Masterminds (16 page)

Then her dad had shown up. Detective Zagrando was the one whose behavior had let her know that her dad would take care of her. Detective Zagrando had trusted her father—maybe more than either of them realized, given the fact that Detective Zagrando was here now.

Alone. In a lot of trouble. And maybe with no future at all.

“Ms. Flint-Shindo?”

The voice startled her out of her reverie. She hadn’t even heard the door to the waiting area open. Then she looked at it, and saw a very slender woman standing there. The woman had an angular face and dark, intelligent eyes. Her black hair was so short that it almost looked shorn.

“Yes?” Talia silently cursed herself. That response had sounded panicked.

“You’re here for Mr. Vidal?”

“Yes,” Talia said, unable to take the suspense. “Is he okay?”

“He came through the surgery. We had to do some old-fashioned rehabilitation work. We used some nanobots to rebuild his legs, but we had to add some material. It should be fine. He might want some actual reconstruction, though. He’s a candidate for enhanced limbs with all kinds of special features. In fact, I would recommend it. But those aren’t things we can do here.”

“Um.” Talia felt out of her depth. “Okay.”

The woman smiled. She must have realized that Talia wasn’t prepared to have these discussions.

“I’ll talk to him about that in a day or so,” the woman said. “When we can move him?”

“Move him?” Talia asked. She felt that fear grow. Were they taking him to prison or something? Had he done something wrong?

“He needs to be in one of the hospitals. I would recommend Deep Craters if he can afford it, because they do the best reconstruction on the Moon.”

“Okay,” Talia said, trying not to sound as confused as she felt.

“But it’s better not to move him right now, and we have the beds. So we can keep him here for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

“Okay.” Talia knew she was repeating herself, but she’d never been in this circumstance before. And the woman—who had to be one of the doctors—was talking to her like she was an adult.

The woman smiled at her. “I think it would be good to have family with him.”

“Me too,” Talia said, then her breath caught. She’d almost added,
Wish I knew who they were
.

She knew that the woman wouldn’t think anything wrong with what Talia had just said if she went to Detective Zagrando’s side. She stood and smoothed the front of her pants, as if they were stained or something.

She was nervous. She hadn’t seen him in a long time, and he had been really important to her, and now he was hurt. Her heart was actually pounding hard.

“Come with me.” The woman held open the door.

Talia glanced at the chair she’d been sitting on to see if she’d forgotten anything. And there was the tablet, sitting on the armrest. She had nearly forgotten that. Both her dad and Chief DeRicci would have been mad if Talia had screwed up like that.

She picked up the tablet, then walked through the door, feeling a little lightheaded. She waited in the hallway for the woman to join her. The woman led her down the corridor through some more doors.

Signs appeared at eye level, warning Talia that this was the patient wing and required quiet at all times. The signs also stated that she was being scanned and if she was deemed a carrier of a whole slew of diseases or if she was actually ill, she would be asked to leave.

She wondered if they would tell her what was wrong—if something was actually wrong.

But no one said anything before the woman stopped in front of another door. It was clear, and there were windows on either side of it. The room beyond seemed small, but she couldn’t see much more than the edge of the bed.

“He’s here,” the woman said. “If he wakes up, we’ll know. He’s being monitored all the time. But if something is bothering you, just say so out loud, and someone will come to the room.”

What a strange way to let her know that she would be monitored at all times. But it was effective.

She thanked the woman, then went inside the room.

It smelled of almonds and something metallic. She swallowed hard, then forced herself to look at the bed.

The man on it seemed familiar—kinda, sorta—but he looked too small and too weak to be Detective Zagrando. His face was lined, his eyes were sunken into his sallow skin, and his hair was matted against his scalp.

His hands rested on top of the blanket and they, at least, looked familiar. Strong hands, square, with some scars. She remembered watching them move as he had talked to her, thinking he looked strong enough to take on the men who had kidnapped her mother.

Talia sank into the chair beside the bed, gripping the tablet hard. The woman closed the door, then nodded at her through the window and proceeded down the hall.

Talia looked at the length of Detective Zagrando. His legs were covered with some kind of healing cloth that was different from the blanket over his torso. There was a clear tent over him from the hips down. She knew it was monitoring everything, including the way the nanobots reconstructed the damage to his legs.

She made herself take a silent breath. She wanted to say,
Detective Zagrando, it’s Talia
. But she couldn’t. She didn’t know how to address him, if he would find the name he’d been using familiar or not.

Then she looked around the room, saw panels that monitored stuff, saw all kinds of graphs and charts and images, none of which she understood. Medical things didn’t interest her, so she never bothered to learn about them. She couldn’t tell what was really going on with Detective Zagrando, except what the doctor told her.

I think it would be good to have family with him
, she had said.

And family would be familiar with him. They’d take his hand or brush his hair back or talk softly to him.

She couldn’t talk to him, not with him unconscious. She might say something wrong. And she didn’t want to touch his face.

She looked at his hands, his familiar hands, and thought of holding them. She’d hugged him once, and he’d seemed surprised. That had been years ago, and she hadn’t seen him in all that time.

Surely not every family member held the hand of someone who was ill. Maybe family members sat quietly while the person was really sick.

Especially if they were estranged.

And she hadn’t been off the Moon in years. She’d say that if someone questioned her.

Because she couldn’t touch him. It just didn’t feel right.

She set the tablet on her thighs and leaned back in the chair.

She would just wait until he woke up. She would be a familiar face. Besides, she could tell her dad what was going on then, maybe send for him, make sure that they did everything they could do to take care of Detective Zagrando.

Mentally, she apologized to him for not talking to him. He would understand later. When he knew that the entire room was being monitored.

For all she knew, the links were too. She would have to be careful.

They would all have to be careful.

She’d tell Detective Zagrando that when he woke up.

She’d tell him a lot of things.

She settled in her chair, clutching the tablet, and she waited, hoping that he would wake up so she could talk to him, and hoping he would stay asleep until her dad could come.

Because for the first time in months, she was completely out of her depth.

TWENTY-ONE

THEY PILED OUT
of S
3
’s space yacht using every available exit. Rafael Salehi felt like he was unleashing an army of lawyers on the Moon, some of whom just happened to be Peyti.

Who was he kidding? A good third of them were Peyti, and they were all expecting trouble.

The yacht had docked in Terminal 25, where the Port of Armstrong placed its most expensive vessels. Apparently Schnabby had bought berths at all the important ports inside the Earth Alliance, including here, even though the firm didn’t use the berths much.

When Salehi found that out on the way to the Moon, he decided to do an audit of the firm’s books when he got a chance. Expenditures like this one, while convenient, were ridiculous. The yacht’s arrival was probably the first time this berth had been used in ten years.

He was glad to have it, though. Terminal 25 provided a lot of perks to its clients, including privacy. He wasn’t even certain how well the arrivals were monitored, since they were assumed to have been already vetted.

Although he expected to find out how tight the arrivals security was at any moment now.

He had traveled from Athena Base with thirty human staff, not all of them lawyers. Many of them were assistants and researchers. Then he picked up the lawyers and legal theorists along the way, adding a smattering of former judges and professors, for another forty human passengers.

All of them were pouring out of the ship now. In theory, S
3
on The Moon had sent a dozen newly hired security guards to meet them once the group from S
3
on Athena Base left the restricted arrivals area of the port. Salehi had had Melcia Seng, who was acting as temporary head of S
3
On The Moon since Zhu’s death, arrange that part of the arrivals. Salehi hoped that set-up would work.

Salehi hadn’t told Seng that, in addition to the seventy humans he had brought with him, he had also brought twenty Peyti lawyers and their support staff (another forty Peyti). He had asked her to arrange housing for everyone, and more security there, but hadn’t bothered with the details of Peyti versus human needs.

He figured the Peyti weren’t getting off the ship any time soon, no matter how much Uzvuyiten wanted them to.

But the assault on the port, as Salehi was calling it (only to himself), was all Salehi’s design. Once he found out that Uzvuyiten had wanted to make a statement, Salehi had arranged for the best statement possible.

He mixed the Peyti with the humans, grouping individuals with the same credentials together. The lawyers walked with the lawyers, the legal assistants with the legal assistants, the law professors with the law professors. He had the humans surround the Peyti.

Everyone was given specific instructions on how to behave. No one was to scream or shout. No one was to move in a threatening manner, and no Peyti was allowed to touch its mask unless ordered to do so by the space traffic cops.

Salehi was expecting dozens of space traffic cops and, so far, he was disappointed.

He had emerged from the ship first. Uzvuyiten had been second. They stood on opposite sides of the floor, just past the yellow line painted there for spaceport personnel, so that they wouldn’t get too close to the ships and set off proximity sensors or security.

It was hard to get close to this ship. It was so large that it almost hid its dock. Even though the ship was classified as a space yacht, it was so big that it probably should have been registered outside of that class. The luxurious interior, the perks, and the speed, all kept it in the yacht category.

And probably some greased palms, courtesy of Schnabby.

Salehi tried to ignore the presence of Schnabby in his own mind. But it was hard: they were in a ship purchased by Schnabby, landing in a private berth bought by Schnabby, and on a mission initially vetted by Schnabby.

Although Salehi doubted Schnabby would have been able to handle the spectacle this had become.

Salehi looked across the floor at Uzvuyiten. He stood as rigidly as he could, given all of his strange health issues. His suit seemed even baggier than usual, covering his fingers and pooling over his feet.

Uzvuyiten’s gaze met Salehi’s. Uzvuyiten nodded. Salehi nodded in return. They had created a special encrypted link between them, in case things got out of hand.

Salehi had expected trouble by now. At least thirty staff were already crossing the floor, heading to the arrivals lounge. If the port had been monitoring the ship, then this berth should have been crawling with space traffic cops already.

But Salehi didn’t want to mention that to Uzvuyiten. Uzvuyiten was spoiling for a fight—a legal fight, but a fight all the same. Salehi didn’t want to make Uzvuyiten defensive before anything started (if anything was going to start).

The lawyers and the support staff kept marching forward—the S
3
staff wearing suits that seemed to vary by color only, and carrying tablets that were often color-coordinated to the suits. The Peyti generally wore suits as well, which had to be Uzvuyiten’s doing. Many of the Peyti hadn’t worn human clothes when they were on the ship.

A few of the former judges wore legal robes. Most of those robes were an unrelenting black.

The professors and legal theorists generally wore whatever the business outfit of their dominant culture was—some wore saris, some wore kimonos, some wore rather sloppy vests with brown jackets. Everyone in this group somehow managed to look rumpled, as if just putting on the clothing had been a challenge for them.