Although the neighborhood they covered from their parking loop was bright with alarm, there wasn’t much moving down there, and the rows of houses, each proudly planted on its own lot, were doubly opaqued to outside snooping.
Costa said, “Hail them.”
Fred opened a diorama of the Line Drive neighborhood and laid it over the theater map on the car’s HUD. Then he reached into the diorama with his pointer and tapped a house on its roof. “SFR2131 Line Drive,” he said, “this is Homeland Command.”
The house made no response.
“I repeat, SFR2131 Line Drive, this is Homeland Command. Please respond.”
When still the house ignored Fred, Costa said, “Libby?”
The UDJD mentar replied, The subject SFR possesses a federally granted surveillance variance.
Fred and Costa exchanged a glance.
The subject SFR is registered to the Sitrun Foundation, Libby continued. We are attempting to locate the foundation’s officers. In the meantime, you may serve your warrant.
Costa spiraled the Gov down to the street and landed it within view of the house. Fred said, “Go over this again with the broadcast.”
“Libby says that Nameless says that it came from the basement here.” Costa leaned over Fred and pointed to the spot in the diorama. “It was encrypted and unintelligible, except for the sig. The broadcast was on multiple bands and channels and ended with what appeared to be small-arms discharges inside the house.” She pointed again. Fred looked at her arm rather than where it was pointing. Not a small arm. Rather an athletic one. He turned his attention back to the diorama. The many bees present showed up as pinpoints of colored light, the color depending on the mech’s affiliation. More bees were arriving by the second and joining the legions already lurking in the shrubbery. “I feel like a latecomer to the party,” Fred said.
Costa gave him a look. “Speaking of parties. I’m sorry to have interrupted yours.”
“Not a problem.”
Costa pointed into the HUD again, this time at the outskirts of the theater map where a little blip was moving in their direction. “I’ve ordered some scouts to ring the doorbell for us. They’re still five minutes out.”
Fred pointed to a closer blip approaching from the opposite direction. “What’s that?” A large vehicle was entering their perimeter. Its transponder ID’d it as a shipping container belonging to a moving and storage company.
Costa said, “Libby?”
They seem to have a legitimate permit to pick up an object in the subject SFR.
“I’ll bet they do.”
The huge van touched down halfway in the residence’s driveway and halfway in the street, effectively blocking both. On its vast side was painted a large, mustard-colored capital T in an olive-green circle—Charter TUG.
Libby said, What do you want me to do with them, Inspector?
“We’ll want to talk to them, of course,” Costa replied, “but not right now. Send me someone to collect them, and in the meantime, order them to shut everything down and to remain inside their vehicle.”
Acknowledged, Libby said, but a minute later, the van’s rear hatch opened, and two TUGs stepped down to the street.
“Libby?” Costa said.
They’re ignoring our orders.
Two matched specimens of that odd charter, in their olive and mustard jumpsuits, loitered next to the aft hatch of the container van.
“Michaelmas,” Costa said, “what are they doing?”
“Just standing there s’faras I can tell, Myr Inspector,” said the jerry. “They scan as unarmed, but the van is opaque, so there’s no telling.”
Fred zoomed in a little with his visor and discovered that one of the tuggers was a woman. Their body mass and shape were so similar it was hard to tell. A jarhead uniformity achieved not through cloning or retrosomal gengineering, but through deep body sculpting and phenocopic surgery.
Fred zoomed in a little closer and said, “I know her.”
“Say again,” Costa said.
“I recognize one of them.”
“Really? How can you tell?”
Fred let the question pass and said, “Looks to me like they want to parley.”
“They can parley at the station.”
Fred got up and opened his door. “Looks like our scouts are still a few minutes out. I won’t be long.”
Costa watched him without comment. The jerry rose to accompany him, but Fred motioned him to sit. He exited the GOV and was immediately surrounded by bees. They darted in front of his face vying for his attention. Tiny frames opened, and tiny heads shouted questions at him: What is the nature of this HomCom action? Is it related to nanoterror? Was there a firefight inside the house at 2131 Line Drive? Is the incident related to the Market Correction of’34?
Fred said, “Uh, Libby?”
Suddenly, and all at once, the bees flew away.
Cordon in place, Commander.
“Thank you.”
He shut the starboard door, catching a glimpse of the inspector, who didn’t seem too happy with him.
Fred approached the van and TUGs. Well? he said, when he was almost upon them. Marcus, I’ve forgotten her name.
Veronica Tug, Marcus said.
“Veronica Tug,” Fred said, offering her his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you again today.”
“Me neither,” she said, shaking his hand. Her hand was bigger than his, and stronger, an odd sensation for a russ to experience. “Looks like you’ve had a day of it,” she chortled. Though her mouth was buried in the fleshiness of her face, the sound that came out of it was light and melodious. “And an interesting one, by the smell of it.”
“Interestinger by the minute,” Fred said and offered his hand to the male tugger.
“This is Miguel,” Veronica Tug said, not bothering to append his charter name.
“A pleasure, Miguel,” Fred said. “I’m Fred Londenstane.” But the tugger couldn’t force himself even to shake hands with an iterant. Fred dropped his hand and turned back to the woman. “I haven’t had a chance to debrief my proxy from this morning, Myr Tug. I hope the arrangements you made with it have satisfied Myr Pacfin.”
“There’s no satisfying some people,” the tugger woman said, “so don’t beat yourself up. You did a good enough job. You agreed to keep the pikes on a leash.”
That probably meant keeping them off the convention floor. “That sounds doable,” he said.
“Those are the exact words your proxy used. It also agreed to enlist five hundred TUGs to supplement your security force.”
“It did?” Fred said. “Amazing. I’ll have to talk to my proxy and find out what I was thinking. As to this situation—” he went on, gesturing to include the entire block. “We want you to return inside your big box and wait for some nice officers to come talk to you. Okay?”
“Gladly, Commander,” Veronica Tug said without hesitation, “but first you might wanta see what we got in our big box.”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t know what it would be, Commander, but I know what it is.” Her delivery was deadpan and sweet.
Fred said, “So what is it?”
“Only just a gamma S-ray densiscanner.”
Fred looked doubtfully at the van and then at her. “That’s a pretty hairy piece of gear to be hauling around.”
“Why, thank you,” she said. “It can do a seatrain in fourteen passes, a warehouse in two or three.”
“I’m sure it can,” Fred said. “And now that you mention it, I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing something like that.” He gestured them toward the hatchway. “After you,” he said and followed them inside.