Free The Annihilation Score by Charles Stross Page B

not sure it’s relevant to the matter in hand. Where’s Judith?”
    â€œDead.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Armstrong clasps his hands behind his back, as sober as a funeral director. “Last night, during the Code Red. We were attacked at the New Annex.”
    â€œI knew that, but—
Judith
?” Dr. Carroll was the second ranking Auditor who dealt with our department. I was expecting her to chair this session. She wasn’t exactly a friend, but I was certain I’d get a fair hearing from her, and to learn that she’s dead so recently comes like a punch in the guts.
    He looks at me, his expression deceptively mild. “We lost others.”
    â€œOh my God.”
    â€œAndrew Newstrom. Doris Goodman. James Angleton.”
    â€œOh my—” My knees nearly give way. Everything’s a blur. The next thing I know, the Senior Auditor has my arm—he’s almostholding me up—and is leading me towards a chair. “—God.” It’s not that it’s entirely news to me: I knew we’d lost Angleton. But the scale of it hits me hard. And Andy was a friend: not a close one, but a friend nonetheless.
    â€œGod won’t help you, I’m afraid,” the SA murmurs sympathetically. More loudly: “I’m sorry, you should have been kept informed.”
    â€œBut—Andy?”
    â€œYes.” I feel the hard edge of a chair butt up against my legs: I allow myself to collapse onto it. “Your husband is picking up the pieces.”
    â€œBut he’s—” My lips don’t seem to want to work properly: I take a few seconds to get them back under control. “This is a catastrophe.”
    â€œYes,” he agrees.
    It puts everything that’s happened to me in the past twenty-four hours in a new perspective. Tilt-shift mode on a shiny new digital camera: all of a sudden, your larger-than-life problems look like a miniature diorama. “Oh God. Bob and I had a huge row. If I’d known—”
    â€œNot to worry,” Dr. Armstrong murmurs gently. He sits down beside me. “I’m sure allowances will be made, accommodations can be reached. But that’s not what we’re here for, is it?”
    Oh, that.
“No,” I agree.
    â€œYou know what’s coming next.” It’s a statement, not a question.
    â€œGive me a couple of seconds, please? This is all a bit of a shock.” I reach for the empty chair on my other side, and lay Lecter’s case there. I try to relax, even though every instinct tells me to tense up. What’s coming next is one of the scariest nonviolent experiences you can undergo—and if you work for the Laundry, you
will
undergo it, sooner or later. “I’m ready now.” I turn my head and stare into his eyes, which are deep and brown and have unusually long lashes.
    â€œAll right. Sabbath. Claymore. Diamond. Rocket. Execute Sitrep One.”
    My tongue feels like a lump of wood: my eyes do not belong to me. Something inside my head uses my larynx to make its report:“Subjective integrity is maintained. Subjective continuity of experience is maintained. Subject observes no tampering.”
    â€œGood.” The Senior Auditor smiles warmly. “Execute Sitrep Two.”
    â€œSubjective operational readiness state: green. Subjective background state: amber, trending to red.”
    â€œHmm.” His smile slips. “Exit supervision.” A brief pause: “Mo, before we get to the main business of this meeting, in your own words—how was your trip going, before you were recalled? Was there a message for us?”
    The unseen narrator using my vocal cords goes back to sleep. I clear my throat as I regain control of my own mind. “Ramona invited me to come visit some time. We had a lengthy gossip sesh. But that’s all. Nothing substantial.”
    â€œNice to know the neighbors are steady.” The set of his shoulders relaxes slightly.