Engaging the Enemy (22 page)

Her lower lip trembled. “It was scary. Buttercup bucked me off
twice,
and Justin was laying there and Gramma was screaming and you—”

“Yes, it was scary,” Grace said. “But you did very well. You didn't scream. You did what I told you.”

“I wanted to—”

“But you didn't. Do you still need to scream?”

Shar looked down. “Sometimes. But it's bad—it upsets Gramma.”

“Not at the right times. When something's been really scary and you couldn't scream then, sometimes you need to scream or cry later.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Grace said. “Sometimes I scream.” Shar smiled through tears, and then left. Grace wondered when MacRobert would show up. Soon, she hoped.

Her next visitor, however, was Helen, who shut the door behind her and stood by it. “I haven't thanked you yet for saving the children.” Her voice was tight, as if she spoke around a block of ice.

“Helen…say what you mean.”

“It's—I can't—” Helen, always so remote and cool, collapsed on the chair suddenly, shoulders shaking. Grace cursed her own weakness. “Stav and Jo and the children almost—”

“But they didn't get the children,” Grace said.

“But they almost did. If you hadn't been there—”

“If I hadn't overslept, I'd have known they were there before the children went out,” Grace said. “How's Justin?”

“Oh, he's fine. A bump on the head, that's all. He's upset about Rosy, of course.” Helen sniffed. “I've got to stop this…all this crying.”

“You have a lot to cry about,” Grace said. “So do the children.”

“You aren't crying,” Helen said. “And you're the one who lost an arm.”

“But not a husband and children,” Grace said. “Can we stop this comparison of grief? I certainly don't think less of you for grieving.”

“Oh. Yes.” Helen blew her nose, wiped her face, and took a deep breath. “It just hits me at the oddest moments. And I did want to thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now—what happened to the assassins?”

“I don't know. The police kept telling me to take care of the children and not worry when I asked. They took your weapon away, I do know that.”

“Just the one I had with me?”

“You have others?” Helen's brows went up. “Here?”

“I certainly hope so,” Grace said. “Not that I'm in shape to use them, but I'd hate to lose them. Any more trouble?”

“No, nothing. The police have been here, of course, and that fisherman who knew you—MacRobert.”

“You meet the nicest people on the river,” Grace said. “Quite the gentleman he is.”

“You did know he's in Spaceforce?” Helen asked.

“Is he?” Grace said, closing her eyes.

“Grace. Don't do that. I know you knew; you know everything about everyone five minutes before you meet them.”

Grace opened her eyes. “Do I? All right, I knew MacRobert was in Spaceforce. I did check out who was renting cabins on the river when we leased this place. That was an obvious way for someone to gain access. But when we met on the river, he was all right. I watched for a few days to see; he's a wet-fly fisherman, and he was fishing like any other.”

It was hours later, while she was napping, that MacRobert came. He knocked on the door; she woke, mumbled something, and he came in.

“You have a nice system here,” he said, looking around the room in a way that indicated the locations of system elements.

“Thank you,” Grace said. “Now why were you so anxious to get me out of that hospital?”

“Events. Would you like to check your system and see that it's functioning?”

“Yes.” Grace accessed her implant's security subroutines, linked into the house system. All well so far. “If you'll hand me the controller in the drawer of the bedside table…” It looked like the remote for a vidscreen; MacRobert handed it to her. She ran through the diagnostics, something the implant could not do without a direct physical access. All correct. The system was on at the highest level, as it should be. “Clear,” she said.

“Good.” MacRobert sat down in the chair near the bed. “You had obtained information on the actions of officials in high office; you had transmitted that information to certain persons—am I right?”

“Yes,” Grace said.

“I would like to see that information. We are concerned that those persons are not the ideal agents in this instance.”

“We?”

He gave her a steady look. “We have a common cause. We have a common enemy.”

“Do we?”

“Yes.” No wiggle room in that statement. “Whoever attacked Vatta did so not alone to destroy Vatta, but to terrify the government. And my best guess is, not this government alone. It would not surprise me to find that other ansibles than ours are out of commission, and that atrocities have been committed in other systems, all to cause governments to weaken or fall. Here, in the one system where we can obtain hard data, we know that the highest level of the government is involved.”

“Who are
we
?” Grace asked. What she really wanted to ask was
Who are you?
but the answer to the other might make that clear enough.

“Spaceforce is tasked with external security issues,” MacRobert said. “That's public knowledge. We were deliberately misled and kept from knowing things that then allowed the transfer of weaponry from a nonallied space fleet to this planet, and activation of that weaponry by at least one such ship. The attack on Corleigh Island's Vatta offices and household was made using high-level weaponry controlled from space. By the time we could ascertain that, the ship involved was beyond our borders, and we were ordered not to pursue it. Then the ansibles went out, and we were ordered to contract our perimeter to two light-minutes.” He paused; Grace nodded her understanding and he went on. “This caused us some concern. Us being that part of Spaceforce tasked with security analysis.”

“I see.”

“Not completely, you don't, and I'm not authorized to share all our sources with you. Though I believe we share some sources of which we are not aware. At any rate, though my nominal position is senior NCO in the cadet barracks at Spaceforce Academy, my actual job is, as you've surmised, in the security sector. It's just that I could learn things fairly easily from homesick cadets that other operatives had to dig for.”

“So what is it you want from me?” Grace asked.

“I want you to share what you've learned with me, and let us use that information to take down the President,” he said. “You've set the wrong kind of hounds on his trail. Kill him your way, and he'll be a martyr.”

“I want him dead,” Grace said.

“Quite so.” His tone was level; Grace noted that he showed no shock or disapproval. That surprised her; he was developing a habit of surprising her, and she surprised herself by not resenting it. “And
we
want him discredited,” MacRobert went on. “If you didn't want that, too, why collect the chain of evidence you've spent so much time on? We can accomplish both, if we work together.”

“I would have to trust you,” Grace said. To his credit, he didn't use
I saved your life
to persuade her, but just sat there, waiting. She closed her eyes. He said nothing. She wanted to trust him. She wanted nothing more than she wanted the President both dead and dishonored. But could even Spaceforce accomplish that? More important, would they?

She opened her eyes. “Do I have your word, MacRobert-whatever-your-rank-really-is, that you will not let that weasel escape?”

“Yes. And I can have a high-ranking officer come here and speak with you, if that will help.”

Grace hoped her expression carried sufficient disgust with that appeal. “Admirals and generals are featherweights, MacRobert. You, I choose to trust. All right. I'll need to get downstairs to the library, and onto my secure line. What time is it? Damn. Better get me downstairs now.”

She was sweating with pain, her hand and feet cold, by the time he had her installed in the chair and helped her hook up the external communications she'd established. With exquisite courtesy, he withdrew to the library proper while she sent out the coded message that meant “stop, cease, await next orders.” Confirmation took hours, hours during which she passed from merely tired to utterly exhausted, fighting off the pain and weakness to stay upright in her seat, acknowledging each reply within the appropriate time frame, each having its own unique reply code.

At last it was done. MacRobert got her back upstairs and into bed.

“You had better get it done,” Grace said, with the last of her strength. “Or I'll come after you.”

“I believe it,” he said. “But I promise, we'll get it done.”

The President yawned as he sat behind his polished desk. Though he had slept better the past dozen nights, he still could not stop yawning. On his desk was the Order of Rescission that would invalidate all Slotter Key letters of marque and order all its privateers to cease operations. It seemed futile, since they had no functional system ansible, and thus could not recall the privateers now in operation, but he hoped it would placate the pirate horde. At least, with that old woman out of commission, he had only one enemy to fear.

His door opened unexpectedly; he glanced up to see his personal assistant and behind him someone in uniform.

“Mr. President, the Commandant of Spaceforce Academy.”

The President looked up, into the steady gaze of a man he had despised for decades. His assistant backed out and shut the door. “Commandant,” he said, unable to put any real welcome in his voice. “What brings you here so—”

“Without an appointment? That.” The Commandant nodded at the President's desk.

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. President, let's not play games. You're proposing—no, you've decided—to rescind all letters of marque without the advice or approval of Council. You are on the point of signing the Order of Rescission.”

“How do you know that? Have you been spying on me?”

“Don't be naïve.” The Commandant sat without being invited to sit. “Everyone spies on everyone else; it's why we have security systems.” He put a scrambler cylinder on the desk and thumbed its controls. “Someone may be able to penetrate even this, but it will take skill. Mr. President, we at Spaceforce—since we are tasked with the external defense of this system—have been looking into the attacks on the Vatta family compound and headquarters—”

“That's not external,” the President said. Sweat sprang out on his back. They could not know…

“In origin, yes, they were. And they represented a clear threat to our system integrity, so they are well within our defined mission.”

“What has this to do with the Academy?” the President asked. “You're head of the Academy, not all of Spaceforce.”

“True. You appointed Cair Tlibi the Spaceforce Commandant, didn't you?”

It was a matter of record; they both knew it. What was this leading up to?

“Yes, I did. What of it?”

“A distinguished officer, with a fine record,” the Commandant said. “Would it surprise you to know that he had a history of offering and accepting bribes?”

The President knew his own face was shiny with nervous sweat, but he dared not wipe it away. He scowled. “I would not believe it,” he said. “It's a politically motivated attack on an honorable man…”

“Hardly that,” the Commandant said. “He's confessed, you know. Bribery, extortion, and collusion with an external enemy.”

The President felt faint. Not Tlibi, not the gruff, hearty man who had always been the most accessible, most affable military man he'd ever known.

“And I must mention, Mr. President, that he has—I'm most sorry to have to say this—named you as one of the people with whom he had illicit monetary arrangements. Given his record, we do not accept this on his word alone, of course, but I'm afraid that there must be an investigation—”

Shock and rage swamped prudence. “How did she do this?” the President heard himself saying.

“She?” In that one word was all the warning he needed to pull himself back to his usual control.

“Never mind.” He took a deep breath. “Needless to say, I repudiate everything you've said. I don't know by what means you forced an innocent man to confess to crimes he had not committed, but I refuse to believe that Tlibi has done anything that heinous, and obviously I'm denying any such acts on my own part.”

“I understand, Mr. President,” the Commandant said.

“And now I must ask you to leave,” the President said. “I'm quite busy already and I will consult with my legal staff at once about this…this disgusting matter.”

“No,” the Commandant said. “I'm not leaving.”

“But you—” The President stabbed at the emergency button on his chair. Nothing happened.

“Mr. President, for the moment you are…cut off from communication. The Council are considering what to do, and I am here to ensure that you communicate with no one and take no actions related to your presidency.”

“How dare you!”

“On orders from the Council, Mr. President. They have been apprised of the relevant facts, and it was their request—no, command—that you be guarded by a high-ranking officer of Spaceforce who was already in possession of the same facts.” His voice changed timbre. “Sir, I would not reach into that drawer if I were you.”

The President removed his hand from the drawer in which he kept his personal weapon. “You are wrong,” he said. “You are completely wrong and I will be exonerated in court. After which, your career will be in ruins.”

“It is the risk one takes in the military,” the Commandant said, with a twitch of the shoulders that was not quite a shrug. “Doing the right thing has its risks, and we accept them.”