“Yrilan got crosswise and got mandatory counseling instead of a hotspot in records,” Meharry said. “Pulled that out of this lady’s office files, once I knew where. But Oblo and I think she’s working for someone else. She definitely—definitely—signalled to these guys—” She pointed to the display again. “—when she came out. Then she fell off our scanners like a rock off a cliff. Had to be counterscan, had to be illegal.” Meharry sounded righteous about that.
“Meharry, your scans are illegal,” Heris said, trying not to laugh.
“Well, sure, but that’s how I know her counterscans were. Legal citizen-type scans aren’t worth the space in your pockets. Anybody can privacy-shield from them. We had to have something that’d work.” Meharry shrugged that off and pointed to the display.
“Her accounts, now . . . look at what she spends just on clothes. Public service therapists don’t make that much.”
“Investment income, it says,” Heris commented, not mentioning that sucking data from the banking nets was even more illegal than the rest of it.
“Yeah, but what investment? I grant you dividend income, but I wonder about the companies. You have investments, don’t you? Why don’t you check this stuff out, Captain?”
Heris laughed aloud. “In what spare time? I suppose I could ask about—uh—Siritec, since it seems to be paying her the most, but without knowing her initial investment there’s no way to tell . . . and no, I’m not about to stick a wire into investment accounts myself. What you’ve got is interesting—I wish I could figure out a way to let the militia in on it without compromising you.”
“You said Sirkin mentioned Yrilan’s gambling. Maybe just that?”
“I’ll think about it; I don’t want her catching any more trouble if we can help it. Now—about the fight itself—”
Meharry grinned. “Like I said, the kid was tough. Yrilan was down when we got around the corner, one of ’em leaning over her—probably making her that C.H. pattern—and Sirkin was fighting hard, but not hard enough. ’Course, she was outnumbered, and they were armed.” From the tone, she was making excuses she didn’t think would have to be made for her. “They weren’t trying to kill her, though. Somebody was on top of her, trying to cuff her, when Oblo ’bout took his head off. After that—” She gave a surprisingly detailed account of the brawl, interspersed with her assessment of the enemy’s ability and training. “And it was after they were all down, that we saw Yrilan’s face and hands. That’s when we figured it was Compassionate Hand business, and we’d better get Sirkin back to safety—”
“Eh, Captain.” That was Oblo, free surprisingly early from the militia captain. Heris had thought he’d be much later.
“Well—let’s hear it from you.” Oblo gave Meharry an oblique glance and settled into a seat. His clothes still had the marks of the fight, though he had daubed at the bloodstains somewhere along the line. His version was even racier than Meharry’s. She hadn’t bothered to mention the delay at the park entrance; they hadn’t wanted to kill any of their opponents at that point, but his description of the action made her wonder why the militia hadn’t found more inert bodies. Heris heard him out, then sent them off to rest. She was a little surprised that no more calls had come in for her, but she told Guar to patch them to the clinic if they did come. After a look at the time cycle where Cecelia was, she decided not to wake her.
When she called later, she found that Cecelia was in a mood Heris privately considered ridiculous. She was in a raging fury about some point of family politics, and threatening to throw things. Her reaction to Heris’s news was just as strong and no more helpful.
“Just what I needed,” she snapped. “You can’t even keep things straightened out up there. Why I ever thought you were more efficient than the prissy officious managers down here, I cannot now recall.” Heris tried not to get angry in return. “Another dead body . . . and that nice girl Sirkin injured . . . and that overpaid lot in the clinic will probably charge me double.”
“As a matter of fact, no.” Heris broke in with quiet satisfaction. “Since Sirkin is the victim of a crime, and it’s quite clear that she bears no responsibility for what happened, no charges apply to your employee accounts, and it will not affect your medical-tax rates in the future.”
“Oh. Well.” Heris could practically see the boiling temper settling down again. “Well, of course I care most about Sirkin and . . . whoever.”
“Sirkin will be fine, they tell me. In fact, while it’s a selfish thought at such a time, we’re more likely to keep her now. Her lover, Yrilan, wasn’t really qualified and I could not have justified offering her a long-term contract. Sirkin might or might not have stayed with us, if it meant separation from Yrilan.”
“That’s sad.” Now Cecelia sounded like herself again. Heris was glad she had the experience to know that the harsh, biting voice was only an expression of mood, not basic personality. “What a price to solve a dilemma.”
“True. Now, both Royal Security and the Station militia prefer that we remain docked here until Sirkin is out of the clinic and back aboard. That means we’ll be late to the Spacenhance slot, but I’ve already contacted them and they’re holding it for you. I’ll be very careful arranging accommodations for the crew during the time the ship won’t be habitable.”
“Of course,” Cecelia said. “And I’m sorry if I sounded off at first. It’s just that you haven’t been having to deal with the flat-footed idiots—” Her voice rose again. “—who messed up my perfectly clear instructions and landed me with a lot of low-grade bonds. These people who rejuvenate too often end up with brains like babies—no sense at all.”
Heris shook her head, and tried not to grin. For a woman who claimed to know and care about nothing but horses and good food, Lady Cecelia had strong opinions about the minutiae of investing.
Three days later, Sirkin was finally cleared for the regen tanks, and her broken ribs responded with the alacrity of youth. “She’s still not completely recovered from the concussion,” the doctors warned Heris. “Don’t expect rapid calculations, or long concentration—you’re not going to make jump points any time soon, are you?”
“No. We’re going in for redecorating—she’ll have plenty of time to recover.”
“Good. We’ll want to see her every ten days until the scans are completely normal. Immediately, of course, if you notice any changes in behavior that might be the result of head injury. I know she’s lost a close friend, and grief can produce some of the same symptoms—so be alert.”
Heris walked back to the ship access with Sirkin. The sparkle she had enjoyed was gone; the younger woman looked pale and sad. Natural, of course. Heris knew from experience that nothing she said would really help. In time, she’d work through her grief, but right now she needed time and privacy to react. As they came aboard the yacht, Sirkin turned to her.
“Can you tell me what—where Amalie’s—where they put . . . her?”
“In the morgue, awaiting instructions. The necropsy’s finished; the sonic pulser killed her. Do you know what her wishes would have been?”
Sirkin frowned. “She didn’t have burial insurance . . . I suppose it’ll have to be the usual. But I wanted to see her.”
Heris started to say Better not, then thought again. Would she have shielded a military youngster that way? Sirkin had earned a right to choose the difficult.
“Would you like me to come with you?”
“You’d do that?” Naked relief on her face. Heris nodded.
“Of course I will—and so will Petris. Oblo and Meharry, too, if you don’t mind.”
“I thought—I’d have to go alone,” Sirkin said. Heris could see her determination to do just that if necessary, and her relief that she would have friends beside her.