“Thank you, Major, but my city apartment’s pretty well stocked. With my dog in the clinic, I don’t have to worry about space for her. Though—this may be trivial, but there’s an open sack of dog food in the pantry, and a box of dog treats. I could take that by the vet clinic; it’s a brand they use.”
“I can have it picked up now, and you can take it with you. Save everyone a trip.”
And she’d have an excellent excuse to go by Petsational again, where he knew she’d been before. “Thank you, sir. That would be helpful.”
Once back in her own vehicle, she contacted the clinic and told them she was bringing in some feed that had been in her quarters.
“You don’t have to do that,” Kris said.
“I know, but I really don’t want open dog food in there. Attracts pests. Be there in a few.”
She also contacted her clerks. “Where are you set up?”
“We’re over in Building H, Procurement. That Major Hong brought our files and everything and there’s a safe, but it’s awfully cramped, Sergeant Major. There’s barely room for two desks and only one of us can move in or out at a time.”
“I’ll be working off-base,” Morrison said. “I can’t get back in my quarters, either, so I’ll either be downtown or with friends who live closer. Anything urgent right now?”
“No, Sergeant Major. Nothing that needs your ID, just routine. I was wondering—there’s really not a lot to do—”
“If you can take turns? Yes. Half-hour overlap to change over; keep Major Hong informed who’s there and where the other one is, in case he needs you. And me.”
“Thanks, Sergeant Major. We’ll double up the moment there’s a load.”
Grace Vatta eyed the plan for her transfer from hospital to apartment with suspicion. “Why does it have to be a military ambulance?”
“Because they’re in and out of here all the time,” MacRobert said. “You’re the only civilian patient here, and if we use a civilian ambulance it will be obvious who’s inside it.”
“And why are we going there?” She pointed at the address of Sergeant Major Morrison’s apartment in the city. “I thought you’d found a place in the Towers.”
“I did. Morrison will be staying there instead. She’s from Esterance, Grace. So her offer for you to use her apartment is either exceptionally generous or exceptionally devious… and in either case gives us an opportunity to check her out. She’d been ordered to leave her quarters on base—” He shrugged.
“Ordered before or after her offer to me? By whom?”
“A Major Hong. And I’m not sure when. Ready?”
“Very,” Grace said. “And I don’t recognize the name Morrison from Esterance.”
“That’s good.” MacRobert beckoned to the guard at the door.
To Grace’s relief, her transport went smoothly. The only complication was the chill drizzle now falling as another front moved past, and that turned out to be an advantage. The ambulance crew pulled the retractable hood up over the gurney, and it fogged with her breath. She heard MacRobert speak to the door guard. “Sergeant Major Morrison’s auntie—I believe she called?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Here—you’ll want the service elevator—”
She saw and heard no one else but the two handling the gurney and MacRobert on the way to the apartment. Once inside, Mac helped her sit up and move from the gurney to a chair; she thanked the ambulance attendants as they wheeled the gurney back out to the hall. She looked around. Perfectly tidy and clean, as she’d expected, but with a few touches of comfort and color that improved on beige walls and mid-brown carpeting. The living room sofa was a pull-out bed in a pleasant blue; the chair she sat on matched it. A low bookcase ran under the long window; the daylight coming in was chill.
“Security glass,” MacRobert said. “View’s not great, but it’s not a hospital room, either.”
The bedroom had a smaller window, bed, chair, chest of drawers, dresser. Blue-and-red small-patterned bed cover; a blue blanket with a red stripe folded neatly at the foot. Grace sat on the bed. Firm, but not hard. Pillows soft but not smothering. The closet held uniforms, with polished shoes and boots racked below, a uniform coat. In the kitchen, the foods in the cooler and shelves were the only sign of luxury.
A second bedroom—or office, as it was furnished—had a desk, a bookcase, a desk chair, and a seat that also unfolded into a narrow bed.
“So I can get some work done,” Grace said. “I’ve got to keep digging into that mess with the other Miksland survivors.”
“That’s why Sergeant Major Morrison wants to talk to you. At least, that’s the ostensible reason. She’s talked to Ky.”
“How secure is this place?” Grace looked around.
“Secure as our people could make it early this morning. I had it swept. It would be better if we could use Rafe and Teague, but if they leave the house they’ll be arrested.”
“So Morrison and Ky are working together?”
“Not exactly. They’ve had only one meeting before today and it was short. Morrison can’t work openly with Ky without higher authorization. And she did sign off on the committee report suggesting permanent confinement for the survivors. She felt that her own freedom of movement and even life were at risk if she didn’t, and that it was more important to make it back to Port Major—and you.”
“She’ll be here later today?”
“Yes. And the apartment we rented for you is where she’ll stay, at least for a few days. Her life may also be in danger, so she, too, will have security coverage in that building.”
Grace settled herself at the desk and looked at the files MacRobert had delivered, the service records of all the personnel who had been on the shuttle, including—to her surprise—Ky’s record from her entrance to the Academy to the day she resigned from it. She’d never hunted it down; she knew Ky’s father hadn’t asked to see it, either.
Curiosity overtook her. The picture from Ky’s application misted her eyes. She had been so young, so enthusiastic, so much like Grace herself at the same age. They’d both left home hoping for adventure—and for both, that adventure had involved tragedy and loss. Well. The past didn’t change. She flipped the pages quickly, past pictures of Ky as a first-year, second-year, third-year cadet, solemn and determined. Not as bad a first three years away from home as her own had been; she was glad of that. Rankings always high—first or second in every class. Honor cadet her final year, pictured with the loop of gold braid on her shoulder. And then, at the end, her handwritten letter of resignation stapled to the back of the terse explanation for it, what she had done. She had jumped the chain of command, gone outside it to help a junior cadet she’d been mentoring. A political embarrassment followed.
“She’s more like me than I thought,” Grace said as Mac came in with a cup of tea for her, one of the sergeant major’s expensive teas.
“You didn’t know the story?”
“I knew her father’s version of it. Gerry—her father—was so angry. He gave me a look and said, ‘Don’t ask any questions. I can only hope she’s as tough as you said she was when you advised me to let her apply, and that she survives.’” Grace sipped the tea and set the cup back down. “I told him she would. But since he hadn’t told me the whole story, I wasn’t sure—I didn’t know what had happened.”
“But the press—”
“I didn’t watch the media then. I didn’t know what she’d supposedly done, or if she had actually done it or been framed.” She drank the rest of the tea. “I should have asked and found out before she came back. Our meeting—brief as it was—felt off somehow and I now see it’s because she thought I knew, and then realized I didn’t, and interpreted my not knowing her own way.”