by Julia Huni
“Where’s Dad?” O’Neill asks.
“He’s working with the caterers.” Serena turns to me. “He’s an amateur chef. He’s hired a team to do the catering, and he insists on ‘helping’ them. We had to pay extra for that.” She smiles.
Ty groans. “He should really leave that stuff to the experts.”
“You know your father.” She takes a bite of toast and flicks the file. A single line glows red. “The centerpieces, bouquets, and boutonnieres will take the longest, but we can't start them until the flowers are delivered. Grandma, we have a final dress fitting this afternoon, but you’ll be ready to take a break by then. How are you with crafty stuff, Triana?”
I stare at Serena. After a second, I find my voice. “Uh, I might be able to program a robot to stick flowers in a vase, but that’s as good as it gets.”
“We’ll teach you.” She turns to Vanti. “You sure you don’t want to help, too? I’ve heard you’re good with your hands.”
“You should see her cupcakes,” I say.
Vanti smiles her college recruiter smile. “I would love to, Serena, but Griz needs my help.” She’s out of her seat and dragging O’Neill from the room before anyone can respond.
“See you this afternoon!” O’Neill calls out.
“Don’t be late.” Serena turns back to the table. “Cupcakes? Maybe we should have hired Vanti to do the cake. You should see the monstrosity Jie’s family has commissioned for the wedding. Lili and I laughed so hard…”
“The cupcake thing was a bit of a joke,” I say. “Long story.”
Serena looks disappointed for a moment, then she nods. “You can tell us while we work on the flowers. Finish your breakfast and let’s get to it.”
Twenty-One
I am the galaxy’s worst flower arranger. I’ve pricked my fingers so many times, I feel like I’ve been folding cactus origami. After accidentally tipping over two different buckets of flowers and somehow setting the florist’s wire on fire, Angie puts me in a corner with a wide bowl of short-stemmed flowers and a roll of sticky green tape. “You’ll do best making boutonnieres. Most of the boys won’t care if they’re a little lumpy.” She shows me how to hold the greenery and flower together and wrap the tape around the stems.
I take one of the heavily scented flowers and lay a fern next to it. “Tell me about Bill.”
Serena glances up from her four hundredth centerpiece and gives me a shrewd look. “Aretha told us what happened to you.”
I stick a cloth magnet against the tape and wrap another layer over it. “Did she?”
“And she told me her role in the whole debacle.” She snips the bottoms off a handful of stems and rapidly pokes them into the glass bowl. It looks random, but each centerpiece she finishes is both beautiful and unique.
“Really?” Should I ask if she admitted to her own role? I might be able to use that information as leverage later, if necessary.
“Yes, she told me she set the whole thing up.” She places the bowl on the huge table overflowing with flowers and sprinkles some glittery stuff over it. The sparkles adhere to the flowers and leaves, creating a fairytale effect. “I need to check in with Brad. You two keep working.” She dusts the glitter off her fingers and hurries out of the room. A gust of fresh air pushes out the heavy floral perfume for a brief second.
“That’s not—” I break off. Maybe Aretha’s protecting her sister. I guess if she wants to take the fall for Akiko, that’s her prerogative.
“Well, Aretha didn’t plan the explosion, obviously.” Angie grabs a handful of flowers and wraps them into a perfect bouquet. “That seems more like Gwen’s work.”
“Gwen?” The just finished boutonniere falls from my numb fingers, and the cloth magnet sticks to the leggings halfway down my shin. “You mean Gwen Watson? Bill’s wife’s partner?”
“Exactly. She was a demolition expert before she became a peacekeeper.”
“What? Does Ty know?”
“I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” Angie smiles and pulls another handful of flowers from the bucket beside her chair. “He’s good at his job.”
“We need to tell him!” I flick my holo-ring. “How did you know about that?”
“Gwen’s aunt is in my social club.” Angie pauses to deliberate over two identical flowers. “She was so proud when Gwen graduated from Peacekeeper academy. And so happy she wasn’t going to blow things up anymore.” She slides one bloom into the bundle, weaving it through the rubbery leaves.
I send a message to O’Neill, suggesting he check Watson’s work history.
*Got it. Demolitions. How’d you know?*
*Grandma Angie.*
He sends back an emoji with a confused face.
“You’re right,” I tell Angie. “He found it. Is there anything else he should be finding?”
“Not that I know of. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. I told you I’d be a good investigator.” Angie grins. “I need a drink. You want one?”
“Uh, I’ll wait until after lunch.”
“Suit yourself.” She pours a glass of whiskey then returns to her flowers. “I don’t normally drink this early, but flower arranging is easier if you’re just the tiniest bit buzzed.”
I look at the half-full glass. “That’s going to get you a tiny bit buzzed?”
She tilts the glass and gazes at the golden liquid. “I’m not going to drink it all at once.” She chugs back half the contents. “Perfect.”
We work in silence for a while. I manage to break the stem off the flower I’m trying to wrap. With a shake of my head, I drop it back into the bucket. “You’re Serena’s grandmother, right?” Angie nods, and I continue. “There’s a generation missing.”
“My daughter, Evaline, will be here Saturday. She’s out on one of the fringe worlds for her job.”
“One of the fringe worlds? What does she do?” I grab another flower and a piece of the green stuff. Wrapping tape around the stems shouldn’t be this difficult. I can solder a micro board in my sleep! The tape sticks to itself, blobbing together under my fingers. I pull it off and start again.
“She’s in the CEC—Colonial Explorer Corps.” She sets her bouquet into the bucket holding the finished ones and takes a swig from her glass. “She doesn’t do the initial trip—those people are gone for decades. She’s in the second wave once they have the jump beacons set up. She analyzes minerals for potential development. She’s probably going to retire soon.”
The sticky tape has wrapped around my pinky finger, and I can’t get it loose. I shake my hand, hard, but I just succeed in hurting my wrist.
Angie reaches over and pulls the stuff free. “Try again, dear.”
“Maybe you’re right about the booze,” I mutter.
“Have a sip.” She holds out her glass, but it’s mostly empty. “Oops, time for a refill.” She goes to the cupboard, her legs steady. After that much whiskey, I’d be staggering like a freshman at Techno-Inst on a Friday night. She brings the bottle back to her chair and pours another generous serving.
The potent smell of the whiskey splashing into the glass hits my nose, pushing out the pungent florals. The scent brings up the memory of Kara’s grandfather’s wake. I hold up my hand. “I think I’d better wait until after lunch, at least.”
“More for me, then.” She sips and smiles. “Give me those flowers. I’m done with the bouquets.”
I carry the buckets of flowers and foliage to her chair. The tape has wrapped itself in my hair, so I don’t have to go back for it. A savage yank leaves me with a short piece of tape and several strands of red hair now stuck to my hand.
Angie grabs the roll still hanging from my frizzy curls and easily detaches it. “You can stick the stems into the little water things.” She hands me a box of green vials but takes my two finished products away. “Don’t bother with those two, dear. I’ll redo them.”
I work out how to poke the stems through the membrane at the top of the vials. Angie’s already finished three bout
onnieres by the time I figure out how to do the first one. The next few go easily, and soon I’m caught up. “All of this,” I gesture to the flowers, “is normal for a wedding?”
“You’ve never been to one?” With quick, precise movements, she trims and wraps. Her fingers are steady, her eyes clear. I glance at her glass, and it’s half empty again. Remarkable.
“No, they aren’t really done on SK2. People over there don’t seem to go for lifelong commitment.” I stare at the box. Two more flower bundles wait for vials. This woman is a machine. “And short-term contracts are business arrangements. Some people throw a party—especially for the first one. My roommate, Kara, just signed a ten-year contract with her partner.” I shiver. “It was a nice party, but ten years is a long time.”
Angie laughs. “Safwan and I were married for sixty-three years. If he hadn’t been killed in a freak rainstorm, this year would have been seventy-eight.”
I gape at her. Seventy-eight years. Wow. “I’ve seen weddings on Ancient Tēvē. They usually get divorced two or three years later. Makes the whole thing seem kind of pointless.”
“Oh, that happens sometimes.” She nods and points a flower stem at my box. “You’re getting behind.”
There are four more boutonnieres in the box. She must have a stack of completed ones hidden under her chair. I look, but there’s nothing.
“But I think your Ancient Tēvē probably plays up the ones that don’t last. After all, conflict is more interesting than peace. At least to an audience.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Are you and Ty going to get married?”
I gulp. “I dunno. I mean, he’s supposed to get down on one knee with a ring and skywriting and a jazz choir or something, right?”
Angie laughs. “No one really does that. I guess it was the custom a few centuries ago, but not anymore. Mostly people just have a conversation and decide to do it.” She peers closely at me. “He’s obviously head-over-heels for you. And you love him, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, but forever?”
“It only happens one day at a time.” She wraps the last flower and tosses it onto the pile in front of me. “You just have to choose love every day. That’s not so hard.”
I stare at her for a moment. Maybe she’s right. Choosing love every day can’t be that hard.
Angie's voice startles me out of my funk. The box of half-finished flowers is now empty, and the boutonnieres all have vials. She must be part witch. “Now that we have those done, I think we should help with the investigation. Call a carriage and let's go.”
Twenty-Two
“I’m not supposed to leave the house,” I say as Angie jumps up from her chair.
“When has that ever stopped you?”
“How do you know me so well?” I brush little green bits from my clothes and find a lumpy boutonniere still stuck to my leg.
Angie grins. “I think you and I are a lot alike. Plus, Ty loves to talk about you.”
“But if someone is targeting me, going out in public is risky.” I wave the floppy flower around. The blossom snaps off, falling into the empty flower bucket.
Angie takes the sad greenery from my hand. “You’ve got the boys for protection. I’m sure they’re getting tired of hanging out here, too.” She pulls open the door and calls, “Yoo hoo! Lou! Kairon! Where are you?”
How does she know their first names? I follow her out into the courtyard. The heavy scent of flowers fades, replaced by the fruity tang of live plants. I sneeze a couple of times.
“Were you looking for us, Lady?” Ferrigi steps out of the tunnel leading to the front gate.
“Yes.” Angie steps into his path. Ferrigi is huge, and he towers over the old woman. She points at him and cranes her neck to peer into this face. “We need to go to the dress fitting.”
“I wasn’t told Sera Morgan would be leaving the compound.” Ferrigi crosses his arms and stares down at Angie.
“She’s going to the wedding, so, of course she needs her gown fitted.” She shakes her head as if she can’t believe his naivete. “Not leaving the house. Silly man.”
I have a gown for the wedding, and it fits perfectly. Ty must have clued Hy-Mi in because it was there in my trunk, clearly labeled in the Dress-Success app.
Ferrigi nods, indecision plain on his face.
“Check with my grandson if you want,” Angie says. “I’m sure he won’t mind you interrupting his work.”
Ferrigi clears his throat. “That’s not necessary, Lady Angie. Give us a couple of minutes to get our gear together.” He strides away, flicking his comm line. “Andron, we got a job.”
“You are a master spy,” I whisper. “I’ll bet Vanti could learn a few tricks from you.”
Angie smiles. “A hundred and two years in the ‘verse teaches you a few things.”
“A hundred and two?!” I stare at her. I’d figured late eighties.
She laughs and smacks my arm. “No, I’m only ninety-three. Got ya!”
I do some quick math. “But that means you got married to Safwan when you were fifteen.”
“Oh, I was kidding about that. We were only married seventy-three years ago. Two years after Evaline was born.”
“Did he really die in a freak rainstorm?” How does a rainstorm kill someone, anyway?
“Oh, no. He’s alive and well. You’ll meet him at dinner tonight.” She grabs my arms and pushes me toward the stairs. “Go get whatever investigative stuff you need. I’m gonna hit the little girls’ room.”
I stare at her as she totters off across the courtyard. Is she senile? Most age-related mental deterioration can be eliminated through medical treatments, but obviously these people don’t go in for rejuvenation. Maybe they prefer to get a little batty when they age, too. I hurry up to my room, debating the wisdom of leaving the house with a crazy old woman to investigate what could be a terrorist action.
Of course, we will have the hulk and the android with us. Not that they’ve proven their reliability. Which reminds me. I left the facial recognition loop running in the office last night. I grab my stash of local currency and slide it into a pocket. The paper bills are clumsy, but sometimes you don’t want to leave a trail. What other “investigative stuff” do I need? If Vanti were with us, she’d have weapons and grappling hooks and invisible string or something. Maybe I can sneak into her room and borrow something.
I close my door behind me and stroll casually down the balcony to the next one. The handle turns easily, and I step into the dim room. The shutters are ajar, letting in some light. In the middle of the neatly made bed, there’s a small box holding down a piece of paper. My name is scrawled across the page.
Triana,
I know you. When you go out, at least take the boys with you. And be prepared... Here are a few things that might come in handy. Don’t tell Griz I gave them to you. This note will self-destruct five seconds after you read it.
Vanti
P.S. Just kidding about the self-destruct. How would I do that?
I pick up the box and open in. Inside, there’s a tiny first aid kit, mini-stunner, two small darts inside clear tubes, and a sleeve of capsules. Knowing Vanti, the darts are probably dipped in a sedative. I’m not sure how I would deliver them—I don’t have a dart gun. I leave them in the box. The stunner and med pack fit into my empty jacket pocket.
The capsules have tiny writing on them. Oh—these are the pre-packaged aesthetic mods she mentioned. I shiver but shove them into the hidden pocket in the waistband of my leggings. I can’t imagine using them—I could end up looking like anyone, just a day before Lili’s wedding. I’m sure Serena wouldn’t appreciate that, especially if I end up in any of the pictures.
I hurry down the steps. Andron and Ferrigi are waiting in the courtyard, but Angie isn’t back yet. “I need to check something in the office.” The guys nod, resigned to waiting. I guess that’s not uncommon for them.
I cross the dim office and sit behind the desk. The loop I set last night has produced a string of vid l
inks. Views from cams stationed all along the street—some of them government owned, some belonging to individual stores or residents. My loop accessed everything. I smile faintly, pride in my data mining skills making me all warm and happy.
I quickly swipe through the vids. Andron left Sanctuary. Ferrigi left a few minutes behind him. They walked down the same street—on opposite sides—and passed the first transit station. A few minutes later, they arrived at the second transit station, which they both entered. While they waited for the next pod, a pair of peacekeepers entered and spoke to them. The four of them turned around and headed back to the surface. A Peacekeeper vehicle pulls up, and they climbed inside.
Not very exciting. I reach out to swipe off the last vid but freeze. Just in view of the cam, there’s a tall, blond man. I slide the vid back. He was standing there when Ferrigi descended into the station. I follow the link to that cam and watch the whole sequence. The man watches both agents go into the station. Then he speaks to the peacekeepers, pointing toward the station door. He loiters there and watches as the four men return and get into the carriage. He’s wearing casual clothes, and he’s got a smirk on his face—a smirk I’d recognize anywhere.
Bobby Putin.
“It can’t be,” I whisper. In a flash, I’m sending a message to Attica Prison on Sally Ride. I connect to the local SK’Corp office and authorize the exorbitant fee to have them relay a real-time call. I wait impatiently as the signals connect.
“Attica. How may I direct your call?” A thin woman in a stiff, dark uniform answers.
I put on my best top-lev voice. “This is Annabelle Morgan. Please connect me to the warden immediately.”
The woman’s eyes widen as she swipes through several identity confirmation alerts on her screen. “Yes, Sera.” The holo goes black, and an electric blue Attica Prison logo rotates lazily in her place.
