Cold Welcome

^{CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT}

“Why doesn’t she answer?” Rafe paced back and forth.

“She will have a reason,” Grace said. “And it will be a good one.”

“Unless she’s hurt. Unless the fuel ran out and they have no electricity—and no heat.”

“If it were that, she’d have let you know,” Grace said. “Sit down; you’re going to knock something over.”

Rafe sat with a thump on the nearest chair.

“I have great-nephews steadier than you,” Grace said.

“They aren’t—they don’t know Ky.”

“True, but that’s not the point. Tell me, have you figured out yet who it was that reconfigured the satellites in the first place?”

“No,” Rafe said. “And not because I haven’t tried. I’ve been through all the records I could reach, and those you unblocked for me. One of the founding families, I’m fairly certain.”

“Any idea why?”

“Found something they wanted to hide,” he said with a shrug.

“Other than the land itself?”

“I think so. From orbit, the scans show void spaces under and near that landing site. It can’t be a mine—any conventional kind of mine—because there’d have to be more surface evidence, even if the extraction was done underground. There are old topographic signs of something… a very long time ago…” As he talked on about what his analysis of the scans taken by Vanguard II had shown, he seemed calmer, but Grace recognized the tension under all that. She felt tense herself. MacRobert had reported some unusual communications traffic that he couldn’t completely categorize. “Who owns that place, anyway?”

“Excuse me?” Grace pulled her mind away from its own tracks, replayed what he’d said. “Owns it? You mean Miksland?”

“At least that part of it. We know someone’s been there—do they own it, or are they trespassing? Didn’t anyone ever lay claim to it?”

“I don’t think so,” Grace said.

“So there’s no record at all of a claim—you said there was a record of someone visiting it—”

“Yes, but he was considered eccentric at best and crazy at worst. His family finally put him away.”

“He was letting out a secret they knew about, and wanted kept. Who was he? Who are his living relations?”

“Nobody, I think.” Grace cocked an eyebrow at him; he ignored her. “Mac said they died out over a hundred years ago.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair. “If I were a conspiracist, I would be looking for someone—two families, or two branches of one family—who somehow managed to convince everyone that place was barren, toxic, and useless. And then perhaps quarreled. One killed off the other, leaving the survivor in possession of a whole continent nobody else would bother with. All its resources available to one family. What would you Vattas have done with a continent all your own?”

“Probably moved away. It’s in a very harsh climate zone.”

“Yes, but you’ve seen the images now. It’s not just bare rock or frozen tundra. It becomes more and more biologically complex on a gradient from south to north; by the north coast, there’s even some temperate forest at lower altitudes. I realize Slotter Key doesn’t have as large a population as Nexus, and you’re not stretched for resources, but people could live there, if they knew how. I can’t imagine that some of them wouldn’t want to. It’s odd. And I still want to know who else knows about it. Someone must.” He glanced at her. “You Vattas were founders here, weren’t you? Surely you know something.”

“Founders? No. We’re latecomers, not even early colonists. Third wave, if that, since we didn’t exactly come in a wave. Nemordh Vatta arrived 173 years ago, roughly, with his family on a ship that—to be blunt about it—he stole from his former employer, somewhere the other side of Nexus, after being cheated by his employer of half his earnings, and cheated on by his wife with his employer. We would prefer you not publicize that, by the way.”

“Your dynasty was started by a thief? Stella didn’t tell me that—”

“I wouldn’t call it a dynasty, but yes. And Stella didn’t know. According to his personal journal, he had been an honest man for all of his life until—in a fury with his employer and his wife—he took off in the stolen spaceship with the rest of his family. Then he—” She stopped as Rafe jumped up and ran out of the room.

“It’s Ky,” she heard as his footsteps receded down the hall.

Rafe answered her call quickly and began a spate of questions before Ky could even say hello. Ky waited them out, and when he slowed down said, “I’m fine, there was a bit of trouble because someone had hot-wired a number of sockets to be high-voltage. It took awhile to clear them—”

“You could’ve been killed!”

“But I wasn’t. I found the base commander’s logbook—we opened up another section of this place. Start Aunt Grace looking for a Colonel B. R. Greyhaus.” She spelled the name for him. “Someone knew ahead of time something was going to happen that might mean outsiders finding this place; he was ordered to close it early. Doesn’t give any names—”

“Who tried to kill you?”

“Not just me. My aide, as well.”

“Who?”

“Master Sergeant Marek and Corporal Riyahn.”

“And?”

Ky sighed. “I killed Marek; a stray shot of his killed my aide. Corporal Riyahn is cooperating with the authorities in hopes of not being executed. Things are better now. Is my flagship still in the system?”

“Yes, though it’s been ordered back to SDF headquarters. Apparently Admiral Pettygrew has usurped your place.”

“Not usurped. I chose him; I set up the emergency protocol. After thirty days without contact and it’s been—what, almost sixty?—the governments involved probably leaned hard on him. They probably pressured him to order Pordre back, too; Dan wouldn’t do that on his own unless there was a situation. Is there a situation? Is SDF in action?”

“Not that I know of. Nothing in the news. Pordre’s told your aunt he intends to stay, no matter what. But really—you couldn’t have found even one safe outlet earlier than this?”

“Not in a private place, no. You still want me to keep your secret—”

“Dammit.” She could hear him take a long breath. “All right. I want you out of there. But nobody authorizes flights in for another hundred and something days. Are you sure you’re safe down there?”

“All systems working. We’re fine. I wouldn’t worry until it’s closer to spring. Is there any way to push a lot of data through this link fast?”

“Not really. Oh—I’m sure you noticed regular skullphones and other devices are now able to get a signal. Wasn’t us—the other side. I doubt any of that’s secure.”

“That’s why we’re not using them. I’ll be calling more often, but don’t worry if you don’t hear for a short time.”

“Ha.” A strong smell followed. End of call.

Grace settled herself to wait for Rafe’s report and had just closed her eyes for a restful nap when MacRobert came in looking grim.

“Something’s moving and I can’t get the details.”

Grace sat up and blinked. “Any clue at all?”

“Minimal. Pingat Islands Base requested some replacement parts for their Air-Sea Rescue craft. Those craft should’ve been inspected and any parts ordered last fall, before the weather closed in. A major I know in Requisitions told me it’s a huge order, big enough to require flying one of the big troop carriers down there. He questioned it; his boss questioned it; someone upstream told them to shut up and fill it, that if Pingats wanted all their supplies at the start of the flying season it would save fuel and time to send them on down instead of a flight every ten days.”

“Who upstairs?” Grace asked.

“No clear answer. I’ll keep digging. I tugged the list off the line,” MacRobert said. “And brought it to you without printing it because I’m not trusting very many people these days.” He handed the stick to her.

“What else?” Grace tucked the stick into her left pocket.

“Little things. Three deaths, one unreported for a long time on the grounds the body couldn’t be identified, all over on Fulland in one of the big server farms. That death occurred as the result of an explosion and fire in one of the smaller units, and the investigation was handled internally because no customer service was interrupted. It would have come at about the time Rafe’s pal unblocked the scan satellites passing over Miksland. The other two were the partner and adult son of the first victim. Neither of those deaths aroused suspicion, but they had been insisting to friends that something was wrong about the report of the first death.”

“What else?”

“They were all Miznarii. Low-level jobs; the one killed in the explosion was just a nightshift clerk monitoring normal equipment performance. Supposed to call a higher-up if any indicators twitched.”

“Contact made,” Ky said to the others. “The Rector knows we’re alive and where we are, but she’s also found evidence that our worries are not misplaced. This base is affiliated with a segment of the military that may be about to commit treason. For now we’re safe; for now we’ll look for every possible asset that can help us escape and survive when the time comes. On average of weather, we have 160 to 180 days to prepare.”

Gossin raised a hand and Ky nodded. “For which? Attack or rescue?”

“Don’t know yet. I’ll be in contact with the Rector off and on. Everyone else, stay off com. Anything else?”

“I found something odd in that closet in the control room,” Hazarika said. “A dozen or so of these little cylinders.” He pulled one from his pocket. “I thought they might be security gear, but they’re not. Could be data storage, if we found a reader it fit.”

“Maybe magic wands,” Droshinski said. Everyone laughed.