“No,” Penny said. “I did suggest that to the police, of course. They weren’t aware that the cubes hadn’t been there all along, that they had been brought in just when Rafe was meeting the Secretary.”
“It could mean that Secretary Isaacs was murdered by someone else—even if the cubes are found, and are contaminated, that doesn’t mean he committed suicide.” The host was doing his best to regain control, and before Penny could answer he went on with another quick glance at his notes. “Now—there have been suggestions that the incident in which your husband was killed and you and your parents were abducted was in fact organized by your brother, in league with Lew Parmina, to disable your father and then, by apparently rescuing you, be enabled to take over ISC. Lew Parmina, the only person who might incriminate your brother, is conveniently dead at his hand, without trial for his alleged crimes—” The host finally had to pause for breath.
“In a word, no,” Penny said. She was smiling, but now it was a cold smile. “It was Lew Parmina who told my parents what therapist to send Rafe and me to after the home invasion. It was Lew Parmina who ingratiated himself with our father, became his right-hand man, and—to prevent being displaced by my brother Rafe—engineered his commitment to the Gardner Facility. It was Lew Parmina who doled out his allowance, introduced him to prostitutes, encouraged his vices—”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Yes, but that proof is not with me today. I was at work, as you know, and had available only those matters pertaining to ISC–government relations.” Penny’s smile warmed again. “I will of course be glad to provide it—”
The host glanced, with some desperation, to the side.
“Begging for the producer to signal a break,” Gary said. “But they’re all too interested…”
Penny wasted no airtime. “There’s a far more serious problem,” she said. “You recall I said that Parmina had squandered on bribes money meant to keep ISC’s fleets in repair—well, there’s imminent threat, and Rafe needs to talk to the Premier, but the Premier won’t talk to him because he believes what he was told, that Rafe killed Secretary Isaacs.”
“Wha—er—that’s not—” The host jerked his head around to gape at Penny.
“So I wanted to make this public appeal,” Penny said. “Rafe didn’t kill the Secretary, but he might be able to help save us all if he gets to talk to the Premier and they work together. If he’s under arrest or the Premier won’t listen to him, he can’t. He has a pretty good record of pulling off rescues—as I should know—” Penny chuckled here; she did have, as Rafe knew, an infectious smile. “And we need to give him a chance to do his best for all of us.” She turned back to the host. “Thank you so much, Stan, for having me on your show—”
“Er—uh—you’re welcome, Sera Dunbarger, and—I guess that’s all our time—”
“I give it less than a minute,” Gary said.
“A minute to what?”
“The phone call from the Premier’s office, suggesting that you should come over there. Don’t. Invite him here. Tell him there’s data you can only access here, which is partly true at least.”
“I don’t think—” Rafe heard the buzz from Emil’s desk just outside. Gary grinned and spread his hands.
“I should have asked you to bet on it,” he said.
“And you’d have won. If that’s the Premier.”
“Premier on the line,” Emil said, as if on cue.
“She’s going to make a great CEO,” Gary said, “if she doesn’t decide to go into politics.”
“Huh?” Emil looked confused.
“Penny,” Rafe said. “I’ll take the call in here, Emil.” Gary followed Emil out; Rafe made sure the recorder was running before he picked up the headset. For this one he wanted a reliable record.
“Did you put her up to that?” the Premier said as soon as Rafe switched the headset on.
“No,” Rafe said. “This was all her idea.”
“She’s younger than you—”
“She’s a grown woman who’s already told me she wants my job,” Rafe said. “I thought I was giving her busywork to take her mind off her losses, and she was burrowing into the archives learning the business.”
“She…she what?”
“You’re not more surprised by this than I am,” Rafe said. “She walked out of here this morning without asking my permission, having told me to stay in my office and keep out of it, and the next thing I knew she was on that news show.”
“She flabbergasted Stan. I’ve interviewed with him; he’s not easy to shake. Are you sure this is the same Penny I remember swimming with my younger children? Sweet little Penny?”
“This is sweet little Penny grown up,” Rafe said. “The kind of trauma she’s been through crumbles some people, but apparently not her.”
“She’s on her way over to meet with me. If I’m convinced by her that she’s really behind this, I’ll get you out of your pickle and we’ll talk.”
“Bring her back over with you,” Rafe said. “I have data, ISC data, you need to see.”
“Concerning—”
“Concerning the mess we’re in, militarily and financially.”
There was a moment during which Rafe listened to the Premier’s breaths, four of them, and then the Premier grunted. “Well. You know I’ll have to bring my own security.”
“Of course.”
“They tell me your sister’s car is almost here. Do you suppose her driver would know how to disappear the way you did this morning?”
“I have no idea,” Rafe said. “But it would be best for everyone if—should Penny satisfy you—you either came with her to the main entrance or came in your own car the same way. There’s been far too much secrecy. We need to be seen to be honest men.” Whether or not they were. Rafe waited through another pause.
“All right then,” the Premier said. “If I come, that’s what we’ll do. Open and aboveboard.” He said that last almost like a curse. “And I’ve already instructed the investigators to look for those data cubes and examine the entire executive floor over there. If it was murder, we need to find out who did it and why. Suicide—well, I’m sorry for the family.”
When the Premier had closed the connection, Rafe sat and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think what he should say, do, plan to have ready…he was usually the one driving events, pushing the pace, but now he felt sluggish, tumbled in a rushing stream…
His door clicked; he opened his eyes and realized that sluggish or not, his reflexes still worked: he had his Rossi-Smith out and his other hand on the alarm button. Emil was ushering in a woman with a meal cart. The food Emil had mentioned before. “I did food,” Emil said.
“So you did. Smells good. Join me? You and Gary both?”
As he’d expected, there was enough for all of them; they moved into the office suite’s small dining room. The attendant unfolded the meal cart’s several serving areas, set places at the table, and withdrew at Rafe’s nod.
“So,” Gary said, pouring himself a glass of water. “Are you off the hook?”
“Probably,” Rafe said. “Penny’s going over there to talk to him in person. Assuming she succeeds—and after that performance I imagine she will—he’ll be coming here.” He stared at the food cart. He’d skipped breakfast…he should eat…
“Soup,” Gary said firmly just as Emil said the same thing.
“Some CEO I am,” Rafe said, filling a bowl with soup and sitting down. “Can’t even decide what to eat.”
“If the Premier’s coming here for a briefing,” Emil said, “we’ll need the big briefing room. I’ll call down, make sure it’s clear, have a security sweep—” He left the room, a stuffed roll in hand.
“He wasn’t that smart when you took over,” Gary said, brows raised. “What about him and Penny?”
“Nothing so far as I know,” Rafe said. Even a few spoonfuls of soup had revived him. “But then, I’m beginning to wonder how much I know.”
“B
eginning of wisdom,” Gary said. “Wisdom’s fine, as long as it doesn’t slow your gun hand.”
Rafe laughed. “So…are you coaching Penny in marksmanship?”
“Doesn’t need much coaching,” Gary said. “Didn’t know that, did you?”
“No,” Rafe said, taking a slice of roast lamb and some potatoes onto his plate.
“Her husband had started her on it; your parents didn’t. He gave her a lady’s pistol but the thugs took it; it was in her purse, across the room. If you really want to get on her good side, Rafe, you’ll take her shopping and get her what she needs. She’s been using one of the range loaners.”
“I still find this difficult,” Rafe said, through a mouthful of lamb and gravy. “She’s my little sister, dammit. Penny with a weapon—”
“Will be safer. Your admiral carried—”
“It didn’t keep her alive.” Lunch turned to stone in his belly.
“You’re sure—” Gary began. Rafe held up his hand.
“I don’t want to be sure,” he said. “But that’s all the evidence I have.” His skullphone pinged; he turned it on and activated the visual and recording.
“It’s me, Rafe,” Penny said. “I’m at the Residence.”
“I’m eating lunch,” Rafe said. “I missed breakfast.”
“I’m bringing the Premier over, unless you’re going to need the car this afternoon—or he can bring his own.”
Rafe forced a chuckle. “I’ve got enough work to keep me here well into the evening, Penny. By all means use our car.”
“He’s asked me to lunch first, though—I’m thinking we’ll be an hour, maybe two. I know it’s urgent, but is that all right?”
“Penny—” He wanted to say more than he could possibly fit into this kind of conversation. “It’s fine,” he said finally. “But you don’t need to ask me. Your judgment is good enough.”
“It’s with lemon-lime pie,” Penny said, sounding almost girlish. “And he says he has the same cook as before, back at their house—I remember that pie.” And she was being the perfect guest, attaching all those memory-hooks to the sweet-girl-Penny the Premier remembered splashing in the pool.
“Enjoy it,” Rafe said. “I hope the rest is as good.”
“Baked fish stuffed with crab and shrimp,” Penny said. “I’m sure it will be. See you after lunch.”
Emil came back in as Penny’s call ended. “Are you going to want archival material? And when do you think they’ll arrive.”
“My brilliant sister,” Rafe said, “got herself invited to lunch over there, ensuring that we have a couple of hours.” He was hungry again, to his own surprise. “As soon as I finish, I’ll tell you what I think we need. Gary, the Premier will arrive with his own security. Make sure we have tags ready, code-locked to his so they can’t roam around. Emil, make sure we have the VIP reception team rested and fed and ready to go.” He eyed the rest of the offerings on the cart and decided to skip dessert. It would not hurt him to look lean and hungry.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Aboard Vanguard II, En Route from Moray
Ky rode out the downjump of Vanguard II in the CCC along with its specialists and her senior staff. The days in FTL flight had been nerve racking…what was Turek doing? Had the Spaceforce fleet left Slotter Key yet? Had the Nexus government come to its senses and asked its former allies for help? It was a relief to have the waiting over.
The beacons of the forward scouts showed up almost immediately, right where they should have been. Ky knew that an automatic arrival message had been shot to the Moray government as soon as their onboard unit detected normal space conditions again. Other than that, downjump turbulence obscured scan briefly, then cleared.
“There’s Ransome,” the CCC senior scan tech said. “And…a few light-hours’ scan lag…some unidentified—”
“Good thing I warned him we’d be coming in with some velocity on us,” Ky said, watching her own heads-up display. “We could have run right over him.” As planned, their formation executed a maneuver to clear space for ships following; she watched the ship icons seem to skid along the surface of her display.
“Contact with Ransome.”
“Transfer,” Ky said. Teddy Ransome’s face came up on the screen, and he did not look nearly as happy as she expected.
“They’ve gone.”
“Gone?”
“Went into FTL eight hours ago, about. Once I located them, and contacted you, I shifted around to find a better vantage point that wouldn’t be in your way if you followed the same path. A lot of com chatter, ships moving around. There’s some kind of installation there but I didn’t dare close in, just in case. A couple of days ago, standard, a good-sized ship arrived. Either no weapons, or weapons locked down. I’m guessing supplies, because there was a cloud of little stuff zipping back and forth, and when that ended there was a long transmission—I copied it for you—and then they moved into formations and boosted for jump.”
“Did all the ships leave?” Ky asked. “We’re picking up some presence, but several hours’ lag out.”
“No, there are still a few, maybe ten or twenty. But I haven’t picked up any chatter and none of those have hot weapons. I’ll send you scan history—” A light came on the data-only channel.
“Did you get an exit vector?” It might help identify Turek’s destination, though Ky felt she knew…it had to be Nexus.
“Better than that,” Ransome said. “They’re headed for Nexus, and they’re planning an eight-day hop. I couldn’t understand a lot, but I understood that much. I did transmit to Moray’s government, and they may have passed it on to the others.”
“How many?”
“I don’t have an exact count, but somewhere over three hundred.”
Ky’s mouth went dry for a moment. “Three hundred?”
“Yes.” Teddy didn’t sound ebullient at all now. “It’s mixed—the Moray ships he got are the biggest. But from somewhere he’s got seventy-two of the same size as the Bissonet cruisers, though not all the same design. He must’ve raided other systems.”
“No doubt,” Ky said. “Send us what data you have.” Three hundred. More than three hundred. More than three hundred anything was far more than she had.
“Any word from Captain Baskerville?” Ky asked.
Ransome shook his head. “I’m afraid he may have had a malfunction in FTL flight,” he said. “Or something went wrong on downjump.”
That was the most likely answer, Ky knew. “I hope he turns up,” she said. “But given the hazards on that route, I’m afraid you’re right.”
On scan, two of the icons moved, followed by short broad acceleration cones—low boost.
“Did you pick up any of his stealthed observers?” Ky asked.
“No…I was trying not to be noticed myself.”
“Contact Captain Yamini,” Ky said. “See if he’s seen anything.” Her senior communications tech nodded, but even as she reached for the controls, Yamini called in.
“Two watchdogs, system relative coordinates as follows—” Icons came up on the screen, translated from the coordinates he sent. “They just told their base you were here, and to lure you in—they’ve got fixed emplacements in something—big rocks I guess—”
“Let’s not take that bait,” Ky said. The CCC crew chuckled. “Captain Ransome, you’ll be part of the forward scout unit; you should be receiving updated navigational data. Move into position. There’s no green route from here to Nexus; all ships but medium and heavy cruisers should be aware of the effects of the mapped hazards that may affect fleet formations and the downjump exit location. Be prepared to make immediate adjustments. All ships: remember orders per rest period prior to downjump. We expect to come into trouble; we need to be ready for it.”
Nexus II
“They found the pirates’ base, and Nexus is definitely the target,” the Premier said, handing the hardcopy of the message to Rafe. In the days since Isaacs’ death and Penny’s int
ervention, the Premier had shown himself more competent than Rafe had expected, if not as swift in action as he’d hoped. He seemed more interested in finding out how Isaacs had died and investigating the connections between Parmina and various individuals in Defense than in prodding the government to do anything about the inevitable invasion. The pirates might attack Cascadia instead…that was the argument. Now he looked two shades paler than usual. “The Moray government says the enemy had left a staging area eight hours before their fleet arrived, but they had sent an advance scout…somebody named Ransome…who located the base days ago.”
Rafe grunted.
“You know this person?”
“Teddy Ransome. Yes. I met him on Cascadia Station. Flamboyant character, but capable.” Teddy Ransome had been glued to Ky Vatta’s side at that formal reception and dinner. Rafe was reasonably sure she wasn’t falling for him, but it had been painful to watch and now that she was gone forever, more painful to remember.
“The Moray government waited to inform us until the fleet arrived and confirmed Ransome’s report—apparently they weren’t convinced he was reliable—so we have ten or eleven days’ less warning than we might have had—”
“We’re fortunate they warned us at all,” Rafe said. “Did they say how many, and where they are—?”
“Over three hundred, ranging from the new Moray-built heavy cruisers to armed converted merchanters. Estimated that about twenty of the ships are resupply, but they may be troopships. And supposedly only an eight-day FTL transit.”
“Three hundred!” Even at his most pessimistic, he had never imagined Turek having that many ships. The fleet in Moray, even if it came directly to Nexus System, was hours behind and at most a third that size. And eight days? He had been lulled, he realized, by the same assumptions as the Premier. Moray was twenty days’ FTL…when twenty days had passed without an attack, he had imagined the pirates being still twenty days away…or at least ten. Rafe thought of the time wasted in investigation, consultation, discussion—days they could not get back now, when they needed them most. “You have notified the Moscoe Confederation?”
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