“You have to listen to us,” shouted one of the black-clad men. “We’re special agents—”
“Wait your turn,” the officer said. “You can have your say at the station.”
“But you can’t arrest us. We’re agents—”
“For the record,” the officer said, ignoring the man who yelled and speaking to the nearest Vatta employee, “name, identification, position?”
“Harmon Gothry, D-43725904, Vatta Enterprises Security Section, assigned to Stella Vatta for her safety.” He pointed to a pocket and when the officer nodded fished out an ID card and proffered it. The officer scanned it and turned to the next Vatta employee. In the meantime the other police officer moved in on the men being held against the wall.
“Did they show weapons?” he asked the Vatta men.
“Yes, Officer,” Gothry said. “One—that one over there—had his pointed at the house door. Both of these had weapons pointed at Sera Vatta’s car. We startled them and they did not shoot. Their weapons are behind us, near where they were standing.”
“I see them.” He took restraints from his belt.
“But we’re agents!” one of the men said. “Call our commander!”
“I’m sure your commander—if you have one—will hear all about this,” the officer said. “Best if you do what you’re told and don’t interrupt.”
“But—”
“Like that. Not helpful.” He grabbed one wrist of the leftmost man and twisted it expertly up behind him, then the other wrist and locked the hard-grabs on him. “You could’ve been comfortable in tangle-ties, but you just had to open your trap.”
“You’ll be sorry—when my commander finds out—”
“Some people never learn,” Rafe said, watching this. He turned to Teague, “Anyone you recognize from Malines’s warehouse?”
“No—but Mac and I killed the ones we saw.”
“Point. And maybe they’re not Malines but Quindlan.”
“I wonder how the Vatta detail let itself be cut off,” Teague said. “Isn’t that what happened when Grace was attacked, too?”
“Um. Need to check with Mac if he ever found out the details of that. But it’s not the same org. Grace’s security was military; this is corporate.”
“Still…”
“Right. Same tactic may mean same training, even same organization. Rodney, do you recognize any of those men, either side?”
“I haven’t seen all the faces yet. Wait—that one—” He pointed at the screen, a man in Vatta Security. “—that’s Manny Osuna. Before the big attack I was training under him for this kind of work. Six years ago, about.”
“Where was he when the headquarters blew?” Ky asked.
“We were both out on a training run. I was driving; Manny and Ivos Stamarkos-Kellen were observing and riding shotgun. Grace Vatta was the passenger. It was going to be my promotion test. We were a little less than a kilometer from headquarters, on the way back…the street bucked and I hit the curb. Everything shook; glass came out of the windows of a bar across the street; and pretty soon the debris started coming down.”
“What did Grace say?” Ky asked.
“ ‘Take me home.’ I turned around; Manny said, ‘Rodney! Go!’ and I hit the accelerator, yanked the car around the first corner, and headed for her house. Not the one she’s in now; the one on the outskirts.”
“Must have been a rough test,” Rafe said.
“I was in shock, I think. Manny and Ivos both looked three shades paler. I glanced in the mirror once; Sera Grace was bolt upright in the backseat, expressionless, and her eyes…” He shook his head. “Another thing I’ll never forget. Cold fire.”
Ky had kept her eyes on the screen. “So that one you know, and he’s okay. Any of the other guys?”
“No.”
“Police are about to gather them up and take them away,” Rafe said, leaning over to see better. “But Stella’s just sitting there. Should we go out now? Call someone? And who’s that in the yard across the street? Bring that one up.”
“I’ve tried to call her and ask; she’s on her skullphone with someone. Not Rafe.” Ky enlarged the image Rafe had selected. Expensive clothes, narrow face, disgruntled expression.
“He’s recording everything,” Rafe said. “Not on his implant—he’s got a kit.” Ky saw it, on the larger image.
“I don’t know his name—Stella might.” She looked at the yard and house behind him. “He looks out the upstairs window over the portico sometimes. Maybe just a common peeper. Shares Aunt Helen’s taste in landscaping.” Perfectly matched shrubs, trimmed to pyramids, marched up either side of the walk and along the front of the house.
Another police vehicle appeared, this one a van for transporting prisoners. Ky switched views again to focus on it. Still complaining, the four men who had been in the vehicle that rammed Stella’s were shoved into it and driven away. The Vatta crew, after talking to the police, hooked a chain to the car blocking Stella’s exit and dragged it a few meters away. One of them opened the passenger door and spoke to her, too low for the audio pickups to capture.
“She enabled the video from her car,” Teague said. “I hadn’t noticed that before. That’s why she stayed in the car.”
“That and not wanting to snag her suit on anything climbing out,” Ky said. Rafe gave her a look. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Ky said. “But if she’s not hurt, getting dirty or ruining her suit wouldn’t make as good an impression as she will now.”
“Makes sense to me,” Rafe said. “Penny would do the same.”
By the time the remaining police officers came back up the drive to speak to Stella, the Vatta crew had pulled her car away from the wall and opened the driver’s-side door.
Stella stepped out, a little awkwardly, and one of the police moved to support her.
“Well done,” Rafe said. “The brave but wounded heroine. Always a good ploy.”
“You think it’s fake?” Ky asked.
“I saw her do the same thing years ago, when we first met.”
“Is anyone home? Should you see your physician first?” The officer’s voice held a note of concern.
“I’m sure they’re home,” Stella said. “But they may have been in another part of the house.” She limped a little moving toward the kitchen door. “My ankle’s a bit stiff, is all. It took me awhile to get it out from under—whatever you call that part that crumples up.”
“Yes, Sera.”
Ky took off for the kitchen. “Allie! Need you!”
Stella had just reached the door and pushed the buzzer when Ky dove into the pantry and Allie opened the door. Ky heard her say “Sera Stella—oh—what happened?”
“I’ll tell you about it later, Allie,” Stella said.
“And this is?” the officer asked, frowning at Allie.
“Our cook,” Stella explained. “Allie, show the officer your ID.”
“Yes, Sera,” Allie said.
A moment or so of silence, then Ky heard the officer’s voice. “Thank you, Sera. Sera Vatta, since you aren’t alone, I believe we can leave now.”
“Thank you, Officer Harwell,” Stella said. Ky heard the door close, but she didn’t open the pantry until Stella said, “Where’s Ky and the others? Do you know if they saw the crash?”
“I’m here. We recorded it. Are you really all right?”
“Yes, though my ankle hurts. I may need to get it wrapped, but I wanted to make sure first you were all here and safe.”
“Sera Lane from Legal is here,” Ky said.
“I asked Howie Ventoven.” Stella’s eyes went cold. “I told him more than I would have told someone who wasn’t going to be on the case.”
“Sera Lane is fine,” Ky said.
“But Howie should’ve let me know.” Stella sighed. “Well. It is what it is. Here—make two copies of this—” She handed over a data cube. “Video from my car. The police will realize they forgot to ask me for it and I was too shaken up to offer it; g
et Rafe or Teague to duplicate the original markings, so the police can have number two. I’m going upstairs to change.”
“Can I help?”
Stella shook her head. “No. Just get the duplicate made quickly, because they’ll be back in a half hour if not sooner. I’m going to be stretched out elegantly on a sofa in the living room, with a cup of tea and some pastries, my ankle on a pillow.” She looked at Allie. “Twenty minutes, Allie: tea and something light and sweet—in the living room. Ky, I can take the lift up; I’ll be fine.”
“The CEO in action,” Rafe said when she’d gone up. “I’m glad the admiral’s holding steady.”
“Her operation, her command,” Ky said, shrugging. “We can discuss who orders whom around the most later.” She handed him the cubes. She’d meant to ask Stella about the man recording everything from across the street, but she could do that later.
“Ouch,” Rafe said, dropping them into a pocket. “And you both order me around.”
“It’s Stella being my older cousin, not just CEO,” Ky said. “But I need to get back to Sera Lane; we’ve got more to do.” She turned back. “Allie, did that police officer scan your ID?”
“No, Admir—Sera. He just looked at it, nodded, and gave it back.”
“Good.” Ky looked into the downstairs security station; Rafe, Teague, and Rodney had crowded in together, and she recognized the distinctive sound of the data-rep machine. So Stella’s recording was being dealt with. That left Sera Lane, whom she saw in the dining room, jotting down notes while reading Ky’s report on Marek’s death. “Stella really is fine, Sera Lane. She’s upstairs now, changing clothes. Would you like some tea? Allie’s making some, and if you’d like to have dinner with us—”
“Yes, thank you, to both. I have no family to worry about.”
Ky let Allie know they would have a guest for dinner, then hurried upstairs. She heard Stella’s shower running and poked her head into the study to find that Inyatta had finished her report and was just coming out.
“You’ll have to stay out of sight when the police come to pick up Stella’s video from the wreck—”
“Wreck?”
Ky explained, then went on. “Supper’s set back at least an hour. I’ll let everyone know about it when I know. Sera Lane is still here, and will be eating with us. I’ll be monitoring the police visit from here, though we don’t expect any problems.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DAY 6
Stella was still limping when she appeared downstairs again in soft loose slacks and a fuzzy sweater with a cowl neck that made her look fragile. A bandage around her left ankle just showed at the top of a thick sock; her other foot was in a slender felt house shoe. She’d taken the lift instead of the stairs, another sign that the ankle really hurt. Under one arm she carried two puffy bed pillows.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Stella said. “Stage dressing mostly, though it is sore, and there’s a big purple bruise.”
“Nothing worse? You don’t need to see a doctor?”
“No.” That was a very final No. Stella looked around the entrance hall. “Sera Lane?”
“She went to the kitchen to fetch the tea when she heard the lift motor.”
“Ah. Good.”
The living room glowed like a stage set now, pools of light under each lamp, or directed onto the paintings on the wall. Gentle landscapes with quiet streams or lakes in the distance, soft colors, suggested peace and comfort. Stella switched on the emotional tonality her mother used most often, a combination of subtle scents and barely perceptible musical tones, all designed to put visitors in a calm, cooperative emotional state.
Stella piled the couch’s pillows against the end farthest from the front door, added one of the bed pillows, then lay back against them, sat up again, and positioned the second bed pillow under her bandaged ankle.
“All you need is a knit throw,” Ky said, grinning.
“The ground-floor linen closet,” Stella said. “Green or brown.”
Ky shook her head, amused at the color specification, but fetched a green throw with a brown border and laid it over Stella, with the bandaged ankle peeking out. “Like that?”
“Perfect.”
Just then Sera Lane arrived with a tray, Allie behind her with a folding tray table. Allie and Ky moved one of the armchairs near the couch.
“Thank you, Allie,” Stella said. “And you, Ky. We will need Rodney on the door, not Teague.”
Ky looked at the arrangement: the injured party reclining on the couch, and the injured party’s friend-or-attorney, depending on the way Stella wanted to play it, graciously pouring tea for them both.
By the time she’d found Rodney, and he’d put on the jacket he wore for his butler persona, she heard the doorbell ring and hurried upstairs as Rodney moved with butlerly dignity toward the front door. In Stella’s office, she turned on the video feed from the living room. Rodney opened the door at Stella’s order to admit a police officer. Stella, seen from above, looked like an injured heroine in the kind of vid show Ky didn’t like. Sera Lane looked appropriately older and respectable. The policeman looked slightly anxious.
Ky had seen Stella maneuvering people before, but never from such a safe distance or in this exact situation. She had changed some of her tactics. This time there was no overt sexuality to her calm, gentle voice; her beauty was still there, of course—it was in her bones, gene-deep, not to be lost—but the slight muting of it by her immobility, her overlarge sweater, the knitted throw over her clothes and the effect of its color, actually made her more attractive to someone whose occupation was protecting those who needed it.
Not until Stella had given her account of the attack, and handed over the duplicate recording from her vehicle, did the officer bring up any of the other things he might have brought up. “Those men who struck your vehicle—they claim to be working for Customs & Immigration.”
“Do they?” Stella toyed with the border of the throw. “What does Customs & Immigration say?”
“They say there’s an open case involving your cousin and her fiancé, but they deny that their people would intentionally ram your vehicle or draw weapons unless threatened. The person I spoke to—”
“Do you have a name?” Stella asked.
“Yes…it’s a Ser Matson. His contact number is 46-7833-5.”
“Thank you,” Stella said. “I’m certain Vatta’s legal team will want to contact him and ascertain the exact orders they were given.”
“They—he—said if I could gain entrance to your house, I should search for the…the fugitives and take them into custody.”
“They aren’t fugitives,” Stella said. “They live here.”
“But he said they hadn’t been able to gain entrance—”
Sera Lane spoke up. “Officer, their situation is being addressed by legal counsel. I am an attorney with Vatta Enterprises; my name is Lane. Excuse me for interrupting, Sera Vatta, but I believe the officer needs to know more of what’s been going on. You do know that Sera Stella’s cousin Ky was in a shuttle crash before she even arrived, do you not?”
“Yes, Sera. It was on all the newsvids.”
“And that later it was found that she and some of the other passengers had survived in life rafts, and with difficulty made their way to shore on Miksland, and then into a formerly unknown underground base?”
“I’m not clear on all that, Sera. Isn’t it just all bare rock and ice?”
“No,” Sera Lane said. “It is not entirely barren. And the underground base was stocked with supplies.”
Ky listened, fascinated, as Lane and Stella laid out what she had done, and how she had had no chance to follow the new procedures that had first stripped her of citizenship and then set requirements she could not meet to regain it.
“Why didn’t you tell her, though, Sera?” the officer asked. “You could have prevented this problem, couldn’t you?”
Ky wondered the same thing. What Stella had said didn’t quit
e make sense; her implant should have reminded her, if nothing else. Now Stella was elaborating on what she’d told Ky.
“Frankly, I could not imagine they would apply the rule to her—it was so obvious that she couldn’t have known about it, and she’d been through all that—saving those people, and before that saving all of us from that sociopath Turek. She’s a hero. It just didn’t occur to me. And they didn’t tell me until my most recent arrival.”
“But—the law was passed last year or the year before. They didn’t send word to you? No one in your family here did?”
“When did you find out about it?”
“Notification to local law enforcement…maybe a half year ago. I mean, it wasn’t a law that affected anyone I knew.”
“What’s happening?” Rafe appeared in the doorway of Stella’s office.
“She’s talking to the police guy. Gave him the tape, then he started probing about us—the ones Immigration is interested in. She’s telling him she didn’t know about the change in law when she first came back.”
“Hmm. Why didn’t Vatta Legal warn her?”
Ky blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Don’t they keep up with all the laws? They’re an interstellar business; their legal team should be alert to any changes in customs, immigration, and tax law in every jurisdiction where they operate.”
“Does ISC?”
“Yup. Of course, we used to write some of the laws, but certainly our legal team was aware of the different laws in different jurisdictions. ISC’s legal department’s huge. I wonder if Vatta’s been running too lean in that regard since the attack that blew up their headquarters.”
“I’ll ask Stella when this is over. And of course Sera Lane.”
“Didn’t she say their other specialist in immigration law was in court today? That’s a sign they’re too lean, in my opinion. Our legal staff’s divided into the experts and the litigators, the ones who actually take a matter to court.”
“Thank you, Officer—” Stella’s words caught Ky’s attention; she’d missed several exchanges. “I appreciate your time and your courtesy—if you’ll forgive me I won’t see you out—”
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