“He sort of intimated that, yes. And told me of your background,” she added.
“Yes?” I prompted. There was a question hanging.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You want to know what it’s like to kill billions of people and why I’m still sane afterwards,” I told her. “If we’re going to work together, we need mutual honesty. What you like to eat, how you feel, what type underwear you wear, everything.”
“Okay,” she said. “So what was it like?”
“It was terrifying and revolting beyond words. And I haven’t yet decided if I am sane. What type underwear?”
She looked startled, smiled faintly and said, “Blue Wicklon thong today. Is that a hint as to how personal such questions are?”
“Score one,” I said. “I’m deranged, prone to nightmares and violence, resentful, morose and old inside if not outside. We’re going to track down one of my friends and kill him for the sin of competence in the free market, for killing people who most likely deserved to die. If he finds us first, we die.
If we get caught, we get nailed under whatever local laws we have. That could be Mtali or Earth. Mtali would be disgustingly unpleasant for you; they don’t like women. Earth would be lethal; they don’t like Freeholders or our type specifically.” I didn’t say “Special Warfare.” “If you can handle all that, we have a job. If not, say so now.” My face was in a slight snarl from stress, and I left it there. I needed to see how she reacted.
“It’s a job,” she said, though I heard the last word as “mission.” She was handling cover fairly well. “I can handle it.”
“Right,” I said, taking that as intent. I wanted proof, though. And I needed to know how she’d hold up. We could get departure orders tomorrow. Or right now. “Tell me your training and experience.” I still hadn’t asked her to sit down. We were standing between two of the mills, not visible from the door. She let herself stand with her back to the door, though. Not a good sign.
She took a slight breath and said, “I started in Field Improvised Electronics, which I maxed. From there, I took supplementals in Mechanical, Explosives and Demolition, and Cover and Intelligence Assets. I got eighty-five percent on the test for E and D. The rest I maxed. I was teaching Mechanical until I got detached for this. I’ve been to the Operative Support Course and Blazer Field Support Course.”
“Service time? Duty stations?” I prompted.
“Five years, three months. I did a detached tour at the Lab on Gealach, a tour with Second Special Warfare Regiment and a Temp at the Hirohito Embassy.” Her presentation was confident and smooth.
I waited as she matched my stare. The seconds stretched out. She twitched first, that tiny signal that says confidence has cracked.
“And what else?” I asked.
“That’s my career, sir,” she said.
There was just a hint of defensiveness in there, and I went at it with my attitude as a pick-axe.
“So, a bunch of nothing,” I said, sounding disgusted. It wasn’t as bad as that, but she was a bit cocky about a career that included no combat. I had to hit that right now.
“I wouldn’t call it ‘nothing,’ sir,” she said.
“I would,” I said. “Labs, training exercises and diplocrap. Very good prep for undercover stalking. This isn’t a dinner or a clever little gig building a recording device to fit in a corsage.” She started to protest and I continued, “Skip that, let’s see your work. You teach mechanical?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So build me a pistol. Ten millimeter Alesis caliber. Here’s the tools,” I said with a spread-armed wave around the shop.
She looked around, fixed me with her eyes and asked, “Is this a test?”
“Yes,” I said. “My ass depends on how well you do your job.”
“Hmmph,” she said, but turned to the machines. That tunic was cut low, showing off a lot of nicely toned back. “Will standard polymer and metal suffice, or do you want ceramic?”
“Easiest and quickest job you can do that is reliable.”
“All my work is reliable,” she said frostily.
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “It’s not the technical issues that really concern me.”
She was facing my primary prototyping mill, now, nodding in familiarity. She brought up power and started asking it questions. “So what is your concern?” she asked, head turning only slightly over her shoulder and voice raised over the hum of the machine. “You think I’m going to freeze up?”