by Simon Haynes
"Are you familiar with primary schools?"
"Of course."
"Excellent. At one-thirty this afternoon, you will proceed to the address on your screen. Your contact is Maria Travers, the headmaster."
"What's the crime? Has one of the kids been snatched or something?"
"Maria will explain when you get there."
"Not even a clue?"
Bernie eyed her for a moment, then relented. "Reaching out to the community is a vital part of Peace Force work. Therefore, you will give a speech to the fourth-grade class—"
"I can't do a speech!"
"—on the importance of following orders."
Alice closed her mouth. So, that was her punishment for running off on a case. There was no two ways about it, Bernie was a sadist.
"You'd better hurry up and put your presentation together," said the robot. "The children are expecting you directly after lunch."
"I need more time than that!"
"Trainee, it's taken you two days to not write an essay. How long will it take you to not write a speech as well?"
"Can't I just make it up as I go along?"
"That is one of your major strengths," admitted Bernie, "but in this case, careful preparation is the key."
Alice pulled a face. "Can I take the cruiser, at least?"
"No."
"It'll be heaps quicker."
"A cab will suffice."
"What kind of crime-fighting bad-ass turns up in a cab?"
"The kind who goes off fighting crime when they're supposed to be doing their homework." Bernie raised her hand, forestalling any more arguments. "No more arguments. Start working on your presentation immediately."
— ♦ —
As soon as Harriet heard Alice's name, she did a hasty U-turn, her shoes squeaking on the tiles. "What do you want with Alice?" she demanded. Then she realised the woman might have nothing to do with Smith, or Alice's past, and she softened her tone. "I mean, I can probably help."
"My name is Teresa. I met … Alice this morning, in the park."
Harriet frowned. "She didn't mention anything to me."
"Oh. Are you her partner?"
"No, we're sisters."
Teresa stared at her. "But … she doesn't have a sister!"
Okay, so it was something to do with Alice's past. "Come on," said Harriet. "We're going to walk and talk." She took the woman's elbow and guided her outside, and they set off along the pavement beside the towering Peace Force station.
"I'm sorry, what's your name?" asked Teresa.
"Harriet."
"I know Alice as Rebecca. We're distant relations."
"I guessed that," said Harriet shortly. "How come you're all wriggling out of the woodwork?"
"All?"
"Yeah. First Tyron Smith, now you."
Teresa turned pale. "Tyron was here?"
"Yeah, and if he shows his face again, Alice might just kill him," said Harriet harshly.
"No wonder Rebecca was upset this morning."
"She would be, if you insist on calling her Rebecca." Harriet glanced at Teresa. "Are you with Tyron? Is this the softly-softly approach to his sledgehammer?"
"I wouldn't have anything to do with him. No, I—I heard a rumour he was looking for her, and I thought I could help."
"She told me her entire family abandoned her, after her uncle died. Not a peep from any of you while she suffered."
"It wasn't like that."
"It was to her." Harriet frowned at her. "So what is it? Why is everyone interested in her all of a sudden?"
"You're right, it's not a coincidence." Teresa sighed. "When Sandon Smith was killed—"
"Sandon Smith?"
"That's Rebecca's uncle."
"Are you telling me they're all related?"
"Not directly. Smith is a convenience to keep the authorities happy, but in Family circles we use the name of the ship we were born on."
"What family?" demanded Harriet. "The Smiths, you mean?"
"No, the Family is a collection of traders, couriers, cargo haulers … spacers, you'd call them. We keep to ourselves, help each other out when we can. There's no formal leadership, although Tyron would disagree. Anyway, Rebecca was born on the Sparrow, so her real name—"
"Okay, enough with all the names," protested Harriet. "Just call her Alice, all right?"
"Sure. Anyway, when Sandon died, he left a lot of debts and a not much else. The creditors took his ship, and the rest was auctioned off. We all thought that was the end of it, but recently there have been rumours." She looked at Harriet anxiously. "I know you're a cop, but can I speak freely?"
Harriet gestured impatiently.
"Okay, well Sandon was a smuggler. Nothing really bad, he just dodged import duty on a few luxury goods now and then. Then, this one time, he got a much bigger cargo. Something valuable, no idea what. And … he claimed he lost it. Some ridiculous story about the whole lot falling out the back of his ship. Nobody believed a word of it, of course. Everyone thought he'd buried the goods somewhere."
"Including Tyron Smith?"
"Yeah, and it was his cargo. He confronted Sandon, they argued, and Tyron shot first. At least, that's what Rebecca … I mean, Alice … said, but she was the only witness."
"So it's possible Tyron was trying to defend himself? Sandon shot first?"
"People have been arguing over that one for years."
"All right, but this is ancient history," said Harriet. "What happened to bring it up again now?"
"A box turned up."
"Some of the cargo?"
"No, just a little thing, about so big." Teresa held her hands out. "It was addressed to Rebecca Smith, from her uncle Sandon."
"What was in it?"
"That's where things get interesting. Do you know what a DNA lock is?"
Harriet shook her head. "Never heard of it, but I could probably use one on my apartment."
"It's pretty advanced. You use someone's DNA to seal it, and you need the same DNA to open it again."
"Or a hammer."
"No chance. These things have a mini atomizer."
"They spray perfume at you?"
"They dissolve things into their component atoms if you tamper with them. So, the box is still sealed."
"And you need Alice's DNA to open it."
"Smith does. He ended up with the box."
"How do you know that?"
"He went around the fleet trying to find anything which belonged to Alice. People put two and two together, and realised he was after a trace of her DNA. When that failed … well, he's looking for the original."
Harriet saw the problem. Smith couldn't very well ask Alice for a lock of her hair, just so he could open a sealed box which her uncle left to her. But he could have picked up a hair somewhere else. The break-in at the apartment, and the missing hairbrush! She'd blamed Alice for borrowing it, but Smith must have taken it from their bathroom. Well, if Smith tried to open this mystery box he'd get nowhere fast, because the brush wasn't Alice's. And that meant he'd be back. "You still haven't told me what the box contains."
"Tyron thinks it might be directions to his stolen cargo."
"A treasure map?" Harriet almost rolled her eyes. "Oh, give me a break."
"We all think Sandon buried the cargo, and he was a careful man. What better way to pass it on to his family, so to speak? Unfortunately, Smith will stop at nothing to get hold of Alice. I'm here to warn her, that's all, but it seems my trip was wasted."
"I appreciate it. Alice will too, when I tell her."
"Just … look after her. I know she doesn't want any contact with the Family, but we're out there if she needs us."
"She needed you years ago, when her uncle died. I'd say you're too late now."
"What did she tell you about that? The time after he died, I mean."
"She was shipped off to an orphanage, an endless round of foster homes, you name it."
Teresa looked at her. "Those were her uncle'
s wishes, you know. He was her guardian, and he left instructions that she be placed into care."
"Her uncle did that to her? Why?"
"Who knows? Something to do with her education, I think."
Harriet looked thoughtful. Alice held her uncle in high regard, and there was no way she was going to shatter that illusion. Anyway, this woman might be lying. "All right, leave Alice to me. I'll keep a close eye on her."
"Thanks, Harriet." Teresa put her hand out. "And good luck. You're going to need it."
Chapter 6
"Problem?" asked Birch, when Harriet returned.
"I don't know. I think she was feeding me a load of bull, to be honest. Family vendettas, stolen cargo, treasure maps … it's all a bit penny dreadful."
"Hey, there's money in those things."
"Really?"
Birch tapped his sheaf of paper. "I'm just finishing one now."
"You write?"
"Bugger all else to do around here," remarked Birch. "You try sitting around all day waiting for customers."
"We do."
"Well … yes."
"And mine don't pay."
"All right, you win," said Birch, with a laugh. "And I won't forget about the security for your flat."
"Thanks, Dave. I really appreciate it." Harriet remembered something. "Have you heard of DNA locks?"
Birch looked at her in surprise. "You said you wanted something basic. Now you're after top secret gear?"
"Top secret?"
"You use them to keep things top secret. I don't mean the locks themselves are … oh, you know what I mean."
"So if someone left you a box in their will, sealed with one of these DNA locks … what might be inside?"
Dave shrugged. "That's like me guessing what you have in your pockets."
"Two melted chocolate bars and a cheap penknife. You should know, you just sold them to me." And with that, Harriet returned to the office, where an astonishing sight met her eyes. Alice was hunched over a computer, typing furiously, while Bernie stood over her, keeping watch. "Don't tell me she's finishing that essay at last," remarked Harriet.
Bernie shook her head. "She's writing a speech on the topic of obeying orders."
"For or against?" said Harriet, eying the dense paragraphs of text on the screen.
"For, of course."
"But why? She hasn't finished the essay yet."
"Alice is giving a presentation at the local primary school this afternoon."
"You're sending her out?" Harriet gaped. "But … what if Smith follows her?"
"Alice is a Peace Force trainee. She can't hide from danger."
"She's only fifteen, Bernie. At her age she's supposed to be hanging out at the mall with friends."
"Yes, because Tyron Smith certainly wouldn't approach her there."
"Bernie, is that sarcasm?"
"I do not know the meaning of the word." Bernie eyed her thoughtfully. "I took a call from an Agatha Foster, the head of the Dimolle Residents' Association."
"Oh yes," said Harriet casually, masking her sudden panic. "What did she want? Someone to give away prizes at a fete or something?"
"No, she has a few issues with the way this station is being run. She was keen to speak to the officer in charge."
"Well that's okay, then. We don't have anyone in charge."
"I am in charge of this office," said Bernie, with a frosty edge to her voice. "I know you trainees like to think of me as a big, playful, cuddly toy—"
Harriet almost burst out laughing at that, and had to cover her sudden grin with the back of her hand.
"—but the fact remains, this Peace Force station is my responsibility. However, that leads to a problem, because Agatha Foster is expecting a superintendent, or a person of even higher rank. Worse, she expects to meet a … a human."
"All right, I'll deal with it."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're far too young to be in charge of a station like this. It will have to be someone else."
"You're not suggesting Alice, are you?"
"That is beyond ridiculous, and bordering on the inane."
"Can't you get someone in from HQ? A temporary loan of some kind?"
"Absolutely not. Out of the question. Impossible."
"So that's a no, then." Harriet shrugged. "Oh well, lucky you're in charge, isn't it? I'm sure you'll work something out."
Bernie shook her head slowly. "I have put her off for now, but we must come up with a solution quickly."
Harriet couldn't help noticing the 'we', but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she sat at her terminal, opened up a database and ran a search to see whether Tyron Smith was still on Dismolle. The result was no help: not only was he not on Dismolle, according to the database he hadn't landed there for over a year. On a hunch, she searched for Sandon Smith instead. His name showed up, having visited Dismolle a few times, but the last was years earlier. Then she tried Teresa Smith, and discovered the woman had landed at the spaceport the day before. Harriet filed away the name of her ship, then closed the terminal and sat back in her chair, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Alice typed away like a two-fingered pianist playing a duet - on her own.
"Bernie," began Harriet. "You're not running some kind of training mission, are you?"
"No, the primary school visit is legitimate."
"I don't mean that. I'm talking about this Tyron Smith guy."
When she heard the name, Alice stopped typing and stared at her. "Has he been here again?"
Harriet could see there was no point lying. "No, it was Teresa. We just spoke."
"I told that woman to stay away from me," said Alice, in a low voice.
"She promised not to bother you again." Harriet paused. "She's not working with Smith, by the way. She's just worried about you."
Alice snorted. "Of course they're working together. I bet they're going to kidnap me or something."
"I don't think so. I think Smith just wants you to—"
"And if I go to this school thing, they'll grab me for sure. Go on, tell Bernie. Tell her I don't have to give a speech to a bunch of kids."
"Sure. If you don't go, you can write your essay instead."
Alice pushed the keyboard away and got up. "I'm not doing anything, not any more!" she shouted. "I've had enough of essays, and speeches, and all this lousy studying. I'm done!" And with that, she ran for the staff room.
Harriet watched her go. She thought about following, but decided to let Alice cool off on her own. Then she saw Bernie's puzzled expression, so she explained the situation quickly and concisely. When she got to the locked box, Bernie nodded.
"I know of such devices. They cannot be opened without the correct DNA."
"Yeah, I think that's why Smith broke into our place yesterday. He took my brush - probably trying to open the thing with my DNA right now." She had a sudden thought. "Will that make it self-destruct?"
"No. Only forcing the lock would do that."
"Pity, it might have taken him and his ship with it."
"The box is designed to dissolve its contents. It would not explode."
"Bernie, do you really think it's wise to send Alice on this school visit?"
The robot nodded. "She must learn discipline, and she must develop her skills with regards to interacting with the general public. The visit is a sound idea."
Harriet wasn't convinced. Smith could be watching the office at that very second, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Still, as long as Alice left in the cruiser, it should be all right.
At that moment Alice came back, looking contrite. "Sorry. I—I'm just a bit stressed right now. My past, you know?"
Harriet nodded.
"I'll finish my speech," she said, gesturing at her terminal. "Just … don't bring up those people again. Okay?"
Harriet and Bernie exchanged a glance. They were happy never to discuss Teresa or Tyron again, but each could tell what the other was thinking. They couldn't shield Alice from her past forever.
— ♦ —
Harriet's train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of her commset. "Dismolle Peace Force," she said, in a businesslike tone. "How may I help you?"
"I want to report a vandal," said a male voice.
"Very well, let me check the details." Harriet glanced at her screen, but instead of displaying the caller's name and address, the fields were empty. "What's your name, sir?"
"What does that matter? Two kids are throwing rocks through my windows!"
"Is anyone hurt?"
"Not yet," said the man grimly. "They will be if you don't get here quickly."
"Just sit tight. I'm on my way." Harriet asked for the address and ran for the garage. Then she hesitated. If she took the cruiser, Alice would have to use a cab to get to her school talk. On the other hand, this was an emergency. "Alice, I've got a call. I need the cruiser, but I should be back before you leave."
"Oh, that's okay. Bernie says I have to take a cab."
Harriet closed her eyes. Was the robot trying to get Alice kidnapped? "We'll talk about that when I get back. I have a code 9-40."
"Which one's that?"
"Vandals smashing windows," called Harriet over her shoulder, hoping she was right. She pulled open the door to the garage, switched on the lights and dashed to the Peace Force cruiser. Steve opened the door for her, and she sat down quickly, fastening her belt. Lights came on all over the dash, and an inset screen showed the route to the call, already downloaded from her terminal. "Tell Bernie I'm on a call."
"Already done."
"Then let's go."
The car roared into life, and they shot out of the garage in a cloud of dust and jet fumes. Once clear, Harriet activated the sirens and lights, and Steve lit the after-burners. Harriet felt an almighty shove in the back, and they tore down the road with the sound of the howling jets echoing off the buildings on either side.
"Time to target?" she called over the racket.
"Forty minutes."
Harriet gaped. "How long?"
"Maybe thirty-five, if I shave the tolerances," said Steve.
"Get there as quick as you can." That's when she realised she hadn't exactly come prepared. She had no weapon, not even a baton. Still, the caller said two kids were throwing rocks, and with any luck Steve's arrival would intimidate them. If not, the sight of her uniform ought to do it. "Steve, can you get Bernie for me?"
