“Really. I should know things like this. Except I’ve not been off planet since I got back.” I was paranoid enough not to mention I had a similar setup. I should have made the connection, too.
“Well, can we do it?” She looked hesitant, about the mission or about me, I wasn’t sure.
“Yes.” I was nervous, too. I felt that gutfall that I recalled from last time. Kiss everything goodbye and hope you’ll see it again.
“I’ll pack personal stuff.”
I nodded. “I need a div alone with my daughter.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, and was out as fast as the door moved.
It was time for a discussion with Chel, that I’d never wanted to have, and would rather avoid. I had to, though, for all the reasons you can guess.
***
I cooked up a lamb curry, with her favorite vegetables, and got out the good root beer and a bottle of Silver Birch Special Reserve.
It didn’t fool her, of course.
She came in from school, smelled the food, saw the bottles, and said, “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“I am,” I said.
I got tackle-hugged. This was going to be hard on me, too. I’d never been away from her. Not since she was three days old.
We ate, and it was somber. I’m not a vid person, so there was nothing to distract us, though it might have helped. She had one shot of the liquor, and two of her root beers, and picked at her curry. I wasn’t that hungry myself, but I knew I needed food.
I cleared the table, and said, “So, we need to cover some things.”
She tried to smile. “Don’t burn the place down. If the thought of something makes me giggle I shouldn’t do it. I don’t need to set any records . . .”
“Yes, all the usual stuff. But this is more important, and new.”
She nodded and came over.
“Now, I told you you can’t come. This is a military mission and the people involved are dangerous pros. In addition, don’t talk to anybody. Nothing. Not even Andre. I’m so ass over heels I took my new girlfriend and went on a trip and left you behind. You hate the fossil-hunting bitch. Whatever. But not a hint that it’s duty related. Your life depends on it. And stay armed. It won’t do you any good, but there’s no reason not to.”
“They don’t like us armed at school, Dad. You know that,” she said.
Playing me off against the school, of all places. I could only assume it was adolescent rebellion on her part. “I don’t care what they like,” I said, exasperated. “It’s your right, and I pay a lot of money for you to go there, so they can get stuffed. Carry a fucking gun.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. That told me she believed that I believed what I was telling her.
“Good,” I said. “Don’t be nice, either. If someone makes a move on you, shoot. Don’t give them first aid if wounded, just keep shooting until you get the head. Then get it again. You’ve got court legal cause to be afraid. This type of asshole is especially dangerous if wounded.”
“Ripper?” she asked.
“About that mean,” I nodded. “A ripper is slightly faster. Slightly. But these people are much smarter and much trickier.”
She said, “So you’re going to kill someone?” She looked really bothered and trembly.
I sighed. Dammit.
“Yes. I am. I can’t tell you why and you need to forget it, but a lot of people’s lives are riding on it and I have some specific skills, so does Silver. I shouldn’t even say this much, and you’re at risk if you ever mention it. Remember what I said we were doing?”
She’s a decent actress. She clouded up and said, “You’re taking that hatchet-faced slut on a vacation and didn’t invite me. I guess I’m glad you’re dating, but you could have some class. Maybe getting over it will let you find someone worthwhile.”
“Good,” I agreed. It was good. The way she delivered it, I not only believed it, I felt contempt for this asshole father of hers.
“Now, let me tell you a few more things,” I said. She nodded. “First, hit me. Full contact punch.”
She studied me for a moment, then tossed a creditable sunfist.
I wasn’t there. “Again,” I said. She punched once more with a parallel kick. I slipped past the punch, and instead of deflecting her leg aside, I got my hand underneath and followed the motion through and up, taking her foot with it and up past two meters. She went down, slapped the ground to break her fall—good form, I was proud of her—and tried to sit up.
Her eyes were very wide when she saw the Merrill growing out of my fist. The muzzle was against her nose. That got her attention, and I panned it down, following her throat then to center of mass, just under her breastbone. “I’m not Boosted,” I told her. “You’ve never seen me all out. Until last week. Now, imagine me Boosted. Imagine me just this fast, from behind. You’re dead.” Helping her to her feet I said, “You did well. Have a seat.
“You’re young, flexible, smart, well-trained and a very good girl,” I told her. She smiled just slightly and I said, “And that means shit in a fight. Fights go to the mean ones who don’t stop. That’s me and my target. Fights go to those who expect to get hurt and don’t care. Who have years of experience killing people. Who are tired and cynical and lumber through like a stumblebeast, not like a leopard or ripper. You’re graceful and strong and any normal attacker is going to find you more than he wants to screw with. But they or I could kill you and barely notice.”
She was looking put upon. “So why’d you train me?” she asked.
“Same reason I keep weapons, fire extinguishers, insurance, first aid kits and tools. You can’t fix everything. You can’t stop everything. But you’re better off with a chance. And your chance with this guy means shoot first, shoot second, reload and shoot some more. Distance is your friend, and remember he may dodge when closing. Kung Fu is great, batons are great, and none of it will matter if a vicious guy who can press your mass with one hand gets hold of you. The gun might not even matter. But it’s better than anything else, because it only takes the strength of one finger, and can be done from underneath in a clinch. So says the old guy with five unarmed kills and several hundred deadly shots.”
She was really looking scared now, as I’d never discussed my past with her in any detail. “You really mean it,” she said.
“I do,” I nodded. “And the alarms will be active, as will the traps. So let your boyfriend in through the front and don’t sneak him through the window.”
She flushed red at that. “How’d you know?” she asked. “I thought we were quiet?”
I tried not to smile. I really did. It was a weak, sickly smile, because this was my little girl and I’m psychopathically protective. Maybe too much Earth “morality” soaked in. I knew she took sex training in school. I knew every boy and girl she’d dated because I’m a paranoid asshole. She had a sex life, but I wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. Stupid, I know. “No one is that quiet in the throes of passion. And I’m not stupid, and footprints on the deck are easy to decipher. So bring him through the front.”
She nodded, swallowed, and said, “I thought you didn’t like him?”
“Not really,” I said. “He’s a punk. But you won’t stop seeing him if I tell you to, you’re old enough to make that mistake on your own and learn from it, and frankly, he’s irrelevant to the real problems I’m facing.
“You’ll sleep in my room,” I said, “because it’s harder to get into from outside. That won’t stop them, but it might slow them down. And I bought that fifteen millimeter Armtech riot gun. Keep it by the bed, and take it with you when driving.” As her face reacted I said, “Yes, I’m leaving you the van. And Andre will be watching, so no stupid stuff. You can get spread in the back if you really want to, but it’s not as comfortable as a bed.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. She said it just to throw me off guard. Not an image I wanted. But hey, I’d taken the conversation there.
“Will you screen messages?” she asked.
I winced. “Probably not.” She looked confused and upset and once again she was my little girl. “Outsystem calls are monitored most places. And there’s few enough of them relatively that they’re easy to trace. Very basic traffic analysis will narrow it down to only calls to the Iota Persei system, and any suspicions will be proven with my pic. So I won’t. Sorry. Andre’s here if you need any help, and here,” I said. I handed over the flashcard. “That’s Marshal Naumann’s ten-div-a-day emergency number. It’s wired into his skull. Don’t call if you don’t have to, but do if you have any confirmable fears. ‘Is that bad enough to call about?’ is a confirmable fear.
“So call if you need to, but not if you don’t, but don’t hesitate and don’t abuse it,” I said with a grin. “Because one hundred seconds after you call that number, there will be a Black Ops counterterror squad and three battalions of Blazers and Mob surrounding the building. Memorize it and keep the card. Now let’s look at the Armtech.”
She followed me through to my room. I keep the weapons on a rack in the closet, where I can get to them in a hurry. I have the basic five everyone should have, plus three—now four—more for her. I have my Merrill pistol, a last generation M-5 I bought surplus, subcaliber rimfire practice versions of each and a 20mm Pendleton riot gun, police spec. To her Little Weasel I’d added an Alesis carbine, not as massive as the M-5 but decent for a military engagement (and we were invaded by Earth not ten years ago, so don’t give me that “it can’t happen here” crap. Arm your adolescents. We may need them again) and she had a little Merrill that would do the job and fit inside her clothes without bulking up. Now she had a 15mm Armtech.
I slipped it off the rack, inspected the already open chamber and handed it over. She took it, inspected the chamber and dropped the bolt. It was a bit large for her, but manageable. “It’s a double-roller blowback with a gas piston shock absorber,” I told her. “But it will still kick. Take it to school tomorrow and go practice afterwards. Do a test range with it this weekend.” I handed her two boxes of ammo to supplement the ten rounds in it and the two magazines clipped to the butt and receiver. It was a bulky weapon, but the best thing for her to have at any range practical. “And the ammo in your pistol is at least six months old,” I told her. “Shoot it out after you buy some fresh.”
“Yes, Dad,” she agreed. She felt a bit reassured with the riot gun in hand. I’d really scared her.
I hoped I’d done so for nothing.
CHAPTER 4
We boarded the shuttle without trouble, because there is never any trouble on a Grainne launch. We had tickets; they let us aboard.
I actually felt a little nervous. It had been ten long years since I did this, and that was leaving a desolated Earth. Before that, it had been my trip to Earth. None of that was conducive to pleasant memories.
I’m not claustrophobic, but I felt confined. I actually appreciated Silver’s presence.
That seemed to be the other part. I was back in “military” mode and operating without orders, support of a chain, or with any backup besides her. So the two of us were our element. Everyone else was an outsider.
I guess my brain shut off. We talked about something, I zoned out staring at couchbacks, then we docked at Vista Station.
We had regular luggage, and some well-concealed gadgets that no Customs flunky should be able to identify. We had several shipments going to mail drops, and to our embassies, which would take some wiggling to get hold of. We had our wits for making more, and a lot of cash.
I elected to do Customs at this end, because I figured they’d be less suspicious of someone asking to be inspected.
It was straightforward enough, but there was an element of nerves. We were officially in Caledonian space by electing to do this, and any discrepancies would end our trip right now.
The inspector was Indian in ancestry, with slicked black hair. Fit enough generally, dour and bored. He spent some time scrutinizing our ID and passports, which were from FreeBank. I made sure to look relaxed and keep a hand around Silver’s shoulder.
“You seem a little nervous,” he said to her.
“First time out,” she muttered weakly.
“Ah. Well, there’s nothing to worry about.” He smiled and waved us through.
He didn’t check the bags. He accepted our medical and immunization declaration, which was valid but under fake names. That meant Randall could have done the same.
Once in our small stateroom aboard the Princess Caroline—double bed that folded down from the wall, workdesk likewise, closet recessed around lavatory, commode and shower stalls—she untensed and sighed.
I met her eyes and said, “Yeah, you have to be less nervous when we arrive, and for future trips. Especially arrivals.”
“I know,” she said. “I wasn’t really afraid of being detained, but of blowing the mission.”
She unfolded the bed and sat down with another exhaled sigh.
“That’s fine,” I said. “Everyone takes a bit to get used to it. Remember this is the easy part. The worst that happens is a Caledonian jail, and we get bailed out. They’re nice enough people, and civilized. More likely, there’s some kind of meeting, we look clueless, bumbling and apologetic, and off we go, to acquire more hardware later.
“When and if we get to other systems, it’s a case of bribes working, or invoking threats to higher ups. But we’re the offense here. We don’t apologize and we don’t shrink back, unless it’s a deliberate act.”
“Got it,” she nodded. Then she smiled. “I think I’ll be fine after the first round.”
***
We were in that cabin for most of seven days out and six days in to Caledonia. She couldn’t find any vid she liked. There were some I might watch, but I couldn’t concentrate. We didn’t want to do too much interaction with other passengers, so meals were about the only time we left. It was cleaned daily, neat, smelled faintly of flowers and with a touch of ozone for clarity. The staff really did try, but it wasn’t enough.
I’m a loner, didn’t have any privacy, and I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way of saying, “Can you leave for a half div while I stroke off?” A shipboard shower stall is neither romantic nor comfortable. Her flipping channels got on my nerves. Me fuming in silence got on hers. She had an annoying habit of taking forever in the shower, when I needed to get clean, get off and get to sleep.
Which is all part of traveling with someone, especially other troops, and something you learn to cope with. I just hadn’t had to in a long time.
I did find it soothing to have a warm back against mine at night. Human companionship was something I always lacked.
The meals managed to be adequate without being either too institutional or flashy. I was impressed. Ships are usually one or the other. The housekeepers were agreeable to our request to come at dinner time, when we had everything secured. I didn’t want them wandering in otherwise.
I also had to put in long divs researching. Randall was in the Caledonia system. Great. Who was the target? We had nothing concrete.
I made a list starting with the Queen and other Royals and working down.
I ruled out the Royals. The only group that would target them was decades old, increasingly pathetic Common People’s Action Group. They didn’t have the money, and they’d never hire an “elitist” to do their killing. That, and my team had slaughtered them in a previous engagement. There were others who didn’t like the monarchy, but they all realized it was politically and promotionally bad to target them, because the Caledonians overwhelmingly loved their Royals. That was the basis of their colony, now nation, after their parent Earth culture got rid of its royalty in one of the UN treaties.
I supposed it was possible someone with enough money hired him to settle some petty score against an underling, but there were too many tens of thousands of possibilities to consider that.
In between were a few hundred notable business and political people who might be significant enough. I gridded them and managed t
o eliminate a few who were either too old, too meaningless or too noncontentious to matter.
That took most of a week. I’d have to spend the next week doing the heavy thinking on the rest. Also, there were some in from outsystem. I had to cut the ones who were definitely short notice, or strictly transient, or had made plans after the DNA intel date. Again, targets of opportunity were possible, but I had to stick to predictable strategic targets.
Right before we hit jump point, I did screen a message to Chel.
“Hey, kid. I’m about to leave system, but I am going to say goodbye. I’ll have updates relayed to you, and I’ll get back as soon as I can. Miss you. A lot. Be good. Love you.”
I just had a lingering fear that this would be the last she saw of me. So I had to send something.
Silver and I reached a détente the second week. She watched vid in the passenger lounge and turned down occasional passes. In the stateroom, I gave her a half div to send coded posts to a repeater back insystem that updated her social pages and noted she was doing a remote training course in the Hinterlands and would be out of contact for a while. She kept the screen turned away from others and used earbuds while she cruised and hopped whatever nodes she wasted time on. I spent that time staring at the ceiling above the bed trying to parse the chart I’d printed and had lying on my chest. Or, I went into the shower and pretended to be alone. Then she took her ridiculously long showers (okay, but she started it) and I did my nightly random node hop for mental relaxation.
Then we went to bed and I pretended I was only pretending to be interested in this woman in such a way people would think I really was, with her warm back against mine. I hadn’t had a bed partner in years, and that had been my then-little girl. The last adult partner was even more years.
During the days, I took a few more potentials off the list here and there. Some were definitely not targets. Either removing them would put someone more potentially dangerous in place, or destabilize something. While I was sure he could do multiple hits, his MO was one, then move. Rushing to get multiples would be risky. Of course, he might elect to start doing that. He hadn’t so far, though. Some I deleted on gut feeling. They were potent and had enemies, but had enough friends that killing them would generate support for them and ill will for any competitor trying to benefit after the fact.