"Maybe. Can't tellit's a family with a history. This time they'll be split up for a while, see if that settles them."
Then they were close enough for Heris to see the bodies under the lights.
Chapter Five
She recognized Yrilan by the hair and clothes. The young woman's face was disfigured by parallel knife slashes, the skin reddened by the sonic pulser wound. "That's mine," she said, pointing. The man beside her nodded.
"Rightdo you know which?"
"Amalie Yrilan, on temporary contract. She left the ship today about when I did, and that's what she was wearing. Also the hair" That ginger-colored hair, once fluffy and now matted with blood.
"You don't seemthat upset by . . . the other . . ." the man said. She could hear the suspicion in his voice.
"My background's Fleet," she said. "Regular Space Service." Let them think she was a coldhearted military bitch . . . easier than explaining that her feelings would come later, when she felt safe. That she would have the right number of nightmares about the ruin of Amalie Yrilan's face, enough to prove her own humanity. She braced herself for criticism, but the man merely nodded.
"Right. You've seen combat trauma, then." It wasn't a question. "This was sonic pulser plus, I suspect, being on the ground in the midst of a major brawl. We think the knife wounds were after death, maybe accidental; the autopsy will check for that."
Heris stared at the parallel wounds across Yrilan's face, and the deep gash between thumb and first finger on both hands. Did the militia not recognize those wounds? Or did they wonder if she did? Better to be honest.
"Those marksthe last time I saw something like that, it was a Compassionate Hand action."
"Ah. I wondered if you'd know."
"We were called to Chisholm once." They could look that up in her service record, the public part. "They had trouble with their ore haulers being hijacked between the insystem Stations and the jump-point insertion." They had had more trouble than that, but the rest was classified.
"Two of the dead bodies had C.H. marks on the thumb web," the man said. "Did Yrilan?"
"Certainly not. Not overt, anyway. But you're right, that hand cut's usually given to traitor members, not stray associates." And where was Sirkin, her mind insisted? Was she, too, a Compassionate Hand victim?
"You recognize any of the others?"
None of the others had mutilated faces, beyond a bruise or two. She knew none of them. But something about the pattern of injuries on twoshe frowned. "No. But" Suddenly it came clear. The time she had had to get Oblo out of trouble . . . the miners he'd felled had exactly the same marks. "But none of them are my crew," she said, finishing smoothly. "We've been staying close to the ship, most of the time, getting it ready to leave the Royal Docks"
"I know." He had checked, then. "I didn't really think you would recognize them, but it was a chance." He paused, then asked, "And you say thisYrilan, was it?usually had a companion?"
"Yesshe did tonight. Brigdis Sirkin, my Navigator First. They'd known each other at school, and Yrilan had hoped I'd hire her. Unfortunately, she wasn't nearly as qualified."
"Was Sirkin going to leave your crew?"
"I'm not sure. I had hoped not, but they were close. She had a tough decision coming up. I hope" It was stronger than that, a plea to whatever powers ran the universe. "I hope Sirkin's not a prisoner or anything."
"We can't tell." The man frowned. "Five dead, including your crew member. This Sirkin must be some kind of fighter if she didn't have help. Someone badly wounded got away that direction" He pointed to smears of blood heading to the far end of the little park. "There's all too many ways out down there, though we're looking. But two bounce tubes, and a slideway."
Heris looked again at the dead she already thought of as "enemy." She couldn't see the thumb-web marks from hereprobably they were flesh-colored tattoos, designed to fluoresce under UV light. But the patternagain she thought of Oblo. One of the dead had been hit by someone shorter, she thought, but this wasn't her field of expertise. Shorter than Oblo would be most of her crew, but her mind drifted to her weapons specialists. Arkady Ginese? No; Arkady, even onstation, would have carried something that left distinctive marks. No one had ever broken him of the habit. Besides, he had the standing watch; he wouldn't have been here. Methlin Meharry, perhaps? Those sleepy green eyes had fooled more than one, but her unarmed combat skills topped even Arkady's. And the two of them could have got Sirkin awaysomewhere. Where?
"AhCaptain Serrano?" That was another of the investigating militia. She turned to him. "Urgent message from your ship. Shall I put it on the local tapline?"
She hoped that meant they'd gotten Sirkin back to the ship safely. She nodded, and stepped over to the little communications booth set up for the investigators. The headset they gave her hissed a bitno doubt from the offtake tape spoolbut Petris's voice was clear enough.
"Captain? Hate to bother you, but we've got a problem here."
"Ah, yes, Mr. Petris." That should warn him. "I'm dealing with one here, too. It seems Yrilan has been killed by thugs, and the investigating officers have found no sign of Sirkin."
"Right. I'm at the Royal Security office, at the access. The officer in charge prefers your personal authorization before passing some of our crew members who . . . have had an accident. The scanners picked up bloodstains."
"How many?" Heris asked, mentally crossing her fingers.
"Mr. Vissisuan, Ms. Meharry, and Ms. Sirkin," Petris said. "With injuries." Such formality could only mean trouble. No one had called Oblo "Mr. Vissisuan" since his second tour. At least Sirkin was alive.
"Would it help if I spoke to Royal Security?"
"Maybe," Petris said cautiously. "Here's Major Defrit."
Major Defrit sounded as frosty and formal as Heris would have in his place. She explained that she was on the site of a murder, with the station militia.
"Your crew seems to have a talent for trouble," Major Defrit said.
"I hardly think that justified," Heris said, in the same tone. Actually Oblo had more than a talent for itgenius, more likebut it wasn't something to brag about. "Are any of my crew injured?"
"Ms. Sirkin seems to have some injuries, but I would judge them not serious. She is conscious and her vital signs appear within normal limits." He sounded entirely too certain; Heris trusted the worry in Petris's voice.
"I'd prefer to have Sirkin evaluated by medical personnel. You are not, I gather, a physician?"
"Well no, but"
"Since one of my crew died from a murderous assault, and Sirkin is injured, it would be prudent to have her examined, don't you think?"
"But that would mean admitting her to this Sectorunless you want her sent to the central clinic" His resolution wavered; she could hear it in his voice, a faint whine.
"Major, Sirkin has a valid Royal Docks pass, as have my other crew members. You have no real reason to exclude them. I can understand that you might want to escort them to medical care"
"But"
"I will be there as soon as possible," Heris interrupted. "And I expect to find my crew members receiving adequate medical treatment." Watching her, the militia communications tech raised his eyebrows; Heris winked, and they went up another notch. "Let me speak to my second in command."
Petris came back on the line. "Yes, Captain?"
"I believe the major understands the need for Sirkin to receive immediate medical evaluation and treatment. I'd like you to stay with her. If Mr. Vissisuan is not injured, I'd like him to meet me at the access area on my return. Ms. Meharry can return to the ship if she needs no medical care, and I'll speak to her there. Clear?"
"Clear, Captain."
Heris came out of the little booth shaking her head. "Well, my other crew member has shown up, wounded apparently, at the Royal Docks access station. I don't know if she was trying to get help or what. I know you'll need to talk to her, but I think her medical care should come first."
"I'll come with you," Ca
nnibar said. "Want to leave now? What about the disposition of your crew member's remains after autopsy?"
"I'm not sureI'll have to check my files aboard." She would have to ask Sirkin, most likely. Anything but token cremation would be impossibly expensive; most who died aboard went into the carbon-cycle tanks. But it was always possible that Yrilan had taken out a burial insurance policy that would pay for shipping her body to a planet for "real" burial. Heris felt guilty that she had not known even this about the girl.
At the Royal Docks Access, Oblo and the Royal Security major waited in unamiable silence. Oblo had a ripening bruise on his forehead and his hands bore the marks of a good fight. But his expression was that of a large predatory mammal fully fed and satisfied. Heris spared him only a glance, then met the major's angry gaze. Before he could say anything she introduced the Station militia captain.
"investigating the death of Amalie Yrilan, a temporary-contract crew member."
"I suppose you'll want in to interview the others," the major said sourly, transferring his glare to the militia captain.
"As a matter of fact, yes." Heris had warmed to the captain already, and she liked his tone now. Not a trace of arrogance or obsequiousness either: he simply stated the obvious in a voice that meant to be obeyed. The major shrugged, and handed over a clip-on pass.
"Very well. This is a forty-eight-hour pass; if you need an extension, just give us a call."
"How's Sirkin?" Heris asked Oblo. He looked less smug.
"She caught part of a sonic blast, and a couple of knife slashes. I think she's got some broken ribs, but this officer thinks it's just bruising. Some heavy people landed on her, and she got some hard kicks I know of, one in the head."
"Unconsciousness?"
"Yes, for a bit, but the one that landed on her weighed enough it could have been that."
Heris thought of all she'd like to ask him, but not in front of Royal Security and Station militia officers. Why had he waited so long to come into the fight? Why had he brought Sirkin back here rather than the nearest militia station? Why had he been on the scene in the first place?
"Could I talk to you now?" said the militia captain. It wasn't really a question.
"Sure, sir," said Oblo, rubbing his hands over his head and trying to look innocent. It didn't work. He had the face and hands of the experienced brawler, and the bruise was like a rose on a rosebusha fitting decoration.
"I'm going to see Sirkin," Heris said. "Oblowhen you've finished here, I'll see you aboard."
Sirkin had been through the diagnostics when Heris got to the clinic. She lay in a bed, in a bright-patterned gown Heris thought had been chosen to disguise bloodstains and other marks. Her face looked lopsidedshe had swollen bruises down one side, and the other was discolored with the sunburn flush of the sonic pulser that had burst small blood vessels. That eye, too, was bloodshot. If Heris hadn't seen the medical report, she'd have worried, but the eye had escaped real damage. She looked drowsy and said nothing when Heris came into the room. That would be the concussion the scans had shown.
Petris rose from a chair at the bedside. "Captain. Meharry's gone back to the ship, as you asked. Oblo?"
"He's talking to the militia captain in charge of the investigation. I still haven't heard what happened. Have you?"
"Sirkin and Yrilan were out for a night, and took a shortcut through that park; they were jumped by a gang. Oblo and Meharry were following them, but trying to be discreet. They tried to deal quietly with someone who tried to keep them from entering the parkmaybe part of the gangand that took enough time that the row had started when they caught up. Yrilan was down, probably dead or dying, and Sirkin was fighting. They both think the gang was trying to capture Sirkin at that pointsomeone had cuffs out."
"And they brought her out of the park because they weren't sure if more trouble would arrive, or who it wasI can understand that," Heris said. "But they should have called the ship, at least."
"No time, Oblo said. But you know himhe hates to call for help."
"True." Heris looked down at Sirkin. So far she hadn't spoken; her expression hadn't changed. How badly was she really hurtnot physically, but emotionally? How would she react when she woke fully and realized that her lover was dead? "Brigdis," she said, touching the young woman's bandaged hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Captain?" Her voice was blurred; that could be the injuries or the drugs used to treat them. "You . . . came."
"Yes." No use to explain who had come when, not until her mind cleared. But tears rose in the younger woman's eyes.
"Amalie . . . she screamed . . ."
"I'm sorry, Brigdis," Heris said.
"Is she dead?" That sounded rational enough.
"Yes. I'm sorry. The sonic pulser got her at close rangeyou barely escaped."
"Shejumped in front of me," Sirkin said. "Shedied for me." Her body trembled, as if she were trying to cry but was too exhausted. Probably those ribs, Heris thought. They wouldn't want to put her in the regeneration tank for the ribs until her concussion had stabilized.
"She was very brave," Heris said. It never hurt to praise the dead, and Amalie Yrilan could be brave and foolish both. Many people were.
"But . . . she had gambled." Heris wondered what that was about. Sirkin took a cautious breath. "She got in some trouble. I don't know what. There was this woman." All short sentences, carried on one difficult breath after another.
"You don't have to talk now," Heris said. "You're safe here. We'll stay with you, Petris or I."
"But I want to." Sirkin's face had a stubborn expression now, someone forcing herself past a margin of discomfort for her own reasons. "She died. She saved me. But that woman said go there." What woman? What was Sirkin talking about? Heris glanced at Petris, who shrugged.
"Brigdis, you've had a sonic charge to half your face, and some blows to the other half . . . I really think you shouldn't try to talk now. You're not clearheaded."
"ButI thought she loved me. And then I thought she didn't. And then she died. For me. So she must have" Sirkin's expression was pleading now. Heris wished she was still small and young enough to pick up and hugthat's what she needed, medicine be damned.
"She did love you," she said firmly. "I could see that. She loved you enough to try to qualify for deep-space work, to follow you here. Whatever happened, she did love you. And she proved it at the end." She had long suspected that Yrilan would never have chosen a career aboard ships if Sirkin hadn't been so intent on one. That face and attitude belonged somewhere else, though Heris didn't know where.
"You're sure?" Sirkin asked.
"I'm sure." Heris stroked her head. "Now you get some sleep. I know you feel sick and hurt all over, but you're alive, and you have friends to help you." Sirkin closed her eyes, and in a few minutes was snoring delicately. Heris looked at Petris. "I should go back to the ship and check on Meharry and Oblo. Can you stay with her for now, and I'll be back later?"
"Of course. If you'd just speak to the staff here, and let them knowthey wanted to throw me out, earlier."
"Right. She shouldn't be alone, and I want to be notified at once if the militia or Royal Security tries to talk to her."
Shiftchange chimed as Heris headed for the Sweet Delight. She would be up three shifts running, probably, and she hated to admit that it got harder every year. At her former rank in the R.S.S., she'd have been up for automatic rejuvenation treatment within the next few years, but as a civilian she'd have to pay for it herself. She wondered if she could afford it. Lady Cecelia claimed not to want rejuvenation; would she disapprove of her captain taking it?
In the access tube, Issigai Guar waited for her. "Captain, Oblo's not back yet, but Meharry's here . . . how's Brigdis?"
Heris shook her head. "She's got reparable physical injuries, but Yrilan's death is going to shake her badly. I'm going back there after I debrief Meharryany messages?"
"No, Captain, not since you've been back to this side of the dock. Station militia cal
led here earlier, and I told 'em you'd headed for the Captains' Guild. But that was hours ago. Ginese is on the bridge, of course."
"Let me know, then. I'm going to talk to Meharry and I may put in a call to Lady Cecelia." Heris went on into the ship. The lavender plush didn't look quite as bad to her now, especially since it was all going to disappear in the next few weeks. Lady Cecelia had chosen crisp blues and greens with white for her new scheme, over the protests of the decorator, who insisted that the very latest colors were peach, cream, and something called sandfox. With accents of hot coral and hunter green. Feminine, the decorator had said, and flattering to mature complexions. Cecelia's complexion had turned red at that, and she'd muttered that she could take her business to a place that would do what she wanted.
Meharry was outside her office, obviously fresh from a shower and change of clothes. She had a few visible bruises, but no worse damage.
"Sirkin's in the clinicthe ribs are broken, and she does have a concussion," Heris said before the other could ask. "They're trying some new drug on the concussionsupposed to counter diffuse damage and reduce swellingand they'll put her in regen for the ribs when that's done. I'm going back later; Petris is with her now."
"Tough kid," Meharry said. "We'd been showing her some things, but I wouldn't have expected her to use them that well her first time out."
"Tell me about it," Heris said. The story from Meharry's viewpoint took longer than it had when Petris gave her the short form, and began with her pointing out to Oblo that even if Sirkin had been learning how to fight, when she was with Yrilan she wasn't really alert.
"I thought Oblo was installing that . . . navigational equipment."
"Well, ma'am, he was. But those two didn't leave right awaythey spent awhile in Sirkin's cabinand Oblo was just about nearly finished when they did. We just didn't want anything to happen . . . like it did."
"I didn't see you," Heris said. "And they were ahead of me."
Meharry's green eyes twinkled. "You weren't exactly looking, ma'am. You's looking at them, and we's looking at you . . . and them. They saw you, didn't see us. . . . Classic, y'know?"