“Yeah. Sorta.”
“That’s the basics. Now I want you to ask me another question, something harder. Like what I had for dinner some day last month.”
“Does it gotta be that?”
“No. Make something up. But keep it to last month. And make it specific.”
“Okay.”
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Start then.”
Kym did. “What were ya doin’ fifteenth of last month at noon?”
“Talking to Nick.”
“Who’s Nick?” —deviating from the script.
“A friend. Stop.”
Kym hit the red button. Trin moved her index finger over the display again.
“Do you see how things have changed? The memory is less recent, but it’s still a strong memory. I happen to remember that day clearly.” She cycled the display. “This shows my response to your second question. That is also a strong memory, but you see this area here? These spikes? That means I wasn’t completely happy telling you.”
“Sorry,” Kym mumbled.
“That’s alright. Now you see how this works.”
“Uh huh.”—nibbling her lower lip.
“Okay. One last question. One.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Make this one about something quite old. Like where I was on this day, a Terran year ago.”
“How long’s that?”
“Thirty-one million, five hundred fifty-six thousand, nine hundred fifty-two seconds.”
“Oh.”
“Ready?”
“Uh huh.”
“Go ahead.”
Kym stuck to the script this time. Trin answered vaguely that she was at work, in her office. Then she took the xel back and showed Kym the final displays.
“You see how the colors changed? And there’s no spikes in this area now. This area here is just hash—not a pattern like it was before.”
“Yeah.”
“That means I’m guessing. I don’t really remember—consciously—where I was a year ago, but it’s very likely I was at my office. I usually am, on a weekday, unless I’m traveling. And I don’t recall being on a trip then. And it’s an honest guess. I’m not making something up because I don’t remember, and I’m not confused about some event. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
Trin cycled to a new set of displays. “This tells you my guess is probably right. You see, I can’t remember, but the information is still stored in my brain—partly, anyway. There are still memory indices relating to where I was and what I was doing that day, but I can’t consciously recall them. They match up with my answer, though. This bar here shows how well, while this one shows how good the related indices are. By putting those two together, you can say that my guess is almost certainly correct, even though it’s just a guess.”
“Oh.”
“So that is how I can test your memories very quickly with the data—the pictures and video—I’m going to show you. Even if you can’t remember, or if your memories are confused, I’ll be able to tell.”
Kym sat still for a minute, thinking.
“So what’s the ringer?”
Trin took a deep breath. “It’s not like remembering. It’s more like reliving. Like it’s happening all over again.”
Kym rested her chin on her knees and looked at Trin over them. “An’ you done this? Yourself, I mean? Not jus’ easy questions like we did jus’ now?”
“I’ve been through the procedure, yes. We all go through it, so we know what it’s like.”
“An’ you got through it okay?”
“I survived, yes.”
Kym gave her an especially penetrating look.
“S’kay. I’ll try.”
“How’d she do?” Rafe asked Trin as she came back into the office, having duly consigned Kym to the proper authorities. It had only been an hour and they’d expected it to take most of the PM. Kym had left tight-lipped and pale, but putting a brave face over it all.
“Frankly, better than I expected.”
Not the reply he expected, given the relative brevity. “Get anything?”
Trin helped herself to a chair. “Do you remember Shardine Karmin? The Halith actress?”
It would be a bit strange if Huron didn’t: Shardine Karmin had made a big splash while still in her teens and during her heyday had been almost as famous as Mariwen Rathor would become thirty years later. (In fact, when Mariwen arrived on the scene, it was common to compare her to Shardine, although they were nothing alike, except in the ability to convey a certain untamed, captivating intensity.) Halith celebrities usually didn’t cross over into League markets but Shardine had, becoming popular in the Meridies and New California, where she spent considerable time before the first League-Halith War cut off all such intercourse.
Shardine Karmin had retired abruptly, as he recalled, several years after the start of the war. “What happened to her?”
“She became Nikolai Arutyun’s mistress.”
“Really? Are they still together?”
“More or less. Stormy relationship—quite a few scandals, some hushed up better than others, including one involving a war minister who got caught with his fingers in the, ah—till, shall we say. After that, they were estranged for five years or so. Resumed their relationship after the end of the war. She’s a woman of singular talents and rather exotic tastes. And she’s probably a rejuvenant. Could’ve had the procedure started on New California when she was living there. She was young enough.”
“How’s she getting the follow-ups done then? Not on Halith.”
“No idea. There’s always the black market. She does have considerable trade value.”
“That’s very high risk.”
“Functional immortality is worth it to some people.”
“Do tell. What else?”
“These days she uses her birth name, Carissa Pagorskav, and while her official bio says she was born on Vehren, it’s almost certain she’s actually from Zalamenkar.”
“A Halith colonial? Next you’re going to tell me she’s the woman we’ve been looking for.”
“I am indeed.”
“What confidence?”
“Positive ID. Face, voice, mannerisms. That girl lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw her.”
“So Sandrine has a thing for Shardine—or Byrony for Carissa, if you wanna slice it that way.”
“That’s what it boils down to, yes.”
“And we’re back at square one.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
“Not even that far.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tycho Prime
Luna, Sol
“I don’t know what you mean—what’s a protocol?”
Kym’s question was directed at the thin woman of medium height with jet-black hair and an overly healthy complexion sitting in the ergonomic chair across from her. The room had several such chairs—Kym was folded into another one, arms and legs crossed—and a couple of low, convenient tables, but was devoid of desks or other trappings of authority, in keeping with the policy of the Department of Human Service’s Office of Rehabilitation to encourage an open, nonthreatening atmosphere of antiseptic welcome. That office, or rather a committee under it, had mandated the mutedly cheery wall color (an officially approved shade known as ‘whisper peach’) and the color of the doors and trim (whisper beige), the omni-lit ceiling that banished any shadows, and even the woman’s tailored suit, which was warmed-over beige with taupe accents, and lacked metallic buttons, buckles, or clasps.
The committee may well have mandated her smile too, and her overly modulated, almost sing-song tones as she replied, “It’s simply our procedures to ensure your health and well-being. Perfectly usual—what we do for everyone.”
“I’m not an everyone,” Kym said from the back of the chair. “I haven’t done nothing wrong. I don’t understand why I have to be here.”
“It’s not a question of having done anything wrong. It’s simply what’s normal—the way things are done.”
“So do ‘em different.” Kym glanced out through the room’s big front windows into the equally well-appointed lobby of Tycho Prime’s main rehabilitation and quarantine facility, staffed with women in equally sedate, committee-approved attire, at something that caught her attention.
“Be assured we do understand your feelings,” the woman purred, oblivious, “and as much as I empathize, I’m terribly afraid that, under the circumstances, that would not be—”
A commotion interrupted the formulaic answer, and the room’s door opened to reveal Kris in her glittering best, closely followed by another women in a most unusual and unwelcome state of agitation.
“Hi Kym,” Kris called out, ignoring both the agitated woman’s fluttering and the look on the black-haired woman’s face: a look that would certainly not have met with committee approval.
“Hi Kris!” Kym beamed while the agitated woman stammered, “Very sorry, ma’am! I told her—I insisted—”
“That’s quite all right, Emily,” the black-haired woman interrupted smoothly. “Kindly return to your station.” Her eyes shifted to Kris. “Who are you, please?”
“Midshipman Loralynn Kennakris,” Kris replied with equal smoothness, mentally calculating how long it would take Emily to return to her desk, call security and explain the situation, and for them to dispatch a detail. “There’s been a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“That’s right. This girl is under our protective custody. She should not have been released for processing—seems someone didn’t get the memo. I’ve orders to take her back.”
“Take her back?”
“Immediately. She’s a key witness.”
“Witness to what?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”
“I can’t release a subject—”
“Her name’s Kym.”
“Of course—certainly. But I must have authorization.”
“You can take that up with Commander Huron.”
“Commander Rafael Huron?”
“That’s right.” Kris looked at Kym, who was grinning. “Let’s go, Kym.”
“Wait!” the black-haired woman cried; she’d noted the grin as well. “I must protest. This is highly irregular.”
With a badly suppressed sigh, Kris took out her xel, unfurled the display and tapped a code on it. A moment later she lifted it to her ear. “Commander, we’ve got a problem here. Yessir, I’m afraid so. Can you shoot me an official stinger? Thank you, sir. Wait one.” Kris dropped the xel with her hand over the display. “What’s your name?”
The black-haired woman swallowed rapidly. “Excuse me?”
“Commander Huron wishes to know your name.”
“Well, I—certainly.” She smiled with a shaky bob of her head. “I merely wished to confirm—protocol—you understand.”
“Perfectly.” Kris spoke again into the xel. “That won’t be necessary after all, sir. Yes, sir. All resolved. Reporting in ten, sir.” She furled the xel and motioned to Kym. “Okay. C’mon.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kym slid out of her chair, and as Kris opened the door for her, she surprised Emily on the other side. Emily ducked away and tried to peer around Kris and Kym as they stepped through.
“Oh, ma’am! The people—the gentlemen—they’ll be here any moment!”—with a hasty look towards the exit.
“Not necessary, Emily,” came the black-haired woman’s voice from within. “Please tell them not to bother.”
* * *
“Thanks, Kris,” Kym said as they entered the tube system.
“Don’t mention it.”
“You got my note, then?”
“I got it.” What she got was a text message saying: How are U? OK? Anyway, this place - R'hab - turned out jake. R U good? Call! Bye!
It had been ages since Kris got a message like that, but she knew almost at once it was in Match Code. That was what deck slaves called the code they used to privately communicate. It was similar in principle to the prisoner’s tap-codes of ancient times but used word length and punctuation, and most desk slaves could read it at sight. The real message Kym had sent was: Get me out!
“Not gonna get into trouble, are ya?”
“Why do you say that?”
“You weren’t really talking to anybody on that thing—the thing in your pocket. What d’ya call it?”
“A xel?”
“Yeah. Weren’t, were ya?”
“Not this time.”
“Knew it.” Kym reached out and slid her hand into Kris’s. “Where we going?”
“My place.”
“So it’s gonna be okay, now? Really?”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Knew it.”
Kris badged them into her apartment on the fifty-third floor of the Galileo Complex. The CEF had assigned her quarters in Lunar 1’s BOQ, but Huron had finagled them an exemption, so using it wasn’t compulsory. Kym walked in and looked around intently.
“Jus’ you lives here?”
“Yeah. It’s only temporary.”
“It’s . . . big.”
Kris smiled indulgently, thinking when she’d felt just the same—a whole ten standard months ago. “Yeah. So what happened?”
“Well, they took me to that place and first they took some blood. Then they put me in this room with a guy and a bunch of junk and he asked me questions.”
“With a red light?” That would have been the start of a standard psycheval.
“Uh huh. Like that lady’s—sorta. He wanted to know ‘bout all sorts of stuff, but mostly ‘bout fucking. It was weird.” That sounded familiar too. “So when he let me go, I sent you that note.”
“How’d that work?” Rehab facilities were very strict about outgoing communications.
“They weren’t gonna let me. But I said I jus’ needed to tell you where I was and that I was okay. So this guy let me type it on his xel thing and sent it. I watched him send it.” Kym frowned. “He was nice. But then that other lady came and took me to that room and started talking and telling me how I had to stay there an’ everything. And she got mad at the guy who sent the note for me too. She was trying to hide it, but you could tell. That’s why I was afraid it would make trouble for you.”
And it might, Kris admitted inwardly, when she had to report to Huron in the AM. But he’d done almost exactly the same thing for her when she was stuck in Rehab back on Nedaema, so she thought—hoped?—he’d go along.
“It’ll be okay,” she said with as much conviction as she could decently manage. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah. That part was good.”
“Want anything?”
Kym shook her head, stirring the platinum blond hair around her young and absurdly pretty face—though somewhat less young and even lovelier, now that she was coming back into her own.
“I guess not.” She looked around the apartment again. “Is everything here like this?”
“Like what?”
“Not this, I mean, but out there. Everything’s metal. Like the inside of a ship—only bigger.”
“No, it’s not all like this.”
“Have you been lots of places?”
“Just Nedaema.” Kym might never have heard of it, so she added, “In the Pleiades.”
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a water planet.”
“Oh. Are you from a water planet?”
Kris smiled at the thought. “No. There’s no surface water at all where I grew up.”
“None at all? Where’s that?”
“Parson’s Acre. In the Methuselah Cluster.”
“Oh.” Kym drew her brows together. “Guess I ask too many questions, huh?”
“No, you’re fine. I’m gonna turn in though. Bunk’s through there.” She gestured towards the bedroom. “All good if you wanna stay up though. There’s a console, if you’re interested.”
<
br /> “Thanks, but I’ll—um—turn in too. If that’s okay.”
“Fine.” And Kris ushered her into the bedroom. Taking off her uniform, she nodded towards the bed. “Right or left?”
“Your bunk,” Kym answered, stripping out of her government-issued cream-and-pewter jumpsuit. “You pick.”
“Right, I guess.” Kris pulled back the sheets and got in on that side, while Kym slipped in on the other. Kris dimmed the room lights and settled back against the pillow. But her eyes hadn’t been closed a minute when she felt a light touch on her hand.
“Hey?”
“Yeah?”
“Could I, um”—Kym’s small, warm hand slid up to her arm—“Would’ja mind?”
“No.” Kris stretched her right arm out to circle Kym’s torso. “It’s jake. C’mere.”
Kym snuggled in close and pillowed her head on Kris’s shoulder. The silk-fine hair washed against her ear and down her neck, tickling.
“G’nite, Kris.”
“‘Nite, Kym.”
Chapter Seventeen
CGHQ Main Annex
Lunar 1, Tycho Prime
Luna, Sol
“Kris. . .” Huron smoothed the hair over his temple in one of the few distracted gestures he had. “There are limits to the authority midshipmen have. They may be a little vague, but I assure you they do exist.”
Kris looked down, sullen and dogged. She hadn’t expected this interview to be pleasant, but— “They were fuck’n with her. And after . . . I promised they wouldn’t.”
“I understand. But you could have checked in first. There are ways to handle these things. You don’t always have to go one-on-one with the universe out there.”
Like fuck. Biting the inside of her cheek, she kept her eyes on her boots and off the large expanse of windows behind his desk. As Admiral Sabr’s staff operations officer, Huron had officially been seconded to the GS3 section at the General Staff Headquarters Main Annex, where they’d given him the corner office of a senior captain who was on a long leave. It certainly had plenty of elbow room and a great view, if you liked craters.
The Loralynn Kennakris series Boxed Set Page 51