After landing, Morrison took her duffel from the stack, aware that the officers on the committee were standing nearby.
“Give you a lift, Sergeant Major?” Colonel Nedari asked. “We’re all going over to HQ to turn in the report, if you’d like to pick up your file copy.”
“No thank you, Colonel,” she said. “My vehicle’s in the lot here, and I need to pick up my dog from the boarding kennel.”
“You don’t use the one on base?” Nedari asked.
“No, sir. I have a friend, retired, who runs this one. Petsational, on West Canal Road. Big runs, shade in the summer. Ginger likes it, and Jo-Jo, their kennelman, likes Ginger. By your leave, sir.” He nodded, they exchanged salutes, and she went out the gate toward enlisted parking.
She stopped by her quarters on base, locked her briefcase in the safe, and changed to civvies and a leather jacket before driving over to pick up Ginger. It was definitely colder now than when she’d left two days before.
Kris, at the kennel, gave her a hug. “Ginger’s fine. She had a good run today, so she won’t keep you up all night.” After a longer look at Morrison, Kris added, “You look upset about something—and you’re already in civvies. Why don’t you come along to a party we’re having tonight. Nothing fancy—”
“I’ve got something to do,” Morrison said. She heard the tension in her voice, and forced a chuckle. “I know, I always say that.”
“You do. And you’re just back from a trip, and tomorrow’s your day off, so no one will expect you to be in the office at 0700. Don’t worry about Ginger; you know I’ve got a large yard and she and Tigger and Abby get along fine. You can spend the night in our spare room if you get a buzz on. And it would be good for you. Party a little, relax, sleep in… and show up at noon looking like everything’s fine.”
It was tempting. And a party would cover her absence very well…
“I still have a couple of chores I can’t put off,” Morrison said. “But it does sound like fun. Later?”
“Later, but be sure you do show up!” Kris wagged a finger.
“Don’t bully her.” Irene, Kris’s partner in business and life, came out of the back with Ginger on a lead. Ginger let out one delighted woof and lunged at Morrison. Irene tossed her the lead.
“Sit, Ginger.” The dog plopped her backside onto the floor. “Were you a good dog?” A whine answered her. “Yes, they say you were. I don’t suppose you’d want to go to a party…” A yip, this time, and a wiggle from nose to tail. “I guess I’ll have to come to your party, Kris; Ginger seems determined.” Morrison rumpled Ginger’s ears.
“Great. It’ll probably run late, so come whenever you’re done with your errands. Potluck, but you’re exempt.”
“I can probably manage something,” Morrison said, on the way out of the door.
Once in the city, with Ginger in the car-crate behind her, Morrison reviewed what she knew about the Rector. Close friends with Master Sergeant not-really-retired MacRobert. Had a house in the city, though Morrison didn’t know the address. Another Vatta, Helen, also had a house in the city, in a wealthier neighborhood. What was the best, most discreet, way to contact the Rector? Certainly not by showing up at the department asking to see her, not to mention it was after regular hours. Probably not by going to her house even if the address was listed in a finder. Maybe the other Vatta house? She flicked on the local news to find out about traffic.
“Rector of Defense Grace Vatta remains incommunicado in the Marvin J. Peake Military Hospital, following a mysterious injury. Our reporters have confirmed that a hazmat team showed up at the Rector’s residence shortly before the Rector arrived at the hospital yesterday evening, but we have been unable to determine why. Persistent rumors about former admiral Ky Vatta, the Rector’s great-niece, who has not been seen in public for more than a tenday, suggest some pathogen was encountered during her long stay on Miksland, but the former admiral is now out of quarantine and resident in one of the family homes in the Harlantown neighborhood. She declined to comment on her own or her great-aunt’s condition.”
Harlantown. Morrison knew where that was. She was only a kilometer away. But the hospital was closer, in a different direction—should she go there? She looked for a place to stop and spotted an upscale shopping area, its large lot busy with vehicles and shoppers. She pulled in and found a parking spot. Right in the center was a supermarket.
Should she try the Vatta house, to see if she could speak to Ky Vatta, or the hospital, where the Rector was? She didn’t know Ky Vatta. She had no reason to go to a civilian Vatta home, and Ky Vatta had no reason to talk to her. But she had met Master Sergeant MacRobert, back in the day. And she had met the Rector at the annual Defense Department reception for NCOs the previous winter. As sergeant major, it could be appropriate for her to hand-carry a get-well card and gift, and perhaps—maybe—run into MacRobert there. She regretted having changed out of uniform, but her visit could be—would have to be—more personal than official.
With that in mind, she decided to do her shopping. “You stay, Ginger,” she said to the dog. “I just remembered we’re out of dog food at home.”
She came out with dog food and groceries, including a tray of vegetable snacks for the party and a small pot of flowers and a card for the Rector, then drove to the military hospital. It served senior government officials as well as the military personnel who lived off-base in Port Major.
Once inside the hospital with the flowers and card, she located the intake desk and asked for the Rector’s room.
Even her identification wasn’t enough to pry that information out of the clerk. “Sorry, Sergeant Major, but the Rector’s location is not available. I can have someone sniffer those and one of her staff will come and take them up.”
“I understand,” Morrison said. “I was away for a few days, and heard about the attack only while driving into the city. Just wanted to pay my respects and wish the Rector a quick recovery.”
“The Rector is lucky to be alive,” the clerk said. “Just a sec while I call this in—” He turned away for a moment, murmured into a microphone, then turned back. “Someone’ll be right down, if you’d like to wait.”
“I can’t stay long,” Morrison said. “My dog’s in the car; I just didn’t want to let another day pass without—”
“Sergeant Major!” A colonel, in uniform of course, strode toward her. He paused, looking her up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in civvies.” His name tag read DIHANN.
“Colonel Dihann.” She’d never met him before. Morrison nodded, in lieu of a salute. “I’m just back from TDY, picked up my dog at the kennel, and heard the news about the Rector on the car com. Wanted to pay my respects.”
“The gift shop’s closed,” he said, eyeing the flowers she’d brought.
“Grocery store,” Morrison said. “I went along the floral display, sniffing to see which ones didn’t smell like dead decaying leaves or that horrible grape drink.”
He laughed. “I know what you mean.” He leaned over and sniffed the purple and yellow flowers. “Hardly any scent at all. Excellent choice.”
“Do you know what happened, sir?”
“Um. Come over here.” He led the way to the entry’s seating area, now deserted. “Gas,” he said. “Quatenary toxin, four levels of attack, as it morphs in the body. She’s been very ill; they’re now sure she’ll live, but she’ll be weak for another tenday at least. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your concern, Sergeant Major, but I don’t think they’ll let her have visitors for another day or so. It’s not like she’s young.” He gave Morrison a sharp look. “Meaning no disrespect, of course, but organ system damage is worse in the elderly.”