The Loralynn Kennakris series Boxed Set

by Owen R O'Neill

  “So whatcha gonna do?

  He opened the letter he’d gotten early that AM from the director of Tycho Prime’s rehab facility, and checked the addressee list again. He was pretty sure this wasn’t going to be the only letter in his in-box, come early afternoon. “It appears you told them Kym is in a witness program?”

  “She is a witness.”

  “And she’s at your place?”

  A stiff-necked nod.

  Well, maybe he could sell that as ‘undisclosed location.’ He didn’t have the authority to add Kym to a confidential source list, but as DSI-PLESIG, Trin did. Talking her into it was another matter . . .

  With an inaudible sigh, he closed the letter. “Alright, we’re gonna have to take this one on the volley. I think I can get us some top cover, though.” His frown deepened, showing the lines around his mouth. “But keep your goddamn head down after this, okay?”

  “Yessir.” She raised her eyes. “Then you’re not—not gonna send her back?”

  “No.” A flat, final syllable. Fishing in his desktop, he brought up several more files. “Now what’s the status of that report you’re working on?”

  Kris blinked. Was that it? All of it? She hadn’t really expected him to send Kym back. She had expected him to leave with her ass in his briefcase.

  “I—ah . . . I haven’t gotten through that last data pull yet. I think I can by tomorrow though.”

  “You think you can get me a draft by the middle of next week?”

  “Yes, sir.” That is, she hoped she could—but this was no time to temporize.

  “Good.” He pushed the files across to her. “These are the prelims on three of the subjects.”

  Meaning the preliminary interrogation reports on three of the slavers she’d flagged. Skimming them, she saw Reid’s name on the top one.

  “Take a look at them. We need to know if we go farther or if they’ve outlived their usefulness.”

  “By when?”

  “ASAP. As in this PM. Doable?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good. Those are summaries. You’ll find additional info under my sig-file. I expect the others day after tomorrow. So finish up with that data pull as soon as you can and get me your highlights. Nothing fancy—I don’t care about your grammar. And check in with me by 1400 on those prelims.”

  “Yes, sir.” She brought out her xel and used it to copy the files to her secure workspace.

  “That’s all.” Dismissing her with a nod.

  Kris stood, sketched an awkward salute, and turned to the door. Reaching for the entry pad, she glanced back, but Huron had his head down, scanning some report on his desktop. Holding in a breath, she tapped the panel. The door opened and she stepped quickly through.

  “I see your protégé takes after you.” Commander Wesselby’s gimlet eye was perfectly discernible on the calling card’s display. Huron allowed the barb. He hadn't expected Trin to be overjoyed.

  “It’s plausible, Trin. She is a source—that’s a matter of record at this point. And she’s an émigré, strictly speaking, not a repatriated slave. That alone should qualify her, if there are questions.”

  “Not trying to have it both ways here at all, are we?” Referring to the Placement Assistance and Repatriation Settlement Exception Decree they’d applied for on Kym’s behalf.

  “Trin, we make ex gratia payments to émigré sources all the time.”

  “Not all the time.”

  “Some of the time.”

  “For actionable results. Which we don't yet have.”

  “Look, how many times did Kris pull our nuts out of the grav-furnace in the Hydra?”

  “This isn’t about Kris.”

  “It is. She gave the girl her word. You know what that means.”

  Trin moved her jaw restlessly, and he could feel, though not see, her fingers drumming on her desktop. “Alright. You win. I’ll add her to a Class-C list and send a code you can reference. You can explain why you sent a midshipman instead of going through proper channels.”

  “Going through proper channels would have called undue attention to a confidential source.”

  “Knew you’d think of something.”

  “Thanks, Trin.”

  “You’re welcome. This time. But, Rafe”—her tone changed and she caught his eye—“that girl of yours is starting to run up quite a tab. Are you sure she can handle it when the bill comes due?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tycho Prime

  Luna, Sol

  “Gotta go soon, don’cha?”

  They were eating in the kitchen alcove, where Kris had been introducing Kym to the wonders of xel-enabled food prep. Those wonders were of a dubious character, as far as Kym was concerned. In her opinion, food could be more than adequately prepared with just a variable heat source and some pot and pans. Kris had not seen a pot or pan since she was eight, when in the course of one of her father’s disastrous marriages, it was decided they should try ‘traditional’ cooking. Kris’s tradition, however, involved eating ration packs more than ninety percent of the time, and the cuisine afforded by an automated kitchen was a huge improvement over that.

  In fact, Kym did not seem much impressed with technology in general. She grasped it quickly enough but thought it mostly unnecessary and even a trifle boorish. This Kris learned from the almost unending flow of talk Kym subjected her to. She’d never met anyone who talked as much as Kym, and she was at a loss to explain why she didn’t find it profoundly irritating. Maybe her voice? She was really coming to like Kym’s voice: the sweetness of it (though inclined to be chirpy); the unaffected gaiety in it when she was happy, which was much of the time. Whatever it was, Kris would just sit there, smiling behind her hand now and then, while Kym went on, as cheerily as a nightingale.

  She was also as inquisitive as a ferret, interrupting herself to get up and explore, inspect and question. Yesterday, Kris had found her on her knees in the bathroom, face by the floor, peering into a recess between the ultrasonic shower and tub. She was plainly about to use one or the other, and as Kris entered, she’d looked back over her upraised hips with a suspicious frown and asked, “What’s in here?”

  Kris had no idea, but it turned out to be a maintenance hatch. Kym had noticed the cover and decided it needed to be investigated. (Just how she’d gotten the cover off was an unsolved mystery.) Satisfied, she was about to hop into the shower when Kris suggested she might like a bath instead. Kym considered the tub, studied the water ration, smiled, and elected to forego the extravagance. The whole episode had struck Kris as bizarre until it occurred to her that Kym had been stashed under a shower unit just like it, and spotting the hatch cover, wanted to make sure this one was safe.

  It was odd, it was endearing, and it was unpredictable. Kris was getting used to that. Kym seemed to have no reserve at all: her feelings were painted across her mobile features as plainly as neon. Kris recognized it as a survival skill—Kym’s pout could unarmor the most adamantine heart—but it relied on being genuine. Her moods could change quickly too, especially when she talked about her past, which she did a good deal. Her family’s farmstead had been more ranch than farm: they grew a variety of subsistence crops, but made their living off of herd animals, especially a dwarfish sort of buffalo. They also raised goats, which were genetically modified to produce a protein in their milk that could be processed into a special type of silk. Kym had adored the little goats and missed them much more than the buffalos, who tended to get mean.

  There were also these things called moa, a native predator. Kris gathered they were sort of like a large flightless bird, except they didn’t have feathers or anything, which made them look more along the lines of big weird lizards. They ran in flocks and preyed on the buffalos, but they were ‘good eatin’ (according to the locals) and hunted for their flesh and to keep them in check. Kym had learned to set snares for them when she was a little kid.

  The trouble came when her dad had decided to try to grow peaches, a rar
e delicacy on Lacaille. Peaches called for a lot of water, especially to get them established, and a couple of years into the venture, some dispute (Kym didn’t know what it was about) caused the local boss to give their extended water license to a competing farm. The trees all died—sixteen hectares of them—leaving her family heavily in debt. And then the boss had sent his men . . .

  Kris shook her head as she swallowed a bite of braised garlic seitan and answered Kym’s question about her impending departure. “Yeah. Pretty soon. Not real soon, though.”

  “Comin’ back?”

  “Um, not here. I go back the Academy after I’m done here.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Mars.”

  “Is that a long way?”

  “No—not really. This system.”

  “Is it better’n here? Mars?”

  “I—I dunno. It’s different.”

  “What’s it like?”

  Kris took out her xel and brought up a series of images. Kym wrinkled her nose.

  “Is it all like that?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Why’d anybody wanna live there? No animals. Can’t grow nothin’.”

  “Well, the capital’s there.”

  “Why don’t they put the capital somewhere nice? Don’t make sense.”

  Kris moved her shoulders helplessly and closed the pictures.

  “I don’t have to go somewhere like that, do I?”

  “No. You can go wherever you like. They’ll send stuff on places—jobs. You get to pick.”

  “Okay.” Kym sounded far from satisfied. Then: “You goin’ back?”

  “Back where?”

  “Y’know. Out there.”

  “I dunno yet. We’re—lookin’ for somebody.”

  “That’s why you wanted to know ‘bout all those people you showed me? Why I had to go see that lady.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who? Who ya lookin’ for?”

  “I . . . can’t say.”

  “Somebody Corc’n knew?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You knew Corc’n—din’t ya?”

  “I—ah . . . Trench knew him.”

  “I know. They were tight. When Trench got killed he—” Kym looked down with her fists buried in her lap. “Corc’n talked ‘bout ya lots. Said Trench use’ta—did he—? I mean Corc’n, he din’t never—”

  “Kym—”

  The strain in her voice snapped Kym’s head up and her hands slapped over her mouth. “Gawd! Sorry! Din’t mean to—sorry!”

  “S’Okay, Kym. No worries, huh? No worries.” It was an effort to sound calm but somehow she managed.

  Kym wasn’t fooled. “Din’t know! Thought he jus’—jus’ talkin’.” Her face crumpled in a stunned look of naked, unguarded distress.

  Kris reached out and squeezed the shaking shoulder, then brushed tears off one round cheek. “S’Okay, Kym. Really.”

  Kym sniffed. “Really sorry.”

  “C’mon. Stop it.”

  The catch and sigh of uneasy breathing between them, calming after a long minute to silence. Then: “Wish I could help.”

  “You did, Kym.”

  “Real help. Maybe I could. If I knew.”

  “Sorry, Kym. I can’t—”

  “Don’t trust me, do they? Those people.” She jerked her chin at the whole outside.

  “It’s not that. We just have to do things a certain way.”

  Kym shook her head with a disgusted look. “Everybody says that. They said that.”

  “Sorry, Kym. This is different. Gotta be.”

  Kym bit a knuckle, wanting to believe. Finally: “Real tall then, huh?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy. The guy you’re lookin’ for. Way—way up there? Right? Or ya wouldn’t be doin’ all this. Right?”

  “Yeah. That’s true.”

  “Like him?”

  “Who?”

  “Y’know. Him.”

  Kris shook her head, bewildered. Kym stood up, came over and whispered the name in her ear.

  “Did you know him?”—in a shocked undertone.

  “Uh-uh. Corc’n knew him. Talked ‘bout him all the time. Talked real big, y’know?”

  “You never met him?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Umm . . .”

  “Kym—”

  Kym’s flawless teeth indented her lower lip. “More pictures, huh?”

  “If you wanna help.”

  “Just you this time?”

  “Just me.”

  “No weird stuff? No blinkin’ lights?”

  “No blinkin’ lights.”

  Her full lips closed over the white teeth and a determined look appeared. “Yeah. S’kay.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  CGHQ Main Annex

  Lunar 1, Tycho Prime

  Luna, Sol

  The last of the images closed after their third time through them and Kym was scrunched back in her chair again, hugging her knees. Kris hated seeing her like that, but she was having too much trouble controlling the shaking in her own knees to worry much about it.

  “Din’t do well again,” Kym muttered from the depths of the chair. They were in a briefing room down in the third basement level of the CGHQ Main Annex, which Huron had secured for them. He was in fact in the adjacent cube, where he’d been selecting the images for Kym to review.

  “Why can’t we just show her the fucker’s picture?” Kris had asked him earlier that AM.

  “Doesn’t work, Kris,” was the even reply. “People try too hard. Show them an image and about half the time, they’ll convince themselves they met the guy. They don’t mean to, they just can’t help it. That’s why we wire ‘em up. Since that’s not an option this time . . .”

  Kris had grumbled—it seemed like putting Kym through that much more, and she’d wanted to avoid that. She hadn’t been at all prepared for what did happen.

  “No, Kym. You did fine.” Kris fought to keep the tremors out of her voice. Fought and lost.

  “You said that last time. You always say that. You’re jus’ bein’ nice. You’re too nice.”

  No one had ever leveled that particular accusation at Kris before, but she was in no mood to appreciate it.

  “Look, I can’t explain. Maybe someday. Not now.”

  Shifting in her perch, Kym slid her pale hands down to her ankles. “My fault you’re so upset?”

  “No. Nothin’ to do with you.”

  Uncoiling from the chair, Kym padded over and knelt so she could look into Kris’s averted face. After a few moments’ study, she reached out to pat Kris’s knee. “S’kay. Sorry though.”

  “S’Alright, Kym.” Kris shifted her eyes away again—they revealed too much. “Listen, I’m gonna have someone take you back, okay? It’s all good—just go with ‘em. Okay?”

  “And you’ll be back?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be back. Later.”

  Kym stood with a shallow nod as Kris took out her xel and sent a request to Huron to have Kym escorted back to her apartment. It couldn’t have been much more than a minute before the entry panel chimed. Kris unlocked the door and it slid aside to reveal a uniformed yeoman waiting there.

  “Miss?” the yeoman said, officially pleasant. Kym shot Kris a look. Kris nodded and bent her lips into something like a smile. Kym nodded back and trotted up to the yeoman, who gestured down the corridor. “This way, miss. Follow me, please.”

  With a final backward glance, Kym jogged off after the long-striding yeoman, and the door shut.

  It opened again a few seconds later and Huron walked in, looking uncomfortable.

  “She didn’t know anyone?”

  Head against her knuckles, Kris gave it a shake.

  Huron lowered himself into the chair Kym had just vacated.

  “But you did.”

  A quick, sharp nod just this side of a spasm.

  “Which one?”

  “Last set. Third guy from
the end.”—harsh voiced, with her hands clenching into fists.

  “How did you know him?”

  She knew him because Trench had loaned her to him for two local weeks. They’d called him Mr. Wexford—a few times Squire Wexford or something like that; the strange title was evidently some sort of joke to them. For two days he hadn’t touched her, but he’d made her watch. He was fond of electrical implements and neural inductors and exotic shows. When he stopped letting her watch . . .

  Kris swallowed hard against the sick churning in her gut.

  “Bad?”

  “Uh huh.” After she’d been there a week, the man left and came back three days later in a savage mood. She’d tried ever since to forget what had happened that night. The next PM he was quite pleasant: had her fixed up, sumptuously fed, even let her sleep alone. Then a friend arrived.

  “What did he look like?” Huron asked when Kris had finished her bald and heavily abridged account.

  “Medium height, kinda thin. A scar here—” she drew her finger from the right corner of her mouth to the angle of her jaw “—missing a finger on his left hand, really pale . . .”

  “A long pale face like a dead fish?” Kris wasn’t acquainted with enough dead fish to say, but Huron tapped his xel and put another image on the screen. “Is this him?”

  Kris nodded again, fighting down the nausea. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s him. Who . . . who is he?”

  “That’s Nikolai Arutyun. Captain Nikolai Arutyun. He’s a senior Halith staff officer—works for Admiral Christian Heydrich, Chief of Halith Military Intelligence. We think he’s the one who arranged the explosives for Mankho’s attack on Nemeton.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah. Word is that he’s a noted sadist. Takes after his boss.”

  “Uh huh.” Kris was not going to fill Huron in on the particulars of that assessment. “That guy—the other guy. Who’s he?”

  Huron put down his xel and lowered his voice. “Kris, that’s Nestor Mankho.”

  Chapter Twenty

  ONI Main Annex

  Lunar 1, Tycho Prime