Miss Pasley's message had farther to go but had spent Kris's money going faster. Tommy apparently had left the Bellerophon a bit more than two days ago. Which meant he'd arrived at Turantic late yesterday while Kris was passing social chitchat with a thousand of her father's closest friends. Kris slowly munched one of Lotty's high-fiber muffins while absorbing the time flow.
A second section was now a stellar map, showing the planets important to this drill. The Bellerophon's trip from High Cambria to Itsahfine involved four jumps but only one stop, that at Castagon 6. The round trip from Turantic to Castagon was just two jumps. Wardhaven to Turantic was a three-jump trip along well-traveled trading lanes.
''Nelly, do me a full political workup on Turantic.'' Until recently, human space was human space, and a study of the Society of Humanity supposedly told the tale. Growing up sharing a dinner table with her father had given Kris an early realization that what the high school civics teacher called United Humanity was full of factions that the Prime Minister regularly had to juggle to get anything done. Now those factions were independent associations, and star maps needed not just lines for shipping lanes but different colors to show where the customs inspectors lived and maybe, just maybe, a battle fleet might be making motions toward another color on the map.
She lit up Earth, the mother of this whole mess. The first two hundred years of human outreach had colonized the Seven Sisters, and then the forty-plus stepsisters, as wags named the next sphere. Nelly colored those planets green, the color of the Society of Humanity back before the Unity War, then immediately added in black the hundred planets that had made up Unity. NO, NELLY, THAT'S HISTORY. SHOW GRAMPA RAY'S UNITED SENTIENTS IN RED. The map changed: a lot of the black went to red, but so did some of the green: Pitts Hope, LornaDo. Surprise for Earth. The red also included the colonies Wardhaven had sponsored in the last eighty years. Still, the red and green were less than a quarter of the six hundred worlds now inhabited by humanity.
PUT PETERWALD'S FACTION IN BLACK. A fifty-world chunk of the Rim formed a dark cloud, centered around Greenfeld. It seemed to reach out to block Wardhaven from further expansion. Hamilton and its five colonies lay between Turantic and Peterwald's holdings. THERE ANY BAD BLOOD BETWEEN TURANTIC AND HAMILTON? Kris asked Nelly.
ONLY THE USUAL TRADING RIVALRIES, the computer agreed. Kris eyed the wall screen, searching for how she and Tom fit in.
''Kris, you have a collect call coming in.''
''Who from this time?''
''Tommy.''
''Accept it!'' Kris shouted, bouncing to her feet. Jack and Harvey were maybe half a second slower shooting from their places on the couch, the long night's exhaustion forgotten. Abby sat quietly in the straight-backed chair she'd set in a corner. She might have actually gotten some sleep for all she'd contributed to the night's conversations.
A section of wall screen changed to show the phone call. There was Tommy, looking disheveled, his skin so pale his freckles stood out like warning lights.
''Kris, I need help,'' he started, no lopsided grin today.
And the screen went blank.
''Nelly, where's the rest of the call?'' Kris yelled.
''It was cut off at the source.''
''Where was he calling from? Rerun it!'' Kris demanded. Nelly reran the call, freezing frame just before it cut off. Kris stared into Tommy's eyes, trying to plumb them for fear, terror, newfound freedom. The face just looked tired.
''Talk to me about the call, Nelly,'' Kris ordered.
''The header file has been damaged, apparently in an attempt to retrieve the call,'' Nelly said. ''The call was made from High Turantic Station about six hours ago, real time. The exact location of the phone is lost, but it was on the public systems in the station's dock section.'' A schematic of a standard, class E station appeared.
''Not much to go on,'' Jack muttered.
''Six hours ago, Tom was on Turantic and needed help,'' Kris snapped. ''That's enough for me.''
''Enough for what?''
''To get a search going, '' Kris said, pacing the floor.
''Turantic is twelve light-years away. Six hours by priority mail, '' Jack pointed out.
''So, call in some chits. You're a cop, aren't you? Get some of the brethren off their duffs and out looking for Tom.''
''Kris, we're personal security. We don't do kidnappings.''
''Your agency was all over the dopes who snatched Eddy,'' Kris snapped, mad enough not to choke on the name of her six-year-old brother who died under a pile of manure.
''Eddy was our subject. Tom is not.''
''And would anybody snatch Tom if he hadn't gotten too damn close to me?''
Jack's face was a professional mask; no answer there.
''Nelly, get me Grampa Ray.''
Jack's eyebrows raised at that, but he turned away and retook his place on the couch, folding his hands and eyeing Kris like she had some lessons to learn.
''Hi, Kris, what you doing up so early on a Saturday after a ball?'' Grampa Ray smiled from a section of wall.
''I kind of have a problem, Grampa,'' Kris answered, then filled him in. His smile worked its way into a worried frown as she told him of Tom. When she finished, he nodded.
''I remember him, a good young man.''
''This isn't going to be easy, Kris.'' When a man like Grampa Ray said things weren't easy, they weren't. ''Turantic isn't part of United Sentients. They're playing a coy game holding aloof and avoiding commitments to any of the sides taking shape. Kris, a year ago, when we were all good citizens of the Society, I could make a phone call as a private person, and half of the cops on Turantic would be hunting for Tommy. Now, I'm a king,'' Ray said ruefully, fingering his brow that at the moment was in need of combing. ''and I have less leverage.''
Kris glanced at Jack. He was shaking his head, an I told you so look all over his swarthy features.
''We have an embassy there, don't we?''
''Wardhaven's business residency was renamed an embassy, but, hon, we're all having to relearn a lot of stuff about separate and equal from the history books.''
''I'd appreciate it if you would call who you can and see if they have any way of getting cops out looking for Tommy.'' NELLY, SEND GRAMPA A COPY OF TOMMY'S CALL.
Grampa focused on something offscreen. Kris could hear Tommy's few words over the line. ''I see.'' Grampa frowned.
''If he hadn't gotten messed up with one of those damn Longknifes, this would never have happened to a kid from Santa Maria,'' Kris pointed out.
''He's from Santa Maria. Then he's not a U. S. citizen.''
Right! Santa Maria, halfway across the galaxy, hadn't joined anyone, either. ''He's a serving officer on a Wardhaven warship,'' Kris pointed out. ''That has to count for something.''
''Some folks have been arguing that we ought to give dual citizenship in cases like that. This could get very mixed up.''
Kris nodded with understanding but kept Grampa hostage with her eyes. For the first time in her life, Grampa was the first to flinch away. ''I'll make some phone calls. There's bound to be somebody who knows somebody who owes them a favor.''
''Thanks, Grampa.''
''Stay close, Kris. I'll get back,'' and Ray ended the call.
Stay close, Kris reflected. If she did. would that help Tom? She weighed Tom's prospects, hanging on the razor's edge of what Grampa Ray maybe could do. She was in motion before she actually decided to act. There was no alternative.
NELLY, GET ME CAPTAIN HAYWORTH. The skipper of the Firebolt was at his desk aboard ship; he glanced up. ''Lieutenant. You going to be late today? That ball go long last night?''