Read Online When Diplomacy Fails . . . by Michael Z. Williamson - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Z. Williamson
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rooms.
“Aramis, Elke, Shaman, Bart, Jason, me. Kitchen. Had only vegetarian stuff when we arrived. Default to avoid upsetting people with dietary restrictions. However, it upset me, so I fixed that. Beer is very limited. We have one each to unwind from today, and I’ll purchase more on a very limited basis. That’s per me, Alex, Corporate and the base commander.”
Aramis said, “I wasn’t going to argue the point, but Bart might.”
“I will be fine,” Bart said. “Business is business.”
“You see the vault there.” It was more a large cabinet than a real vault, but it would suffice. “I did encourage and assist both the Security Directorate and ACAMS—their electronic contractor—in wiring it. We can bypass it if need be. It will log and monitor all activity inside and immediately in front. There is no audio. I’ve already placed audio scramblers to make sure. I advised that we might discuss personal details of Ms. Highland, and certainly technical matters regarding her security and travel, and that any discovered leaks would lead to serious conspiracy investigations if something happened to her. They were reluctant even to give us the monitoring we have, so we should be safe.”
Elke said, “Ah, there is the paranoia I’d missed so much when on Earth. It is so good to be normal again.”
“Indeed. Everyone stow your personals, we’ll take a tour and discuss security. Beer when we’re back.”
“Uniform up. We’ll blend in better.”
In ten minutes they were ready, as a gaggle who presented as military while looking nothing like a formation. It would be obvious to any troop with experience they were “Security contractors,” and high-placing ones. They had a company combat uniform that would make them look like any one of dozens of regional or national contingents.
They went out the foot gate of their compound and onto the broad base itself. There were islands of palm trees, a few flowerbeds, both maintained by bored, off-duty troops, and the usual block billets, portable concessionaires and heavy impact barriers around all important buildings.
A squad of troops went past in an open-backed Grumbly, heading for what appeared to be guardmount at the nearest Entry Control Point. But . . .
Aramis gaped. “What in the name of every god there is is that?”
Jason said, “That’s the new camo.”
Alex asked, “What in the hell were they thinking?” They sounded as incredulous as Jason had felt when he first saw it.
“It’s supposed to fool the eye.”
“It’s bloody pink and orange with purple highlights,” Alex repeated.
“Yes, the theory is that the colors are designed for optical interference. They’re as far from anything natural as possible, which throws the brain off for a moment. The contrast between them disrupts outlines, and the blotches are computer designed to create artificial depth. Their lab tests say it takes about point four seconds for any response, plus normal reaction time. It makes them harder to hit. In addition, tactical lighting or flares create similar illusions.”
“It’s bloody pink and orange.”
Elke said, “With a reflective belt.” She sounded amused.
Aramis said, “That’s for safety in the dark. Regulations.”
“It’s a war zone and it’s daylight.”
“You’re expecting logic?” Jason asked.
Alex said, “No, but I’d hope that someone with a clue and a spine and some brass would at some point in the process say, ‘This is fucking stupid,’ and put a stop to it.”
Jason said, “Yeah, I wondered about that, too. Just as I think it can’t possibly get stupider, it does.”
Bart said, “At a guess, I can locate that three kilometers away, without optics.”
“It’s the best camouflage ever devised. Their official reports say so.”
“Uh huh.” Alex looked meaningfully at the Catafract pattern they wore. Jason tried to. This stuff was near impossible to focus on, with its lines fading in and out of the surface, the
“Aramis, Elke, Shaman, Bart, Jason, me. Kitchen. Had only vegetarian stuff when we arrived. Default to avoid upsetting people with dietary restrictions. However, it upset me, so I fixed that. Beer is very limited. We have one each to unwind from today, and I’ll purchase more on a very limited basis. That’s per me, Alex, Corporate and the base commander.”
Aramis said, “I wasn’t going to argue the point, but Bart might.”
“I will be fine,” Bart said. “Business is business.”
“You see the vault there.” It was more a large cabinet than a real vault, but it would suffice. “I did encourage and assist both the Security Directorate and ACAMS—their electronic contractor—in wiring it. We can bypass it if need be. It will log and monitor all activity inside and immediately in front. There is no audio. I’ve already placed audio scramblers to make sure. I advised that we might discuss personal details of Ms. Highland, and certainly technical matters regarding her security and travel, and that any discovered leaks would lead to serious conspiracy investigations if something happened to her. They were reluctant even to give us the monitoring we have, so we should be safe.”
Elke said, “Ah, there is the paranoia I’d missed so much when on Earth. It is so good to be normal again.”
“Indeed. Everyone stow your personals, we’ll take a tour and discuss security. Beer when we’re back.”
“Uniform up. We’ll blend in better.”
In ten minutes they were ready, as a gaggle who presented as military while looking nothing like a formation. It would be obvious to any troop with experience they were “Security contractors,” and high-placing ones. They had a company combat uniform that would make them look like any one of dozens of regional or national contingents.
They went out the foot gate of their compound and onto the broad base itself. There were islands of palm trees, a few flowerbeds, both maintained by bored, off-duty troops, and the usual block billets, portable concessionaires and heavy impact barriers around all important buildings.
A squad of troops went past in an open-backed Grumbly, heading for what appeared to be guardmount at the nearest Entry Control Point. But . . .
Aramis gaped. “What in the name of every god there is is that?”
Jason said, “That’s the new camo.”
Alex asked, “What in the hell were they thinking?” They sounded as incredulous as Jason had felt when he first saw it.
“It’s supposed to fool the eye.”
“It’s bloody pink and orange with purple highlights,” Alex repeated.
“Yes, the theory is that the colors are designed for optical interference. They’re as far from anything natural as possible, which throws the brain off for a moment. The contrast between them disrupts outlines, and the blotches are computer designed to create artificial depth. Their lab tests say it takes about point four seconds for any response, plus normal reaction time. It makes them harder to hit. In addition, tactical lighting or flares create similar illusions.”
“It’s bloody pink and orange.”
Elke said, “With a reflective belt.” She sounded amused.
Aramis said, “That’s for safety in the dark. Regulations.”
“It’s a war zone and it’s daylight.”
“You’re expecting logic?” Jason asked.
Alex said, “No, but I’d hope that someone with a clue and a spine and some brass would at some point in the process say, ‘This is fucking stupid,’ and put a stop to it.”
Jason said, “Yeah, I wondered about that, too. Just as I think it can’t possibly get stupider, it does.”
Bart said, “At a guess, I can locate that three kilometers away, without optics.”
“It’s the best camouflage ever devised. Their official reports say so.”
“Uh huh.” Alex looked meaningfully at the Catafract pattern they wore. Jason tried to. This stuff was near impossible to focus on, with its lines fading in and out of the surface, the
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