The Rings of Grissom: Tales of a Former Space Janitor

by Julia Huni

  Kate runs her tongue over her teeth. “It sounds highly unlikely, if you ask me.” She’s calm and detached, as if talking about someone else. Of course, if it wasn’t her, she is talking about someone else. “No one knew the Morgan girl was going to step foot onto Grissom. She didn’t leave the cruise ship until it was almost ready to depart—and it was at the station for only twenty hours. That’s not enough time for even the most organized terrorist cell to—we’d have to assume they’d already made contact with—that this wasn’t a one-off thing. You’re suggesting that I was already on the payroll, and a target of opportunity landed in my lap. Does that seem likely?”

  “You tell me.” O’Neill looms over her.

  Kate shakes her head. “It’s not. You can run a background sweep on me. I have no ties to terrorist organizations.”

  “What about foreign powers?” Aretha asks.

  Bill spins around to glare at Aretha.

  “I’m just playing devil’s advocate,” Aretha says. “We need to get all the possibilities out so we can decide which ones are most likely.”

  “I’m not working for Gagarin or Lewei,” Kate says, her voice remarkably calm. “I was born and raised here on Grissom. I’ve only left the planet a handful of times, and those are all documented. But feel free to run a deep background. The Peacekeepers did when I enlisted.”

  “What about Watson?” I ask.

  “What about her?” Kate says.

  “Could she be the link?”

  “She’s as likely to be the link as I am,” Kate says. “Which means, probably not. But you can run background checks on both of us. We have nothing to hide.”

  “Why would a foreign power do this?” Bill says. “Grissom is a peaceful world. We’ve had no terrorism in the last two decades. Why would anyone bother sending an agent here? It’s not like they could have predicted you and Ty would get together.”

  I laugh. “Unless he’s the agent.”

  Thirteen

  Dinner, though fabulous, was uneventful. Afterwards, the adults chatted in the lounge while the kids played a game called vampire that seemed to involve a lot of shrieking. Around ten, the people with children start making noises about leaving.

  “Just put the kids to bed,” Serena says. “Your room is empty.”

  “They have school tomorrow,” Akiko says. “Blas, will you get them into the carriage? I need to talk to my brother.” At Blas’s nod, she and O’Neill disappear into the office again.

  “Do you know what that’s about?” Serena whispers to Aretha. The younger woman shrugs.

  A while later, Akiko emerges, wiping her eyes. She gives her mother a watery hug and disappears into the darkness.

  Serena marches across the courtyard, stopping O’Neill as he exits the office. “What did you say to make your sister cry?”

  “She’s fine,” he says. “She made herself cry.” He glances at me over his mother’s head. “It’s all good.”

  Serena eyes him then takes his arm. “Come on, we’re playing cards.” She turns and loops her free hand through my arm. “You, too, Triana. Have you ever played Youquer?”

  Hours later, Ty walks me to my room. The twins and his parents are still arguing over the last hand when we reach the third floor. We stop in front of my door, and I lean against it. “Now what?”

  “My room is down on the second floor.” He grins. “Right next to Mom and Dad.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Nothing like being home, is there?”

  He grins. “I can see why you chafe at being on Level 83.” He slides his arms around me, and I lean in for a long, delicious kiss.

  “You did what?” Serena’s voice echoes from the courtyard, and we reflexively jump apart.

  O’Neill laughs. “I think Yuri just told Mom about your drink.”

  “He told her? Of his own free will? Without pressure?”

  “He had a little pressure.” O’Neill grins. “I told him if he didn’t own up, I’d spill the beans.”

  “Do they live here?”

  He nods. “It’s pretty common on Grissom. Housing is expensive, so single people live at home until they’re ready to pair off. The twins have talked about getting their own place, but it wouldn’t be as nice as this. Plus, free food.”

  I shudder. Moving back into my mother’s penthouse had been uncomfortable, to say the least. I’d much rather live in a crappy one-room compartment with a roommate. But O’Neill’s parents aren’t like the Ice Dame. Maybe living here wouldn’t be the same. I stiffen. “You aren’t thinking of moving back in, are you?”

  “I wasn’t,” he says with a chuckle. “But then you dumped me.” At the look on my face, he stops. “Sorry, too soon?”

  “I didn’t really dump you. I just ran away.” I say it in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it were the most reasonable thing to do. “You shouldn’t have been surprised—you’re the one who gave me the codename Runner, after all. But that’s all behind me now.” I tighten my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. After a while, I loosen my grip. “What happened between you and Akiko?”

  His cheek brushes against my hair. “It doesn’t matter. She’s not going to try anything again. We should get some sleep. Our meeting with Bill is pretty early tomorrow.” He glances down at the stairs. Serena waves from the second floor. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Bill and Kate live in a standard apartment building, similar to those I’ve seen on every other occupied world in the galaxy. This one is ten floors. Surprisingly, given Grissom’s climate, it’s an above-ground building. Although, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen any underground facilities here.

  After they clear the building, the hulk takes up a position just outside the front door. The android stays with us as we climb the stairs to the fourth floor. O’Neill waves his holo-ring at the access panel.

  “Sorry about the hike,” Bill says as he lets us into their apartment. “The float tube’s been out since before we moved in. No one knows what happened or why they don’t fix it.”

  “Andron, wait here.” O’Neill ushers me inside, leaving the security agent in the hall. “We’ve got a lot of work, Bill, so let's get down to business. What have you got?”

  Bill pulls up some files on his holo-ring. “These are the communications logs from the shuttle. You want something to drink?”

  While he brings coffee, O’Neill flips through the files.

  “Tell me more about your company,” I say. “Mendoza Enterprises. What’s the story there?”

  Bill raises his eyebrows at O’Neill, who raises one in return. “Tell the woman,” O’Neill says. “Triana’s kind of a genius at figuring this stuff out.”

  Bill gives me a considering look. “I started Mendoza Enterprises a few years ago. We have—had—two shuttles. Now just the one, of course. My insurance company is not happy with me, to say the least. I have a contract with the Peacekeepers to provide transportation and the occasional deportation when they need. We’re basically on call with a short response time during business hours. After-hours work requires more advance notification and overtime rates. They pay a premium to have us on call. The government has several companies on retainer for various agencies.”

  “And Watson called you when they picked me up,” I prompt when he stops talking. “Who knew you were working that day?”

  “I have other clients,” Bill says. “They don’t pay as well, so when something like this comes up, I might try to juggle my schedule. I was supposed to do a job for Protech—just shuttling some execs out to a job site. I called Luin—she’s my backup pilot. She did the Protech job, and I did this one. I didn’t want her asking any questions.” He shrugs uncomfortably.

  “You don’t say.” I glance at O’Neill. “Has anyone checked out Luin?”

  “She was cleared in the original investigation.” O’Neill’s scrolling through the reports Bill flicked to him. “Luin Montgomery Servian. Got her license three years ago. Been working for Bill and t
wo other flight companies ever since.”

  “We share the part-timers,” Bill says. “We can’t schedule both birds full time—there simply isn’t enough traffic. But she’s absolutely trustworthy.”

  “Do you have any information on her prior to her flight license?” I ask. “Know anything about her family, where she’s from—deep background, as Kate said?”

  Bill holds up both hands. “She’s been checked. Kate wouldn’t let me work with someone she didn’t think was safe. And obviously, she has connections in that field. I let her vet the pilots—and the clients.”

  “Who had access to the shuttle?” O’Neill asks.

  “No one. We have a locked hangar at the launch field.”

  “No one?” I fold my arms over my chest. “You do your own maintenance?”

  “Most of it,” Bill says. “It’s how I keep costs down. I bring in specialists for the stuff I can’t handle. And the regulators insist on inspections any time you swap out anything.” He groans a little. “Eats up my profits to bring them in, but I can’t fly without the seal.”

  “Seal?” I ask.

  “The regulators apply a physical seal to the ship after inspection, plus a virtual seal on our records. That way, clients can make sure everything’s been inspected.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Local law says they can do a visual inspection before signing, but most of them settle for the virtual.”

  “When was the last time you had this vehicle serviced?” O’Neill makes a note in a file and swipes it away.

  “About a week before the crash.” Bill flicks another icon and flings it across the display to O’Neill. “Here it is: engine tune-up, completed and sealed five days before.”

  “Who did the work?”

  “I did.” Bill leans back in his chair. “Everything was perfect.”

  “Then I guess we need to talk to this guy.” O’Neill points at the screen. “Vern al-Petrosian.”

  “Al-Petrosian?” I choke on my coffee.

  O’Neill pounds my back. “It’s not him.”

  “Do you know this guy?” Bill grabs a towel from the kitchen to mop up the coffee I spit over the holo-projector.

  “We had a run-in with a guy on Kaku,” I croak. “Head of a terrorist organization—the KPC. Karhovian Peace Corps.”

  “Is this the same person?” Bill asks.

  “Can’t be.” O’Neill shakes his head decisively. “Wil’s in prison on S’Ride. A couple cells over from Putin.” His lips quirk as he glances at me.

  “Exactly where they both belong,” I mutter.

  “Part of his family?” Bill nods at me. “If you were involved in his arrest and incarceration, they might be out to get you.”

  “Let’s find out.” O’Neill takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Time to visit the regulator.”

  Fourteen

  The five of us—O’Neill, Bill, my two bodyguards, and I—head out to the public transport station. Although we’d used the family carriage—that’s what they call bubbles on Grissom—to Bill’s place, Ty sent it back for his mother’s use.

  “The station is only a block away,” Bill says as he points down the street. “Just around the corner.”

  The hulk nods and mutters something under his breath before loping away. Probably coordinating with the android, who is trailing behind.

  “What’s with the entourage?” Bill asks.

  O’Neill gives him an “are you an idiot” look. “Last time Triana was here, someone tried to blow her up. Now we find that person might be connected to a terrorist gang that targeted her mother. I’ve already put in a request to SK’Corp to send more agents.”

  “More?” I groan. “This is why I ran away.”

  “I know.” He slides an arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick squeeze before letting go. He doesn’t even look at me as his head constantly swivels, eyes evaluating and cataloging each pedestrian and carriage along our route. He’s in full protective agent mode.

  “Is Vanti coming?” I’m not sure how I feel about that. While we were on S’Ride, Vanti and I formed a sort of friendship. But she’s not the warm and cuddly type. She’s also fiercely loyal to O’Neill, which can make for some uncomfortable situations.

  “Of course. She’s got all the background on the KPC case.”

  We’ve reached the corner. To the right, a large, transparent dome peeks out from behind another apartment building. We cross the street and stop in front of the translucent curve. A sign above the door reads Bellevue Station.

  “Bellevue?” I look around, but all I can see are nearly identical apartment blocks. The mountains, visible as a gray smudge from my room at the O’Neill compound, are hidden by the buildings. “Where’s the view?”

  Bill shrugs. “Old name. I think it’s actually the guy who built here first. Or used ironically, maybe. This part of Grissom is not beautiful.”

  O’Neill nods to our security guys, and we enter the station. People move purposely through the building, taking lift tubes down to the pods or buying snacks at the vendor row at the back of the dome. Bill purchases a group pass and flicks the code to each of us. Then we scan through the entry gate and head for the slide ramp.

  “Everyone talks about the swamps of Grissom,” I say. “But I’ve only seen desert.”

  O’Neill ushers me onto the green line slide. “There are swamps in the northern continent. You do not want to go there.”

  “Hey, stand right!” someone yells from behind us.

  Bill glances over his shoulder and frowns past me. “You, security guy! Move over. Let people by.”

  I turn. Andron stands beside O’Neill, blocking the slide ramp and creating a barrier between me and the anxious commuters behind. “Can we let them by?” I ask. “This thing goes on forever.”

  O’Neill glances at the android and nods. He moves forward, pressing me against the side rail. If we weren’t in the middle of a commuter station, it would be cozy. Andron steps closer, turning his back to me. People mutter as they push past, but I can’t pick out any specific complaints.

  Once the crowd thins, Andron steps away, standing in the middle of the slide ramp again.

  “He really doesn’t understand how these things work, does he?” I ask O’Neill.

  “He does.” O’Neill takes a half-step, so he’s not squishing me anymore. It’s nice to be able to breathe, but I miss the warmth when he moves away. “Normally, he’d block the slide ramp at the top and not allow anyone on until we exit at the bottom, but we don’t have a big enough team to manage that.”

  “Normally, we wouldn’t be riding public transport.” I laugh at the idea of my mother taking a transit pod anywhere.

  “True enough. We need to adjust our operations.” He nods at the hulk as we reach the bottom of the ramp. “The line for pods is over there.”

  The slide ramp deposits us in a large underground room. Holo-ads pop up as we cross the cold floor toward another gate. We swipe our transport codes to the gate, and it opens to allow us through one at a time. Ferrigi goes first to check for terrorists, I suppose. Although how they’re supposed to have known we’d come this way is beyond me.

  I step through the gate and follow Ferrigi down a short hall. A series of closed doors lines the left wall. The right is blank. The fourth door is open, and the agent stands in the opening. “This pod is clear, Sera.”

  “Thanks.” I step through the door into an oval pod with six seats in two facing rows. The lower half of the pod is dirty white, while the upper part is transparent. Dingy white pods flank us front and rear—they must be translucent from the outside. A few meters from the side, there’s a featureless gray, plascrete wall.

  Bill’s already sitting in the rear-facing seat on the far side. I cross the small pod and drop into the chair facing him.

  “Take the middle seat, please, Sera,” Ferrigi says from the door. “There’s another access hatch on that side.”

  With a sigh, I move over, glaring at the hapless door in the far wa
ll. O’Neill steps around me and takes the seat I just vacated. Andron drops into the seat on my right, and Ferrigi finally leaves his post at the door to join us. The door swooshes shut, and a display above the door lights up with the number fifteen.

  “This pod departs Bellevue Station in fifteen seconds,” a firm, androgynous voice says. The countdown flicks to fourteen. “Please take your seats. Failure to do so will result in delayed departure and late fees being assessed to your ticket.” Invisible micrograv restraints compress around my legs and hips.

  “They take punctuality seriously here.” I watch the display tick over to zero. The pod slides sideways toward the blank wall and clicks into place. It accelerates, pushing us back into the seats. Bill and Ferrigi lurch forward then drop back into their chairs as the pod reaches top speed. Dozens of pods slide past us as we zoom out of the station. The walls close around, forming a dark tube.

  “Andron, Ferrigi.” O’Neill leans forward to address the two men across from me. “I’ve forwarded some suggested modifications to your operating procedures. They should be more effective for this urban environment. Let me know what you think.”

  “Yes, ser.” The words snap out of their mouths in perfect unison, and they flick their holo-rings to life.

  I shake my head and glance at O’Neill. “I think I’d prefer Vanti. She knows how to do this right.”

  “Vanti tends to play by her own rules.” His eyes twinkle. “Cupcake truck, anyone?”

  “That was a very effective cover,” I protest.

  “No argument. She’s good at what she does. Just a bit unpredictable.” His lips twitch as he turns to Bill. “Long story.”

  “I figured.” Bill nods. “I messaged Kate. She’s meeting us at al-Petrosian’s office.”

  “That’s not a great idea,” O’Neill says. “We don’t want to spook him.”

  “Routine investigation,” Bill says. “Kate wanted to talk to him, anyway. We can do it together and save everyone time.”

  “Why did Kate want to talk to him?” I ask.