by Simon Haynes
"What's soccer?"
"Before your time," he said, with a dismissive gesture. "They banned contact sports as well."
"You know I'm going to look this up after we land."
"Don't you have a commset? You can look it up now."
"Battery's flat," said Harriet quickly.
"You won't find anything official, of course."
"Of course." Behind him, through the window, she saw the sky darkening. They were approaching the highest point of the flight already, and would begin descending in ten or fifteen minutes. So far she'd got nothing out of him except the water story, and Bernie wouldn't be interested in that. She had to get back on track, and quickly.
Meanwhile, Canitt raised the flask to his lips, took a drink and smiled. "Ahh, the taste of pure, fresh, untainted water. I can never get enough of the stuff."
"Is that what your company does? Import bottled water?"
"How did you know I run my own business?" asked Canitt in surprise.
Harriet realised she'd put her foot in it. "You don't look like the sort of guy who takes orders from other people." She held her breath, hoping he'd swallow the line. She had to be more careful … just because he was a deluded nut didn't mean she could relax her guard.
"That's very perceptive," said Canitt, with a smile. "I bet someone's glad to have you on their staff."
"I'm not working at the moment," said Harriet. "I was looking after my Aunt, but she passed away last week."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you close?"
"Very."
"You must be devastated."
"It wasn't unexpected, but yes. I really miss her." Harriet realised she was talking too much about herself. "So your company … not bottled water, then?"
Canitt was about to reply, but the serving robot was back at Harriet's elbow. She'd only eaten an hour ago, but the Peace Force was paying so she accepted the bowl of chicken curry. Canitt waved away his meal, and she smiled. "Do they dose the food too?"
"No, I'm not a fan of curry." Canitt frowned. "That reminds me, I need to make a lunch reservation. Will you excuse me?"
"Sure."
Canitt took out a commset, much newer than Harriet's, and made a call. "Yes, three people please. Name of Canitt. Can I book for one pm tomorrow? Okay, a quarter past, then. Thanks!" After hanging up, he made a second call. "Willis? I've booked lunch in my name for one pm tomorrow. You know that restaurant on Main and Fifth? Yeah, that one. Can you tell Finch? Excellent. I'll see you there." With the calls done, he slipped the commset back in his jacket.
Meanwhile, Harriet shoved her own commset back into her pocket. Earlier, Bernie had shown her a recording feature, and she hoped she'd got the whole conversation. She'd only slid it out far enough to access one of the menus, not wanting Canitt to notice the design in case he recognised it as Peace Force. However, it had been hard to operate with most of the screen hidden, and for all she knew she'd just taken a picture of her chin, or the underside of a spoonful of curry. Perhaps, with a bit of editing, she could convince Bernie it was a long distance shot of a secret meeting. Or an extreme close-up of the suspect.
"You're probably wondering why I told him one pm, when the reservation was for one-fifteen."
"Oh, er, I wasn't really listening." No, just recording every word, she thought guiltily. Canitt seemed a decent enough guy, despite his daft theories, and she wasn't really comfortable spying on him.
"That's very polite of you, but you could hardly miss it," said Canitt with a laugh. "Everyone tells me I talk too loud on calls. Apparently I don't even need a commset in the first place."
"I'm sure they don't."
He gestured. "Anyway, I told him one pm because he's always five minutes late."
"So why didn't you say ten past?"
"Because he knows I'll give him a time that's five minutes early, and so he deliberately arrives five minutes after that."
"But now he'll be there at five past one, won't he?"
"Ah, you'd think so. But the other guy, Finch, he's always ten minutes late."
"Oh, yes. So you tell one of them one pm, he tells the other twelve fifty, HE turns up at one-ten, and then they're both five minutes late, making it one-fifteen."
Canitt looked at her admiringly. "Well done! Those two haven't worked it out yet, and they're pretty smart people."
"If you were really smart, you'd order take-away instead of trying to book lunch."
He laughed at that, then looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, we could use someone like you."
Immediately, Harriet was guarded. "In what way?"
"Someone to organise us. We've got staff to take calls and fill orders and so on, but the three of us run everything and it's getting to be a handful."
"Are you offering me a job?"
"Well, you'd have to apply, and do an interview. And you'd have to be okay with travel … not just local, I mean space travel. We visit several planets every month."
Harriet paused, a spoonful of chicken curry halfway to her mouth. Travel? In space? To other planets? She cast her mind back to the morning, wondering whether she'd actually signed any paperwork to join the Peace Force. Bernie claimed her voiceprint was enough, but what if it wasn't? "So, what does your company actually do?" she managed at last, her mind in a spin.
"We grow food cultures. Protein, mostly. We craft the most beautiful, tender steaks, and believe me, there's raging demand on a retirement planet like Dismolle. Lots of old people, you see. Less chewing, easier to eat."
Harriet shuddered. "Ugh. That fake meat stuff they keep advertising?"
He smiled and indicated her curry. "No, that fake meat stuff you're eating right now."
Harriet paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. "This is chicken."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is." She knew it was. The texture, the taste … it was real chicken! Then she twigged — was this another of his damned conspiracy theories? "Okay, so why do you think this is fake chicken?"
"Because this airline is one of my biggest customers."
Hurriedly, Harriet pushed her bowl away.
"It's just protein," said Canitt reassuringly. "It's grown like real, organic tissue. It's just that you don't have to kill something before you can eat it. That's why I visited the agri planet yesterday. They're converting to protein in a big way."
Despite herself, Harriet was curious. And, for once, they were actually on topic. "How do you … grow it?"
"We use big tanks with special nutrients. It's our own formula, absolutely top secret, and it's worth millions."
And he wanted her to work for him! Harriet was torn. She'd taken the job with Bernie because there was nothing else available, but now … oh hell, would she like to travel or what? And the three guys, Canitt and the other two, they sounded like a creative team who just needed a bit of organisation. "Do you have a business card?"
He reached into his pocket and handed one over. Harriet felt the thin plastic, rubbing the slick surface between thumb and forefinger, lost in thought.
"It won't give you three wishes," said Canitt, with a laugh.
Reddening, Harriet put the card away. "I'll definitely think about the job," she said honestly. "Assuming that was a real offer?"
"Of course. Drop by the office any day this week. I'm flying out Friday night, but I'll be around until then."
"What are your business hours?"
"We're not very formal about things like hours. Call first, I'll make time for you." He smiled and nodded towards the window. "I meant it about the water. Try and get your hands on some imported stuff at the spaceport."
With a shock, Harriet realised they were about to land. Time had flown, and she hadn't noticed the landing warning, or even the robot taking away her half-empty bowl. Instead, she was lost in thought, wondering whether she'd joined the Peace Force just a few hours too soon. Of course, if she hadn't joined the Force she wouldn't have met Canitt, but … she'd been rash, had signed up too eagerly. She should have
seen a job bureau, actually had a look around before turning herself over to Bernie and the Peace Force.
The ship set down with a bump, and she realised Canitt was impatient to get going. She stood, letting him by, and lost sight of him as the other passengers gathered their belongings and pushed their way towards the exit.
Chapter 10
As she left the ship, Harriet awarded herself a B minus for her Peace Force work. She'd slipped up a couple of times, but had recovered nicely. She'd got Canitt talking about himself and his business, and she'd even recorded his lunch booking and the names of two contacts. Surely Bernie would be satisfied with that? Harriet thought so, although she suspected Bernie would be very unhappy about Canitt's job offer.
Lost in thought, she almost bumped into the back of the crowd. There was a hold-up at the exit as bags and belongings were put through a scanner, and a large group of passengers were standing around waiting. There was also a small crowd the other side of the barrier, either waiting to meet the arrivals or preparing to board the return flight.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Harriet saw a sudden movement. She glanced round and saw a girl on the other side of the rope with tattoos up both arms, a spiky hairdo and more piercings than an acupuncture convention. The girl looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, but it wasn't her appearance that had caught Harriet's attention. No, it was the girl's hand, which was even then drawing the wallet out of an unsuspecting passenger's jacket. The girl froze, looking right at her, and for a split second Harriet tried to find an innocent explanation. Maybe the guy was her father and he owed her pocket money, or maybe …
Then the girl removed all doubt by turning tail and running for it.
"STOP!" yelled Harriet. "THIEF!"
Someone screamed, and the crowd parted as Harriet ran towards the rope. Praying the guards hadn't pulled their guns yet, she vaulted over the red cord and ran full pelt through the concourse, chasing the teenager. Melvin Canitt, Bernie's training mission … everything was forgotten as the adrenalin kicked in. Long-forgotten muscles came into play, and as Harriet dodged passengers and luggage, jumping right over small bags, she felt the old thrill of cross-country running.
The girl was a good runner, better than expected, and to her surprise Harriet realised she was losing ground. She deepened her breathing, increased her pace and went for it, throwing caution to the winds. This wasn't a marathon, it was a sprint, and unless the girl had a car waiting outside she was never going to escape.
They ran past a crowd, who shouted encouragement but did absolutely nothing to help, and then the girl darted down a passageway. Harriet followed and saw three doors: public toilets. One of them was still swinging, the furthest, but she'd seen that trick in a movie. Push one door to make it move, then hide behind another. When your pursuer investigated the furthest room, you sneaked out of the one nearest the exit, and made your escape.
Well, she knew how to deal with that.
Harriet walked to the swinging door, gave it a strong push to make it bang, then ran quickly back up the passage past the first two doors. Immediately, one of them burst open and the girl flew out, running headlong into Harriet's arms. She took the girl by the wrist, swung her round and pushed the girl's hand up to her shoulder blades, shoving her none-too-gently against the wall.
She'd seen that in a movie too.
"Ow, you're bloody hurting me. Stop it!"
"You're under arrest for theft. Anything you say … well, you know the rest." Harriet hoped the girl did, because she certainly didn't. As she pinned the pickpocket against the wall she realised the girl was all skin and bone — and hard, uncomfortable bones at that. She wondered whether she got enough to eat, and then she remembered she was the pickpocket's arresting officer, not her mother. "Keep still or I'll break your arm," she said conversationally.
"Okay, okay. You got me. I give up."
Harriet held the girl's arm with one hand, searching her pockets with the other. She found three wallets and a purse, and not having enough pockets to carry them herself, she put them back again.
"If you let me go I'll share half," said the girl.
"I'm Peace Force. Don't waste your time."
"Peace Force? But they said you were all gone!"
"They were wrong, weren't they?" With one hand, Harriet took out her commset and called Bernie. "I'm back, Bernie. Can you send the car?"
"I am glad you have returned, Trainee Walsh," said Bernie. "However, it would be more efficient to take a cab."
"I need the car. I'll explain when I get back."
"Very well, I will despatch the cruiser immediately. Bernie out."
Harriet tucked the commset away, and guided the girl down the hall to the concourse.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Back to the station. Come on, you're nicked." As she said it, Harriet grinned. Now she felt like a real officer!
Fifteen minutes later, in the car park, Harriet saw a flash of blue and silver heading towards her. Then, with a rumble from his engine, Steve drew up alongside. Harriet got her prisoner into the back, sealed the door and sat in the front seat.
"You've been busy," remarked Steve. "What did she do? Cross the road on a red?"
"A red what?"
"Traffic light." Steve laughed. "You need to read up on your history."
"She's a pickpocket," explained Harriet. Too late, she remembered the wallets, which she'd left in the girl's pockets. She should probably have gone back into the concourse to find the owners. No, let the owners collect them from the station. It was about time everyone found out the Peace Force was back in town. Plus if Canitt had seen her going around the terminal trying to hand back stolen wallets, she'd have blown her cover for sure.
As Steve set off, she felt a glow of satisfaction. Never mind the B minus she'd given herself for the fake operation, she was returning to the station with a genuine criminal! A real arrest, and on her very first day. Bernie would be beside herself!
Chapter 11
Bernie was!
"H-how could you bring a criminal here?" the robot thundered angrily, as Harriet tried to explain. "Do you have any idea what sort of paperwork this will involve?"
The girl had looked genuinely scared when Bernie advanced on them both, shouting angrily. The only problem was, the robot hadn't been shouting at the thief, she'd been angry at Harriet.
"Bernie, she's a thief. I caught her red-handed and she offered me a bribe."
"How much?" asked the robot, suddenly curious.
"Oh, no. We're not taking dodgy back-handers. I made an arrest and we'll just have to deal with her."
That was earlier, and Bernie had calmed down a little once the pickpocket was safely in the cells, relieved of her ill-gotten gains.
She wasn't exactly happy, though. Apparently there would be paperwork for using the cell, paperwork for storing and then returning the stolen belongings, more paperwork to process the charges and finally, no paperwork at all for sending the girl to court because there weren't any on Dismolle. No, instead they had to get forms from the nearest planet, and send the girl there. At the Dismolle Peace Force's expense.
So, instead of feeling elated at catching a crook, Harriet was in the doghouse. She could have sworn she heard Bernie muttering that Trainee Walsh should have looked the other way, but hoped she was wrong. She was there to solve crimes and catch crooks, not ignore them both to cut down on the paperwork.
"So what are we going to do with her?" asked Harriet.
"As the arresting officer, she ought to be your responsibility," said Bernie. "You did arrest her with the correct procedure, I take it?"
"What procedure? You haven't told me about procedures. I just grabbed her and told her she was nicked."
Bernie groaned and covered her eyes. "This is a disaster."
"What is?"
"If you didn't arrest her properly, she's not under arrest at all. And we cannot put her in the cells unless she's under arrest."
"Well, she
's already in the cells. I saw you lock her in."
Bernie groaned again. "That is unlawful detention. She could sue us for millions!"
"No she can't."
"Why not?" Bernie looked up hopefully. "Did you use the correct procedure after all, Trainee Walsh?"
"No, she can't sue us for millions because we don't have a cracker. Plus, she wouldn't know the procedure anyway. She's only about fifteen."
"Are you telling me she's a minor?" breathed Bernie, aghast. She looked this way and that, a hunted look in her eyes. "You tell me this now?"
"What is it?"
"We cannot incarcerate minors, Trainee Walsh! Not for all the paperwork in the galaxy!"
"Oh." Harriet thought for a moment. "She could be sixteen, I guess."
"Sixteen is still a minor."
"What am I saying? She was eighteen! I saw it … on her ID."
"Well, that's a relief," said Bernie, looking much happier. "If she's eighteen we can leave her in the cells indefinitely."
"You mean, until she's deported."
"I suppose that's what I meant, yes." Bernie hesitated. "If you saw her ID, would you mind telling me her name? I'd like to check her records."
"Er, um … Alice."
"And her surname?"
"I don't remember," said Harriet.
"A poor memory is not a good trait for a Peace Force officer. You must do better, Trainee Walsh."
"I will, but first I'd better get … Alice some food. She's a skinny little thing … for an eighteen-year-old," Harriet added quickly.
"Requisition forms," said Bernie morosely. "More paperwork. I knew it."
"Nonsense, I'll take care of everything." Then Harriet thought of something. "Bernie, how come you call me Trainee when we're alone, but Officer Walsh around other people?"
"Trainees do not command respect, whereas officers do."
"Fair enough."
"Now, Trainee Walsh. Please tell me everything you discovered about Mr Canitt."
In all the excitement, their original case had been set aside. However, Harriet felt it was now time to get some praise for her work, instead of endless complaints. She gave Bernie a quick summary of Canitt's business, then played back the recording.
