The Rings of Grissom: Tales of a Former Space Janitor

by Julia Huni

  At the end of the blocky building, we reach a quiet street. We turn out and slide up to the next intersection. As we turn away from the medical center, I peer toward the front of the building. A half-dozen people stand out front, and a bank of drones veers toward us, homing in like a swarm of hornets.

  “We’ve got incoming!”

  Seventeen

  Vanti flicks her holo-ring. “Counter-measures.”

  “This is a family car; we don’t have counter-measures.” O’Neill’s hands fly through the interface, adjusting our route.

  “Sure, we do.” I fling a file at the vehicle’s dash. “Take that, you little bastards.”

  “What did you do?” Andron asks.

  “I disrupted the carriage’s signal—like swapping out a ship’s transponder.” I keep my eyes on the screen as I answer. “That got rid of the drones locked onto our signal. Looks like a few of them might be using visual.”

  The cloud of drones has stopped, with only a few of them still following us. I flick the carriage signal at a passing vehicle, and the swarm of flying cameras take off after the other vehicle. The occupants of that carriage are in for a surprise when they stop. I whisper, “Sorry.”

  “Nice,” Vanti says.

  The remaining drones mill around us like hungry shoppers in a food court.

  “Maybe we can lose them in a parking garage,” I suggest.

  Vanti flings a grin over her shoulder at me. “Just like old times. Got any of those around here, Griz?”

  O’Neill grunts. “This might work.” He flips a map onto the translucent front window. A red dot expands into a circle then disappears, like an animated target.

  “Sanctuary?” Vanti laughs. “They don’t track visitors, do they?”

  “Nope. Part of their tax-exempt status—they have to offer complete privacy.” He pokes the bullseye with his finger, and a blue line appears on the map, leading from our current location to the church. “We’ll go in, switch the signal again, then exit. That should throw them off.”

  “I’m not sure why they’re bothering.” Vanti nods, leaning back in her chair. “They know who you are, right? Surely they know where your family lives.”

  “It’s another obscure legal thing,” he says. “They can’t just show up at my family’s home, but if they follow a subject there, it’s fair game.”

  “That is so messed up.”

  The late sunlight disappears as we slide down a ramp into the parking garage. The lights inside the vehicle brighten.

  “Won’t they just wait outside for us to come back out?” I ask. “If they’re tracking us visually.”

  “Yeah, we should ditch the carriage.” Vanti leans over O’Neill’s shoulder to hit the parking icon.

  “Wait, what?” O’Neill stares at her.

  “We’ll set it to head for home later tonight.” She opens the door. “They won’t wait that long, right? Injured Morgan heir isn’t that big a story.” She winks at me and jumps out.

  O’Neill scrambles after Vanti. “How are we going to get her home?”

  “Taxi.” As she speaks, a fleet of small blue carriages pull up next to us. She flicks an address code at the first one, opens and shuts the door, and waves through the pay screen. It slides away. “You wanna come with me and Triana or send one of the boys?” She nods at Andron and Ferrigi.

  O’Neill’s teeth grind as he stares from Vanti to the taxis and back. “I’ll go with you.” He turns to the two surprised guards. “Send these taxis to random locations. Then wait for an hour and take the transit system back to the house. We’ll use the vehicle recall later tonight when it’s safe to bring the carriage home.”

  The men nod in unison and start sending instructions to the next two taxis. They roll away.

  “Grab some lunch if you want,” Vanti says. “I’ve heard the Grissom Sanctuaries are famous for their delis.” She jumps into the little blue carriage and scoots across the bench seat. “Come on.”

  O’Neill and I follow her into the vehicle. As our carriage trundles away, I turn to the redhead. “There’s a deli? Can’t we stop there first?”

  Both agents laugh. Vanti looks at her holo-ring’s clock. “Forty-seven minutes. You win.”

  “Were you betting on how long it would take for me to ask for food?” I raise my nose and give her my best Ice Dame glare. “How long did you say?”

  “I predicted less than twenty,” Vanti says. “I guess I didn’t take your medical condition into account. The med pod always makes me nauseous.”

  “I didn’t take the bet.” O’Neill holds up his hands in innocence.

  “That was stupid.” I grin. “You could have won big.” I turn to Vanti. “He snuck me a candy bar in the exam room.”

  “Cheater!” Vanti leans forward to peer past me at O’Neill.

  He grins, unrepentant, and slides his arm around my shoulders.

  The taxi wanders through a residential neighborhood at a leisurely pace. When we stop at an intersection, Vanti flips open a couple of apps. “Looks like we got away. Let’s take a couple more detours then head back to the family compound.”

  We settle back into the uncomfortable seats. “How did you get this taxi so fast?” I ask.

  “Lyfter.” Vanti smirks. “I have a couple of accounts on all the popular crowd-sourced transports. You never know when you might need an inconspicuous getaway car. And the paparazzi have no reason to connect me to either of you. Yet.”

  “Alias?” O’Neill asks. When she nods, he turns to me. “She’s travelling as a tourist, not board security.”

  “Surveillance is harder to avoid here than on Kaku, where it’s all carefully marked to protect your privacy.” She combs her fingers through her perfect copper hair. “I have a couple of pre-packaged aesthetic mods in case we need to make a quick change.”

  “Pre-packaged?” I stare at her. Aesthetic mods can change hair, skin, even eye color. They’re done in licensed salons, using expensive equipment, by highly trained aestheticians like Kara. “Aren’t those dangerous?”

  “That’s what your roomie would like you to believe,” Vanti answers. “Cheap pre-packs could put the lower-tier aestheticians out of business. Lucky for them, the aesthetics lobby has a steady grip on the senate economic committees. These are only available through select channels.”

  “Black market mods?” O’Neill asks. “I’m not going there.”

  “Afraid you’ll end up with green dreadlocks again?” Vanti smirks.

  “Green dreadlocks?” I repeat. “Again?”

  As we make our way back to the O’Neill home, Vanti tells me the story of their first undercover assignment. She’s a surprisingly good storyteller, although O’Neill constantly interrupts her to “set the record straight.”

  “I did not enjoy wearing those ridiculous skin suits,” he protests.

  “Right.” Vanti waves him off and finishes her story. At the end, she shudders. “And that was the last time I willingly worked on SK2.”

  “Trapped in an airlock is no fun,” I say with a shudder of my own.

  The taxi pulls into a narrow alley and stops in a parking spot by a vine-covered wall with a vehicle-sized, plain brown door. Beside it, a gate blocks a tunnel much like the front entrance to the O’Neill home. We climb out, and Vanti flicks a few more icons on her screen. “That’ll wipe the carriage’s local memory. The trip is stored in Lyfter’s master databanks, of course, but those require a court order to access.”

  “Or a good hacker.” I raise my eyebrows.

  She nods. “Or a good hacker. We’ll just hope none of the paparazzi have bothered hiring one. We should probably come up with some alternate travel arrangements.”

  “I’ve heard some crime syndicates use big drones.” As O’Neill waves his holo-ring at the access panel, I mime something swooping down from the sky. “They fly you away like a huge package.”

  “No thanks,” Vanti and O’Neill say together. The gate pops open.

  “Spoilsports.” I follo
w them into the compound.

  Two hours later, the paparazzi are camped out in front of the house.

  “I thought you said they aren’t allowed to come here unless they follow us?” I peek through the gap in the shutters. “I don’t want to be stuck in here forever.”

  “The law says something about ‘newsworthy subject’ and ‘no assumptions of location.’ I guess they’ve started interpreting that more liberally.” O’Neill pushes the office shutters closed and pulls me away from the window.

  “They followed your sister home.” Vanti strolls in, a tall, frosty glass in her hand. “Aretha said they picked her up outside her place of business, and she couldn’t shake them.”

  “What makes her ‘newsworthy’?” O’Neill mutters.

  “I happen to be working on a high-profile contract dispute right now.” Aretha also has a tall glass. She raises it to Vanti. “You aren’t the only important person in the building.”

  “Never said I was, Sis.” O’Neill nods at me. “She’s the one.”

  “Thanks for throwing me under the shuttle,” I say.

  “Aren’t contract disputes kept under wraps while they’re ongoing?” O’Neill’s eyes narrow. “How’d the press know you’re working on it?”

  “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since I got home.” Aretha looks at Vanti. “Maybe someone leaked something.”

  Vanti raises an eyebrow. “It would have to be someone who actually pays attention to what you say.”

  O’Neill takes the glass out of Vanti’s hand with a laugh. “Nice burn.”

  She smirks and throws herself down in a chair.

  “What is this?” O’Neill makes a gagging face at Vanti as he hands the glass back to her.

  “It’s a TereshTini.” Aretha raises her glass and takes a sip from the double straws. Her eyes go wide, and she sticks out her tongue. “Gah! That’s awful!”

  Vanti winks at me. “I must have gotten the recipe wrong. Triana said they’re good.”

  I take Vanti’s glass and sniff. Ugh. “You definitely got something wrong.” I let my lips quirk a bit, so Vanti knows I appreciate her support.

  “Let’s figure out what’s going on.” O’Neill sits on the couch across from Vanti and pats the seat. Aretha dodges between us and sits next to him. I try not to roll my eyes as I take the chair next to Vanti.

  “Bill’s ship blew up.” Aretha flicks a file onto the table projector and adds a little rectangle that says, “Bill’s shuttle. Boom.” She smirks and changes the background to a video clip of an explosion. “Obviously, someone was out to get Annabelle.”

  “But it blew up after I got off,” I protest. “If they were after me, they’re really bad at it.”

  “Maybe they’re just inept.” Aretha shrugs.

  “Wait, I think we need to go back a little further,” Vanti says. “First, Triana got deported. That doesn’t usually happen here.”

  O’Neill’s head shakes. “That was a misunderstanding.”

  Vanti looks at Aretha’s pink face. “Really?”

  “Really.” O’Neill flicks the display. “Today, the Levaward pod station blew up. Did you get any intel on that?”

  Vanti nods, and more files appear on the display. “Small bomb placed near the doors to the pod exit. At Levaward, the pods unload passengers in one location and pick up new ones in a different spot. That helps funnel traffic during high-density hours—when lots of shuttles are landing. That’s why no one else was hurt—the two pods you saw had dropped passengers a few minutes earlier, but there were no available spots in the pickup lane. So, they had to wait in the drop off queue. The timing was excellent for preventing collateral damage. Which tends to rule out terrorists—they usually want to cause as much mayhem as possible.”

  “Which means this is more likely an assassination attempt, not an act of terror.” O’Neill makes a face at me. “Not that that’s any better as far as Triana’s concerned.”

  “Thanks.” I give him a sour smile. “But how did they know I was coming? That’s not the kind of thing you can do on the spur of the moment, and we didn’t even know we’d be going there until Bill suggested it.”

  Eighteen

  We all look at each other in silence. Finally, Aretha speaks. “No. Bill wouldn’t be in on this. He took the blame for that shuttle crash.”

  “Maybe that’s why he set this up.” Vanti drums her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Pilot error can’t be good for business. He blames Triana and wants to take her out in revenge?”

  “No!” O’Neill and Aretha say together. While Aretha gives Vanti the stink eye, O’Neill continues. “I’m not saying he didn’t have the opportunity, but I know he didn’t do it. Besides, he was with us—he could have been injured or killed, too. Who else would have known we’d go to the shuttle field?”

  “It’s not a secret that you’re helping him investigate the investigation.” I think about that for a second but can’t come up with a better way to say it. “If someone is really out to get me and they know I’m hanging out with you, then all they have to do is predict where your investigation will take you. Going to the regulator was an obvious step. The only issue is timing. Maybe they’ve got surveillance on Bill’s apartment.”

  “Could they have set that bomb to detonate remotely?” Aretha asks.

  “No ‘could’ about it.” Vanti leans forward to highlight some text. “Electronic analysis shows a receiver and wireless connection. That thing could have been triggered from anywhere on the continent. Or in orbit, for that matter.”

  “But how did they know when?” O’Neill shoves his fingers through his wavy hair, and it falls into place as always. “Was someone watching Bill’s apartment?”

  “Watching Bill. Watching you. Monitoring the regulator’s calendar.” Vanti ticks the possibilities off on her fingers.

  “The regulator—al-Petrosian—didn’t know we were coming,” I say.

  “Al-Petrosian?” Vanti sits up suddenly.

  “Not Wil.” I put a hand on her arm. She glances at me, and I yank my fingers away. You never know if you’ll still have all of them after touching Vanti.

  She grins. “Better not be. That guy caused us a lot of trouble. Relative?”

  “I requested a full check on him but haven’t heard back yet,” O’Neill says. “I don’t have my usual contacts here on Grissom.”

  Vanti gives him a scathing look, which he ignores.

  “You could have asked me,” Aretha says. “I know everyone.”

  “You were busy trying to deport my girlfriend.” O’Neill’s teeth grind together.

  “Ugh. I feel like we’re just going around in circles.” I fling myself back in my chair. “Where’d you make that TereshTini, Vanti? I think we could use a pitcher—of good ones.”

  A pitcher of TereshTinis and a full dinner doesn’t help. Neither does thrashing through the same information over and over. Finally, we decide to give up for the night. Aretha pulls out some playing cards, and Brad, Serena, and Angie join us for a game.

  “You’ve got the room next to Triana,” Serena tells Vanti. “I moved your friends down the hall. Where are they, anyway?”

  We look at each other. “They haven’t come back yet?” O’Neill jumps up. He stalks away, flicking his holo-ring.

  “They were supposed to take a transit pod back here,” I say. “It’s not like them to disappear.” Actually, I don’t know them at all, but I can’t imagine the SK2 board hiring anyone who wasn’t one hundred percent reliable.

  “No sign of them.” O’Neill returns, running his fingers through his hair again. “Vanti, check with Sanctuary surveillance.”

  “There isn’t any,” I say. They look at me. “That’s the reason we used their garage, remember? Sanctuaries don’t track worshipers.”

  “That can’t be true,” Vanti grumbles, swiping at her holo interface. “I mean, I know that was my idea. And they definitely don’t track who enters their facility. But surely there are cams outside t
he building? And what about the deli? If they paid for dinner, there’ll be a record.”

  “Good luck getting that at this time of night,” Aretha says.

  Vanti grins. “We have a secret weapon.”

  “I’m not sure hacking into planetary security is a good idea,” I say. “I already got deported once, remember?”

  “What do you suggest, then?” Vanti crosses her arms and pins me with a stare.

  “I’ll take a look.” I heave a sigh. “But if they come after me, you have to fight them off.”

  “Deal.”

  O’Neill, Vanti, and I move back to the office. The big desk has a state-of-the-art holo-ring interface. As I fling files into the holo, I wonder how much this thing cost. That gets me wondering where the O’Neill family gets its money. I mean, I know they’re wealthy—look at this house. And they have the meter-long list of last names any “good” family claims. But where did the wealth originate? And how much of it flows to Bill? I remember that Ancient Tēvē quote, “Follow the money.”

  After hacking around a while, I find an unencrypted vid cam outside the Sanctuary. It hangs from the awning of a store across the street—probably part of their cheap security system. But it’s badly aimed, and the front entrance of the Sanctuary is in full view. Maybe someone else wants to watch who enters and leaves the protected space.

  “Hey, Ty,” I call out.

  He looks up from his huddled conversation with Vanti. “You got something?”

  “No, but if hulk and the android were on duty, wouldn’t they use a company account to pay for lunch?”

  He rubs his eyes. “They might. Good craft would require them to use cash, but inside a Sanctuary, they might take the chance. Especially since they aren’t here covertly. Good thought. I’ll see if I can access the records.” He swipes open a screen and starts digging.

  “Here they are leaving the Sanctuary,” I say a few minutes later. “Android has a sammie in his hand, so they obviously bought something.” I follow them down the street, jumping into the traffic surveillance system. This is secure, of course, but getting into a transport network is child’s play. My old friend Stervo could do it in his sleep.