Chapters (24)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Episode One: The B-Team
- Episode Two: Walk the Plank
- Episode Three: We Only Need the Heads
- Episode Four: A Voice in the Wilderness
- Episode Five: Tales from the Clarke
- Episode Six: The Back Channel
- Episode Seven: The Dog King
- Episode Eight: The Sound of Rebellion
- Episode Nine: The Observers
- Episode Ten: This Must Be the Place
- Episode Eleven: A Problem of Proportion
- Episode Twelve: The Gentle Art of Cracking Heads
- Episode Thirteen: Earth Below, Sky Above
- Extras
- After the Coup
- Hafte Sorvalh Eats a Churro and Speaks to the Youth of Today
- The End of All Things Teaser
- Tor Books by John Scalzi
- About the Author
In her peripheral vision, Coloma saw someone walking up to her. She knew without turning that it was Neva Balla, her executive officer. Balla had a hitch in her gait, an artifact, so Balla claimed, of an equestrian injury in her youth. The practical result of it was that there was no doubt of her identity when she came up on you. Balla could be wearing a bag on her head and Coloma would know it was her.
“Having one last look at the Clarke?” Balla asked Coloma as she walked up.
“No,” Coloma said; Balla looked at her quizzically. “She’s no longer the Clarke. When they decommissioned her, they took her name. Now she’s just CUDS-RC-1181. For whatever time it takes to render her down to parts, anyway.”
“What happens to the name?” Balla asked.
“They put it back into the rotation,” Coloma said. “Some other ship will have it eventually. That is, if they don’t decide to retire it for being too ignominious.”
Balla nodded, but then motioned to the ship. “Clarke or not, she was still your ship.”
“Yes,” Coloma said. “Yes, she was.”
The two stood there silently for a moment, watching the shuttles angle toward what used to be their ship.
“So what did you find out?” Coloma asked Balla after a moment.
“We’re still on hold,” Balla said. “All of us. You, me, the senior staff of the Clarke. Some of the crew have been reassigned to fill holes in other ship rosters, but almost no officers and none of those above the rank of lieutenant junior grade.”
Coloma nodded. The reassignment of her crew would normally come through her, but technically speaking they were no longer her crew and she no longer their captain. Balla had friends in the Department of State’s higher reaches, or more accurately, she had friends who were assistants and aides to the department’s higher reaches. It worked out the same, informationwise. “Do we have any idea why no one important’s been reassigned?”
“They’re still doing their investigation of the Danavar incident,” Balla said.
“Yes, but in our crew that only involves you and me and Marcos Basquez,” Coloma said, naming the Clarke’s chief engineer. “And Marcos isn’t being investigated like the two of us are.”
“It’s still easier to have us around,” Balla said. “But there’s another wrinkle to it as well.”
“What’s that?” Coloma asked.
“The Clarke’s diplomatic team hasn’t been formally reassigned, either,” Balla said. “Some of them have been added on to existing missions or negotiations in a temporary capacity, but none of them has been made permanent.”
“Who did you hear this from?” Coloma asked.
“Hart Schmidt,” Balla said. “He and Ambassador Abumwe were attached to the Bula negotiations last week.”