Voices outside. “Piet’s dead… somebody’s given the alarm.”
“Stupid bitch wasn’t in her room—could be her?”
“Doesn’t matter. No time—we go now.”
“Piet?”
“Leave him. Come on.”
Footsteps across the lobby floor, the squeak of the inner door opening, then hissing shut, a clear invitation to someone in hiding to emerge. Ky stayed where she was, counting to herself. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. Something scraped, thumped faintly. The hair on her arms stood up; she held her breath. She hadn’t felt nausea this time when she killed, but now her stomach clenched. The outer door of the office swung suddenly, banged against the wall.
“Hey! Anybody home? What’s going on here?”
It was not the officials. A different voice, but not the officials because she would have heard the front door.
“I seeeee youuu…,” the voice mocked. “Better come out, sweetheart…”
Ky held still. She could not be seen; she knew she could not be seen. She heard a breath drawn in, let out.
“If you’re here, bitch, we’ll get you later,” the voice said, now quietly serious. “But I don’t think she is,” it went on, this time clearly a comment-to-self. “And here come the puds.” The footsteps retreated. She dared not peek out to see where the man went, but a moment later she heard a cry from the direction of the kitchen.
Now the wheeze of the front doors, banging, stomping, clattering, several loud voices. Ky slid out of the storage room, her knees shaking with reaction, and looked out of the office to see a startled man in uniform staring at her.
“Freeze!” he yelled, bringing his weapon to bear. Ky stopped. “Drop the weapon!”
“But I’m the one—”
“Drop the weapon!”
Now there were five of them, their own weapons leveled at her. She dropped the guard’s weapon.
“Get on the ground!”
“But I’m the one who called—”
“Now! Face down! On the ground!”
“I’m the one who called you!” Ky said. “They were trying to kill me—!”
“Get. On. The. Ground.”
It was infuriating. How could they think she’d done it? Though she had killed the one. With a sigh, Ky got down on the ground. Feet came closer. It occurred to her, just as the feet came into her range of vision, that maybe these weren’t the police.
“Who are you?” Ky asked. “I hope you’re official.”
“We’re official all right,” a voice said overhead. “Just don’t give me any trouble now.”
“There were three of them that I saw,” Ky said. “All with masks—”
“Hands behind your back,” the voice said.
Ky complied, in the hope they would finally listen to her when they had her trussed up. Instead, she was rolled over, propped against the wall, and told to stay put. The hand she’d whacked against the assassin’s armor throbbed unpleasantly. At least now she could see… men in dark green uniforms with markings she didn’t recognize on cuffs and collars. They were hunched over the dead clerk, with more beyond the desk.
One of them came to her again. “Is this your weapon?” he asked, holding out the one she’d taken from her bodyguard.
“No—it belonged to my security escort.”
“Yours—he was working for you? Then why did you take his gun?”
“He was dead at the time,” Ky said. “And the other one was trying to kill me.”
The man looked at her sourly. “So you say—” A voice from down the corridor interrupted him.
“Shem! Here’s another one!”
The man left. Ky fretted. No one ever seemed to consider that the person being restrained might be innocent. Her instructors had commented on that fact when telling cadets how to behave if they were ever stopped by law enforcement. She’d already violated rules one and two: don’t be where trouble happens, and never be caught with a weapon in your hand.
And here she sat, immobilized. What if the assassins came back? Her muscles twitched; she took a long breath, trying to calm herself.
The man reappeared. “You say you’re the one who called us?”
“Yes,” Ky said.
“When? Why?”
“Because of the attack,” Ky said. “I had seen them kill my bodyguard and the clerk, and then—”
“Them? How many?”
“Three on the inside,” Ky said. “I was over there in the combooth—” She gestured with her chin. “—when they came in. My bodyguard and the clerk were at the reception desk, chatting. The assassins shot them both, then two went upstairs. Looking for me, probably. The other was searching the guard’s body.” She stopped for a moment to get her thoughts in order.
“Go on.”
“I couldn’t use the combooth because the light would come on and they’d know where I was.”
“Why do you think they were after you? You, particularly?”
“I don’t know,” Ky said. “My engineer had just called to let me know that the fake cargo container put on my ship was explosive. Your colleagues up on the station can tell you more about that.” Should she even mention the call to Vatta headquarters, the lost connection? Yes. “I had called my company headquarters,” Ky said. “Apparently some group is targeting Vatta Transport. They were about to put out a warning. Then the connection failed, so I don’t know any more than that. Anyway, I couldn’t use the combooth, and I couldn’t see how to get out without him seeing me.”
“Why didn’t you use your implant?” the man asked.
“I don’t have one,” Ky said. “Head injury—they had to take it out and it can’t be replaced for six standard months.”
“Ah. So… you tried to escape and—you’re asking me to believe a trained assassin couldn’t hit you?”
“No. I thought if I rushed him I could knock him out, maybe.” The policeman looked at her with obvious disbelief. “It could work,” Ky said. “And I didn’t have a weapon.”
“Did it work?”
“No. I surprised him, but he was wearing body armor under his mask. He threw me off, I landed near the guard’s weapon, and snatched it—and got off a shot before he did.”
“Hmmm.” He looked thoughtful.
“Shem, these wounds were made by different weapons,” said one of the others. “The guard and the clerk were both hit with Staysil rounds, and so were the cook and the helper in back; the masked one with a Conroy.”
“Staysil rounds. Sounds like the Edmunds crew,” the policeman said. He looked at Ky and shook his head. “Someone wants you dead very badly, if they’re after you. Edmunds and company are not just trouble, but expensive trouble.” He sighed heavily, and reached over to release Ky’s arms. “Don’t try to run. We did not need this. Diplomatic mess, too. You’ll want to see the Slotter Key consul, no doubt. And I don’t suppose you know why anyone would be after Vatta captains?”
“No,” Ky said, rubbing her wrists. She glanced at the painful hand. Swollen and darkening. She hoped she hadn’t broken a bone. “I don’t. I need to get back to my ship—”
“Not yet,” he said. “You did, after all, kill that man.” He cocked his head toward the outer door. “He may be a criminal, and he may have tried to kill you, but we have to determine whether, under our laws, this excuses your killing him. You can count on at least overnight, Captain Vatta. You may inform your crew, but we will monitor the conversation. You may have access to the Slotter Key legation, of course, but with an escort we provide. Since—if it is the Edmunds crew—your life is in danger, we will provide protective custody.”
Ky tried not to glare. “You’re going to put me in jail because I was attacked?”