“Is it—”
“I dealt with it. With that one, at least.” She looked across the table at the three women. “And you are—”
“The three fugitives you’ve no doubt heard of,” Vatta said. “Corporal Inyatta, Corporal Barash, and Specialist Four Kamat. Now, Sergeant Major, we need to know where the others are now, and where they will be moved. And the best way to stay in contact with you.”
Fifteen minutes after she’d arrived, Sergeant Major Morrison left the Vatta house in a swirl of emotions. Rage, still, at what was being done to her people. Pride in the courage and determination of the three who had escaped. Astonishment at the technical skills of Rafe Dunbarger, whom she’d thought of as a fat-cat civilian CEO, probably never done a lick of real work in his life. And wholehearted admiration and gratitude for Ky Vatta. Vatta’s concern for her people, her determination to rescue the others—Morrison could not imagine how it could be done, but she was sure the admiral would succeed. Morrison had handed over all the information she had: locations, names of prisoners and the staff at Clemmander Rehabilitation.
She arrived at Kris and Irene’s place to find the party at full swing. Irene met her at the door. “Hi—you picked a good time.” She took the party tray from Morrison’s hand. “Oscar and his pack of hounds just left, so there’s plenty of room for Ginger out back and less noise. Come on through. I’ll drop the party tray in the kitchen.” They threaded their way through the crowd in the big living room, mostly people Morrison didn’t know, then the crowd in the study, and finally the kitchen. Irene set the tray on the table and led the way to the back of the house. The back porch was occupied by two men hunched over a chess table with three more watching, perched on stools. Irene opened the gate and Morrison turned Ginger loose in the run with three other dogs.
“She’s played with all those while boarding; shouldn’t be any problems,” Irene said. “Come on in and get something to eat. And drink.”
Beer and a bowl of Kris’s cream of squash soup in hand, Morrison followed Irene into the middle room where there was an open chair. Irene introduced her as “Sunny, owned by Ginger,” and then named those already seated: Walter, Arnulf, Bettina, Dot, and Kyuni. Morrison smiled at them and nodded a go-ahead while she set her beer down and applied herself to the soup. She let the conversation go on as she ate, easing herself into the mood to deal with younger civilians. Morrison judged the age range to be thirty to forty-five. Were any of them military? No, she decided after listening to them. Would they have information she might find useful? Maybe. She put down the soup, picked up her beer, and eased back in the chair.
“Are you military?” Walter asked.
“Yes,” Morrison said. “Kris and I served together years back.”
“Our son’s in Spaceforce,” Arnulf said. “On a cruiser. He’s an environmental tech.”
She was used to handling parents. “Congratulations—that’s an important job.” She glanced around; the others introduced themselves again, with added information. Restaurant owner, farmer, teacher, electrician. All with a love of dogs. Nobody likely to be in the conspiracy or know anything she could take back to Ky Vatta.
CHAPTER NINE
Ky kept an eye on the security videos while Rafe and Teague ate breakfast. Very little traffic on this street in the mornings. When a dark-green van slowed down, and then stopped in front of the house, she used the zoom lens function Rafe had installed to read the lettering on the side. SLOTTER KEY CUSTOMS & IMMIGRATION DEPARTMENT. ENFORCEMENT DIVISION. What now? Four men in uniform got out of the van. She touched the house com. “Rafe! Teague! Would Immigration have any reason to come after you?”
“I don’t think so,” Rafe said. “Well—I was using an alias, but it passed.”
“And later they knew you were here as Rafe Dunbarger—did you have a visa in that name?”
“Yes, and Grace arranged a visa extension for both of us. It might be getting close to running out. But nobody’s said anything.”
Ky remembered her own summons, with the notation that she was considered a foreigner. She still hadn’t called Vatta’s legal office again. The men from the van were coming up the walk now.
“Get in Stella’s office; get the women into the closet.”
“You—”
“I’ll be fine; I’m a Slotter Key citizen, even if they don’t think so. Send Rodney to the front, with a jacket.”
The door buzzed. All four men wore uniforms like those she’d seen at the Customs & Immigration booths. Name tags displayed: COSSEY, MIRBAN, HALAK, and TALLIN. Rodney came out of the lift, up from the basement, wearing a respectable gray jacket.
“Customs & Immigration,” Ky said. “My guess is they’re going to claim Rafe’s and Teague’s visas are out of date.”
Rodney nodded. “I’m the new butler?”
“Acting, for the moment. You’re a Vatta employee, doing electronics installation here.”
“Got it.” The door buzzed again, longer. Rodney tapped the inside speaker.
“Vatta residence. May I help you?”
“Slotter Key Customs & Immigration; we have information that illegal aliens are residing at this house.”
“Please show your identification to the reader,” Rodney said.
“You need to open this door. Are you the one called Teague?”
“Teague? No. I am Rodney Vatta-Stevens, a Vatta employee temporarily assigned to this house.”
The IDs came through, showing on Ky’s tab. She put in a call to Customs & Immigration and linked it to a second call to Vatta Enterprises’ legal department. She had just heard one of the Vatta legal staff introduce herself as Deirdre Monteith, legal assistant, when the Customs & Immigration call came through. She spoke first to Immigration, knowing that Monteith would hear the conversation. “This is Ky Vatta; I am sending you imaged IDs claiming to be from Customs & Immigration. Are these valid IDs, and if so, why are they here?” She was aware of Rodney talking to the men outside, but as long as they didn’t try to break the door down, she would let him handle it.
“Those are indeed valid IDs, Sera, and the team has come to collect persons who are illegally within Slotter Key jurisdiction,” the Customs clerk said.
“What persons?”
“Rafe Dunbarger and Edvard Teague have overstayed their visas and made no effort to renew them. They were given an extension at the request of Rector Vatta, on the grounds of essential work for the Defense Department, but as she was told when she applied, such visas cannot be extended again without the persons appearing at the local Immigration Control office.”
“You do know that Rector Vatta was hospitalized three days ago, don’t you? She may not have turned in the papers before—”
“According to regulations, the responsibility for applying for a visa extension rests on the individuals themselves; they are in violation of Section Eleven, paragraph 3f of the Code. And there is another issue, Admiral.”
“Yes?”
“There is no record of your having a visa at all.”
Ky sighed. “I’m a Slotter Key citizen; I don’t need a visa, and no visa was requested at entry.”
“Actually, Sera, we know you received a summons explaining that your citizenship has lapsed. Unless you reapply for a half-year visa, and then, in that time, apply and qualify for rehoming, your presence here without a visa is also illegal—you are not a citizen. You left Slotter Key eight local years ago, never returned, never filed any financials, never voted, have not paid any taxes, and appear more recently to have become a citizen of the Moscoe Confederation as commander of… uh… Space Defense Force.” The tone was accusatory. “Your cousin, Sera Stella Vatta, when informed that her extended absence and apparent principal residence in the Moscoe Confederation put her citizenship at risk, despite her holding shares in a local business—”