The Rings of Grissom: Tales of a Former Space Janitor

by Julia Huni

  My stomach churns. My mother has had contracts with various “suitable” men over the years. Now she’s in a “free form” relationship with R’ger. I’ve avoided committing to anyone in the past, but O’Neill has made it clear his ultimate goal is marriage. Not just a five or ten-year contract but life with no escape clause.

  I’ve seen plenty of vids on Ancient Tēvē where people got “married” but most of those relationships ended within a few years or even months. The whole concept of a lifetime commitment makes me squirm. But the idea of O’Neill shopping for a new partner as we reach the end of a contract makes me want to vomit. You can’t have it both ways, Triana.

  The contracting takes about five minutes. A clerk comes in, reads a brief overview of the contract—ten-year, procreational contract with exit clauses if there are no children at the three and six-year points. He throws the long form of the document on a large holo projection in case we want to read it. Then Erco and Kara wave their hands through the accept icon, register a palm print on the clerk’s tablet, and they’re done.

  “Ten years, signed away like that.” Ariel snaps her fingers. “I prefer the short ones. Two years, tops.” She leans around me to eye O’Neill. “Unless something really special comes along.”

  O’Neill takes a step away, as if hiding behind me. “That was very... clinical.” His chin juts at the tablet.

  “You haven’t witnessed one of these before?” I step forward to add my acknowledgement to the document and gesture for him to do the same.

  “Nope, they aren’t as common on Grissom.” He flicks the icon and presses a thumb on the tablet.

  After everyone present has registered a thumbprint, the clerk flicks a copy of the document to each of us and hurries away. I swipe mine into my long-term storage and smile at Kara. “Congratulations. Now what?”

  “Now we party!”

  Nine

  A few days later, we take a fast transport to Grissom. The ship, Pleiades Transport TL-245, isn’t as plush as the cruisers, but it’s a lot faster. The smaller vessel has more powerful engines, so it can reach the jump point in half the time a cruiser takes. Plus, it jumps directly to the Grissom system instead of swinging out to Sally Ride first like the cruise ships.

  Each passenger on the transport has a small berth—just big enough to sleep in. It’s about a meter square and two-and-a-half meters long, with full entertainment package and top-of-the-line privacy screens. They’re nicer than my employee berth on the CSS Morningstar, and the food is better than the Techno-Inst’s dining hall. Which isn’t saying much, but we only have to eat a couple of meals on board.

  Hy-Mi packed a “suitable wardrobe” for me, but it departed by freighter two weeks ago—the transports only have room for a small bag each. I brought my favorite leggings and tops, underwear, and a sweater. I figure I can always buy something nicer before we meet Ty’s family.

  The trip is completely uneventful. We dock at Cristoforetti Station and leave the ship.

  “I’m surprised Mother didn’t require security for me.” I hike my bag up on my shoulder.

  “Oh, she did.” O’Neill nods at the couple behind us. “They’re with the agency.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I glance over my shoulder. The pair are older—probably in their mid-forties. Or at least they appear that way. Kara made me look ancient for Halloween one year. Rejuv and modern aesthetics make age-guessing nearly impossible.

  “She preferred it this way,” he says.

  “What about what I prefer?”

  He smiles uncomfortably. “You don’t really care as long as they don’t get in your way, right?”

  I stop in the center of the corridor and cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah, but I’m the one who’s being protected. I have the right to know who’s doing it. I thought they were just nosy.”

  He chuckles. “You didn’t even notice them until now.”

  I let out an angry huff. “Yeah, but if I had, I would have been worried.”

  “You’re right—it’s your life. You should make the decisions.” He stops and waits for the couple to catch up to us. “Triana, this is Ferrigi and Andron. They work for SK2 security.” He turns to the men. “Sera Morgan wants a run-down on the security plan.”

  Ferrigi’s eyes dart around the transportation hub. “Let’s get to a secure location.” He gestures for us to continue. “The terminal has communications rooms.”

  We crowd into one of the booths. Andron stands outside the glass door, his wide back a barrier between us and the outside world. I stare up at Ferrigi. “What’s the plan?”

  As he explains their procedure in excruciating detail, my brain glazes over. I really don’t care as long as they stay out of my way, but the idea that my mother set them on me as watchdogs burns. And O’Neill was in on it?

  “Thanks, that’s enough.” I cut him off like a top-lev and wince internally. I hate when people do that, but sometimes it’s so easy to slip into the mold. “Could you please wait outside while I speak with Ser O’Neill?”

  Ferrigi taps on the glass, and his partner moves out of the way. Once the door closes behind him, I turn on O’Neill. “You are not my security anymore. If this relationship,” my hands gesture between the two of us, “is going to work, we need to be partners. Not a kid and her babysitter.”

  He flushes. “If you cared about your safety at all, that would make sense. If you recall, I brought it up when we booked the tickets, and you said we’d talk about it later. Every time I tried, you put me off.”

  I start to make an angry retort, but he’s right. My ears go hot as the details of those conversations replay in my head. I should have realized ignoring it wasn’t the answer. Still, I’m not ready to admit I’m wrong. “Where’s Vanti?”

  “She’s on a mission.” He shoves his fingers through his hair. “You can’t demand specific agents at the drop of a hat.”

  “You’re always on call for my mother.”

  “Was—and actually I was on call for Don Said. His security was my full-time job. But you didn’t want full-time security, so it wasn’t assigned. You get whoever is available. If you’re in the market, I’m sure we can get you a full-time agent. I’m not sure it would be Vanti. She hates the station.”

  He’s mentioned their first mission on SK2 before. Something happened that made Vanti request a dirtside assignment, but he’s never told me the details. I try to ignore a twinge of jealousy. “Okay, how about this? You arrange security for me—making it as minimal as possible then brief me before it changes. I promise to try to listen.”

  His lips quirk, but I can see he’s still a little miffed. “You’ll try to listen?”

  “I don’t want all the mission details. Just who, how many, and how close.”

  “Deal.” He holds out his fist. “Two men—trained board security members from Kaku. They’ll be nearby at all times but won’t interact with us unless we initiate.”

  I bump his fist and smirk. “Yeah, I kinda got that from the hulk.”

  “Hulk?” He taps the glass and opens the door.

  “Yeah, the big green monster? One of the original actors was named Ferrigno. Ferrigi, Ferrigno... close enough.”

  “I should have realized.” He nods to the two men and guides me toward the dirtside shuttle.

  My paperwork clears the station security as expected. Of course, it did last time, too, so I’m expecting problems when we land. But to my surprise, that goes smoothly as well. Soon, the four of us are inside a mid-class bubble, heading across Virgilton.

  “You don’t suppose the peacekeepers will try to pick me up again, do you?” I ask.

  “I think Hy-Mi took care of that.” O’Neill glances at the two agents. “What are your orders should that happen?”

  “We’re to escort Sera Morgan to the Kakuvian embassy,” the hulk says.

  “They weren’t letting anyone escort me anywhere last time,” I say.

  The hulk’s lips twitch into a cold smile. “People don’t �
��let’ us do things. We just do them.”

  That’s a little unsettling. The two don’t appear to have any weapons—customs required any personal weapons be turned in upon arrival. Neither the hulk nor the android (my name for Andron—too easy!) handed anything over. Of course, they both looked like they could take out a whole platoon of peacekeepers with their bare hands. And if they went to the same academy as Vanti, they probably have all kinds of weapons stashed in their skivvies.

  The bubble pulls to a stop, and the android steps out, scanning the area. He raises a hand and makes some finger signs faster than I can catch.

  “You’re clear to depart.” The hulk gestures to the door. “Take your bags—I need to keep my hands free.”

  As we climb out, a thought occurs to me. “You don’t have any bags. Where do you keep your clean underwear?”

  The hulk flushes red and doesn’t answer.

  Ten

  I bite back a grin and lean close to O’Neill. “Is he embarrassed because he didn’t bring any clean undies or because I mentioned them at all?”

  O’Neill glances over his shoulder at the hulk. “I’d guess the latter. I’m sure they sent luggage ahead—it’s standard procedure.”

  We’re in front of a large, stone building. The front is a bare, nearly featureless wall, with a few shuttered windows on each of the three levels. A barred gate stands open at a narrow-arched doorway. Dozens of similar buildings line the street, with yellow-green plants filling the spaces between. Vines climb the corners of some buildings, and others are nearly covered in thick leaves. The sun blazes down, bright and hot.

  “This way.” O’Neill takes both our bags and hurries down the stone path leading to the arch. I glance at the agents, but they don’t seem to mind him taking point. I guess they aren’t concerned about my safety here.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “Home.” O’Neill throws the word over his shoulder as he disappears into the building.

  “Cozy,” I mutter. Of course, I know my colonial history. Grissom was a dangerous place in the early years, and the buildings were built like fortresses. Based on this street, that style has prevailed over the years, but none of the buildings are old enough to have been built by the original settlers. “Let’s go meet the ‘rents. You two might want to stay here.”

  “The ‘rents?” The android gulps. “You’re meeting his family? For the first time?”

  I nod.

  He and the hulk exchange a look. “We’ll wait here.”

  I step into a cool, dark tunnel. Bright light shines from the far end. O’Neill has disappeared, but the two plain doors are shut, so I keep moving ahead.

  The tunnel opens into a large square courtyard. Two tall, spindly trees grow from openings in the paving stones. The wide fronds at the top provide shade. Smaller trees in pots fill the courtyard with a riot of blue-green leaves and round, multi-colored fruit. More vines—these with smaller leaves and bright blue flowers—climb the walls. The balconies line the two floors above. The air is heavy with the scent of flowers and fruit.

  “Triana, over here!” O’Neill waves at me from a little structure tucked in the far corner under the larger tree. It has smooth, white half-walls on the two sides facing the courtyard and a lattice roof. More vines hang from the beams, with green flowers drooping in clusters. The little pavilion holds a bed-like structure with a thick red cushion.

  Eyes wide, I cross a tiny bridge over a placid trough of water that bisects the courtyard and take O’Neill’s hand.

  “This is my mother, Serena O'Neill y Mendoza bin Tariq e Reynolds.” He gestures to a dark-haired woman lounging on the mattress.

  She jumps up and flings her arms around me. “I’m so thrilled to finally meet you, Triana! Welcome to Grissom! Welcome to our home. I hope—”

  The woman won’t let go. I send O’Neill a silent, wild-eyed plea for help.

  “Mom,” O’Neill says with a chuckle. “You’re scaring Triana. They don’t go in for big displays of affection in her family.”

  Serena’s arms drop, and she steps back, her brown eyes concerned. “That’s so sad. We’ll just have to get you used to it. Nothing like a good hug to improve your day.”

  I return her smile with a weak grin and turn to the man standing behind her. He looks like an older version of O’Neill. It’s uncanny how much he resembles both his parents, even though the two of them are completely different.

  “I’m Ty’s dad.” The man holds out a fist. “You can call me Brad. Brad. Dad. See what I did there? I’m also a poet.”

  My lips quirk as I bump my knuckles against his. “Nice to meet you, Brad.”

  “Tigh-eeeeee!” A high-pitched voice echoes through the corridor. Seconds later, a tiny woman barrels across the courtyard and launches herself at O’Neill. They fall back onto the padded platform, and she rolls off him and bounces to her feet, laughing. “Excellent placement,” she says with a nod.

  “I’ve learned.” He sits up and dodges as she attempts to punch him in the shoulder. “This is Aretha. My big sister.” He stands, dwarfing the woman by half a meter.

  She looks at me, her eyes cold and measuring. After a few seconds, she holds out her fist for the briefest of bumps. “You must be Annabelle.”

  “Please, call me Triana,” I say.

  “If you like.” She turns back to O’Neill. “Did you come to help Bill?”

  “We both did,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me to his side.

  Aretha looks me over again, her expression unreadable. “Excellent. He’s coming over for dinner.”

  “Who are your friends outside?” Brad has a vid feed playing on his holo-ring. The two agents stand like statues at the front door. “Why didn’t they come in?”

  “They’re security,” O’Neill says. “Since Triana is Dame Morgan’s heir, the board doesn’t—”

  “Whoever they are, they can’t stand around outside like that.” Brad starts across the courtyard. “I’m going to tell them to come inside. If they’re worried about intruders, we can shut the gate.”

  “Dad—” O’Neill gives me an apologetic look and hurries after his father.

  My chest squeezes in panic as I turn back to the two women. They also look very much alike. Curly brown hair, brown eyes, smooth tan skin. Serena is taller, and her age shows in the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. When she smiles, the resemblance to Ty is striking.

  Aretha doesn’t smile.

  “Aretha, why don’t you show Triana to her room?” Serena flicks her holo-ring. “We’ll put your security detail in the room next to yours, so they’re close by. They won’t mind sharing, will they?”

  “I don’t think so,” I stutter. “I haven’t travelled with them before, so I’m not sure how this all works.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get it sorted. I’ll make sure they have access to the security cams—we have a few of those. Ty thinks it makes the compound safer. I’ll see you at dinner.” She pats my shoulder then strides after the two men.

  “This way.” Aretha doesn’t wait. By the time I figure out which of our two bags is mine, she’s disappearing into the gloom of the cloister on the far side of the courtyard. I hurry after her.

  The cloister runs around the sides and back of the courtyard, with white arches and wide columns supporting the balcony above. As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I notice doors leading off the cloister. A wide flight of stairs leads upward, and Aretha waits at the top, clicking her fingernails against the railing.

  When I reach Aretha, she turns without a word and leads me along the balcony. More doors here, some of them open to reveal comfortable bedrooms. She takes me up another flight of stairs to the highest floor. The red tile roof covers the balcony, and the tops of the two courtyard trees sway just above. All around the square, there are more wooden doors set in white plaster. Aretha walks to the second one on the right.

  “This is yours. Best room in the house.” She looks me over. “Not my choice.”

>   “What’s going on here?” I decide hitting this straight on will be the best tactic. Aretha is a lawyer, so if I try to play her game, she’ll dig in. “Why do you dislike me?”

  “Why do you think I dislike you?” She pushes open the door and gestures for me to enter the dim room.

  “I dunno, maybe the sneer on your face?” I drop my bag on the bed and turn to face her. After the courtyard, the room is dim, and light from the door behind her makes it difficult to see her face.

  “I don’t even know you.”

  “Exactly. You don’t know me. I’m a nice person. And yes, I suppose you could say I broke your brother’s heart, if you wanted to be dramatic. But we’ve patched it all up, and everything is fine. And it’s not like he hasn’t…” I trail off, not wanting to discuss our romantic ups and downs with his sister.

  Her voice sharpens. “You admit it? He was devastated when he came back to Grissom. Then he gets a call from you and goes racing away, all excited. And you disappeared again. How would you feel if someone did that to your brother?”

  “I’d be pissed. If I had a brother.” I have a half-brother, but it's not the same. I barely know him. “But for the record, I didn’t call him. That was Vanti.”

  “I don’t care who it was—you hurt him, and when he went racing after you, you hurt him again!”

  “That wasn’t my fault! I was deported!” I cry in frustration.

  “So you say. Grissom doesn’t deport people who outstay their visas.” She points to her own chest. “Lawyer, remember? I know these things.”

  My eyes narrow in suspicion. “I thought you were a domestic contract lawyer?”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t do my research,” she mutters. “I have a friend in immigration. I know how it works. If someone outstays their visa, they’re fined, and they have to pay for a new visa. They only get deported if they can’t pay.”

  “That’s not what happened to me. I don’t know if they decided to use me as an example or if it was a personal thing, but Kato and Watson put me on Bill’s shuttle faster than you can—”