Into the Fire

^{CHAPTER FOUR}

The next day the new kitchen door and its installation crew arrived early, interrupting breakfast. This involved more people, activity, and mess than Ky had expected: two trucks parked in the driveway and two in the street. Two carpenters, master and apprentice, to repair the door’s framing and supervise the door’s installation by the installers from the company that had built it. Locksmith to install new multiple locks. Painter to match the color of the former door on the new one, inside and out. Stella had left Ky to supervise and explain the new cook’s presence, if needed.

Teague, in the persona of butler, told the various work crew where to park and also stayed in the kitchen while the workmen fitted the new door and a locksmith installed the new locks; Rafe stayed in the security office watching for any sign of official intrusion. Ky sat at the kitchen table, “supervising” Barash, who chopped and sliced busily, packaging the results for storage, while she tried to think her way through organizing some kind of rescue for the others. She left the work crew to Teague. The work crew didn’t seem to notice that the rest of the house was shielded heavily, and by the time Stella was due home, they had cleaned up, taken away the broken door and the boards used to secure the opening, and departed.

In the noise and confusion, Ky forgot about the summons locked away in an upstairs safe.

That night Stella gave Barash her new ID, including supporting documents that already looked used. “This should take care of inquiries. I contacted Mother from the office, via the secure link on Corleigh, so she knows I’ve indulged in a new cook, but not what your real background is. As it happens—and I didn’t know this—she did speak to a friend of hers about needing a cook since it looked like Rafe and Ky would be staying with us. I thought it was logical enough, but I didn’t realize she’d anticipated me.”

“It wouldn’t be too hard to add more security to the kitchen area,” Rafe said when supper was over. They had eaten in the main house’s dining room this time, and the three survivors had taken the dishes back to the kitchen, leaving the four to talk alone. “Then we wouldn’t have to keep someone in the kitchen all day and evening.”

“Father always said they left the kitchen out because of the shape of the house,” Stella said.

“I understand that,” Rafe said. “But the kitchen addition is a simple one. We can’t do ship-hull level, but I’m sure Teague and I could contrive something to block the kind of scans they’re using, so there’d be no problem having any number of us anywhere in the house save those upper-level rooms.”

“How long?” Stella asked. “And how much material do you need?”

“I’m fairly sure Vatta Transport supply will have what we need, and enough of it.”

“Give me a list,” Stella said. “I’ll check on that tomorrow. Would we still need to turn off the house security to go from the main house to the kitchen?”

“Not once I deal with the door between them,” Teague said. “It would be unlocking just that door, as when we open the front door. The French doors to the back garden are a bigger problem, but if we want to use the garden we can always go around by the gate, right?”

“It’s going to be a nightmare when the twins come,” Stella said. “They’re used to running in and out all the time.”

“How long is that?”

“A couple of tendays, unless Mother decides it’s safer on Corleigh and puts the twins in school there. And they shouldn’t see—our other guests. If Grace thinks it’s dangerous, I’ll tell her.”

“We can worry about that later,” Rafe said. “For now, the kitchen—”

“Go on,” Stella said with a wave of her hands. “It’s too complicated for me—trouble at work, trouble at home—” She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes.

Ky looked at Stella. She wanted to ask about the summons and the Vatta legal department, but clearly this wasn’t the time.

“You need to talk to Aunt Grace,” Stella said, sitting up again. “She should be able to help you with these—our military guests. It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but they can’t stay here indefinitely.”

Ky could think of nothing polite to say, but finally managed, “I’ll call her tomorrow morning.”

Grace Vatta knew her house on Dunkle Street would be empty when she arrived home that evening. Mac was out gathering data; Teague had left to help out at Helen’s house. Although she’d finally gotten used to the sounds of houseguests moving around, and found both Teague and Rafe to be pleasant, cooperative guests, she looked forward to a quiet evening alone.

She felt the chill even with her coat on when she stepped out of the car and said goodbye to her driver. At least it wasn’t raining. Her security detail wasn’t close as usual when she glanced around. There’d been a traffic issue four blocks back. She waved her driver on. They would be here in minutes, she was sure, annoyed if she stood outside waiting for them. She would go straight inside, locking up at once; they would ping her skullphone to check on her.

She took the paper she’d found stuck in the door—some kind of advertising, she supposed, though the neighborhood was posted for no flyers—and stuffed it into her capacious bag. The door’s lock mechanisms responded appropriately to her touch and swung open.

She stopped abruptly. The door was supposed to produce a specific sequence of tones when opened, and it hadn’t. Instead, a faint hissing came from low to her right; an acrid smell stung her nose. She stepped back, pulling the door closed, fingers automatically finding the panic button on the inside, under the safety bar. That would alert security, though she hadn’t taken the time to code in the problem. Already she felt dizzy. She slapped the external door controls to LOCK, grabbed for the rail to her left, and stumbled down the steps to the walk, wondering what it was this time.

Across the street, past the row of trees between sidewalk and curb, Ser Dallony was just going up his own steps. Grace took a breath that burned all the way down her throat, tried to call out, but her voice failed, a weak croak. He didn’t look around. Her driver was long gone by now; he’d waited only to see that she’d unlocked the door. She still saw no sign of her security escort’s second car. Back down the next block, across Missamy Street, a woman in a scarlet coat walked a white dog. Grace glanced back at her door. Was any of the stuff—whatever it was—seeping out? Was it heavier than air, or lighter? She couldn’t see any vapor, but it was getting darker fast, as often on autumn evenings. She felt shaky, her mouth dry. She should move away from the house. No, she should stay there to warn Mac when he arrived. She should call Mac on her skullphone now, and not wait outside—

“Excuse me,” said a pleasant voice. “Are you all right? You look tired or ill.”

Grace looked up. A woman in a scarlet coat, a white dog. They had been down there and now they stood before her. Had she blacked out for a moment? The dog sat down, tongue lolling. Grace tried to speak again. Her voice came out weak, scratchy. “I… something… happened. Who are you?”

“Alice Vance,” the woman said promptly. She had a pleasant face, carefully made up. She looked to be in her forties, a few gray strands in her medium-brown hair. “I live about a block and a half—well, almost two blocks—that way.” She pointed ahead, the way she’d been walking. “You’re Rector Vatta, aren’t you? I’ve seen you on the newsvids; I knew you lived somewhere around here. Is this your house? Do you need help up the steps?”

“No,” Grace said. She did not know Alice Vance, but her implant informed her that a family named Vance lived in that block. Husband Jaime. Wife Alice. Children Pedar, Chloris, and Vinnie. Grace tried to swallow; her throat was dry. “Do you have… water with you?” Her voice sounded weak, shaky.

“Yes,” Sera Vance said. “I take it for Polly here. And a collapsible bowl, but you won’t need that. Was your water cut off?”

Grace shook her head. It wasn’t entirely safe to drink anything a stranger gave her but she needed water badly. Alice handed her a smudged bottle with a screw-on lid.

“The water’s clean,” Sera Vance said. “I’m sorry about the outside; I just refill it every day because it’s for the dog, really.”

Grace touched her tongue to the water. Her implant approved and she let a little trickle down her throat. It burned, then soothed. Another swallow that didn’t burn at all. “Thank you,” she said, screwing on the cap and handing it back. Her voice was still weak, but closer to normal. “There was some kind of bad smell in the house. I didn’t think the pest control crew was coming today, but that must be it.”

“You should call your doctor,” Sera Vance said, her expression now worried. “If you like, I could call for you.”

From the corner of her eye, Grace was aware of a vehicle moving very slowly from the corner toward them. Where was her security detail? “No thank you,” Grace said to Sera Vance. “I’m sure I’ll be fine now. I just needed to wash out my mouth.” She had no intention of going to a doctor or clinic if she could help it; she had avoided doctors successfully for years.

“Then would you like to come along to our house and clear your head?” Sera Vance asked. “It’s too cold to stand outside this evening. I’ll walk with you, in case you feel ill or need more water—I’m sure that’s better than trying to go back inside.”

“Thank you,” Grace said. Maybe whoever was in the vehicle wouldn’t attack when another person was there with a dog. The dog, in fact, had gotten up as the car neared, standing alert, tail and ears up. “I think I will. As one gets older, I’ve been told, one’s reaction to different chemicals changes.” She forced a smile. She felt steadier; her impulse to call Mac on her skullphone faded. He would worry; he would also tell her to see a doctor. He might even insist on a hospital visit.

Sera Vance laughed. “My mother said the same thing. I’m glad to help. Why don’t you take my arm?” To the dog she said, “Come along, Polly.”

Grace thought of Mac, this time more clearly, but took Sera Vance’s arm; the white dog trotted ahead, the leash not quite taut. The car went on by, windows up, dark blurs inside it. Grace tried to think of a way to let Mac know without arousing his protective side. It was hard to think, but after all she’d had a shock. Finally she thought she had the right phrasing. “I need to make a call,” Grace said, as they walked along. “If you’ll excuse my doing it as we walk.”

“Of course.”

Mac answered on the second ping. “MacRobert here. Who’s calling?” Which meant he was with people, perhaps still in that meeting he’d mentioned.

“Grace,” she said. “I think I forgot the day the exterminators were coming. Came in the house and there was an awful smell. I’m going down the block with a neighbor, Sera Vance, but you should plan to eat somewhere else tonight.”

“Oh. Sure. Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes. I’ll need to find someone to clean the stuff out of the air, first.”

“I’ll take care of that. Talk to you later.”

Good. He wasn’t panicked about her; she would have time to recover fully before they met again. Grace brought her full attention back to the street. Quiet, as it usually was when everyone had come home from work. They crossed Missellin Street and went on down the next block. Lights shone from some windows; dead leaves rustled along the gutters. A night bird, overhead, gave a wavering whistle. The length of the block went by. Grace felt better with the fresh air, though her throat was still tight. They crossed Missanna.

“We’re the third house on this side of the street,” Sera Vance said. “And I see Jaime’s home; the light’s on in his den.”

“You have children?” Grace asked out of politeness.

“Yes, three. Pedar left this morning with his science class on a field trip; they’ll be back tomorrow night. Chloris should be practicing her viola, and Vinnie is either doing his homework or pestering his father. We’ll find out shortly.”

Inside the Vance home everything seemed normal. A small boy, about the same age as the twins, sprawled on the floor reading; the dog trotted over and licked his ear. The sound of a stringed instrument played imperfectly came from the back of the house. A door opened, and a tall, thin man said, “Alice—I was starting to worry. Oh—” as he caught sight of Grace. “I’m sorry.”

A girl perhaps thirteen came through a swinging door, scowling. “I will never get that passage at measure ninety-two. My fingers just will not do it.”

“Supper in fifteen minutes,” Alice Vance said. “Everyone wash up. And this is Sera Vatta; the exterminators left too much chemical in her house, so I invited her here.” To Grace, she said, “Just sit down and I’ll bring you more water in a minute. The casserole’s in the oven, all that’s left is putting in the cheese biscuits.”

Grace sat down. It was the girl, Chloris, who brought the water. “Do you like music?”

“I like some music,” Grace said. She did not like listening to children practicing.

Silence descended. Chloris left the room at a call from the kitchen. Delicious smells drifted out into the sitting room, and Grace’s memory brought up a reference. It had been decades, most of her life, but she had smelled that food before. In Esterance, as a young girl who thought she was an adult, she had eaten it with friends in a café before… things happened.

When Sera Vance—Alice—came to call her in to eat, Grace had mastered her memory, and asked what the casserole was. “It smells like something I had years ago—”

“Yes. My mother-in-law taught me to make it, back when I was on Fulland, doing research. I met Jaime and his family there. His mother saw the way the wind was blowing and decided I had to learn to cook all his favorites.”

It tasted the same, down to the exact mix of spices. Grace had ignored the slight dizziness when she stood and walked in favor of dinner, telling herself that dizziness at her age, after a shock, was essentially proof of normalcy. Ignoring minor symptoms had stood her in good stead for years; as long as she could breathe, eat, and walk, she didn’t need medical attention.

She ate without concern; the children were eating theirs and her throat felt better anyway. The slight tremor in her hand—she lost that forkful of casserole—was just another aftereffect of being scared. Probably had nothing to do with whatever it had been. She’d been in it only a few seconds, after all. She realized she’d lost track of the conversation around the table, and looked up to find Sera Vance watching her, brow furrowed.

“Sera—Rector—are you feeling unwell again?” Sera Vance’s voice sounded unnaturally loud; both children were staring. “Are you sure we should not take you to a clinic? Jaime—” A knock on the door interrupted her, freeing Grace from the need to reply. She wasn’t sick—she was just tired and a little shaky. Jaime—as Grace now thought of him—got up to answer it.

“Is Rector Vatta here?” asked a familiar voice. “I’m Master Sergeant MacRobert, and her office is looking for her. There was some mistake about dates, and her house—”

“Of course, yes.” Jaime’s voice. “Come in; she’s having dinner with us.” And something in a lower tone that Grace could not hear.

Mac was in uniform, as he was only rarely these days. “Good evening, Rector,” he said, as if they didn’t call each other Grace and Mac all the time otherwise. “The department has a crew at your house, decontaminating it. The company apologizes for the error; they thought you had left for the weekend. You have a room reserved, or I can take you to your niece’s house, if you prefer.”

“Thank you, Master Sergeant. I hate to intrude on my niece—” She turned to Alice Vance. “My niece—great-niece, really—Ky Vatta and her fiancé are staying there, and they’ve had hardly time to see each other since the rescue.”

“You know her?” Chloris sat up straighter. “You know Ky Vatta?”

“I’ve known her all her life,” Grace said.

“But she’s famous! She’s an admiral! And then—”

“Chloris.” Jaime smiled at her and shook his head slightly. “Sera Vatta knows all that.”

“But—” Grace could see the effort made to calm down. “Just tell her we—our strings class—admires her most of all. Bela even wrote a little piece about her. If she’d ever like to hear it—”

“Chloris. Later.”

“I’ll tell her,” Grace said. “Master Sergeant?”

“There’s also a call from Commandant Kvannis, Rector. It requires a secure line.”

Grace sighed, intentionally loud enough to hear. “It was a lovely dinner, Alice, Jaime. Thank you—”

“I’m sorry to have interrupted dinner,” MacRobert said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sit down, join us,” Alice said. “Our oldest isn’t here, so there’s plenty—he’s at the two-hollow-legs stage.”

“No thank you, Sera,” MacRobert said. “I’m sorry; it’s very kind of you, but I really should get the Rector to a secure line. She has important calls waiting.”

The look on Mac’s face convinced Grace not to delay. Kvannis must really have his undies in a knot about something; perhaps it had to do with the personnel from Miksland. She felt much better, she told herself, not just because of Mac’s help down the steps. Yet the fragmented memory of Fulland, of Esterance, of the riots and the… things that had happened… that she had done… remained. She struggled to pull them together. Jaime Vance was from Fulland, from Esterance? Which side had his family been on? And had she run into any Vances back then? Mostly the people she’d known used only single names, often not their own—call names, they’d said. But she had been well known, especially postwar, after all the communications were back up. Her trial had been widely publicized.

“You’re damn lucky you’re alive,” Mac said when they were back in the car. “Any symptoms?”

“Pain in my throat and nose, temporary loss of voice—that’s why I didn’t call you immediately. Some dizziness, weakness—that passed off fairly quickly. I think I’m fine now.” She didn’t mention the tremor. He would be sure it meant something dire.

“You’re going to the hospital. No arguments.” He said that last firmly though she hadn’t argued. She had felt better, but now—as the car moved swiftly through the streets, around turns, bouncing a little over the occasional pothole—she had an uncomfortable feeling that she ought not to have eaten before being checked out. That maybe being checked out was a good idea.

“Did Kvannis really call me?” she asked to take her mind off her uneasy innards.

“Yes. He wants to get hold of Ky and said he couldn’t reach her at the Vatta city house. Some questions about the people she knew in Miksland, he said. I didn’t give him her skullphone number.”

“Good. Nobody should have that but those she chooses.” Grace paused. Her stomach really was upset, and she could feel the muscles in her arms and legs twitching now. Surely it wasn’t the food; the whole family had eaten from the same dishes. “What was that stuff in the house, anyway?”

“MZT-43. Bad one, Grace. I wouldn’t be surprised if you threw up that dinner you just ate; it attacks mucous linings, among other things.”

She should know what MZT-43 was, but it was hard to think, harder every minute.

They reached the Marvin J. Peake Military Hospital before the worst happened; staff with a lift chair were waiting at the curb. “Rector—can you make it out of the car?”

“Of course I can,” Grace said, but her voice was weak and harsh again. Her legs trembled when she tried to stand. Mac helped her, and she was in the chair, safe, but feeling much worse now. “Call the family,” she said as they pushed her inside, and he nodded.

The kitchen had been closed off again, and they were all in the dining room listening to the survivors tell more about their experiences, when the house com warbled from the security office across the entrance hall. Stella went to answer it. “It’s probably from Vatta headquarters.”

“Go on,” Ky said to Inyatta, who had stopped midsentence.

“Then I opened the cell door,” Inyatta said. “That loudspeaker was still going about the emergency in Wing B. I gave Barash the door card, and she let Kamat out—we were all kind of shaky, so we raided the food cart and hoped that would help, and it did.”

“And Kamat remembered we should be sure the evening dose was missing, so it looked like we’d taken it,” Barash said. “That curtain we hadn’t been able to see past was actually a kind of changing room—there were more suits like our guards wore hanging in it. We put the booties they wore over our slippers and that helped when we got outside—”

“We almost didn’t,” Kamat said. She shuddered. Ky nodded encouragement. “But Inyatta just kept going, like she knew—”

“I knew I’d rather die trying to escape than be drugged and helpless in that place,” Inyatta said. “It seemed to take hours to get out of the building, though, let alone out of the compound. We’d relocked the doors the card opened, but they had sniffers, if they’d thought to use them.”

Stella hurried across the foyer to the dining room. “Ky—that was MacRobert. It’s Aunt Grace. She’s been poisoned!”

“What?”

“Someone put poison gas canisters in her house! It could have killed her—it should have killed her—and she could still die—” Stella’s breath came in gasps; she was trembling. Rafe stood up and went to her.

“Stella—take a deep breath—easy now.” He took her arm and guided her to a chair. “Sit down. If Mac’s with her, she’ll be taken care of. Where is she?”

“That big—that big military hospital in the city. He said stay here, stay safe, don’t come, but I—but we’re family—” She looked at Ky. “We should go.”

“If she’s that sick, we can’t help,” Ky said. “Mac’s right; he’ll be sure nothing more happens to her.” The possibilities ran through her mind as if outlined in light. “We need to call your mother—if this is the start of new attacks on Vatta, she should stay on Corleigh but maybe not in the beach house.”

“You don’t think anyone would kill the twins—”

“And you need to alert Vatta headquarters,” Ky said. “All operations, here and elsewhere.”

“Don’t you even care about Aunt Grace?”

Ky bit back the first response and tried for something less antagonistic. “Stella, I do care about her. I care about the whole family as well. I can call headquarters, if you’d rather, while you call your mother.”

“You’re not listed anymore,” Stella said. “You have no authority there. It’s my domain.” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and the warn-off was clear.

Ky could see, from the corner of her eye, the three survivors staring fixedly at the table. “You’ll want privacy for that,” she said, and stood, beckoning to the others. They followed her out of the room. To them she said, “I’m going down to the gym.” Rafe gave a slight nod toward Stella; she knew he would stay with her, try to calm her.

“There’s a gym?” Kamat asked.

“Yes,” Ky said. “My uncle Stavros put it in. Come see.” On the way down she considered explaining more about her background and Stella’s, but they didn’t need to know—yet, anyway—and she did want to hear more about their escape. Surely they knew something useful.

They had all worked up a sweat on the machines by the time Rafe showed up at the door and beckoned Ky over. “I come in peace,” he said. He glanced past her at the others; they had been chatting at the other end of the room.

“Of course,” Ky said. “Nobody’s mad at you. Has she calmed down yet?” She wiped her face.

“She’s gone up to the office and wants to be alone. I suggest that you not bother her tonight.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Ky said. “Neither of us can do anything for Grace tonight. So I’m focusing on what we can do for the survivors who are being held captive. Our guests have some ideas—we were about to go across the hall to what Uncle Stavros called the bunker.”

“Bunker?”

“Situation room, it would be, in military terms.”

Rafe gave her a puzzled look and said, “Do you want Teague down here?”

“Yes, both of you. He worked for the guy who got your parents out.”

Rafe paused to call Teague on the house com, then followed her across the hall into the bunker. “Stella knows a lot more background on politics than you do—” he began.

“I’ve been gone for ten years.”

“And were busy the whole time. I know. She says Grace isn’t popular. Widely believed to be behind the former President’s apparent suicide, after the attack on Vatta, even though it was the Commandant with him at the time. Apparently there’s a rumor she and the Commandant had a connection in the past. Lovers or something.”

“Aunt Grace?” Ky stared at him. “She’s at least ten years older than he was, maybe twenty, and she never had any interest in men after her husband died. That’s what my father told me.”

“Stella said the same—that it was ridiculous, but a rumor nonetheless. And Vatta did use her as a corporate spy of some kind. Stella’s afraid some enemy—corporate or political or a mix—may be targeting Vatta again, rather than this having anything to do with these three.” Rafe smiled at them; they smiled back, a little stiffly. “I’m less sure. If she were just Vatta’s master spy, sure, but she’s administrative head of the Defense Department—surely an attack on her is more related to that. After all, we know they’re interested in this house because of our friends here.”

“That man, that officer who was here today—Aunt Grace ordered him to come to her office with his team. Could that have triggered an attack?”

“Possibly. Ky, from what you’ve told me about Miksland, the evidence you’ve found—both a civilian and a military component were involved. Maybe they were intentionally involved—maybe there’s one enemy with two faces.”

“Or three,” Teague said, turning around from the map he’d been looking at since he’d arrived downstairs. “Mac wasn’t kidnapped by the military or the Quindlans… that was a criminal organization, not a legitimate corporation.”

“Malines,” Rafe said, nodding. “But maybe they’re all allies. Ky, were there any military personnel named Quindlan or Malines when you were here before?”

“There was a Cadet Quindlan in the senior class when I entered—I didn’t have any problems with him. I don’t remember his first name. Dad said the Quindlans weren’t friends but weren’t all bad—and back then the President was a Quindlan. Dad had voted for him. I think the cadet was his son, or maybe nephew.”

Kamat said, “A Lieutenant Varian Quindlan supervised the shop I worked in on my first cruise. Seemed like a good officer. That would have been… maybe nine years ago.”

“I knew a Malines—Dexter—in Basic, but he washed out, straight into the brig. He stole from our platoon sergeant.” Inyatta shook her head. “Really stupid.”

“So there is some infiltration of two suspect organizations into the third,” Rafe said. “Over time, could have been a lot more.”

“I take your point,” Ky said. “Not one enemy, but several working together. Still, we need to figure out where the other survivors are being held, and then how to get them out. And quickly.”

Stella was pleasant at breakfast before leaving for her office. Rafe gave her a list of equipment they would need to upgrade the house security and include the kitchen in it.

“And we’re going to need more people,” Teague added. “There’re more than a dozen people to locate and rescue, and we don’t have Gary’s—” He stopped and shook his head.

“If you have someone in Vatta’s security section,” Rafe said, “someone you trust, with experience in… locating missing persons or shipments, a really good hand with electronics—”

“I’ll do what I can,” Stella said. “I’d usually ask Grace, but—” She picked up her case and edged toward the door.

“But surely there’s someone you can ask. Grace ran your security for years; there must be—”

“Most died in the explosion, but I will look.” She had her hand on the door.

“Stella, may I continue to use Vatta’s legal department about this summons thing?” Ky half stood to get Stella’s attention.

“Yes, of course, Ky. I saw that notation on the bottom of the memo and sent word down to give you whatever you needed. Just call them.” Stella went out, and Teague followed, turning down the driveway to open the gate and spot for her.