“The datapads?”
“We can't crack them, I'm afraid. Privacy legislation.”
“I don't suppose you'd leave the room for a few minutes,” Angel asked.
Gesturing at the security camera, he replied, “Not my call, I'm afraid, Sergeant. You'd have to get a formal warrant, and no one on the colony has the power to provide one, not unless...”
“Unless he is under suspicion of committing an offense,” Morgan completed. “Was the room thoroughly searched?”
Nodding, he said, “I did it myself. The only thing that was hidden was the datarod, and that's unusable. I found it like that. No sign of the missing fragment, either.” Frowning, he added, “Even if it wasn't, we still couldn't read it. I suppose his next-of-kin could give approval, but she's back on Mars from what I understand. There's been no chance to get permission.” Glancing at the two of them, he asked, “Do you want to take a look at the room?”
“Has it been left untouched?”
“No,” he replied, his face reddening. “As I said, there didn't seem to be any doubt over what had happened to him, and there was no suggestion that he had committed any sort of a crime. We had the apartment cleaned. Normal procedure.” At their scathing looks, he added, “We never had any crimes like this before.”
“That's no excuse,” Angel replied, glancing at Morgan.
“You said you'd taken pictures of the room. Full holoimages?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Then can we see those?”
“Of course.” He led them to an adjacent room, the walls bare, only a small projector in the ceiling to break the metal monotony. Tapping a control, the three of them were briefly bathed in light before the appearance of a small apartment unfurled around them, a time stamp floating in the air to confirm when the image was taken, five weeks ago.
“Just as I said,” he replied, pointing at the clothes scattered on the room, datapads on the desk in front of the vase of purple flowers, the image of Petrov's family by his bedside. “We found the datarod underneath the bed, but whether he'd hidden it there deliberately or just lost it is anyone's guess. No sign of any artifacts, nothing.”
Angel sighed, and said, “Useless, then. Another dead end.”
“Did he have any friends down here?” Morgan asked.
“He kept to himself mostly. Always locked in his apartment, working on his book, or up in orbit with one of the prospectors.” Raising a hand, he added, “I know what your next question will be, and I'm afraid you're out of luck. He always went up with one of three people, and all of them were captured by the pirates on their orbital sweep. God knows what's happened to them. Or to Petrov, for that matter.”
“He had a friend,” Morgan replied.
“What makes you say that?” Angel asked.
“Are there any flower-sellers on the colony?”
“No,” Wagner replied. “Some people grow them, of course, usually in wall-hydroponic units. It's good for morale. And there are a few in the park, but no one would dare to pick them.”
“Well, Petrov obviously wasn't growing them, so he must have got them from somewhere. Can you tell me what species they are?”
Frowning at his datapad, Wagner said, “Campanula glomerata. Whatever that means.”
Angel smiled, then said, “Someone had to import the seeds.”
Nodding, the policeman replied, “Give me two minutes and I'll be able to tell you. All biologic imports have to be logged, and I can't imagine someone going to the trouble to smuggle in a collection of flower seeds.” He scanned through his datapad, and said, “Galina Novak. Shuttle technician. The only one who has any seeds of that type.”
“What's on the file?”
“Arrived seven months ago, and brought the seeds with her, incidentally, as well as some others. Usual selection of qualifications, graduate of Sagan Tech, no listed offenses. Works for the local repair collective.”
“Collective?”
“The Prospectors' Union organized it when some of the repair companies tried price-fixing. Stopped it cold, a damn sight more effectively than anything the Mayor tried. I've got an address, if you want. Apartment One-Twenty-Two, Komarov House. That's in Habitation Dome Two. Duty roster suggests she should be home.”
“Thank you, Deputy,” Morgan said. “We'll take it from here.”
“Not a problem. We've got a couple of people over there at the moment running a safety class for the kids, so if you need any back-up, help can be with you in a couple of minutes. Are you sure you don't want an escort?”
“Relax,” Angel said. “We'll be fine.”
With a final nod, Morgan led the way out of the police station, all eyes on the two of them as they made their way out into the street, turning towards the exit from the dome. Sinaloa was just like any one of a hundred domed settlements Morgan had visited all across the Solar System and beyond, but there was something different about this one, a sense of optimism, a hope for the future, that even the menace lurking up in orbit couldn't dispel.
It helped that the Triplanetary Fleet was extremely popular at the moment, muttered comments and the occasional cheer following them as they walked, the bars still filled with revelers from the celebration that had taken place when they arrived. They made their way through the long tunnel that connected this dome to their destination, careful to avoid the larger crowds, more out of a wish not to be delayed than by any fear of attack.
“Nice place,” Angel said. “Despite the view.”
“Home is where you make it, I guess,” Morgan replied. “That, and one dome is very much like another. I'd like to visit a world where you can actually step outside, just once. I was slated for reserve training on Ragnarok, before they reactivated me for the Karnak mission.” Shaking her head, she added, “I was looking forward to it, damn it.”
“Take it from me. It's overrated. We stopped there when they were building that new station in orbit, a contract job. It's just an empty, cold wasteland.” Gesturing around, she added, “I'll take a stable seventy-degree climate any time.”
“No sense of adventure,” Morgan chided with a smile, as they walked out into the Habitation Dome. This was very different from the Commercial Dome, a dormitory feel as they walked past the towering buildings on the far side. The sound of children laughing filled the air, and she turned to see a class running around a playground, outside their school, a pair of teachers keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. One of them offered her a quick nod in acknowledgment, and she returned the gesture.
“As I said, a nice place.”
“You ever come here before?”
“No, the place is tied up with government shipping. A poor tramp trader like Churchill couldn't get a license to ship a can of beans out here. I think Conway made a run or two, but that was before my time.” Pointing at one of the apartment towers, identical aside from the name over the door, she added, “That's it.”
Climbing the steps into the foyer, they stepped into a waiting elevator and pushed the button for the twelfth floor, right at the top of the building, the mechanism smoothly springing into life as the doors slid shut. Angel reached down to her pocket, and pattered her leg, glancing across at Morgan.
“Can't be too careful,” she replied. “Remind me to talk about their lax security procedures at some point. Preferably after we've left.” Glancing at her, she added, “Are you telling me you aren't armed?”
“Do you see a weapon?”
“No, but that just tells me that you're smart enough to keep it hidden.”
“Exactly,” Morgan replied, as the doors snapped open. She walked out onto the corridor, turning at the first door. “G. Novak,” she read. “I guess we're here.” She rang the bell, waited a moment, then rang it again.
“Maybe she's at work after all?” Angel suggested. “No, that doesn't make sense. Why work overtime
when no shuttles have taken off for a month.”
Ringing the bell again, Morgan said, “I don't think she's coming. Either she doesn't want to talk to us, or...”
Sliding a datarod into position, Angel tapped a series of controls to override the doors, cursing under her breath as she fired hacking programs into the locking mechanism. She turned to Morgan, shaking her head.
“Someone's fighting me. I can't get in.”
“Call the ship, get McGuire onto it, then follow me.” She turned to the corridor, running towards a locked hatch at the far end, while Angel snatched out her communicator.
“Where the hell are you going?” she asked.
“The roof.”
“You're crazy!” Angel replied, hurriedly issuing instructions up to the ship as she raced after her, the datarod still winking as it struggled to engage the locking mechanism. The hatch proved far easier to open, responding to a tap of the override control, exposing a ladder leading all the way up. She quickly started to climb, taking the rungs two at a time as she rushed to the roof, pushing the cover clear with a grunt as she dragged herself up, Angel right behind her.
“Now what?” Angel asked, as Morgan looked around. There was a safety rail, naturally, and some markings on the floor for later development, plans for a roof garden, but she raced towards a cabinet in the middle of the roof, ripping the door open to expose a fire hose.
“Standard safety feature,” she replied, tugging enough of it free to loop around her. She gave it an experimental tug, and said, “It ought to take my weight with some to spare.”
“Let me go instead,” Angel said.
Shaking her head, Morgan replied, “You've got half again my upper body strength. You should be able to lower me down, but the odds are I'd drop you. Once I'm down, if I get a chance, I'll tie it onto something and you can join me.” Tugging the nozzle loose and throwing it to the ground, she tied a knot tight around her waist, pulling it as hard as she could to secure it, before walking to the side of the building, looking down at the floor below. At least a hundred feet down, a long way to fall even in reduced gravity. She could see figures moving on the street, walking back and forth, on their own quiet errands.
“Here, I think,” Angel said, and Morgan climbed over the rail as her friend grabbed hold of the line, tugging it tight. “We're assuming you can break through the window, of course.”
“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she replied. “Are you ready?”
“Let's get this over with,” Angel said. “I'm braced.”
With a deep breath, Morgan stepped out into space, letting herself fall down as Angel fought to hold her back, to slow her descent. This had to be quick. She'd only get one chance to pull this off. She tried to fight the sickening vertigo that threatened to overwhelm her, the screaming voices in her mind warning her that she was doomed to fall to her death.
There it was. The window she was looking for, and it was even half open. Her desperate hands grabbed onto it, pulling it wide enough for her to slide through, and she gratefully dropped through into a bedroom, the sounds of an argument sounding from the other side of a door. Hastily untying the hose, she wrapped it around a support beam, giving it a firm tug to make sure it was safe, then gestured up to Angel, waiting above for her signal.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her weapon, a long, bamboo tube with a trio of darts tucked in behind it. Selecting one designed to tranquilize, not kill, she knelt down in front of the door, ready in firing stance, and reached out with her other hand to quietly open it. Inside, a man held a pistol on a woman kneeling on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes, both of them screaming in incomprehensible Russian. She didn't need to understand the language to know what to do, and she took a careful shot, the dart flying into the man's neck.
His hand reached up a second too late, and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed onto the carpet, his limbs twitching as the drug took effect. As Angel dropped into the room behind her, she raced forward and snatched up the revolver, ejecting the ammunition with a swift pass of her hand, and turned to the woman on the floor, still watching with amazement at what had happened.
Almost on cue, the door popped open, and Angel shook her head, saying, “I'll call Wagner's friends, get someone here to take care of Sleeping Beauty.”
“Not for a moment,” Morgan said, turning to the woman. “Galina Novak, I presume.”
“He was going to kill me,” she said, eyes wide. “Right here, in my home. He was going to kill me.”
“Do you know him?”
Shaking her head, she said, “Just one of the maintenance techs. He lives a couple of floors down. I don't even know his name, and he burst in here a few minutes ago, and claimed...”
“Wait a minute,” Angel said. “A few minutes ago? How many minutes ago?”
“I don't know,” she replied, shaking in terror. “Five, maybe?”
“About when we left the police station. I'm going to call...”
“No,” Morgan said. “Not yet. We've got a shuttle standing by on the launchpad.” Turning to Novak, she said, “My name is Valeria. I'm an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet. As of now, you can consider yourself under our protection, if you want to be.”
“You think someone in the police wanted me dead?”
“It must be Wagner,” Angel said.
“Not necessarily,” Morgan replied. “In fact, I don't think it can be. He's the one who tipped us off about this place. How hard would it have been for him to just deny that anyone was growing purple flowers on the colony?” She gestured at the hydroponic unit on the wall, a riotous collection of colors. “He'd have been able to make his way here with all the time in the world. Someone's monitoring computer searches down here.”
“I want to get out of here,” Novak said. “I don't even know why they were after me. I just work on shuttle autopilots. I haven't done anything wrong.”
“You knew Andrei Petrov,” Morgan said. “Someone decided that was enough.”
“Andy? This has something to do with him?”
Peering out into the corridor, Angel said, “I'll call the shuttle. I think Finch and Gibson are on board, and we might as well have a decent escort.”
“Could I have some water?” Novak asked, but Morgan shook her head.
“Someone's been playing funny games with the life support systems around here lately. I wouldn't trust it without a full analysis. We'll give you everything you want when you get up to the ship.” She paused, then asked, “How did you know Petrov?”
“I was a fan,” she blushed. “I read all of his books, and when I found out he was coming here, I couldn't wait to meet him.” A smile crossed her face, and she brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, saying, “We spent a lot of time together after he arrived. He loved my flowers, you see, so I made sure he always had some. Among other things.”
“Were you sleeping with him?” Angel asked, bluntly.
Her blush grew deeper, and she replied, “I know he's married, but...”
“We're not here to make moral judgments,” Morgan said, looking across at her friend. “Did he tell you anything about the aliens he came here to study?”
“Only that he had enough material for a second book, and that I was going to get the first look at it once he'd finished it. Just before the pirates arrived, he said that a big publisher was interested, that he was going to get a big contract, would be here for months working on it.” She smiled, and said, “We were talking about moving in together. Then they arrived, and he was captured on the first day.” Looking down at the ground, she said, “I just didn't know what to do.”
“That's all you know?” Morgan asked.
She paused, then said, “Promise you won't tell anyone. It's meant to be a secret.”
“Go on.”
“He found a base, up in one of the rings. There were so
me amazing artifacts up there, set in place. That was going to be the subject of his next book. The Jewel of Sinaloa. That was the title. He was going to dedicate it to me.” She shook her head, and said, “I know, I know, but I can dream, can't I? He's very charming, and totally dedicated.” Looking up at Morgan, she asked, “Are you going to rescue him?”
“We're going to try,” Morgan replied.
“Help's on the way,” Angel said. “They'll meet us in the foyer in a few minutes. Apparently they were doing some shopping. We can talk more when we get up to the ship.” Gesturing at the unconscious figure on the floor, she added, “What about our friend down there?”
“Leave him for the police,” she replied. “He won't be waking up any time soon, and he won't feel much like resisting when he does.
Nodding, Morgan guided the shaken Novak out of the room, over to the elevator, stopping to slide her blowgun back into her pocket. Angel looked at the wooden weapon, and shook her head.
“Standard part of Basic,” Morgan said. “My old drill Sergeant told me I'd need it some day.”
“You'll have to show me how to use it sometime,” Angel replied, as the elevator doors opened, ready to whisk them to safety.
Chapter 6
Mallory settled down into the pilot's couch, glancing across at Bennett as she fine-tuned the trajectory plot. The hangar deck was a hive of activity as the Spearfish pilots climbed into their cockpits, ready to launch at a moment's notice should the need arise. She looked down at the sensor display, feeding information directly from the bridge. No change, no movement out there since the battle that had erupted when they entered the system, six hours ago.
She looked at the empty, abandoned freighter, still hovering in orbit beside them. A search team had found no trace of crew or cargo, all usable components scavenged. It would take weeks to restore it to flight status, assuming it was possible at all.
Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2) Page 5
