the small but mighty states of magic users, psychics and magical beings.
Rei's perspective sure would have been interesting, but it was months since they had contact. Hopefully her training was proceeding apace. This man, Juan, seemed capable of keeping up with her, which was reassuring…
"Nervous, sir?" Interjected a voice to her left.
"No," she replied automatically; it was the easiest way to lie. Know your script and be dispassionate. She was a terrible liar, but they ate it up.
"Aw, Mace, don't do that to her, t'aint nice, an' you know we're all about hospitality," quipped a blond haired fellow to her right. She couldn't tell if he was joking, not even with a cursory evaluation of his tone and expression. Western men could be awfully oblique.
"Sorry, sir, but I had no idea a C/O could be so gosh darn cute," Mace said and looked her over. "Don't you agree, Blitz?"
"Now I don't know if I'd…"
"Then don't," Ami said forcefully. "I'll have you both busted down to private so quickly your next training will be in diapers."
Mace and Blitz fell silent, clearing their throats and glancing away. They grumbled and muttered like boys caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
"What was that?" she demanded.
Both did their best to assume an attentive stance in their seats, eyes skyward, chins thrust forward. They said, "Our apologies, sir! It won't happen again, sir!"
The lapse of conversation was a majestic refuge wherein peace might be found. She despised the subterfuge, but had learned that the authoritarian organization known as the Coalition had extensive and valuable knowledge and resources. No option could be left unexplored; Usagi must be found.
"Sir?" said a female baritone, and she instantly recalled the name of its owner.
"Yes, Dakota?"
The dark skinned young woman grimaced, leaned close and intoned, "It's Sgt. Jones, Ami. Y'oughta know that by now."
Ami blinked innocently and said, "I do, but…you're my friend. I have the right to treat you with kindness and courtesy as my subordinate."
"Uh, yeah, y'kin get away with it cause I'm yer personal guard n'that," Dakota said, "but…ah dunno, jus' be careful. These boys kin get jealous."
"Ah, of course," Ami said, resolute.
Dakota slipped her sleek black and white motif helmet on and said, "Anyway, time t'go. Sir."
"Oh…" she started, and fumbled with the straps of the harness, searching for the latching mechanism. Dakota stared down anyone who dared to notice this awkwardness in their commander. Eventually she succeeded and stood in her black ankle length jacket and fitted beret. As the APC jolted to a halt, she reached out for support and her hand landed on Dakota's shoulder plate. Unruffled, she said,
"When you're ready, Commander."
Ami cleared her throat; she just wasn't built for military protocol, not like those grunts seemed to be. She nodded at Dakota and they exited the APC through a side door into an engineering barracks. The black armoured soldiers walked in a protective line around her, with Dakota to her left.
Ami recognized the frantic energy of repair crews and grunts working to restore security measures as well as the integrity of walls to this corner of the facility. She counted three breaches and four, no, eight times as many men and women applied to the varied tasks to this end.
At the first of several internal checkpoints, Dakota was greeted by a gruff looking man who made unpleasant noises at her. They bickered briefly, Dakota returned to Ami's side and they were admitted through the gated checkpoint.
"Problem?" Ami asked.
"We're late and down a man," Dakota reported diffidently. "Sector Chief Griff was makin' like ah reported t'him er somethin'."
"I got his number," Ami said.
"So do…oh, you mean his badge. Ah'm not askin'," Dakota said, noncommittal, "you do what y'want."
"I will," Ami said with a growl, then politely, "Thank you."
"Mah pleasure, commander," Dakota said. Two more security stations made way for the latest protégé of Dr. Carl Stranberg, until at last she was ushered to his laboratory. Dakota saluted Ami, then assumed watch at the door.
Ami presented her security badge to the reader and waited for the heavy two panel doors to slide apart. They did not, instead, a tenor reverberated across the hall:
"Just what the sodding hell are you doing, Commander?"
Ami spun at the assault, eyes wide. Dakota shrugged and Ami surmised that they had been set up. It was just like him. Her mind completed a tidy pinwheel of assessments and she calmed.
"Sent to the wrong door; so much has changed since my last visit I'm sure my own equipment has been swept into someone's broom closet," she blustered, and rather convincingly, too. She walked up to Stranberg and asserted; "Of course I am assured that someone is keeping tracking of all these changes."
"Naturally; you'll find that list under Pvt. Nobody's watch," he said solicitously. "Come with me, Commander, we've much to discuss."
She followed him through a single panel door into his office, which hissed shut. The room was extravagant; wood panel walls, carved antiques from Coalition alley states. None of it important or her, though all unique and interesting. Dr. Stranberg tucked himself behind a narrow white desk and gestured at the slim, stylish white seat opposite him.
"Please, Commander, sit," he said. She obliged, crossed her legs at the knee and clasped her hands in her lap.
"Thank you," she said.
"Scrap, Ami, you're presenting like a schoolgirl," he frowned. Ami let out a long, soft sigh and he spoke again: "We haven't gone through all this trouble just for you to get caught."
His rich Irish accent had begun to colour his words. He muttered unintelligibly and poured some kind of tea from a porcelain kettle into a cup that nearly matched, except that it was eggshell white and probably Chinese made. He sat opposite her and sheltered the glassware in both hands.
"We have not been caught. Am I here for a routine report?" Ami asked, expectant. "I'll not wait on your response; you need fodder for your superiors."
"Our superiors," he corrected.
"You know who I serve," Ami said. "In aid of that, we're exploring three fronts."
"Of that I am aware," Carl said and nodded. "Any progress?"
"None," Ami confirmed, "though we've not yet gained access to all of the key resources. These take time to acquire and master."
"More time than you anticipated," Carl suggested, brow furrowed. He sipped at his tea, made a face and said, "A touch bitter…so you're committed to your timeframe."
"Yes," Ami said. She knew her stoicism was hard to read because she didn't want to be understood. Not by most. Carl, however, was another matter. She continued, "We've been at this for one year, two months, three weeks and four days. Success is my only criteria."
"Why count the passage of time, then?" Carl said and leaned forward in his seat.
"Expected busywork that will keep my superiors content with my activity and progress," Ami supplied. She could tell that Carl chafed at her clinical attitude. Doing so was a bittersweet gesture; memories of times her Mother would pretend-play Doctor with one of her stuffed toys so that she could imitate her.
"I see," Carl said pensively. "Any word on the whereabouts of your missing ally?"
"Only rumours. We are exploring them, but they originate from enemy states, and we don't want to alert them to our presence and motives," Ami relayed, and palmed her PADD. "Would you like me to tell you—"
"No. I'd like you t'be a tad less robotic with me, Ami. You mind if I call you Ami?" Carl asked and set his empty cup aside.
"I…" Ami began, then stopped.
Carl considered her uncommon stupor of thought and word. He waited.
"I don't feel it's right. You're old enough to be my father," she said at last.
"I should be terribly put out, but I don't suppose you mean that romantically," he responded, and she nodded. He said, "As I thought. I appreciate the sentiment, but you're not my type."
Ami straightened her back, squared her shoulders at this and said, "I regret that you don't know me. I think you are very much my type."
Carl's cheeks began to colour a charming shade of ruby as he cleared his throat. A cough joined the parade of embarrassment and he managed to say, "And entirely too young."
"Age has nothing to do with it. When a woman is ready, she is ready," she retorted. Why was she saying this?
Carl had managed to calm his disruptions and said, evenly, "Then perhaps we might discuss the matter further on a less…conspicuous occasion."
"I would like that."
"Very well, let us move on to subjects more…suitable to our situation."
"But it would be," Ami said, finding herself piqued, unexpectedly.
"Ami, I am sorry to be so brusque with your emotions," Carl said, abruptly conscious of her cultural standards. "I have come to care for you, but…our lives are at stake."
Ami bowed her head sharply and apologized; 'Gomen nasai!'
She listened to him change back to an official mode of speech and cursed her social indelicacy.
He said, "Your operational status is unchanged, but understand that the patience of command is not unlimited."
"I expected this," Ami said and her eyes glimmered with the opportunity to make amends. She pulled a roll from a pocket and placed it on his desk. "This is a projection of the results and the benefits to those who may make use of our research. I anticipate that tensions will ease when you report this."
Carl grasped the roll and stared at it, both confused and enthralled. What could it contain? Could she really…no, conjecture was fruitless. He opened the roll and began to read. As he did, his tension boiled away, leaving only raw disbelief and anxiety. At its end, he rolled up the file and set it down.
"You mean what you say, here," he said. It was not a question. Ami nodded. He sized her up, impressed. At seventeen she had more reserve and strategic subtly than men many decades her senior. Perhaps…no, not 'perhaps'. At least intellectually she was more mature than any man in their entire command structure.
He pressed a forefinger on the scroll and stressed, "What you propose could culminate in war, Commander."
"No, Doctor," Ami negated softy, "it will culminate in a decision. We are already at war, and I'm sure the Generals will agree that, utilized correctly, this is the deciding factor."
"They might also decide that it is sedition," Carl said, "It takes control out of their hands."
"Does it? Do they have control now?" Ami said and looked determined. "They don't. They have fear and look what comes of it; their enemies are many and formidable. I know what unrestrained violence can do, historically."
"You're right," Carl said, and an understated smile broke out across his square jaw. He chuckled and said, "they'll certainly be at the debate table for a long time. None of them agree on anything, least of all the value of nexus points."
"And the projected time for—"
"Never mind that, Ami. This is all boilerplate to them. Busywork, exactly as you said. My sources tell me they're using your project as a front to keep the enemy distracted."
Ami smirked and said, "And I thought that's what I was doing. Anyway, it's harmless, even if this takes four years to complete…"
"Your projected timeline," Carl said.
"Yes, yes. Even then, I'll have the answers I want."
Carl leaned back in his seat and said, "Your mind truly is mystifying. Is Dakota treating you well?"
Ami looked puzzled; strange combination of subjects. She answered, "She's like a bossy, extremely dangerous sister. No one can get close enough to make a pass at me."
"Good, you're too cute to be taken seriously, and there are men in the service who would do worse without her around," he said. "You're a target, don't forget it. Jake Vanadyl has been assigned to your guard unit. He should be out there with your Sergeant now. Why don't you introduce yourself?"
"And perhaps later…?" Ami said, hopeful.
Carl found himself watching her stand, lithe and slender, and said, "What made you decide that I'm single?"
Ami smiled, just a little and said, "I didn't. You left a trail as long as your life for me to examine."
"All right," he said, hand on his chin. "And my interest in you?"
Ami turned away and said, "I'm demure, not blind. Good day, Carl-san."