“Fine,” she said, sourly.
She followed Rosemary back to the minivan and climbed into her seat, thinking hard. If there was a police checkpoint on this slip road, chances were there was a police checkpoint on every slip road. The M5 was no longer an option then, she thought, which meant ... she looked back at the policemen and gritted her teeth. She had no choice. She had to keep going, whatever the cost. Garrison might not come with her, but ...
Rosemary started the engine and drove off, following the side road. She looked worried ... Molly wondered, suddenly, if she could convince Rosemary to continue heading south-east instead of finding the B&B. The countryside was threaded with small roads, roads she could use to get closer to Woking without ever driving onto the motorway. She could drive herself, if she took one of the cars.
But Rosemary won’t agree, she thought, numbly. She doesn't even know if she has a place to call home any longer.
It was a grim thought. If London was flooded, that meant ... she shivered. Rosemary wouldn't want to go any further, not when she had a place to stay. The skies were darkening rapidly, suggesting that it was about to start raining again. And that meant ...
She forced herself to relax as the small convoy drove onwards. There was nothing she could do until they reached the B&B. And then ...
“I’m sorry we can't get you any closer,” Rosemary said.
“That’s all right with us,” Garrison told her. “We know you did your best.”
Molly shot him a nasty look. Garrison should have stayed at the hall, even if that meant being stuck with the dead bodies. He would have been out of her hair, if nothing else. For all she knew, he was wishing that he had stayed at the hall. He would have had enough to eat and drink until someone arrived to find out what had happened to Lady Penelope and her guests.
But then I would have been alone, she told herself. Who knows what would have happened then?
She pushed her thoughts aside as Rosemary turned off the road. The B&B looked large: a dozen holiday cabins, a campsite that looked to be on the verge of turning into a muddy swamp and a BBQ site that was completely deserted, save for a pair of mangy-looking cats and a large dog. She looked around as the convoy pulled up in front of the main building, feeling nervous. There was no one in sight. The police had said the B&B was a refugee centre, but had they told the owners?
“There,” Rosemary said. She opened the door as a couple of young men peered out of the main building. “I’ll go speak to them.”
Molly glanced back at the cars as Rosemary hurried away. She could drive them, if she had one of the keycards. There was probably a way to hot-wire them, but she didn't have the slightest idea where to begin. If she ever got home, she'd make sure to learn. In hindsight, she really should have paid more attention when she’d been in the Girl Guides, instead of ogling some of the hunkier Boy Scouts ...
“I got us a set of cabins,” Rosemary said. She held out a set of keys. “They should do, for the moment.”
“Thank you,” Garrison said. He took one of the keys. “We’ll share, if you don’t mind. It’ll free up more room for the kids.”
Molly scowled. She hadn't wanted that at all. But there was no way to argue.
“Fine,” she said. She glanced at Molly. “But I need to talk to you later.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Clarke Colony, Luna
“My parents are going to kill me,” Abigail muttered, as the shuttle dropped down towards a small dome to the south of Clarke Colony. “They’re going to kill me for life!”
“I think it would be better to worry about being grounded for life,” Brian pointed out, doing his best to conceal his irritation. At least Abigail’s parents had survived ... he’d be paid, assuming money was actually worth anything in the near future. “And they can't really ground you past the age of eighteen.”
He peered down at the datanet, thinking hard. The Luna Federation had managed to get out a handful of updates, but most of them had been resolutely centred on Luna itself. Colonies that had been bombed, defence stations that had been wiped out ... a list of people known to be dead or missing ... as far as he could tell, Abigail and himself were the only people to have made it out of Sin City. And there was practically nothing on Earth, save for a handful of reports of pieces of debris hitting the atmosphere and extensive damage. None of them were particularly specific.
“You don’t know my parents,” Abigail said. “They’ll be mad at me.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “They clearly didn't keep a very close eye on you,” he said. It wasn't easy to travel across the moon, not without passing through any number of checkpoints. In a sane world, Abigail would have been caught and returned to her parents a long time before she reached Sin City. “And while I do think they’ll be mad at you, they won’t actually kill you.”
He sighed. “My parents were stricter,” he added. “You have nothing to complain about, really.”
The shuttle tilted, slightly. Brian peered out the porthole, his eyes seeking the domes of Clarke Colony. Clarke had been founded by a colony of free-thinkers, if he recalled correctly: men and women seeking a way of life that was better than anything to be found on Earth. It was hardly the first colony bent on living according to its own rules, but it had definitely been one of the most successful. The early wave of immigration - almost entirely composed of rich and able men - had crafted a society that actually encouraged newer and better ways of thinking. Clarke had an enviable reputation, both as a place to live and as a place to follow one’s dreams. A good third of the Luna Federation’s corporate start-ups were founded on Clarke.
Such as Swansong Enterprises, he thought. Abigail’s parents weren't just rich, they were loaded. The private dome alone would have cost them millions of lunar credits. The ones who do well do very well indeed.
He pushed the thought aside as the shuttle finally touched down, quivering slightly on the landing pad. He’d expected to drop down into a pressurised hangar, but instead an airlock tube moved towards the shuttle and mated with the hatch. It made sense, he supposed. The Luna Federation had put out a call for shuttles and everything else that could fly, up to and including private craft. Abigail’s parents wouldn't want to risk censure after the fighting was over by withholding their personal shuttle.
“Come on,” he said, standing. “Let’s go.”
Abigail hung back as Brian walked towards the hatch. Both airlock doors were open, revealing a man and woman at the far end of the tube. Abigail let out a little moan, then ran past Brian and into her mother’s arms. Brian followed at a more sedate pace, pretending not to hear as Jacqueline Swansong alternatively praised and scolded her daughter. It didn't look as though Abigail had anything real to fear, although Brian knew she was in for a rough few days. He’d seen quite a few parents grow angry with runaway children, once the relief of their safe return wore off, but it normally came to an end. He hoped Abigail would learn from the experience. She might not realise it - yet - but she’d really been very lucky.
Although she couldn't have predicted the aliens attacking the solar system, he thought, sardonically. I didn't predict it either.
Galahad Swansong cleared his throat. “Mr. Wheeler,” he said. “If you would like to come with me ...?”
Brian sighed, inwardly. He wanted to go to bed. He wasn't fussy. He would happily sleep on a blanket under the stars if it meant being able to actually sleep. But he doubted he had a choice. He took one last look at Abigail, who was crying in her mother’s arms, then followed her father down the corridor and out under the dome. The family’s mansion rose up in front of him, glimmering faintly under the starlight.
It was an impressive sight, he had to admit. Galahad Swansong had copied a mansion from Earth - he thought he knew which one, too - but he’d built it out of grey lunar rock. Brian didn't even want to think about the cost, not when the dome alone would have cost millions of credits. And to think that Abigail had run away from this ... he shook his head, grimly
, as they walked through the doors. He wouldn't have blamed Abigail for running if she’d been abused, but there hadn't been anything to suggest that she had been abused. Her parents had merely been incredibly overprotective.
“We both owe you our thanks,” Galahad said. They walked into a study. Galahad closed the door, then poured them both a shot of something expensive. “I didn't think to factor in an alien invasion when I hired you.”
“I never expected it either,” Brian said. He took the glass and sniffed it, carefully. Whiskey, the good - and expensive - stuff. It tasted smoky in his mouth. “I believe we were both quite lucky.”
“So I hear,” Galahad said. He motioned for Brian to take a seat. “The first reports came in from Sin City, only an hour ago. Apart from the two of you, there were no reported survivors.”
“There were people who fled onto the surface,” Brian said. “Haven't they reported in yet?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Galahad said. He sat down himself, sipping his whiskey. “Unless they do, I’m afraid that you and our daughter will probably have to answer a great many questions. Sin City’s surviving managers - who were lucky enough to be somewhere else when the rocks fell - are already trying to claim on the insurance.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Don't they have something more important to be doing?”
“You’d think,” Galahad agreed. His face twisted into an odd smile. “Right now, they’re arguing that Sin City is good for morale and therefore reconstruction should be an urgent priority. They won’t get very far until the rest of the damaged colonies are inspected, but after that ... well, they might get lucky. But their insurers might want to fight it out in court.”
“Ouch,” Brian said.
He’d hoped to get a flight straight back to Earth, but he suspected that was receding into the distance. There was a good chance that the insurance companies had already requested a court order preventing him from leaving the moon. It was what they would have done, under normal circumstances. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance. The circumstances were far from normal. Either no one would give a damn, allowing him to slip home without further ado, or they’d do everything in their power to get things back to normal as soon as possible.
“As of now, I don’t know how it will shake out,” Galahad said. “But you are welcome to stay here as our guest until matters get sorted out.”
Brian frowned. “Have you heard anything from Earth?”
“A jumble of reports, ranging from the believable to the absurd,” Galahad said. “I’ve got a team of staffers working on sorting out and verifying the different reports, but so far it’s hard to say for sure what’s happening. Earth’s governments certainly aren’t being very talkative at the moment. They’re saying it’s because there’s an alien fleet in the system, but I suspect they’re more concerned about secessionist sympathies on the moon.”
“That’s all we need,” Brian said. “A civil war on top of an interstellar war.”
“Let us hope not,” Galahad agreed. “It will be weeks, perhaps months, before regular flights to Earth are reinstated.”
He met Brian’s eyes. “Before we go any further, I need a honest report,” he said. “What happened to my daughter in Sin City?”
Brian took a moment to compose a reply. “She found work in a bar,” he said, carefully. “I do not believe she was molested - she certainly doesn't act like she was molested. However, she had a rough time of it. Her ... employer ... didn't know who she was, let alone who her parents were. I didn't have any trouble convincing her to come back with me.”
Galahad’s eyes narrowed. “And did she say why she left?”
“She wasn't very clear,” Brian said. Technically, he didn't owe Abigail any privacy. Her father was his boss, after all. He certainly didn't have any obligation to keep her secrets. But practically, he didn't want to tell him everything. “I think she wanted a little more freedom of her own.”
“Which isn't the smartest thing to want,” Galahad pointed out, stiffly. “She’s the heir to my fortune - to both of our fortunes. She is one of the most ... one of the children most likely to be kidnapped on the moon.”
Then you should have invested in extra security, Brian thought. He kept that thought to himself. Abigail hadn't been kidnapped. She’d run away. And you should have done something to keep her occupied.
He took a breath. “May I speak freely?”
Galahad nodded.
“I’ve worked on close-protection details before,” Brian said. It was technically true, even though he’d never been on a close-escort squad. “The principals - ah, the people who are the prime movers - normally understand the importance of being protected, even if they don’t like it. Their companions, adults and children alike, are often less understanding. They don’t like having to report to the police or private bodyguards, they don’t like having their movements monitored, they don’t like the absence of freedom. I’ve known children who have given their escorts the slip for a few hours, just so they can pretend to be alone for a while. It is stupid and dangerous and very human.”
“Of course,” Galahad agreed.
“Abigail isn't you,” Brian added. “She grew up in a goldfish bubble - servants everywhere, bodyguards keeping an eye on her - and she grew to resent it. I don’t think you ever gave her anything like enough freedom ... even if you let her wander around the dome, she wouldn't meet anyone new. She couldn't even do anything without having it reported back to you.”
“I didn't have the bodyguards keep that close an eye on her,” Galahad said, sharply.
“I don’t think she felt that way,” Brian said. “And so she came up with a plan - a very clever plan - to get away from you. And it worked.”
Galahad gave him a sharp look. “She managed to get to Sin City,” he said. “How long would it have been before she was forced into a brothel?”
“I don’t know,” Brian said. The first part of Abigail’s plan had worked perfectly. It was the second part that could have got her killed - or worse. “But you need to help her to grow and develop, rather than thinking she’s still a child. She might be glad to be home now, but she’s going to want to leave again soon if nothing changes.”
“Parenting should be done by the professionals,” Galahad said, wryly. His lips twitched. “I thank you, again.”
Brian nodded. Abigail really had been lucky. No one on Sin City had known her true identity, let alone her age ... And if the Management had ever found out, they might have seriously considered murdering Abigail and feeding her body into an incinerator rather than run the risk of being implicated. It hadn't been their fault that Abigail had reached Sin City, but it would have made them look bad regardless. And if Brian hadn't found her, she’d probably be dead now. She might not have been able to head for the shelters if she’d still been working in the bar.
“You are welcome,” he said. He cocked his head. “And if you will put up with me long enough for things to start returning to normal, sir, I would be very grateful.”
“You have a room here,” Galahad assured him. He leaned forward. “Payment might be a problem, at least until the banks open again. The Luna Federation closed them when the alien ships were detected, preventing a bank rush. But we will pay you as soon as possible.”
“I understand,” Brian said. He wouldn't panic for a few weeks. He’d be happy enough with a room in the mansion, if he could just get some sleep. “I can wait.”
“I’d also like to offer you a job,” Galahad added. “Abigail ... is going to need a new bodyguard. The old ones were ... ah ... let go.”
Brian winced. He didn't really blame Galahad for being pissed at the old bodyguards. They’d fucked up and their charge had nearly died because of it. And yet, there weren't many precautions that could be taken against a principal deliberately trying to give her guards the slip. He rather doubted the bodyguards had been authorised to keep Abigail in cuffs and shackles all day. Even monitoring her datanet usage would be a stretch.
“She might,” Brian said. “I’d have to think about it.”
He thought, rapidly. If the more alarmist reports were correct, there wasn't going to be much left for him on Earth. He might have real trouble finding a job, if he wasn't drafted into a recovery and reclamation project. There certainly weren't going to be many opportunities for a private investigator to find work over the next few years. A lot of people would probably go missing - there were quite a few people he knew who’d take advantage of the chaos to vanish - but finding them would be damn near impossible. God alone knew what would happen if hundreds of thousands of bodies were swept out to sea.
And Swansong Enterprises will be needed to help with the reconstruction, he thought. I’d have a measure of job security.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 27
