Page 9 of Mongrels United
“Why are you so interested in Avan?” Nash asked. “Your lifestyle is the complete opposite of his. Ethics would just mess up your day.”
Camilla smiled. “They would,” she agreed. “But Avan’s posts are read by a lot of people, who don’t have a brand stamped on their foreheads saying they live by his standards.”
“Opposition research?” Nash suggested.
“Very much so.” Camilla’s smile was self-satisfied. She looked as though she might purr. “That’s why I know that Grady Read is the perfect embodiment of her father’s philosophy. She is utterly loyal to the Captain, driven to serve and live a simple life that leaves a positive mark behind.”
Nash grimaced. “Now I need more than just coffee.” He turned to the printer dash and called up the breakfast menu.
“She can have that effect, I’m told,” Camilla said, with another knowing smile. “But be careful about showing your distaste in public, Nash. Read is incredibly popular. And she’s a superlative Chief of Staff for a captain who brought stability to the ship after generations of rampant near-lawlessness.”
Nash grunted again. Camilla’s observation seemed sharply accurate. He’d be a fool to ignore her advice.
Clip rolled across the room, his stubby arms raised vertically in the air—Clip’s way of showing excitement. “Call for you, Nash.”
“Who is it?” Nash growled. He reallywashungry, now. All this talk of ethics and discipline had used up too many calories.
“It’s the hospice in the Capitol,” Clip said. His interface used a light tenor voice that always sounded cheerful even when communicating less than cheerful news. He lowered his arms. “They wanted to let you know your father was there.”
Nash stared at the bot wordlessly. Then he remembered he was holding the coffee carafe and put it on the counter in front of Camilla. “Nason is in the hospice? Did they drag him there in chains?”
Camilla gave a soft laugh. “They’d have to, to get Nason Wheelock to admit he was sick.”
Nash threw her a glance. He wasn’t sure if he was irritated because she knew who his father was, or that she knew his father well enough to know he would never admit he was ill.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s true.”
Nash couldn’t argue the point. “Okay,” he said to Clip. “Tell the hospice I got their message. Thanks.”
Clip raised his arms once more.
“What?” Nash demanded.
“The hospice are suggesting you come and see him,” Clip answered. “As soon as possible.”
Camilla stopped smiling. “That doesn’t sound good…” she said softly.
Nash turned away from her sympathetic expression to study the printer as it produced a bowl of his favorite oatmeal. He suddenly wasn’t hungry and the smell of warm nutmeg and ground cloves made his gut clench.
“Nash?” Clip asked, his tone uncertain.
Nash fought the deep reluctance dragging at him. “Tell them I’ll be there soon.”
His mouth was back to tasting like shit.
Chapter Four
The response tracking numbers for Siran Carpenter’s last public announcement speech were waiting for Grady when she reached the office the morning after the Dere Street party. They were among a dozen other messages and notes, all of them flagged urgent.
She’d learned to judge for herself if a message really was urgent. Everyone flagged their messages because they were afraid she wouldn’t look at them if they didn’t, even though she assured everyone, all the time, that she always read every message. Eventually.
She settled at the big group table where she and the other staffers all worked together. The group arrangement never failed to raise the brows of visitors new to the Captain’s suite on the bridge. The braver visitors always said they thought the Chief of Staff would have their own office.
Therehadbeen an office designated for her use, which she had been shown to the day after Siran won his second election and hired her. The office even had a door connecting it to Siran’s. She had put a day bed in there for Siran to take power-naps, and set up the group table in the middle of the outer office area. The junior staffers had clearly thought she was nuts, but it put her right in the middle of them, where she could ask and get answers immediately.
Siran had said nothing about the odd arrangement, until one of the staffers had made an off-hand comment about being watched.
“If you’re doing your job, that shouldn’t be an issue, should it?” Siran told the staffer in his cultured voice, his tone reasonable and pleasant.
