Z-Sting by Ian Wallace

Author:Ian Wallace
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2016-05-26T05:00:00+00:00

En route to Moon, three hours out from Nereid, Minister Ziska called a staff meeting, excluding this man Croyd whom he had meticulously snubbed. Croyd, who had his own thinking to do, accepted this and went to work in his tiny cabin. He was interrupted an hour later by a Ziska aide who asked deferentially if Mr. Croyd would mind joining the meeting. Noting that the time was 1126, Croyd went along: he had half expected this.

Ziska, who sat at the head of a long table, silently motioned Croyd to a chair beside him: it was not a compliment, this was evidently a sort of witness chair. Twenty-three civilian faces turned his way.

“This is Mr. Croyd,” asserted Ziska, the sibilant drawl faintly nasty. “Mr. Croyd, at several turns in our crisis planning, the question has arisen where you fit. I think we need to face this down. What is your concept?”

Croyd waved his left hand affably. “I know what you all are thinking and feeling—I’ve faced the same type of situation on your side of the table. Please scratch the idea that I’m some kind of commisar; I just happen to have put in some decades as a free-floating lone-wolf operator, it’s a constitutional talent that I have, and the Chairman thought it might be useful to Internal Security. My first reports will always be to Dr. Ziska.”

They all looked at Ziska, saw that his smile was stony-fixed as he faced Croyd stonily. Ziska repeated: “What is your concept?”

“Simply that you people do what you do while I find out what I can. You will be the first to be told whatever I learn, and except for the Chairman I will respect our security injunctions—at this sort of discretion I am not inexperienced. In turn I will need to keep knowing what you are doing and what the results are, to prevent me from inadvertently stepping off your catwalk and putting my foot into something.”

Leaning elbow on table and chin on knuckles, lean Ziska surveyed Croyd and stated, “This is a thin concept—and you come, sir, with thin credentials.”

Croyd made a brief try at saving the minister’s face. “Sir, with all respect to our colleagues here, I should appreciate an opportunity to discuss privately—”

“Denied. Speak here.”

So this was going to be it. Croyd pointed out bluntly: “I hate to seem to swing weight—but my thin credentials are the Chairman’s credentials.”

Somebody cleared his throat. Croyd gauged that while all present owed their futures to Ziska, none loved him. Ziska’s eyes were smoldering as he riposted: “I walked into that, but you know what I mean. I still feel that we need to know more about your plans.”

“Will you tell me first what yours are?”

“Give me a reason for telling you any plans.”

“I will give you two. If I do not know your plans, I may wastefully duplicate your work, or I may unintentionally foul up your work. I tell you that I am here on orders to operate freely, and that is what I intend to do.

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