“The sausages will go in the omelet,” Barash said. “Only a couple of minutes now.”
The omelet was delicious. Ky said nothing while eating it, uneasily aware that both Rafe and Barash were watching her. Probably expecting her to have ideas about what to do next. She had none. She felt almost as hollow as when her family was killed and she knew there was nothing left, no home to go back to, no last words of praise or blame. Now: not even a Slotter Key citizen, not an admiral, not… anything? She swallowed the last bit—it felt much larger than it should have—and attempted a bright smile. From Rafe’s expression it wasn’t a success.
“Where are the others?”
“Downstairs, in the war room,” Rafe said. “Are all those people you talked to going to call back?”
“Someone will.” Ky shoved her hands in her pockets. “Stella, or the lawyer, or possibly Immigration threatening to blow the place up.” She glanced at Barash. “Sorry. I know we need to get the others out, but I can’t figure out how. It’s my fault—”
“It is not,” Rafe said firmly. He slid off the counter, bracing against it. “You did not drug anyone. You did not hijack anyone. You are not holding these people…”
“But I said I’d get them home safely,” Ky said. “Home. To their families. Think of poor Betange—and his brothers and sisters—”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have. I should have kept track; I did ask, but—but I believed what I was told. And there was so much to do—”
The misery was too deep, too big. All those she had lost, killed in the war, killed on space stations, on planets, in deep space. She gulped it down, pushing hard against the lump that wanted to eject the delicious omelet. “All right. It’s not my fault yet, but it will be my fault if I don’t see every one of my crew free and reunited with their families. And I can’t do that sitting here like a… like a bird in a cage.”
“You’re not going out.” Rafe’s voice had turned steely, the edge tipped toward her.
“Not right this minute. I’m not stupid. But we have to know where they are—”
“Sergeant Major Morrison—”
“Is probably in danger herself. We’ll hear from her when she can, but she has to stay out of trouble, stay free. We can’t wait for her.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ser Ventoven called Ky again an hour later. “Now then. You’re familiar with the contents of the summons you received, is that right?”
“Yes,” Ky said.
He went on to read it to her again anyway. “You can see how this will interact with the much simpler citizenship issue. As you are not now considered a Slotter Key citizen, but responsible for the deaths of Slotter Key military personnel and a foreign citizen, you are classified as both a foreigner and a potential criminal. Since foreign criminals are not eligible to apply for citizenship, Immigration is insisting that your application for reinstatement of citizenship should be deferred until your responsibility for the deaths is adjudicated. And since you admitted to having killed Master Sergeant Marek, and the witnesses to that event are all now classified as permanently mentally incompetent due to some toxin or disease acquired while in your presence on Miksland… I’m sorry, but your situation is very serious indeed.”
Ky could think of nothing to say, and Ventoven went on. “Unless you can find a witness who will testify that your shooting Marek was not murder but self-defense—and that the other deaths were accidental, beyond your power to prevent—I’m afraid we have no options. Legally, I must advise you to surrender to law enforcement—”
“I can’t,” Ky said. “Those people they claim are mentally incompetent have been drugged, kept imprisoned, away from their families…”
“How do you know that?”
She hesitated, trying to remember who had been told about that. Stella knew, of course; she had been there when the fugitives appeared. Aunt Grace—she had told Aunt Grace. MacRobert, Morrison, Teague, and Rodney. But could she tell this man? She had the fugitives themselves, and among them was the best possible witness for Marek’s death, Inyatta. Inyatta had been in the room—pushed into the room by Marek before he turned and shot at Ky. Inyatta had been wounded by a bullet from Marek’s gun, after he dropped it. But revealing these witnesses risked their freedom, if not their lives. “I need you to come here,” she said. “I do not trust the security of any communications device anymore.”
“What is it you know? Do you know where those fugitives are? I must know, if I’m to defend you.”
“Come here,” Ky said again.
“I can’t just leave now—I have a court appearance in twenty minutes. I could send a clerk—”
Ky’s patience snapped. “Come here yourself, or assign another attorney from the legal department to me. I won’t say anything to a clerk I wouldn’t shout into the open air.”
“I’ll come. Not until later today; I have other urgent work, you must understand.”
“Call ahead,” Ky said. “The house will be sealed unless we are expecting a visitor.” When she ended that call, she called the hospital and asked for Grace’s room.
“I’m sorry, Sera, that room is not available at present from this number. Communications must go through Security.”
“Please give me that number.”
“I’m sorry, Sera; that number is not available to the general public—”
“I’m not the general public. I’m Rector Vatta’s niece. I need to speak to either her or Master Sergeant MacRobert.”
“Oh—just a moment; I’ll see if you’re on the approved list. If you are not, you will need to apply in person through the hospital security desk, hours 0900 to 1700, bringing proof of identity.”
Ky waited out the half minute of silence, then the voice came back. “Is this Sera Stella Vatta or Sera Ky Vatta?”
Ky thought about the likelihood of herself being on someone’s “good” list and the possible consequences of being caught out in a lie. “This is Sera Ky Vatta calling on behalf of Stella Vatta—it’s family concern for a family member.”
“I see. Um… it’s actually Stella Vatta who’s approved, Sera, but if you’re calling on her behalf—and why would that be?”
“She’s very busy herself and I’m taking over some of the family duties for her. She’s CEO of Vatta Transport, you know.”
“Oh. Yes, I see that notation. Well… I’m sure it’s all right, but you probably should come in for a screening—”
So the entire rolling doughnut had not yet reached the hospital’s communications personnel. Ky yanked at her braid as if that would accomplish something.
“Wait just a moment—I see—” And muffled, Ky heard “Master Sergeant MacRobert—please—I have a question for you.” He must have come closer, because she also heard, “Would it be all right to allow Sera Ky Vatta the security code for Rector Vatta’s room? She says she’s calling on behalf of Sera Stella Vatta.”
“Certainly. But let me see if her message is something I can handle without interrupting the Rector’s therapy session.”
A moment later, Ky heard his voice on the handset. “Admiral—sorry, Sera. The Rector is doing very well now. We expect her to be released in a few more days. Her physicians want her to be steady on her feet and capable of walking at least 300 meters and climbing five steps without any evidence of cardiac strain. Is that what Sera Stella wanted to know?”
He sounded perfectly matter-of-fact, no hint of strain in his voice.
“Part of it,” Ky said. “She also wanted to know what to do about her house—she said it wasn’t clear to her whether it was safe for occupancy again, and if she should do anything particular with the clothes Aunt Grace might want while still in the hospital. Do they need decontamination, or something?”