Into the Fire

by Elizabeth Moon

  “That’s fine. We’ll be about a half hour in here, and if you need to take the dog to the vet, we can lock up for you.”

  Ginger flinched from touches in more than one place. Morrison didn’t feel any broken bones, but the right hind paw was swollen and might have been stepped on. “We’ll get you fixed up,” she said. “You’ll probably spend a night or so at the clinic.” And she wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening to the dog while she was at work.

  She called Kris on her skullphone and explained a little of what had happened and her assessment of Ginger’s injuries.

  “We definitely need to see her,” Kris said. “When will you be here?”

  “I’ve got law enforcement in the house,” Morrison said. “They’re estimating another half hour, and then I’ll put her in the car…”

  “If she’s that uncomfortable, I’d put her in her crate now—it’s not hot, leave the windows open—and let her rest. How many steps up to your back door?”

  “Two.”

  “Any chance of broken ribs?”

  “Maybe, but though she’s tender I don’t think she’s that tender.”

  “See if she’ll accept a sling so you can part-lift her. Call me when you leave. Oh, and nothing to eat or drink. Her, not you.” Kris closed the call.

  And Ginger had of course wolfed down the treats before Morrison realized she was hurt. She had to remember to tell Kris that when they arrived. Getting Ginger into the house and then out to the car and into her car-crate took much longer than usual. Ginger was clearly in pain now, putting no weight on that swollen hind paw. Morrison had just finished when Major Hong came out with his techs.

  “There was intrusion here as well. We believe we’ve eliminated it. I want to put a warning seal on your doors. It’s barely possible your downtown apartment has also been hacked, but frankly I doubt it. You should stay there, or with friends, tonight. Get what you need out of here, and let us seal it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Morrison said. She packed quickly: uniforms, civilian leisure clothes, the papers she’d been working on from the safe, stowed all that in the car, and watched as Major Hong put official NO ENTRY seals on all three doors. Then he and his two techs got back in their van and drove off.

  Rusty Rustowsky came across the street. “They’re shutting you out? You need a place to stay for a few days?”

  “Thanks, Rusty, but I’ve got that spare downtown, and I may be staying overnight with the vet. I’m taking Ginger there now.”

  “Think she’ll be all right? Brave dog—that scum was really whaling on her.”

  “I think so. Just as soon nobody knew where I was headed, though. This mess has gotten bigger all day.”

  “Gotcha. Best of luck, Sergeant Major.”

  Kris and Irene met her in the clinic driveway with a gurney. “We’ll slide the crate right onto it; she won’t have to move and we can slide her onto the table. Could be broken toes, and maybe a rib, from what you’ve said.”

  Morrison watched through the surgery window. Ginger lay flat on the table, with Kris and Irene both working on her. Irene came out to explain. “A couple of broken toes, all right. We got them aligned; she’ll be in a splint for at least four weeks, crated most of that time. Best keep her here, since you’ll be on duty.”

  Morrison nodded. “Whatever she needs.” She would see to it that the man who broke her dog paid for the vet bills. Good thing he was in custody. She stayed with Ginger in recovery while Kris and Irene dealt with a string of more ordinary appointments. When Kris came back to see how Ginger was doing, Morrison asked, “Did you ever know a Master Sergeant MacRobert?”

  Kris nodded. “Sure. Good guy, but really tough. Had the nickname Mustang-hunter, for picking people out of the ranks to go to the Academy.”

  Morrison nodded. “Good. I need you to get this to him.” She fished a data cube out of her pocket. “I’m going to tell you some of what’s happened today—”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAY 6

  Howard R. Ventoven, of Vatta’s legal department, called Ky within the hour, as promised. He had her file, he said. “We have your birth certificate on record here, Sera—or is it Admiral?”

  “Sera,” Ky said.

  “Thank you. We needed it to prove that the transfer of shares was within the family. And your DNA is on file as well, so proving your identity is not a problem. The difficulty—as far as citizenship alone is concerned—is the third leg of the stool. Your absence for so long, your residence in the Moscoe Confederation, and their claim that you are a citizen there, makes this a very touchy issue. I’m assuming you’ve been paying taxes there?”

  “Not really. Part of the support they’ve pledged to the SDF is docking space and a certain amount of support each fiscal year. Other contributors, including Slotter Key, pledged ships and crew—”

  “And the salaries of the crews—I assume they do have salaries?”

  “Of course. That’s a monetary contribution as well from the major members. It’s all pooled together, and then distributed to the personnel and the supply chain.” She had waived her own SDF salary, since she had Vatta money coming in.

  “Do you have documentation available?” Ventoven asked.

  “Not with me, no. Until my ship left I could have downloaded it from there, but now—”

  “Now Cascadia is not in the mood to cooperate with you,” he said. “Most inconvenient. And they’ve slapped that lien on your Crown & Spears account, claiming that it’s legal to do so because you’re their citizen.”

  “I’m not,” Ky said again. “Not at all. Never claimed to be. Crown & Spears knows that, too.”

  “Can you explain why you chose to base your SDF there instead of here?”

  “They had working ansibles,” Ky said. “Slotter Key did not, at that time. Communication is essential. Also, the Moscoe Confederation is more central, connected by a single jump to many more worlds, with established trade routes between them all.”

  “I see. It’s good that you had a sensible reason.” She heard a muffled voice in the background, and his reply. (“Not now. I’ll call him later.”) Then he said, “Our best strategy is to lean on the fact that you were not informed, that you had no chance to be informed after you landed, and that you’re still due the legal response time allotted, from the time you were informed of your citizenship having lapsed, which was the arrival of that summons, as I understand, in which to reinstate it. In fact, even if you had been told when you finally reached Port Major, you would still have time to make application and stop the clock. I will make that case immediately to an Immigration judge.”

  “Thank you,” Ky said.

  “After all, you saved those people on the shuttle. Slotter Key should be grateful, not punitive…though in law, such things do not always have the effect they should.” Another muffled sound in the background of his office, then “Yes—Nils, get me a list of the Immigration judges in the city and their schedule, please. And the forms someone would need to file for reinstatement of citizenship, and the contact numbers of the relevant officials over in the Department of Immigration.”

  Ky sat down in the desk chair, the sizzling sensation in her nerves quieting. Maybe it would be over quickly. She needed to focus on her crew, those who had been unfairly imprisoned and mistreated. She needed to be able to travel—

  “Sera Kylara? You’re still on? Good. I will be working on this, top priority, and will call you again as soon as I have any more information.” He cut the circuit before she could ask him about the other issues in the summons.

  “Well?” Rafe lounged against the doorframe.

  “He’s going to work on it,” Ky said. “Swears he’ll have some news soon. Thinks the fact I wasn’t ever officially informed until today means I should be given the allotted time to make application, and then threw in a comment about Slotter Key owing me thanks for those I saved, and hung up before I could remind him my exit visa was rescinded because of the deaths. And that was in the s
ummons, too, at least Marek’s and Jen’s.”

  “Do you really want Slotter Key citizenship? I thought you couldn’t stand it here and wanted to leave.”

  “It’s my anchor, Rafe, the way Nexus is yours—”

  “I was gone from Nexus a lot longer than you were gone from here. And I don’t care, really. I care about my family, what’s left of it, and I find ISC an interesting set of challenges, but Nexus isn’t home—as long as Penny doesn’t need me, I feel no pull to go back.” He tipped his head. “And you—you do feel that this is home, don’t you?”

  “The ocean smelled right, even down there,” Ky said softly. “The air—I was afraid to go to Corleigh, those memories hurt—but again, the colors, the smells, the sound of the breeze, even the gravity. It’s me. It’s…right.” She looked down at the desk. “I remember this, from before. Uncle Stavros sitting where I’m sitting. Stella glowering at me from the corner over there because we were both in trouble, but she knew she’d get the most blame, being older.”

  “You had a lot more family than I did,” Rafe said. “I had sisters, but no cousins around.”

  “I didn’t expect this reaction,” Ky said. She looked at him. “I love being out in space. I love seeing the new places, coming into new space stations, all that…but I feel like…it’s because I have this connection to Slotter Key. That’s who I am, a Vatta of Slotter Key. I can’t imagine being from somewhere else. Didn’t it bother you at all, at least at first, when you used an alias?”

  “No,” Rafe said. “I thought it was fun. We used to act out plays, when I was a child. Pretending to be somebody else came naturally to me. Didn’t you do that?”

  “Sometimes…” Ky thought a moment. “And in school there were plays. But I liked being on the stage crew more than taking a part.”

  Rafe struck a pose. “I was the only boy in the family so I got many different parts, sometimes in the same play. Later, playacting had a practical use.” He gave her a serious look. “You, Ky—you’ve always been yourself, haven’t you? Just yourself.”

  “I suppose.” Something about that question made her feel restless. “But I’ve changed—”

  “Yes, you grew up, you moved into different social roles. But—when you were first a Vatta captain, did you feel you were playacting?”

  “No.” Nervous at first, yes. But certain that she could command a ship with practice.

  “When we first met, I saw you as younger, inexperienced, but someone completely herself. Solid. It was clear you distrusted me—and I think it’s because you detected that role-playing I had been doing. Was doing then, in fact.”

  Ky said nothing, still mulling over that central difference. Was that really what it came down to? That he was a play-actor and she wasn’t? And what did that say about their future?

  “The thing is,” he said, more slowly, “I had forgotten by then what it felt like to have a solid identity. When I was a small child, I always knew who I was, but when my family sent me away—after what happened in that so-called school—that identity was gone. I had to become whatever it took to survive. And I was proud of it, because I did survive when I wasn’t expected to. I laughed at people like you—laughed about them. But you—I couldn’t ignore you. I couldn’t ignore what your sense of self gave you. When faced with a crisis—when my family was abducted and you were gone—I tried to think more like you, act more like you.”

  “You saved your family,” Ky said. “I didn’t save mine.”

  “Some of them, yes. But I did it by imagining how you would deal with it, if you’d had the chance.”

  Ky started to speak, but her skullphone pinged again. She held up her hand for Rafe. “Yes?”

  It was Ser Ventoven again, the lawyer from Vatta headquarters. “I strongly recommend that you not leave the house until I have further word, Sera Ky. There seems to be some concern that you might be harboring, in order, a dangerous criminal, foreign visitors who have overstayed their visas, and/or fugitives also infected with a dangerous disease. That’s in addition to your citizenship issues. I understand from Sera Stella that you are able to secure the house?”

  “Yes,” Ky said. “The foreign visitors are my fiancé and his assistant. They came to Slotter Key when I was missing, to assist in my rescue.”

  “I gathered that, but at least one of them—your fiancé—entered under a false name, is that not true?”

  “Like many wealthy individuals, he often travels incognito,” Ky said. “He gave Immigration his real name when he applied for a visa.”

  “Yes, but if you are harboring the fugitives I mentioned, who are believed to be affected by this unnamed but dangerous disease picked up on Miksland, then they, as well as you, should be in quarantine. Can you assure me that you are not harboring such individuals, and that you yourself are in good health?”

  “No one in this house is sick,” Ky said firmly. “Everyone is in good health, mentally sound, and definitely does not need to be in quarantine. I was on Miksland myself, with the other survivors, and nobody was sick.”

  “But a number died—”

  “Those who died after landing on Miksland included two who died of puffer-fish poisoning, after ignoring orders not to eat that kind of fish, and two who died of gunshot wounds in a firefight.”

  “In which you were not hit.”

  “I was hit, but not injured: my body armor protected me. Master Sergeant Marek was not wearing armor, nor was Commander Bentik. I shot him, after he shot at me, and one of his stray rounds hit Commander Bentik, as well as another person who wasn’t killed.”

  “You don’t think some toxin or bacteria made him go crazy?”

  “Not at all,” Ky said. “No one got sick. Who claims survivors are sick? And what kind of sickness?”

  “Mental problems—sort of like a stroke, they said. Loss of memory, of ability to speak, of coordination. But if you’re sure you don’t have any such symptoms—”

  “None,” Ky said. “You’re talking to me—you can tell that I can talk clearly, at least.”

  “Well…it would be best, I think, if you were not taken into custody.”

  “I think so, too, because all the survivors were healthy when they left Miksland. If they aren’t now, I suspect they’ve been drugged. If you can find out where these rumors originate—who precisely—it would be a great help.”

  “But who would—”

  “I don’t know—except that by accident of the crash location and ocean currents, we landed on Miksland and realized it was not what everyone thought. Its real nature has been kept secret, even to the point of falsifying satellite data. And whoever spread that lie clearly has an interest in silencing those who know about it. They hired mercenaries to kill all of us survivors before we could be rescued.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am, and so is my great-aunt, the Rector.”

  “But she’s in the hospital—did she come down with—”

  “She was poisoned by a toxic gas,” Ky said. Why didn’t he know that? Stella knew. Wouldn’t she have told Legal? If not, why not? Unless MacRobert told her it was a military secret…

  “The news said she was very sick.”

  “Toxic gas,” Ky said firmly. “In her house. She nearly died, that’s true, but it’s not a mysterious disease from Miksland.”

  “Well, then. We will be working on getting your status clarified. I’m sure we can arrange something; I’m less sure about your fiancé and his assistant. Just don’t answer the door.”

  “I won’t,” Ky said. When the connection blanked, she shook her head at Rafe. “We’re stuck inside until Legal figures something out. It’s going to be interesting if Aunt Helen brings the children back to the city.”

  “When would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if she’s talked to Stella. I don’t know if Stella’s getting her status cleared up in court. I don’t know anything and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?”
<
br />   Ky jerked one shoulder. “Something. Toast, I think.”

  “You have a cook. Your cook can fix anything you want. You should eat something with protein.”

  “I sound irritable, you mean.”

  “Grumpy, I would have said, but yes. Come on down to the kitchen.”

  Halfway down the stairs, Ky’s skullphone pinged again. This time it was Stella.

  “I’m cleared,” she said. “Pointed out I had already expanded our onplanet investment, with the manufacture of shipboard ansibles here. Cascadia’s not going to be thrilled, but business will support both offices at the current level, and I never did take citizenship there. Which means they will get more taxes from a nonresident-owned business—they should be happy about that.”

  “Good,” Ky said. “But why didn’t you mention the citizenship thing to me? I nearly got hauled off to jail this morning—”

  “You? Why would they go after you? You’re the hero. That summons was just a clerical error.”

  “Apparently not. If you come home, you will find an Immigration van parked out front with some very unhappy agents standing on the step.”

  “But I thought—when I got the letter and asked about it, they said they were questioning me because I’d set up a business in another system. I asked about you and they said, ‘She’s different; no one doubts she’s loyal.’ ”

  “They certainly doubt it now,” Ky said. “That law—it sounds very harsh.”

  “It’s all about the money,” Stella said. “Like most things in politics. They worry about citizens setting up businesses elsewhere to avoid local taxes—you’d think they’d look up and find out that people come here to escape high taxes elsewhere. Besides, Vatta’s paid taxes on every cent earned on Slotter Key, it’s just that we made less after the bombings. So—what did Legal tell you to do?”

  “Stay inside with the house buttoned up tight. He’s working on it, the one who called me. Named Ventoven.”

  “I’ll check with them as soon as I get back. I’m waiting in line to get my new ID kit. Ah—they just called my number.”