Vigilantes (19 page)

She was standing behind her desk, thinking about cleaning it up, trying not to think about the worry on Nyquist’s face every time he looked at her, and ignoring the sheer exhaustion that made the junk-covered couch against one wall look so very inviting.

She cleaned the sleep out of her eyes—ironic that the stuff in her eyes would be called “sleep” when she wasn’t getting any—and made herself concentrate. Three things to discuss with them, two directly with Goudkins, one for both of them.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, stalling for a moment. Then she blinked and the thoughts returned, as if someone had programmed them for her.

They hadn’t been programmed, of course. Everything in this building was about as secure as a place got these days. That feeling of delay didn’t come from outside; it came from within.

At some point, Nyquist’s warnings would come true. She would fall asleep on her feet and sleep for days if she didn’t get rest.

Goudkins had come farther into the room than Ostaka. Goudkins didn’t look as polished as she had two weeks ago. The Peyti Crisis had left shadows under her eyes.

DeRicci had checked up on her, had seen that Goudkins had spent weeks on the Moon after Anniversary Day and had fought to make sure her sister had actually received a funeral.

So many people hadn’t.

DeRicci had checked up on Ostaka too. He hadn’t been anywhere near the Moon in the days after Anniversary Day. He had been working some other cases in the solar system and, she suspected, he had been brought in to make certain that Goudkins didn’t spend all her time chasing the Tycho Crater case.

They were here to coordinate overall efforts. There were lesser ranked Earth Alliance investigators in the other domes, and she had just received information that more would be arriving—non-human investigators. She was told to make certain they would get through the port, as if she had control over what the port did.

She supposed she could try.

The two investigators were staring at her. She wondered how long she’d been silent.

“On the day of the Peyti Crisis,” she said, hoping she sounded more authoritarian than she felt, “we sent the information about the Peyti clones to the Earth Alliance, and told them to make certain none of the clones of Uzvekmt were working as lawyers elsewhere in the Alliance. I checked my link. I never heard back from anyone at the Alliance. Did either of you?”

“No,” Ostaka said flatly. He hadn’t even had a chance to check his links or refresh his memory.

Goudkins looked at him with surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I checked a few days ago. We haven’t heard.”

At that moment, the door opened. Popova came in, balancing cartons of food. She set them down on the only empty table, in the very center of the room.

“I brought silverware and napkins,” she said, looking at DeRicci, as if DeRicci hadn’t been using either in the last few weeks.

“Thanks,” DeRicci said curtly.

Popova nodded, and left.

DeRicci did not go for the food. It smelled strongly of onions and fried chicken. Her stomach growled. But she’d eat after the investigators left.

“You haven’t checked recently, though,” she said to Ostaka as if Popova hadn’t interrupted them.

“No,” he said. “But I would think if there were—”

“Check for me, would you?” she asked. “And I want you to go back several decades, see where these lawyers ended up. It’s important or I wouldn’t ask.”

“Do you have a lead?” Ostaka asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ll tell you if your investigation pans out.”

“We don’t really work for you,” he said unnecessarily.

“Lawrence,” Goudkins said, as if he had crossed some kind of line. That was good to hear, because DeRicci couldn’t trust her own anger at the moment, and Ostaka usually made her angry.

“We all work together,” DeRicci said, grateful for Goudkins’ interruption. It gave her just enough time to prevent her from saying something unfortunate. “I’m sure if the Earth Alliance found more of these clones, they’re dealing with them, and didn’t feel the need to bother us. But I’d like to know. It’ll help us in ways that aren’t immediately obvious.”

“Will you share that information with us?” Ostaka asked.

“Of course,” DeRicci lied. She might share it with Goudkins, but if Ostaka kept pissing her off, she doubted she’d share it with him.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thanks,” DeRicci said. “Have you two found anything?”

“Not really,” Ostaka said. “Mostly just chatter. We did discover that the Frémont clones didn’t go directly to their target cities. Some of the clones went to nearby domes that weren’t blown up. We’ve sent the information to the investigators there.”

“Keep me posted,” DeRicci said, and there was enough of a dismissal in her voice that both investigators looked down at the cartons of food, then glanced at the door. “Lawrence, go ahead and take your food. I’d like to have a personal talk with Wilma for a moment. I need to ask her something that I don’t think I can ask anyone else.”

He frowned, as if trying to understand that. Then he shrugged, as if woman-to-woman stuff was something he wasn’t really concerned with.

“Sure thing,” he said, and picked up the carton labeled “Ostaka.” He walked toward the door. Just before he let himself out, he said to Goudkins, “I think I’ll eat in the kitchen today.”

“All right,” she said, without looking at him. It sounded like she really didn’t care what he did.

He let himself out. When the door snicked shut, DeRicci sent a private encoded message to Goudkins.
Are your links with Ostaka off?

Why?
Goudkins sent back.

Because we won’t have a discussion if they’re on,
DeRicci sent. She could have added that it wouldn’t take much for her to double-check, but she wanted Goudkins to trust her.

And, deep down, she wanted to trust Goudkins.

They’re off
, Goudkins sent.

“Good,” DeRicci said. “Sit down. Have some lunch.”

“What’s this woman-to-woman thing?” Goudkins asked.

DeRicci moved to one of the chairs. She picked up the carton labeled “DeRicci” and opened it. The chicken looked a little soggy, but the onion rings (which would probably make Nyquist angry) looked delicious. She took one and bit into it. The onion was thick and sweet, obviously Moon-grown, and the batter was a perfect, buttery compliment.

The food tasted much better than she had expected, and it was all she could do not to devour it.

“I’ve been really impressed with you,” she said, wiping her fingers on one of those napkins that Popova mentioned so pointedly. “I think you truly want to figure out what’s going on here. Your partner looks on it more as a job.”

“Yeah,” Goudkins said. There was a lot of meaning in that single word. Essentially, Goudkins agreed with her and was disappointed in Ostaka.

“We’ve discovered some things,” DeRicci said, “that need to be investigated, but quite honestly, I don’t feel comfortable having the inquiries come from any law enforcement organization on the Moon.”

“Because?” Goudkins opened her carton. Something steamed, but DeRicci couldn’t smell it over her own fatty and unhealthy meal.

“Well, I can’t tell you that unless you agree to help us first.” DeRicci ate another onion ring.

Goudkins shook her head, and DeRicci felt her heart skip a beat. She had expected Goudkins to help. She really didn’t have a plan if Goudkins refused.

“We don’t work for you,” Goudkins repeated, but without all the attitude that Ostaka had brought to that phrase.

“I know,” DeRicci said, “and that’s both good and bad.”

Goudkins picked up a fork and stirred something in her carton. “You’re intriguing me.”

“Good,” DeRicci said.

“Can I change my mind after I hear what you need?” Goudkins asked.

“No,” DeRicci said.

Goudkins scooped up something from her carton. Whatever she had ordered was brown and drippy and completely unidentifiable.

DeRicci ate another onion ring. Her fingers lingered over the chicken leg that sat on top of the entire carton, but she didn’t take it yet.

“Will it get me in trouble?” Goudkins asked.

“It might,” DeRicci said.

Goudkins set her fork down. “Will it help solve what’s been happening on the Moon?”

“Possibly,” DeRicci said.

“Will it prevent another attack?” Goudkins asked.

“We don’t know,” DeRicci said. “We hope so.”

“
We?
” Goudkins asked.

DeRicci nodded, then privately gave up and grabbed the leg. It was soggy and she didn’t care. She took a bite from it, getting a larger hunk of meat than she planned.

She felt like a primitive throwback, some kind of early human that only ate with its fingers.

The thought was enough to get her to set the leg down.

“I suppose you’re not going to tell me who
we
is,” Goudkins said.

“I think you’re smart enough to figure it out,” DeRicci said.

Goudkins smiled. She took another bite of her food. She seemed very dainty compared to DeRicci. But then slight, elegant women always made DeRicci feel like a gigantic oaf, and the feeling intensified when she was tired.

She ate more onion rings. Only a few remained.

“All right,” Goudkins said after a moment. “I’m curious enough and I want to know what the hell is going on. Besides, I really want to solve this thing. So I’ll help.”

DeRicci wiped her mouth, then swallowed the last of the onion rings. Before she could say anything, Goudkins added,

“I suppose I can’t tell Ostaka what I’m doing.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” DeRicci said. “You work with me, and no one else.”

“So mysterious,” Goudkins said.

“Yeah.” DeRicci set the carton down. “You’ll understand why when I’m done.”

TWENTY-FOUR

GUMIELA’S OFFICE WAS a lot neater than DeRicci’s, but it was a surface neatness. Nyquist had been in this office many times before, and it had been spotless. Now he saw cups behind Gumiela’s desk, tablets stacked on top of each other, and a blazer tossed over a chair.

The pre-Anniversary Day Gumiela wouldn’t have allowed any of that. The fact that Gumiela’s office looked like this now simply meant that as chief of detectives, she had to cope with the occasional media presence here, and she didn’t want her office to look as scattered as she probably felt.

If the media ever made it to DeRicci’s office, then everyone on the Moon would become even more terrified that things were out of control.

Appearances did matter that much.

And Nyquist was glad that they had little to do with him.

Although, if he were honest with himself, one reason he never got enhancements to get rid of the scars left by the Bixian assassins was simply to let everyone know at first glance that he was a man who
didn’t
care about appearances.

(
And,
DeRicci had said to him one afternoon,
the fact that you want to show people at a glance that you
don’t
care about appearances means that appearances are a lot more important to you than you’re willing to let on.
)

He knew that appearances were important to Gumiela. She always wore a suit jacket over a dress or with a skirt and blouse. Today’s skirt showed off her marvelous legs. Her shoes had become practical in the last six months—she’d done a lot of walking and investigating on her own now, and she couldn’t wear shoes that accented her look. She had to wear something comfortable.

She wore her hair up, probably because it was easier, and what little makeup she had on merely covered the lines that were forming around her mouth and eyes.

It looked like nothing could cover the shadows beneath those eyes, however.

“You haven’t been here since the meeting yesterday,” Gumiela said without a hello. “You want to tell me why?”

“Following a lead,” he said.

“At the Reception Center?”

He cursed silently. He hadn’t wanted her to know where he had been.

“I have some business there,” he said.

“You know we’ve received injunctions from S
3
—”

“Yeah,” he said, “and I didn’t violate them.”

“I hope not,” she said, and leaned against her desk. It seemed like all the strength leached out of her, “because our relationship with S
3
is about to get even dicier.”

He tensed. He had hoped this wouldn’t happen when he went to see Uzvaan, but he had known it would be a risk.

“What happened?” he asked, cringing inside. He hoped that reaction didn’t show on his face.

She sighed and her dark eyes met his. For once, he couldn’t read her mood. Exasperation? Anger? Sadness? Everything mixed together, maybe with a little fear added in?