The Human Division #10: This Must Be the Place Read Free Page B

assignments all across known space.”
    “They have been keeping her busy,” Hart said.
    “And you’ve been busy as well?” Alastair asked.
    “Mostly,” Hart said. “I’m doing a lot of work with Lieutenant Harry Wilson, who is a CDF technician who handles various tasks for us.”
    “I know,” Alastair said. “I have a friend who works for the Department of State. Keeps me up-to-date on the diplomatic reports from the Clarke .”
    “Is that so,” Hart said.
    “Not a whole lot of future in electrocuting dogs, Hart,” Alastair said.
    “ There we go,” Hart said.
    “Am I wrong?” Alastair asked.
    “Do you actually read the reports you get, Dad?” Hart said. “If you read the report about the dog, then you know what happened was that we ended up saving the peace negotiations and helped secure an alliance for the Colonial Union with a race that had been leaning toward aligning with the Conclave.”
    “Sure, after you carelessly allowed the dog to be eaten by a carnivorous plant, revealing the death site of a king whose disappearance started the race’s civil war, the discovery of which threatened a peace process that by all indications wasn’t threatened before,” Alastair said. “You don’t get credit for putting out fires you set yourself, Hart.”
    “The official report reads differently than your interpretation, Dad,” Hart said.
    “Of course it does,” Alastair said. “If I were your bosses, I would write it that way, too. But I’m not your boss, and I can read between the lines better than most.”
    “Are you going somewhere with this, Dad?” Hart said.
    “I think it’s time you came back to Phoenix,” Alastair said. “You gave the Colonial Union your best shot, and they’ve misused your talent. They stuck you with a diplomatic team that’s been catching lost-cause missions for years, and assigned you to a CDF grunt who uses you for menial tasks. You’re too accommodating to complain, and maybe you’re even having fun, but you’re not going anywhere, Hart. And maybe that’s fine early in your career, but you’re not early in your career anymore. You’ve dead-ended. It’s over.”
    “Not that I agree with you,” Hart said, “but why do you care, Dad? You’ve always told us that we have to make our own path, and you told us that we would have to sink or swim on our own. You’re a veritable raft of tough-love metaphors on the subject. If you think I’m sinking, you should be willing to let me sink.”
    “Because it’s not just about you, Hart,” Alastair said. He pointed at the speaker through which he had been yelling at Klaus. “I’m seventy-two years old, for Christ’s sake. Do you think I want to be spending my time keeping some poor bastard from enjoying his Harvest Day? No, what I want to do is tell the PHP to get along without me and spend more time with those grandkids of mine.”
    Hart stared at his father blankly. At no point in the past had his father ever evinced more than the most cursory interest in his grandchildren. Maybe that’s because they’re not interesting yet, a part of Hart’s brain said, and he could see the point. His father had become more engaged with his own children the older they got. And he could have his softer side; Hart’s eyes flickered to the medal case on the wall, holding Brous’s Nova Acadia award.
    “I can’t do that because I don’t have the right people following me,” Alastair continued. “Brandt’s gloating because the Unionists have their share of power, but the thing is the reason it happened is because the PHP hasn’t cultivated new talent, and now it’s biting us in the ass.”
    “Wait,” Hart said. “Dad, are you wanting me to join the PHP? Because I have to tell you, that’s really not going to happen.”
    “You’re missing my point,” Alastair said. “The PHP hasn’t developed new talent, but neither have the Greens or the Unionists. I’m still on the job because the whole next generation of