Loralynn Kennakris 1: The Alecto Initiative (18 page)

“I know,” Huron replied. He’d been checking the car’s
scanners. Fred was clean; not wired and not carrying.

“So where are they?”

“Haven’t you spotted them yet?”

“The guys in that car, yeah. Tell that fella round the
corner to get different shoes and not to ignore his friends so much.”

“The three guys just inside to the right by the door?”

Fred knew better than to look. “Shit. Must be getting old.”

“Happens to all of us.” Huron got out of the car, held out
his hand. “Sorry, Fred.”

Fred took his hand and shook it. “Hell, I wouldn’t trust me
either. Where you want to do this?”

“Let’s take a walk.” Huron pointed down the street. They
turned and walked side by side for about ten meters before Fred said, “So what
do you need?”

“Who knew that I went up with Kris the other day?”

“Me. You. ATC in the tower, of course. The maintenance guys
probably noticed. Ground crew all over the place—who knows if they were paying
attention. Did you fuel up before takeoff?”

Huron nodded. “Anybody new around in the last few weeks?”

“No new maintenance guys. No one new in ATC. They screen the
hell outta them, anyway. Ground crew?” He made a brusque movement. “Come and
go. Can’t say there.”

“Who’s in charge of security?”

 “A guy named Clancy Rollins.” Fred said the name in tone of
singular of distaste.

“Clean?”

 “I think he’s most of an asshole. But that don’t mean he’s
crooked.”

“Been there long?”

“About a year, I think. No . . . less. Nine—ten months,
maybe”

“Have you seen him since?”

 Fred twitched his shoulders. “I haven’t been back.
Kennakris is the only student in my book at the moment.” He paused, sucking in
his thin lower lip. “The only other thing I recall was this cop who showed up
about two months ago—made a nuisance of himself. Hestian. Wanted to know about
security practices so we all had to play along for a couple of days.”

“Security in general or counterterrorism?”

“I’d’ve expected counterterrorism with these hearings and
all, but he was more concerned with smuggling, contraband, stuff like that. Weird,
I thought, since Eelusis don’t handle freight. But he talked slaving some too—seemed
to be from that side of things—so maybe that was it.”

“And he was from Hestia? Remember his name?”

“ ‘Fraid I didn’t catch it. Probably in the notice they sent
out. Want me to look for it?”

Huron shook his head. Mariwen Rathor had been kidnapped on
Hestia but that would have been at least week or two later, so the visit
couldn’t have been related. “No Fred. Thanks. I think that’s all I need.”

Fred smiled, a bit tight, and touched his forehead. “Glad I
could help.” His eyes made a quick scan of the street. “I don’t think I’ll walk
you back to your car.” He winked. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” They shook hands again. “Might want to be a
little careful of your company for a bit. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Well, I was thinking of taking a little vacation—got some
savings, y’know.”

“Good. Take care of yourself, Fred.”

“Good hunting, Rafe.”

Huron watched him for a minute as he walked off down the
street. Then he motioned to the car behind him and got in as it came alongside.
His driver, a massive marine lance corporal named Jenk, gave him just the
briefest sideways glance. “All correct, sir?”

“Yes, corporal. Take us back.” Jenk selected a priority lane
from the console and merged into it, pulling the nose up and taking the car
clear of the ground. About sixty meters up, he banked left and headed for
Xanthus Towers, it’s tall spires just visible over the horizon against the
fading sun. Huron retrieved Taliaferro’s card from a pocket and tapped
CALL
.
The lock light illuminated and when the Chief Inspector answered, Huron
immediately said, “Are you in a green zone?”

“Wait one.” The line dimmed for a moment as the mute engaged
and then half a minute later, it came back as Taliaferro asked, “Have you got
something?”

“Do you know anything about a Clancy Rollins, works at
Eelusis cosmodrome?”

“Oh yeah. Mr. Clancy Rollins. Security director.”

“So you do know about him.”

“Not personally. He skipped before we got the landlock in
place. Had his bot call in the next morning about a family emergency or
something. Lame.”

“Any trace of him?”

“Well, when you work at a cosmodrome, it’s pretty easy to
arrange a ride. We’re pretty sure we know his departure craft, but I’m sure he
met someone up top and is long gone. If he was smart at all, they would’ve used
a squealer and it’ll be awhile before we can sort out all the tracks.”

“Enjoy yourself with that. Do you know if there were any new
ground crew put on the books in the last few weeks?”

“There weren’t. But as he was security director, he could
badge anyone in and make sure the logs didn’t record it. Then they could just
leave with him.”

“Good point.”
Shit
. He should have thought of that.
“Call logs? Intercepts?”

Taliaferro responded a patient smile that really wasn’t.
“Running that down now. But in an environment this dense, it going to take
time, especially if they were using their own gear.” The smile widened a bit.
“Anything
else
you think we might have overlooked, Lieutenant? Sure you
don’t want to ask me about Mr. Cole Pritt while you’re at it?”

“Who?”

“Supervisory Agent Pritt of the Hestian Central Bureau of
Investigation. Deputy director of their human-trafficking task force. Made an
official visit month here before last.”

“Oh.” So that was his name. “No. But thanks, Inspector.
There’s nothing else.” His voice was stiffer than he would have liked and
clipped with frustration. “Sorry to take up your time.”

“No worries, Lieutenant. We’ll be touch.” They cut the link.

Huron tapped up Kris on her xel. No answer. No answer on her
calling card either. He asked for a trace. The trace came back refused. He
considered calling in for a scan that would force the line; a legally dubious
act on his own authority and certainly rude. He decided he was overreacting but
tried the trace once more just to be sure. Refused again. Huron repeated his
imprecation under his breath as Jenk glided the car into Xanthus Towers’
private garage.

Mare Nemeton
Nedaema, Pleiades Sector

Mariwen gave Kris a quick hug and discrete peck on the
cheek. “That was really fun! I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to get away.”
She squeezed Kris’s hand. “Thanks!” Kris returned the squeeze and looked down,
self-conscious. The brief pressure of Mariwen’s lips had managed to reach
something naked and vulnerable that recoiled instinctively, as if back into a
shell. But something else, equally naked, had swarmed blindly toward the warmth
of that kiss and she heard herself saying, “You, um . . . you don’t want to
come up for a minute, do you?”

“I
can’t
.” Mariwen’s face scrunched awkwardly,
regretful and anxious. “I really do have to get back. It’s late and with the
testimony coming up and everything that just happened . . .” Her look changed
to exasperated. “Lora’s probably fit to be tied as it is.”

Kris nodded. She understood. It was almost certainly for the
best. But she couldn’t quite hide her disappointment. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Sorry.” Mariwen let go her hand, turned and slid into the
back seat of the waiting groundcar. As the door closed she stopped it with her
arm. “I’ll call after the hearings, alright?” Kris nodded, waved. The arm
retreated inside, the door slid shut and car left purring on its ground-effect
skirts.

Kris turned away after a moment, ran her pass-card through
the lock and pressed her thumb to the keypad. The doors opened and as she took
a step inside, someone hit her violently in the back, a blow that propelled her
across the foyer towards a man she barely had a chance to see. He assumed she’d
try to dodge but Kris used the momentum of the shove to launch herself into
him. The impact caught him wrong-footed and they fell heavily back against the
stairs, the base of his skull hitting the lowest step with a resounding crack.
Kris rolled free, lashed out with a kick that struck meat and was rewarded with
a grunt. But the other man was on her now. She punched at his throat with all
her strength even as her knee came up hard between his legs. Both connected but
he did no more than grunt again and she saw the designs on his teeth as he
grinned and, pinning her with one big hand on her throat, raised a fist.

There was a explosive noise behind him and he turned his
head with a shocked look that became permanent as his skull was violently
rotated through a hundred and twenty degrees. The wet sodden pop of vertebrae
parting was unnaturally loud in the confined space. Then a dark shape lunged
past Kris and she heard a breathy grunt cut off by another fleshy snap. Then
nothing.

She sat up, blinking and dazed, and an arm curved around her
back. She looked sideways into the darkened visor of a marine combat helmet and
while gentle fingers knowingly palpitated her throat, a richly accented,
distinctly feminine, and curiously tender voice asked her, “Are you alright,
ma’am? Can you stand?”

Kris nodded and the marine helped her up. As she got to her
feet, knees wobbling, she found the foyer full of people. Marines, all armed.
One, with a sergeant’s stripes on his arm and a face that might have been
carved in basalt scowling through his open visor, demanded, “Any more?”

The female marine holding Kris, a corporal, shook her head
and another Marine standing to the side of the foyer’s entrance with his weapon
poised answered, “Marx and Keller giving
Have Joy
. Perimeter secure,
Sarg.”

“She okay?” The sergeant pointed at Kris and marine
supporting her, who she now noticed was absurdly short, gave her head a silent
shake. Nettled, Kris snapped, “I’m fine, dammit.” But in fact, she was not
fine: she was dizzy and it was getting worse. That sick headache was returning
and her knees were starting to shake badly. The sergeant peered into her eyes
and grunted. “Bring her.”

The short corporal picked up Kris as if her seventy kilos
were a trivial burden—an infant, a puppy, a sack of rations—and carried her
through the door and down the steps as a low squat heavy vehicle was coming up
to the curb. The marines peeled off from their positions as they passed and the
sergeant brought up the rear. Kris was deposited in the back and the driver was
already pulling out as the rest of the squad piled in. The doors sealed and the
vehicle accelerated. Kris felt it lift away from the ground a moment before she
passed out.

*     *     *

Huron’s personal secure line flashed red and he
thumbed it on, giving the access code. Geoff N’Komo’s face appeared. “It’s your
girl, Boss. You were right about that weird feeling.”

The fine hair rose at the nape of his neck. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, she’s a little pissed off, I think. Other than that
she’s fine. We got her down here.”

“What happened?”

“About what you’d expected. There were only two of them—never
have a chance, even in light armor. I could almost feel sorry for the
sonsabitches.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

*     *     *

Coffee was a taste Kris had never acquired, so she was
surprised at how well the hot bitter brew went down. They apologized for only
being able to offer it to her black but she just shook her head and mumbled her
gratitude and let the aromatics tickle her nose as she sipped. Her headache was
fading and the shakes were almost gone—just little tremors that corkscrewed
unexpectedly up and down her spine now and then.

At the sound of footsteps and
sotto voce
greetings,
she looked up and saw Huron approaching with a long purposeful stride. The
coffee had taken the edge off her mood—savage at having been handled like
baggage and even more so at her body’s betrayal that had allowed it—and she
smiled at him, faintly.

He smiled back. “Y’know, we have to stop meeting like this.”

Kris’s smile twitched up at the corners and she went back to
sipping her coffee.

Huron looked around at the others in the room. “Who has the
stiffs?”

N’Komo answered from within a clot of people checking the
boards on the far side of the room. “The cops. We filed a report after the area
was secure.”

“Anything on them?”

“Didn’t check. They’re awful touchy about that.” N’Komo
detached himself from the clot. “Kinda on thin ice here as it is.”

Huron nodded. “Yeah.” He leaned back against the desk across
from where Kris was sitting. “Anything you can tell us, Kris?”

“One of them was a slaver.”

“Did you know him?”

“No. But he had the tattoos.” She tapped her teeth.
“Probably from the Hydra. Cathcar or Mantua.”

Huron and N’Komo exchanged looks. “Damn far off their
range.”

“Kris,” Huron said carefully, “why would slavers want to
kill you?”

Her hands clamped around the coffee cup, the knuckles
showing white. “
I
don’t know.”

“Revenge?” Geoff ventured, his voice tentative. He handed
his xel to Huron and mouthed:
med scan
.

“Doesn’t make sense,” Huron muttered and Kris shook her
head. He made a distracted motion with his right hand. “No.” He gave the xel
back and looked down at Kris again. “Kris, if you don’t mind, I’d like to put
you up in one of our billets tonight. Is that okay with you?”

Kris nodded, finding it hard to feel anything but numb.
“Sure.”

“Alright.” He opened a line and spoke briefly. Before she
had finished her coffee an avuncular-looking Navy chief appeared. Huron introduced
them. “The chief here will get you taken are of. Try to get some sleep. We’ll
see you in the morning.”