Loralynn Kennakris 2: The Morning Which Breaks (30 page)

Mare Nemeton
Nedaema, Pleiades Sector

Trin Wesselby broke the surface slowly and rolled on her back, breathing deeply. She’d taken it easy today—only forty laps—but even that told on her. Served her right for neglecting her PM swim for the past few days. Closing her eyes, she heard footsteps and then the voice of her aide.

“Commander? There’s a call for you. Chief Inspector Taliaferro. Would you like to call him back?”

Trin turned and stroked unhurriedly to the wall. “No, I’ll take it here.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

Hauling herself out on the coping of the 25-meter pool, she accepted the handset. Her aide, an impressionable young lieutenant, had obligingly set it to voice-only, no doubt thinking it improper for his boss to be seen in her current state of undress outside the family—as if, after thirty-five years in the Royal Hesperian Marine Corps, Nick was capable of being scandalized. But Robert didn’t know that and he was a good kid, if a trifle wet behind the ears.

She keyed the handset on and waited for the secure mode to lock. “Hello, Inspector.”

“Afternoon, Commander. Apologies for interrupting your busy PM, but I’m afraid there’s no dice on that info you requested. Nothing my department has would be of use. I thought I should call myself so there’d be no confusion.”

“I appreciate that, Inspector.”

“Sorry we couldn’t be more help.”

“It was a long shot. Thank you for trying.”

“Our pleasure. Have a good PM, Commander.”

“You as well, Inspector.”

Getting to her feet, Trin held out the handset. “Thank you, Robert. I’ll be back at the office shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As the lieutenant exited, Trin made her way to the locker room, leaving a trail of small damp footprints. Once inside, she entered the shower nearest the door and activated it, turning the spray up as hot as she could stand. Then she went to her locker and retrieved Nick’s calling card from her wallet. Stepping into the enveloping cloud of steam, she hit
CALL
. As the secure icon lit, Nick answered.

“Nice,” he said, eyeing her surroundings—no nonsense about voice-only mode this time. “Excellent white-noise generator. Steam’s a nice touch. Y’know, it never occurred to me these things are waterproof.”

“We’ll see about that,” Trin said, turning under the spray. “No dice, huh?”

“Correct.” That being the term they’d agreed on if Nick found anything. “The request to add Mariwen Rathor to the attendee list came from Grimbles’ office. He endorsed it personally.”

Trin hadn’t expected that. Grand Senator Grimbles was Hesperian and notably straitlaced. Mariwen Rathor had been as popular in the Meridies Cluster as anywhere else, although her racy lifestyle came in for constant comment from the local media. Of course, that was only to be expected from a society that still thought ‘racy’ was an appropriate adjective for a sexually open lesbian, or for anything else, when it came right down to it. She’d rather thought someone from New California or Venus or even the Belt would have been more likely to consider a mildly controversial celebrity as a good headliner for the conference, not an old fossil like Grimbles.

“Any indications what his motive was?”

“Can’t say as yet. The email trail suggests the idea originated with his Chief of Staff, Taylor Lessing. Lessing’s been with Grimbles most of his career, serving in one capacity or other. Started out in security. Reputation for being very hard-nosed. He’s rolled a number of people on his way up, and he’s pretty ruthless about enforcing loyalty on the senator’s staff.”

“Sounds like a very popular guy.”

“I suspect he’s got enough enemies to make a fair-sized colony, but Grimbles appears dedicated to him. That gives him a wide shield.”

“And a lot of influence.” Which made sense. Mankho’s plot hinged on getting Mariwen into those hearings—it was not something they could’ve left to chance. And then there was the note she’d gotten from Huron early this AM. “Nick, Rafe may be on to something. I got a message from him today.”

“A source?”

“Possibly. He’s bringing her back for debriefing now. I’m shipping out tomorrow to meet him. What are the odds you can get more background on Lessing?” Nick still had his RHMC connections, and if Lessing began in security, he almost certainly had left some acquaintances behind. Maybe unhappy acquaintances.

“Fair to middling.”

“Don’t get your fingers burned.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She killed the connection and then the shower, and stepped out a fine, glowing shrimp pink. Grabbing a towel with her other hand, she dried off on the way back to her locker, where she replaced the card in her wallet and sealed it. Then she braided her wet hair while running a routine scan with her custom security bots. They showed all clear. Dressing quickly, she tapped up Robert on her xel.

“Are the visitors here yet?”

“They’re being badged in now, ma’am.”

“Very good. I’ll be there in a minute. And, Robert, could you have them send me up some iced tea?”

“Not hot tea, ma’am?”

“No. Iced, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Trin nodded gratefully as the line dropped. Things were looking plenty hot enough already.

In Transit, Outer Neptune Approach Zone
Free Space, Sol

The nameless corvette dropped into Sol space four light-hours inside heliopause, cutting it as close as Huron dared. She was nameless because there was obviously no chance they’d retain
Chiller Down
, and inspiration had not been forthcoming, so the little craft was known solely by its new registry code and call sign, Alpha-Zulu 17. Huron activated his beacon and duly submitted both, along with his recognition codes, to the outer ring of early warning satellites thirty light-minutes up ahead that were linked to hovering constellations of H&Ks, and kept his velocity just barely on the right side of the law. As Sir Phillip had said, she
was
a sweet-handling little boat and wonderfully fast, but he could not love her, or even like her. With Sol in sight, he was impatient to be off her, and he had a good idea that Kris, sitting next to him in the No.2 chair, and Kym, asleep in the berth they rigged in what had been the crew’s mess, felt that way even more strongly.

It had been a quiet trip; the underlying tension had put a damper on casual conversation, and despite the boat being completely turned over and scrubbed to bare metal (a requirement for entering League space in any case), the miasma clung to her, as if it was worked into the atomic structure.

He got up, leaving Kris to set up their approach and deal with the autopilot—she’d become quite proficient and if she had wanted, he would’ve cheerfully seen that she got the corvette in lieu of prize money (her share was likely enough to cover it and then some)—and went to tune the hyperwave. The set was old, finicky, and supported only the most basic encryption the League used, but there was a good chance Trin would try to contract him, once she learned they’d made their number.

He’d sent her two messages already: a standard OPREP on the mission from New Madras, and a private message via a KKHR courier when they stopped briefly at Knydos. The second message had in fact been addressed to his father, and ostensibly (and, to a degree, actually) contained an update on some local developments. He hadn’t copied his younger brother Charles on the message as he nominally should have, and Charles would undoubtedly get tetchy when he found out, though he’d be best off keeping it to himself.

Since his retirement, his father had involved himself again in the family business, and if that caused some discomfort for Charles, who’d been handling the bulk of the management responsibilities for years now, it was perfectly fine with Rafe. His father needed the distraction. So far, he hadn’t thrown anything lethal at his staff, which was a blessing. But Vaishali knew how to handle him, and once he got his hands around the opportunities his new situation afforded, things would be calmer. And it wouldn’t hurt Charles to be reminded that he didn’t know everything there was to know about running an interstellar business just yet.

But the real reason he hadn’t CC’d Charles was that embedded in the message were the keys to deciphering some additional details in the OPREP. His father would know how to extract them and get them to Trin, and by putting the two messages together she’d get a précis of what they’d learned from Kym about her loan and the woman who accompanied Sandrine Onstanyan, along with the info Kris had supplied and his own preliminary conclusions. That should have been enough to allow Trin to discreetly query SAARs and see if anything promising turned up. They certainly couldn’t go into details over a link this insecure, but he’d sent her the hyperwave set’s parameters anyway and a contact protocol, and it was very likely she’d chime in, if only to give him a brief heads-up.

They were almost eight light-hours out, no delay for a hyperwave, but he didn’t know if Trin was still on Mars, or if she’d arrived on Luna yet. If she was on Mars, that would add another twenty to forty minutes for the alert they were in-system to arrive, since those were routed through Tycho Control. So he went to grab a sandwich—Kris turned down his offer with a vague shake of her head; she hadn’t been eating regularly and he didn’t know what to make of that, but he knew better than to press the point—and prepared to make himself comfortable.

His patience was rewarded an hour later when the hyperwave lit up with Trin’s recognition code. He verified her parameters and her location—she was on Luna—and hit
RECEIVE
. The text scrolled across the screen.

Welcome home.

He typed his reply:

Thanks. Good to see real sunshine.

And hit
SEND
. Trin responded:

Back early.

Trip wasn’t quite what we planned.

Sorry to hear. Total loss?

Still looking for a silver lining.

Have you seen the markets?

Been a few days. Action?

Lots of stirring. Big CP announcement expected soon.

That clearly referred to some developments at Caelius Protogenos Huron been monitoring for many months now.

Not surprised.

Oh? Something I should know?

If you have a substantial position, dump it.

What’s up?

Their new development is about to tank. They’ve also got too much exposure on the margins.

What happened?

Didn’t run a sufficient baseline. Bad estimate of the primary’s variability.

Meaning?

It’s been running unusually hot for ~150 years. Just went into its minimum. Planet has hair-trigger climatic cycle.

Meaning?

Holder bought himself a snowball. Announcement is because the neutrino emissions confirmed it last month. Very high pucker factor over there.

Ouch.

Yep. He’ll need a full constellation of SUNSATS if he wants to salvage. He’ll never make that back.

Double ouch.

Yep^2. Screwed the pooch on his new flagship project. Investors will not be pleased.

And you love it.

Absolutely.

Glad you’re happy.

Life has its consolations. You?

Can’t complain. Wish I could though.

No takers on the new property?

Had some hopefuls. They all faded.

Sorry to hear.

Might need to pull back and reconsider.

Sometimes that’s a good plan.

Going home?

Briefly.

Give your dad my best. Tell him we miss him.

Wilco.

Is he in WASH?

No. Visiting Marc in Melbourne. Has a new mare he’s all excited about.

Marc or your dad?

Both, I suspect. They think she’s a Victorian Cup prospect.

Interesting. Hope it is not too expensive for them.

You know them.

I do. best of luck. Bye. STOP // END

Thanks. Bye. ACK.// STOP // END

Huron shut the channel down. Aside from his perfectly valid advice on Caelius Protogenos (they’d been watching that development gleefully, having run their own baseline years ago), the lack of takers on Trin’s ‘property’ meant she’d struck out on SAARs. Giving his father her best was a suggestion that they lay the problem before him. His father maintained a data store he privately referred to as the ‘skeleton files’ and, given the nature of the person they were seeking, it was perhaps more likely they’d find clues there than in SAARs. Huron was not entirely sure how he felt about the prospect, but he had no doubt his father would relish it. Might as well make the old man’s day.

Getting up from the terminal, he turned to leave the little bridge.

“Hey, Rafe?” Kris stopped him—abruptly. She almost never used his given name.

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha gonna do with this gig here?” He didn’t know if it was fatigue, stress, Kym’s company or just the boat’s environment that had caused her voice to slip back into the slaver drawl. It seemed to have gotten stronger as the trip progressed. That was not a happy sign.

“I hadn’t thought much about it. Probably send her in to be condemned, with a recommendation to scrap. Why?”

“Scrap? Really?” She swept her hand over the console, a curious closed look on her face. “She’s awful yar.”

“
Yar
? Where’d you hear that?” Kris had said some surprising things in the past, but nothing as startling as a centuries’ old sailing term that originated in New England for a boat that was fast, easy to handle and quick to the helm; he thought it might even be pre-industrial. “Is that a slaver term?”

“Nah.” Kris looked down, coloring faintly. “It’s somethin’ my dad said. He’d say to me, ‘Be yar now, would’ja?’”

That was the first detail of Kris’s home life he’d ever heard her mention. “Were you?”

“Sometimes.” Her fingertip orbited aimlessly on the console. “I guess.”

“You want her?”

Kris shrugged. “Could I have her? If I did.”

“Sure. Put in a claim—ask them to take it out of your share. With an endorsement, you should be able to get her for scrap value.”

“Share of what?”

“Your share of the prize money.”

“I get a share?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. I didn’t think.” A pause. “Do I gotta decide now?”

“No. These things take a little while.”

She gave a little, confused
humph
under her breath and drew her hand into her lap.

“Have a name picked out?”

She shrugged again. “Dunno. Thought maybe—maybe
Flechette
.”

“That’s appropriate.”

“Yeah. Just don’t tell that Lawrence guy. Okay?”