The Rings of Grissom: Tales of a Former Space Janitor

by Julia Huni

  “Already on it.” I’ve connected my holo-ring to the hackbox I set up on the household net. It allows me to connect to the external net without trace-backs. It also allows me to work from anywhere inside the O’Neill compound. I tune out the others as I focus on my hacking. As a precaution, I jump through some external nodes to muddy any attempt to trace me. Then I set a loop to worm into the local net provider. I could try to hack into the planetary databases, but government authorities tend to take a dim view of hackers. I’ve already got a record on Grissom; I don’t need to make it worse.

  Ironically, net providers are usually a little sloppier with their security. And since everyone is connected to the net, it’s way easy to find people’s personal data by trolling the providers. Here in Virgilton, there are only two net providers, and one of them offers inferior service. So, I start with the other.

  A few clicks and a password cracker, and I'm inside their customer database. The billing data isn’t available here—that would take more time—and cracking financial systems carries a much higher criminal penalty. “Here it is. He lives on Rosequartz Way.”

  O’Neill shakes his head. “I really shouldn’t let you do this kind of stuff.”

  “Let me?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Oh, please, ser, may I hack this database?”

  A grin flickers over O’Neill’s lips, and the twins cackle loudly.

  “Someone cut them off.” O’Neill glares at the boys.

  Yuri holds up his bottle so we can see the label. “It’s alcohol free.”

  “We don’t need a buzz to have a good time.” Ro shoots a pointed look at Ferrigi. Andron looks away, as if he’s hiding a grin.

  “I’m not here to have a good time. I’m here to do a job. Protect her.” Ferrigi points at me. “And that is being complicated by terrorists and juveniles.”

  “We aren’t technically juveniles,” Ro says.

  “We’re well over the legal age,” Yuri agrees.

  “Boys.” Aretha has been uncharacteristically quiet. “Stop baiting him. If you aren’t going to help, go away.” She waits, but they don’t move. “Fine. Let’s—”

  She’s interrupted by the door alert. Everyone looks at everyone else.

  “Were we expecting guests?” O’Neill asks.

  “They’re here!” Serena calls out as she crosses the courtyard. “Come meet Jie’s family!”

  Twenty-Eight

  “I guess we should have expected that.” Hours later, Vanti and I sit on the top step, staring down into the courtyard.

  “Expected them?” I ask, nodding at the knot of people gathered by the tunnel leading to the front door.

  “Haven’t your Ancient Tēvē vids taught you anything?” she asks. “The groom’s family always shows up right before the wedding.”

  “I guess.” I rub my temple. “I can’t believe they stayed so late, though. Don’t they have a wedding to prepare for?”

  O’Neill steps out of the gloom of the second floor and starts up the steps toward us. “Yes, but the groom's family gets the easy part. They basically just have to show up.”

  I cross my arms. “According to my much-maligned vids, there should have been a rehearsal dinner tonight. Attended by all the participants of the wedding. That would have left the rest of us free to work.”

  “Rehearsal? Why do they need a rehearsal? The ceremony’s pretty straightforward.” He drops onto the step next to me and slides an arm around my shoulders. “You just do what the guy tells you to do.”

  “The guy?” I lean against him, his warm body making me forget the discomfort of the hard steps.

  “Sure, the wedding guy. The officiant. Whatever.” His voice rumbles in my ear. “You two managed to sneak away—I’m surprised you aren’t over casing out al-Petrosian’s house.”

  Vanti and I exchange a guilty look.

  “What?” O’Neill pushes me away so he can see my face. “What did you do?”

  I shrug. “We took a little walk. He lives just a few blocks away. But there was something going on over there, too.”

  “Too many people,” Vanti confirms. “So, we came back here and did a little network sleuthing. He’s clean. No unexplained deposits in his credit accounts. No off-world travel in years. No suspicious behavior.”

  “You don’t think he’s too clean, do you?” I glance from one to the other. “Maybe he’s hidden his ‘evil twin’ deeper than we were able to look.”

  “Possible. Anything’s possible.” Vanti wrinkles her nose. “But my gut tells me it’s not him.”

  “Where does that leave us?” O’Neill pulls me close again.

  I snuggle in and start ticking people off on my fingers. “Bill could have done it. We haven’t investigated his assistant yet—what was her name?”

  “The backup pilot?” O’Neill’s arms tighten around me as he flicks his holo-ring to pull up a note page. “Luin. We ran a full check on her—it came up clean. Same with Watson. No connections to anything shady.”

  “Have you talked to the Peacekeepers about the bomb in the square?” he asks Vanti. “I doubt that one targeted Triana, but you have to admit it’s odd that there were only three explosions on Grissom in the last five years, and she was nearby for all three of them.”

  “I got their report,” Vanti says. “I have a friend. The same equipment was used—same type of remote triggering. She—my friend—wasn’t able to get anything from the flight investigators, but I’d be willing to bet that explosion also used remote triggering.”

  “I’ve seen the report.” O’Neill shifts behind me, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “I have friends, too.”

  “I thought you told Aretha you didn’t have any contacts on Grissom.” I twist around to look at him.

  “That is what I told Aretha.” He settles me against him again. “I have a few connections. How could I not? I grew up here.”

  “What did they tell you?” Vanti asks.

  O’Neill’s arms close around me again so he can flick his holo-ring. “Here’s the report—I haven’t had time to look at it yet.”

  Vanti’s ring lights up, and she flicks the file open. I relax against O’Neill while she reads, my eyes drifting shut.

  “There it is!” Vanti’s jubilant tone shakes me out of my stupor. “Exactly the same as the other two. In fact, the serial numbers on one of the recovered components are only one off from the one recovered at the transit station. Definitely the same perps.”

  I sit up. “So, we’ve got three explosions, all tied to the same equipment. Where did that come from? Who bought it?”

  “Stolen.” Vanti scowls. “All of it. Nearly a year ago.”

  “A year?” I look at O’Neill. “But we only met a little over a year ago. I can’t be the target. I didn’t have any connection to Grissom that far back.”

  O’Neill runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Let’s get some sleep. Maybe something will shake loose overnight.”

  Vanti stands. “I’ll be up early—I’m going to try to get to al-Petrosian first thing.”

  “And by ‘get to him,’ you mean talk to him, right?” O’Neill stands and pulls me to my feet. “Just talk to him. He’s a government employee, and we’re security for a company based in foreign territory. Hacking into their computers is bad enough. We don’t need to mess with their public servants. We’ll all end up in jail, and I doubt our friends will be able to get us out.”

  “Yours might not, but I know the right people.” Vanti grins then shakes her head. “I’m just going to ask him about inspecting Bill’s ship. Like I said, I don’t think he’s in this. But no stone left unturned, right? Especially when we’ve got no other leads.”

  “What about Watson?” I ask. Vanti, O’Neill, and I sit at the breakfast table. The house is quiet—no one else is up yet. “She’s a demolition expert, and she works with Bill’s wife.”

  “We’re still looking at her.” O’Neill butters a piece of toast. “On the surface, she’s clean, but she would be,
right?”

  “If this doesn’t have anything to do with Triana, maybe we should turn over what we know about Bill’s accident to whoever is investigating the incident with the senator.” Vanti peels the wrapper off one of her protein bars and breaks off a tiny piece.

  “I told Aretha—and Bill—that I’d help clear him.” O’Neill rumples his hair. “I can’t just leave him with pilot error.”

  “Why would anyone believe that?” I ask. “If there were electronics found at the crash site that indicate a remote detonation, then pilot error is a stupid conclusion.”

  O’Neill points his knife at me. “Exactly. Someone is covering up for the terrorist by pinning that crash on Bill. And they’re doing a crap job.”

  “Yes. If we point the investigators toward that information, we can let them clear Bill.” Vanti breaks off another tiny bit, chews, then swallows. “That way, you can enjoy the wedding.”

  O’Neill’s eyes narrow. “It’s not like you to hand an investigation over to someone else. What’s going on?”

  “Yeah, what?” I ask. “Did you learn something from al-Petrosian this morning?”

  “Oh, I haven’t been over there.” Vanti waves that away. “He was a long-shot. I’ll swing by after breakfast.”

  “That’s not breakfast.” I point at the barely nibbled protein bar then gesture to my plate of pancakes with butter and jam, bacon, and coffee. “This is breakfast.”

  She shrugs. “I prefer these. Look. I’ll run over and chat with al-Petrosian, then I’ll send the reports we have to the peacekeepers looking into the other explosions. You two enjoy the festivities.” She picks up her protein bar and disappears before we can say anything.

  “That was weird,” O’Neill says.

  “I thought so, too. What’s she up to?”

  “I don’t know, but I aim to find out.”

  I make a sticky pancake toast and bacon sandwich out of my breakfast while O’Neill pours our coffee into travel mugs. Then we head out through the back gate.

  Vanti is nowhere in sight, of course. We purposely gave her a head start. I bring up my mapping app, but O’Neill waves it away. “I grew up in this neighborhood. I know a shortcut. We’re headed to the old part of town.”

  We stride through shadowed alleys and cross brilliantly lit streets. The sun is still low in the sky, but birds are singing like mad, and a cool breeze plays in the trees. “It’s going to be stinking hot this afternoon,” he tells me.

  “It’s always stinking hot on Grissom,” I reply.

  “Not really—just in the summer.” He grins. “Farther north—up by the CEC academy—it’s not as bad. But that’s all government-owned land.”

  “Why did the original settlers come here then?” I peer down the dusty alley. We’re on the outskirts of Virgilton, and the dry plains stretch out to distant mountain ranges.

  “Food. There are three good growing seasons on this part of the planet. And most of the north is too swampy for agriculture.” O’Neill indicates a turn, and we head down a bright street. Tall white walls with wide arched doors line both sides of the stone-paved road. Everything looks old. “You just have to stay inside in the sum—”

  “Is that Vanti?” I point at a redheaded figure. She’s standing in the middle of the street, arms crossed, staring directly at us.

  O’Neill laughs. “Of course it is. She’s probably tracking us.” He quickens his pace, and I stretch my legs to keep up.

  “I should have invited you along, I suppose,” Vanti says as we approach.

  O’Neill raises an eyebrow. “You think?”

  “Come on, they’re expecting us—well, me.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Vanti turns and pushes open a tall wooden door. We follow her into a walled courtyard. A wide gravel path winds through local plantings. A fountain tinkles in a corner. I do a double-take—I’m pretty sure it’s a hologram. I don’t feel any spray as we swing past it.

  There’s another tall wall—this one several stories high. Much like the O’Neill house, this blocky building has an iron gate latched across a dark tunnel. Vanti waves at the access panel then looks up at the very obvious camera. A few moments later, the gate unlocks.

  “Who’s they?” I follow Vanti into the dark corridor, O’Neill bringing up the rear. “And why are they expecting you?”

  “Al-Petrosian and his partner.” Vanti strides through the dim tunnel and out into a slightly brighter courtyard.

  The sun is still low, so heavy shadows fill this space. Like the O’Neill home, balconies look down on the central courtyard. This building is taller and narrower. The courtyard holds a small seating area and one thin tree with thick fronds at the top. The fronds stretch almost fully across the courtyard, protecting the occupants from the sun at mid-day. A small pond takes up about half of the open space, and bright flashes of movement draw my eyes to the water.

  “The gang’s all here, I see,” a male voice says. A small man emerges from behind the stairway leading to the second floor. “You are Agent O’Neill and Sera Morgan. I am Vern al-Petrosian. I’m surprised you allowed her to come.” He nods at me.

  “I don’t have any control over where she goes,” O’Neill says. “I just try to keep her safe.”

  “Seems like a risky business for a security professional.” Al-Petrosian gestures to the chairs and takes a seat. “I, for one, don’t care for risks.”

  “It works for us,” O’Neill says.

  “You might want to hire a new security manager,” he says to me. “I wouldn’t employ someone who gives me that much freedom. It’s dangerous.”

  “Thanks for your advice.” I give him my best condescending Ice Dame look.

  He spreads his hands. “I’m a government inspector. Being risk-averse is in my nature.”

  “While we’d love to hang out and discuss risk mitigation all afternoon, we’re on a bit of a timeline today.” Vanti taps her wrist in the ancient time’s a-wasting gesture. “Where’s your new partner?”

  “I’m here.”

  I spin around as a woman emerges from the gloomy cloister behind me.

  “Watson!” I jump out of my seat. “What’s she doing here? What do you mean by partner?”

  O’Neill steps between me and the peacekeeper. “Sera Morgan isn’t going anywhere. And if you try to deport her again, I will report you for accepting bribes.”

  She glares at O’Neill. “I’ve never taken a bribe!”

  “Maybe not credits, but you deported Sera Morgan because my sister told you to. You must have received some kind of compensation.”

  “Please, Ser O’Neill, have a seat.” Al-Petrosian touches O’Neill’s arm then taps the chair. “All will be explained.”

  “Vanti, what the hell’s going on?” O’Neill’s voice is barely audible. He’s probably talking to her via audio link. I can’t hear her answer, but O’Neill’s shoulders relax a fraction as Watson stalks past us and sits between Vanti and al-Petrosian. O’Neill waits until she’s seated then pulls my chair a little closer to his. We sit.

  “Agent Fioravanti visited me yesterday with an interesting story.” Al-Petrosian waves dramatically at Vanti.

  “You visited him yesterday?” O’Neill asks. “When?”

  “After everyone else went to bed.” She shrugs. “I was busy earlier. Talking to her.” She nods at Watson.

  “Could someone please explain what is going on?” My voice crackles with frustration.

  Al-Petrosian holds up a hand. “It’s Officer Watson’s story.”

  Watson shifts uncomfortably. She stares at a spot behind me as she launches into her tale. “I was an explosives expert for many years. Made my living taking down old buildings. It’s exciting but a bit dangerous. My family kept after me, trying to get me to change careers. I went to the Peacekeeper academy, but after I graduated, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the job. It seemed so boring.”

  “Peacekeeper is a boring, safe job?” I glance at Vanti then O’Neill. “Is Grissom that safe? T
here’ve been three explosions since I got here.”

  “That’s not normal,” Vanti says, nodding at Watson to continue.

  “So, about nine months ago, I took a sabbatical.” Her hands twist in her lap as she speaks. “I took a cruise and ended up on Sally Ride. While I was there, I met a guy.” Her eyes flick to me, then away. “He was charming, handsome, smart. So attentive, but a little mysterious. We went places and did things I’d never have attempted on my own. It was so exciting.” She sighs.

  My heart rate speeds up, thumping loudly in my ears. Somehow, I know where this story is going, and but I can’t get a word out to interrupt.

  “After a month or so, he convinced me I should come home and take the peacekeeper job. He said he’d come to visit. Maybe to stay. I was stupidly in love with him. I would have done anything to be with him, so taking a job I’d trained for was easy. He continued to send me messages—always promising he’d be coming soon.” She swallows, hard. “Then I saw a news story about Bobby Putin.”

  I gasp. Even though I’d half expected it, the statement shocks me.

  She nods. “My mystery man was a top-lev serial killer. The next time he contacted me, I called him on it. He didn’t even try to deny it. But by then, he’d managed to gather enough incriminating evidence to keep me under his thumb.” She holds up both hands in denial. “Not that I’d done anything illegal—well, not on my own. Turns out some of those exciting things we did on Sally Ride were not exactly legal. And he had vids to prove I’d done them. Vids that he carefully stayed out of.” Her jaw clenches.

  She takes a deep breath. “He wanted me to do a couple of simple jobs for him.” Her eyes flick to each of us again then settle on me. “He wanted to scare you. He had me put the bomb on Bill’s ship.” Tears form in her eyes.

  “You were willing to bomb your partner’s husband’s ship because Putin had dirt on you?” My hands clench around the armrests of my chair. “You could have killed him!”

  “No!” She jerks like she’s been punched in the gut. “No. I’m an expert. Those shuttles are built to withstand a blast. I set it so there was no risk to him. Same with the transit station. No one was there—I used my connections to get the station closed for maintenance before your pod arrived.”