“We’ll call you back with a plan.”
Morrison joined Mata in the living room. “Who’s winning?”
“Port Major, but Grinock Bay’s not far behind.”
Grace had not yet been asleep—strange place, strange bed, strangeness all around—but lying eyes closed, thinking. Now, wrapped in a new robe, she sat at the kitchenette table watching Mac make coffee. “I wonder what fell out of the tree into the sergeant major’s lap to make her so tense?”
“She’s experienced, and she knows the problem. It won’t be trivial.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that. And now I’m hungry. She’s got a person she wants to protect—not another of the survivors, or she’d have said, which means it’s someone in the military, someone who found out something that bothered him or her and she needs…”
“Command,” Mac said, setting a cup of coffee down beside her and handing her one of the rolls he’d bought. “She can probably think up a plan, but she wants someone to tell her so.”
“It never bothered you to act independently,” Grace said, eyeing him over the rim of her cup.
“It did at first. A long time, in fact. I got over it.”
“Well, then, what’s the best approach to help her and her informant?”
“Get the informant back to the base and duty as soon as possible, with instructions to keep his or her mouth shut and act like nothing happened. Informant should take mild precautions. No alcohol at all, no drugs other than regular prescriptions. No comments about the sergeant major and no contact with her; she will contact the informant when it’s safe on her end, whenever that may be.”
“I’ll call her…”
“Eat, then call.”
“How secure are her communications over there?”
“As much as here; it was set up for you, remember.”
Sergeant Major Morrison listened to Grace’s suggestions silently, then said, “How can I get the hardcopy to you?”
“Via MacRobert. How many copies are there?”
“Three complete—that is, with the multiples intact. They’d all fit in a 25 x 33 centimeter folder. The relevant officer’s name is in the right box, but not his signature; these copies were made by the clerk because he was upset by the officer’s insistence that he use the wrong form. I’m thinking they should be dispersed and that I probably should not have one. The essential data’s now in my implant.”
“Bless finicky and honest clerks,” Grace said. “I trust you. Work out your own contact protocol with him.”
“Do you want his name?”
“Not at this time. Make sure you have it noted in more than one place—and perhaps that Security officer you mentioned—Major Hong?”
“Yes, Rector; I’ll see to it.”
“Send your informant on his way, then, and MacRobert will pick them up within the hour. Thank you, Sergeant Major; you’re being extremely helpful.”
“I’m also more worried about the other survivors. If they’re cutting orders to transport—”
“So am I,” Grace said. “Once I see the hardcopies, and dig through the other databases available to me, we should be able to get things rolling on a response.”
“Thank you, Rector.”
“That’s it for now, then,” Grace said. “MacRobert will be on his way when you’ve assured us your informant is gone.”
“Ten minutes,” Morrison said. “Not more than fifteen.” She sounded, to Grace’s ear, slightly less anxious but still grim.
“Marching orders,” Grace said to Mac, when that call ended. “You’ll be picking up copies of three complete forms, all the colored bits, and we’ll want one to Ky, one to Stella for Vatta files, and one for us to pore over.”
“You should get some sleep—you’re still not completely recovered.”
“I could not possibly sleep until I see what the forms say. Fifteen minutes, be at her door.”
“Twenty. I don’t want to see the individual or have the individual see me. Plausible deniability.” His mouth quirked.
“Your mission; your choice.” Grace looked around the kitchenette. “This place is too small to make fruitcakes and I really do feel the need to make them.”
“When did you start making fruitcakes?”
“In the psychiatric prison. We made them and the prison sold them to raise money for the prisoners’ canteen, little treats we could then earn good behavior points for.”
Mac stared at her, appalled. The grin she sent back was pure mischief. “They let you—you of all people—make—”
“Fruitcakes. Yes. The last four years I was there. I was being very good and kitchen work was a reward. And of course they were just fruitcakes, not any of my special fruitcakes. And though I never did it, others in the same facility working in the kitchen did, from time to time, try to drop things into the batter and make a special design on top so some family member would buy it and they could pass things in and out. Usually got caught, but it’s how I found out what you could bake at 175°C degrees and not ruin it. Including, once, poison that one of the women got hold of, to poison her family because they hadn’t gotten her released. I wasn’t suspected; my crimes were all violent, not sneaky. They caught her; I never saw her again.”
Mac said nothing for a moment, then said, “What of yours can I stick in my briefcase, something plausible to claim was left there when we cleared it to switch with the sergeant major? My excuse for going?”
“Spare lenses. You know I have multiple pairs, and after I got up from a nap, I discovered that the blue-tinted ones with the special prescription for reading at night in dimmer light weren’t with the rest.” She got up and fetched them. “Here you are.”
Mac made the trip to the sergeant major and back without incident. “She told him to keep quiet, and he said he would. She said he’s smart and he had already figured out he had hold of dangerous information.”
“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Grace looked at the first form. “Transport, Personnel, Routine Duty Station Transfer…”
“The sergeant major also gave me her sitrep and her assessment of the personnel she’s been in contact with. She thinks several in the assessment committee—though not the chair—were part of whatever group is behind the secrecy. She’s not sure about the commander who chose the committee; there could have been manipulation to make those members seem best suited.”
“Does she think it all goes back to the Unification War?”
“Not exactly—it’s older than that, but that may be when its focus changed from keeping Miksland’s economic potential secret to involving the military. She hasn’t been able to dig into the history—both lack of time and compromise of security in her office and quarters.”
“But we can do that.” Grace nodded. “We were on the right track, but we, too, ran out of time. Two parts to this. Immediately, we need to find those survivors before they’re permanently silenced, either by the drug effects or death. We can do that, thanks to this Corporal Mata. We don’t have to know the whole history until those people are safe. But then—”
“We need to know enough history so we can anticipate the source of interference with the rescue,” Mac said.
“Agreed. But not the whole story until afterward.” Grace tapped the form in front of her. “And we need more copies, then really secure storage options.”
“You said one to Stella, one to Ky: both those should be safe enough. And we need one. Though all three copies with Vattas is risky.” Mac picked up one of the copies and headed for the living room. “I’ll make some.”
Grace read on. The names were familiar, the same Ky had shared with her. The authorizing officer… she’d never heard of. In her office at the Defense Department, or in her own home before the gas attack, she had access to hardened lines to the complete military databases, direct access to all personnel records. Here, despite Mac’s attempt to secure her connections, she did not completely trust them.