“Yes, Tekla, and we do appreciate that you’ve been able to make time for us at all,” Julia said.
Tekla wanted to slap her so much that her hand actually twitched. The sentence Julia had just spoken, had it been delivered in a different tone, might have actually meant what it said. Instead of which, it meant I am being callously ignored and it’s about time someone important came out to talk to me. Tekla had an almost physical sense of how that mentality was radiating outward from Julia to infect the other Arkies.
Like almost everyone else in the Cloud Ark, Tekla was wearing a coverall with many pockets, compartments, external holsters, and the like. One of them contained a knife with a four-inch, double-edged blade. Its tip could find J.B.F.’s heart easily. Tekla faded from the conversation briefly as she considered how to manage this. Julia probably wouldn’t be expecting a frank assassination attempt—though you never really knew, with people who had such minds.
Tekla said, “Would you like to report any difficulties with the SAN? Repeated outages have been observed.”
Julia pressed her lips together in a satisfied way and looked toward Spencer Grindstaff.
“First I’ve heard of it,” Spencer said. The statement was met with perfect, deadpan silence.
Tekla just waited. Soon the temptation to boast would get the better of them. Her training in tradecraft—in how to be a spy—had not been all that extensive. A few basic courses, some assigned reading. The reason was simple: She was too conspicuous to be useful as a spy. Too similar to the Hollywood profile. Real spies went unnoticed. So they had kicked her out of the program and put her to work in roles, such as being an Olympic athlete, where her conspicuousness was an asset. But she had picked up a few general precepts. And she knew that this one thing—the urge to boast of one’s accomplishments—had betrayed more secrets and destroyed more careers than anything else.
She looked at Grindstaff. Unlike most people, who soon broke eye contact, he looked right back at her, grinning.
“Unusual,” Tekla said, “for one of your background.”
“Sources and methods,” he said.
“Then I will confine my remarks to what I came here for,” Tekla said. This produced an immediate exchange of glances between Julia and Spencer. Tekla ignored it. “For security reasons it is imperative that we have accurate census of which person is in which arklet. Some people like to move around. To trade places. We understand. Fine. But safety and security problems are created when, for example, arklet is struck by bolide, air is leaking, we do not know how many people are in it, their medical requirements, et cetera. Small person needs less air than big person.”
Julia was nodding. “I take your point very clearly, Tekla. Speaking for the Arkie Community, I can confirm that a more informal mind-set prevails out here on the outskirts. The perception of neglect by the powers that be on Izzy leads to a bit of a chip-on-the-shoulder attitude. Reshuffling of people between arklets seems like a harmless form of rebellion. But it’s easy to overlook the safety issue that you are pointing out. Which is a mistake. I will say that the confusion as to the real threat level we are under, as long as we—”
“As long as we confine ourselves to dirty space,” Ravi Kumar threw in.
“Yes, thank you, Ravi. It just seems that one day we hear one thing, the next day we hear another.”
“Statistics,” Tekla said.
“Yes, that is what we are told again and again, but—”
“I can say no more,” Tekla offered, and flicked her eyes at one of the small cameras mounted to the hull of the arklet.
Julia held her gaze this time, and, after a few moments, threw a glance Spencer’s way. “Tekla, a minute ago we were dancing around the topic of the Situational Awareness Network and Spencer was being a bit lighthearted—his sense of humor at work. But I feel comfortable telling you that, thanks to Spencer, we do have a way to disconnect from the SAN when we want to just have a normal conversation without wondering who might be listening in. And we have done so now. Anything you say here and now will not leave this arklet.”
Tekla favored the circle of hangers-on and admirers with a long, slow panoramic look, then actually rolled her eyes.
“Everyone out!” Julia commanded. “You too, Spencer. Just Tekla and me.”
“Your tradecraft is of low quality,” Tekla said, when all the others had dispersed through the hamster tubes to the other arklets in Julia’s heptad.
“I know,” Julia said. “It is so difficult rebuilding an intelligence community from scratch. One must make do with the materials at hand. Their youth, their inexperience, and the openness they’ve come to expect from living their whole lives on the Internet—all are inimical to doing things as they ought to be done. That is why we need more experienced hands—people who have learned the right instincts.”