The yacht had no steps. H’Jith put its upper paws on either side of the door, then used its tail to lever itself inside.
Zagrando placed both hands on the floor, then lifted himself with his arms, clambering into the ship like a man pulling himself out of a swimming pool.
H’Jith waited at the airlock door, tapping it with a claw. It opened as Zagrando stood.
The interior of the ship was dark. Lights came on as H’Jith led the way.
“Crew quarters first? Cabins? Or the cockpit?” it asked.
“The cockpit will tell me more than anything,” Zagrando said. “So if you want to close this deal quickly, then we start with the cockpit and if I need more information, we visit other sections.”
He touched the middle finger of his left hand to his right wrist, activating a chip sensor. He usually didn’t use internal sensors because they could alert a system monitoring for such things, but he wanted to do it here.
He needed to know if anyone else was on board.
H’Jith’s signature showed up in the right corner of Zagrando’s right eye as, appropriately enough, an orange blob. Zagrando’s signature followed, a fuzzy purple. Long ago, he had set the colors to reflect not just body heat, but species as well.
He expanded the signal area to include the entire ship, and saw no other blobs. He would try to confirm that inside the cockpit.
As they walked through the corridor, though, he shut down the chip. Cockpits often had more technology than the rest of a ship. And a ship like this would have the latest gadgets, even if H’Jith chose not to use them.
The cockpit was in the nose of the ship, which Zagrando always believed to be a dangerous design. He preferred ships with cockpits buried in the interior. That way no weapon could take out the cockpit with a single shot.
Clearly, this yacht was not designed for battle, but for leisure.
All the better.
The cockpit itself was huge. A crew of ten could fly this thing. But a small console blinked up front, between two open portals. Right now, they showed the interior of the docking bay. No other ships were close to this one. Either H’Jith paid for privacy or no one else had the money (or the permission) to dock in this area.
Or, perhaps, there weren’t enough ships to fill the entire bay.
Zagrando didn’t know and he hoped he wouldn’t find out.
“Big,” he said. “Clean.”
It was clean. In fact, much of the cockpit looked like it had never been used. That worked in Zagrando’s favor.
“Do you fly this yourself?” he asked.
“Usually I hire a pilot,” H’Jith said. “I prefer to broker ships, not fly them.”
Even better.
“Does your pilot fly from this console?” Zagrando asked, standing in front of the main console.
“No,” H’Jith said. “This one.”
It touched the small console, and the entire thing lit up. So did the console that Zagrando was standing in front of. He recognized all of the symbols on it: This yacht had been built to Earth Alliance specs.
He tapped the pilot lock, which had not been activated. H’Jith hadn’t lied. Anyone could fly this yacht.
“Shame to waste such a lovely console,” Zagrando said. He slid his fingers across as if he were admiring it when in fact, he had opened the controls. He tapped his fingertips over the locks, engaging them so he was the only person who could run this ship.
“We do not need something that big,” H’Jith said, apparently unaware of what Zagrando was doing. H’Jith did not look at the console beside it, which had jumped to life, nor did it come over to Zagrando’s side to monitor him.
“Still,” Zagrando said, “this is quite an amazing ship, and quite well designed. With very little training, anyone could run it.”
“I have no interest,” H’Jith said. “I hire pilots. It is a perk of my job.”
“I’m sure it is,” Zagrando said. He tapped a few more controls, locking down the ship. Now no one could enter—or leave—without Zagrando’s permission.
Then he tapped the emergency bar. It flared up, just like he expected it to. The cockpit defense controls were the same on all Earth Alliance ships. He hit miniprison and directed it at the other life form.
Bars of light appeared around H’Jith.
“Hey!” H’Jith grabbed at the bars, then moved its paws away, clearly in pain. “What are you doing?”
“Stealing your ship,” Zagrando said. “It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. I know you’ve done the same thing to hundreds of others over the years.”
“I’ve never stolen a ship from anyone in my life!” H’Jith said, reaching for the bars again and, again, pulling its paws away in pain.
“You know,” Zagrando said, “I can make those bars even closer together so that you won’t be able to move at all.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” H’Jith said.
“And you wouldn’t lie, either, would you?” Zagrando asked. He shut the door to the cockpit and sealed it. Then he set up the automated system so that the ship would make the usual requests to leave Hellhole. That way, he would get the commands correct.
“I don’t pilot,” H’Jith said. “How could I steal?”
“You already told me,” Zagrando said, studying the navigational maps. “You hire someone to do the flying for you.”
“I don’t. I never would. I’m a broker!”
“And how many of those ships you showed me were stolen, H’Jith?”
“I don’t know,” H’Jith said and then tilted its head back in obvious distress. The moment it said those words, it knew it had made a mistake. “I’m a broker. The ships get brought to me.”
“And you don’t check the license or registration, do you? You don’t care.” Zagrando found a nearby resort that catered to humans. The Black Fleet would follow him to Hellhole, but it would take them a while to figure out how he left the place and even longer to figure out which ship he actually took.
He would get a few hours of advantage.
But then, a few hours was all he needed.
“I do care, I do,” H’Jith said. “None of the ships I sell have valid registrations.”
“For the J’Slik,” Zagrando said. “They lack valid J’Slik registrations, which are all that matter here. You never check for Earth Alliance registrations.”
“I’m not a member of the Earth Alliance,” H’Jith said. “Why would I check for that? I only do business here.”
“And by ‘business,’ you mean you sell ships to unsuspecting customers, then follow them off Hellhole and rob them blind.”
“I do not!” H’Jith shuddered, then looked—wild-eyed—at the bars around it. “I don’t.”
The ship rose. Zagrando shut all the portals then monitored the departure on the console itself. The jutting lip of this part of the docking bay slid open and the ship eased into space.
“That’s right,” Zagrando said. “You stay here. You just give the name and the make of the ship to some friends of yours, and they do what they want with your former client, most likely killing him. Then they bring the ship back to you, the ship broker, and you pay them their fee.”
H’Jith’s shuddering got worse. It tried to make itself smaller by holding its paws against its side.
“What do you want?” It asked, no longer denying how it ran its business.
“I want your help,” Zagrando said, looking up from the console.
H’Jith’s frightened gaze met his. “This is a stupid way to ask for it.”
“And calling a person who holds you prisoner stupid isn’t one of the smarter moves in the universe, either,” Zagrando said.
H’Jith closed its eyes. The shuddering didn’t stop, but it slowed down a bit. Then H’Jith opened its eyes.
“How can I help?” it asked in its business voice.
“Ah,” Zagrando said with a smile, “I thought you would never ask.”
Twenty-three
The elevator doors
opened onto DeRicci’s floor in the Security Building. Flint stepped out, feeling tired. Not physically tired. Discouraged. He had wasted too much time pursuing this investigation in the wrong direction, and he had done so without the correct information.
If he had known about designer criminal clones, then he could have made a lot of connections faster. If he had thought the entire zoodeh mess through, he would have found the other sources of zoodeh in the Earth Alliance quicker and maybe made some connections.
Flint had tried to keep that discouragement out of his meeting with Nyquist. Nyquist was one of the best detectives on the Moon, and he had contacts no one else did.
But he was also involved with DeRicci, and Flint didn’t want Nyquist to tell DeRicci about Flint’s mood.
Flint actually felt betrayed. He wondered how much other information—important information—DeRicci had withheld from him, citing some kind of stupid need-to-know basis.
She used to be a detective. She knew that the more information an investigator had, the better the investigation. The fact that she had withheld something as important as the clones disturbed Flint deeply.
And made him realize how far DeRicci had gone, from detective to Chief Security Officer for the Moon, to a politician fighting to survive. In the past, she would have ignored the confidentiality requests. She would have seen how important it was to find whoever had done this.
Now, she was weighing Earth Alliance secrets against the good of the Moon. The good of Armstrong.
He didn’t like it.
Flint turned a corner, expecting to see a few staffers, busy at work. Instead, he found Popova still at her desk, Talia sitting across from her. The remains of a meal covered the desktop, and they both were laughing.
He wasn’t sure what shocked him more: that Popova had eaten a meal at her desk or that she was laughing.
And then he remembered that he had told Talia to stay in his office.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Talia jumped, and he understood why. All of the frustration and disappointment he felt with DeRicci and the stalled investigation had come out in his tone. He couldn’t call the words back, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
He at least wanted his daughter to listen to him.
“Um,” Talia said. “I got hungry.”
“I gave you a chance to eat before I left.” He couldn’t quite set the irritation aside. Not that he really wanted to.
“I got hungry later,” she said.
“I’m the one who invited her here,” Popova said.
“I don’t need you making excuses for my daughter,” Flint said. “She’s been acting up all day.”
Even though that was entirely true, she had done the right thing at school. But she had done it in the wrong environment, endangering herself. He worried about her more than he wanted to.
“Go to my office,” he said to Talia.
She got up, her mouth open slightly, as if she’d never heard him talk like that before. Maybe he never had, not in this way.
She walked past him, head held high. In spite of himself, he felt admiration. It was hard to tame this girl’s spirit, no matter what she faced.
Still, he didn’t watch her make her way to his office. Instead, he glared at Popova.
“I don’t need you circumventing orders I’ve given my daughter,” he snapped at her.
Popova stood. She piled the dishes onto each other. “I don’t think you should be yelling at her.”
“The way I treat her is none of your business.”
“She handled herself really well tonight,” Popova said as if he hadn’t spoken. “She left the office to use the restroom, and got approached by one of the Earth Alliance investigators. She didn’t answer any questions.”
“She got approached in the restroom?” Flint asked.
“I don’t know,” Popova said primly, which convinced him that she was lying for Talia.
“So she got approached in the kitchen,” he said, and he didn’t make it a question. Popova bent her head and gathered the silverware. Her movements were as good as a yes. He would deal with Talia on that later. “What did the investigator want?”
“She wanted to know if you worked here,” Popova said. “And honestly, if she heard you a few minutes ago, she would know that you do. ‘Get to my office’ indeed.”
“I don’t work here,” Flint snapped. “You provided me with space.”
“And you decorated it,” Popova said.
“If I work here, then someone should damn well pay me.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t angry at Popova. He was angry at DeRicci.
Logically, he should take Talia home. But he wasn’t quite ready to do that.
“So,” he said, “that Earth Alliance investigator is still here.”
“They will be until the chief comes back,” Popova said.
“That’s why you’re still here,” he said.
“Fortunately, I don’t have a life.” That sounded bitter. And considering the depth of the mourning she had experienced, she had the right to sound that way. “And there’s a couch in this room.”
In spite of himself, Flint glanced at it. “You’re going to spend the night?”
She shrugged. “I don’t want them to snoop.”
“I’m pretty sure I can prevent that,” he said. “Where are they?”
“You’re not authorized to talk to them,” Popova said, her voice rising.
“I’m not authorized to do anything,” Flint said. “I don’t work for you, remember?”
Then he pivoted and walked down the hallway. If Popova wouldn’t tell him where the Earth Alliance investigators were, then he would just have to find them on his own.
Maybe DeRicci didn’t want to work with them, but he did. This looming threat was too important for politics.
If someone else could solve it, then he was all for it.
He was tired of living in fear. He suspected everyone else was too.
Twenty-four
DeRicci sat alone in the dining room of the hotel, at a table that overlooked the edge of the crater. Before she came here, she would have thought it weird to stare at Moon rock throughout her meal, but it wasn’t.
It was beautiful.
The crater’s side had multicolored mineral deposits running through the strata. The restaurant’s windows and lighting accented the colors, but didn’t add to them.
The information in the little restaurant audio links told her that the original colonists decided to leave the crater walls intact, and mine for the minerals in other parts of the crater, digging the ground a little deeper so that the housing could actually have a foundation.
DeRicci got the sense that she was looking at a small fortune that the city founders—and by extension, the current government—decided not to touch.
The meal proved both relaxing and an antidote to her heartburn. She did not order any alcohol, not even a local wine made from those same purple grapes, nor did she allow any of her assistants to sit with her. She dined alone on chicken cooked with those purple apples (they were spicy), local potatoes, and a soup that she couldn’t identify.
She was just considering dessert when Popova contacted her through their secure links.
Forgive me, sir, Popova sent, always formal. I hope I’m not waking you.
DeRicci sometimes doubted that she would ever sleep—really sleep—again, but of course she didn’t let Popova know that.
I’m having a late dinner, she sent. Are there problems?
It was an unnecessary question, since Popova wouldn’t have contacted her this late otherwise.
I just had the strangest interaction with Flint, Popova sent.
DeRicci felt cold. She pushed her plate aside, then waved off the waiter walking over with a dessert tray.
When was this? DeRicci sent.
Not five minutes ago, Popova sent.
DeRicci nodded. She should have expected something. Flint had acted strange after DeRicci told him th
e information on the clones had been classified. It was almost as if she had offended him somehow.
What happened? DeRicci sent.
Talia was here, Popova sent, and one of the damn Earth Alliance investigators cornered her, trying to get information out of her.
I hope you told them she was off-limits, DeRicci sent, knowing how crazy Flint could get about his daughter.
I didn’t have a chance, Popova sent. Talia did just fine, by the way. She wouldn’t be interrogated. She refused to answer questions, and then she walked away.
DeRicci wished she could see Popova. She almost put the link on visual, but the restaurant felt unprotected, even though she was alone here. It was harder to keep a holographic image secure than it was an internal link. She didn’t know the technical reasons, just that her security team had warned her more than once to keep the most confidential conversations link-only.
Then she came to me, Popova sent. I got dinner for us, and I calmed her down. I planned to talk to the Earth Alliance investigators when we finished eating, but Flint came in before that. He got mad at Talia—
He what? He never got mad at his daughter. DeRicci thought that was a failing. Kids needed discipline, and as smart and precocious as Talia was, she also walked that fine line between brilliant and impossible. Flint saw almost everything she did as brilliant, but DeRicci would have labeled a lot of Talia’s behavior as impossible.
He got mad at her, Popova sent. I thought it weird, too. He seemed like he was angry when he got here.
DeRicci sighed. Of course he was. He had been angry at DeRicci when he cut the connection.
Then, Popova sent, after he got angry with her, he went to see the Earth Alliance Investigators.
To yell at them, DeRicci sent. That’s completely in character. I think—
No, Popova sent. Normally I would have thought that, too. But I got the sense that something else was going on. He seemed less angry at them than he was with me.
You sensed this? DeRicci asked. Or you know it?
It was what he said to me, Popova sent. He said that he didn’t work for us, that he could do what he wanted.
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