Freehold (2 page)

"One that involves taxes, government interference, restrictions of our personal rights 'for the public good,' and a seven-year plan for the future, of course. Tell him I'm dead."

"Ma'am?"

She sat back and ran a hand through her graying waves of hair. "You know what I mean, Gun. My regards to Secretary Abraham and I'll call him at my earliest inconvenience. Right now I am dealing with major industrialists and billions of credits are at stake. I don't want to deal with an issue that should be seven years dead."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. He didn't envy her position and wondered again why he'd elected to throw himself into the bureaucratic rat maze. "Also: Warrant Leader McLaren says there is a car across the street, occupied by a young blonde woman, that has been there for most of a div. She is watching the gate."

"Great. An obvious decoy. Any sign of the real threat?" the ambassador asked. The UN and several of its member nations loved to play spy games. Observers here, line taps there, always some kind of low-level harassment.

"Not yet. He says his people are ready, though," Marx confirmed. He'd made sure of that himself.

"They always are," she nodded. At least the espionage kept her security people alert. "Keep me informed. I have to smooth out some details between GM North America and GM Freehold. The UN Secretary of External Trade is the problem. Everyone else sees the advantages of the deal."

"Yes, ma'am."

Kendra became attentive as a truck pulled up to the gates. She started the motor and waited. Her plan was to pull through after the delivery of whatever cleared the entrance. Cautiously, she gave the motor a bit of rev to ensure it was working. It was, of course. She gasped her breath out in furious realization of how panicky she was. She hadn't realized she'd been holding it and didn't realize she was holding the next one. Watching the truck, she tried to judge distances and space while keeping an eye on traffic. There'd be an opening in the flow right after that red car in her mirror.

The gates were already sliding shut on their powered rails. She stomped the accelerator while swearing, yanked the wheel hard and pulled right behind the red vehicle while almost crashing into a pillar as she bounced inside the embassy grounds. She immediately had to brake to avoid the truck, which was stopped for inspection.

An armored guard leaped in front of her, pointing one of the brutal-looking weapons that the Grainne military used. He took a step sideways as she locked her car in park and barked orders that were clearly audible inside her little Mazda Jog as several other guards materialized from somewhere.

"Shut the motor off! Place your hands on top of the steering wheel! Reach over with your right hand and open the door!"

She moved her left hand to comply and he bellowed, "
Right
hand! Place it back on the wheel! Eyes front!" She did as he ordered, eyes nervously leaving the gun, guts knotted in fear, and saw movement out of the corner of her left eye. One of the other guards was crawling under the area swept by the door, in case of a boobytrap. He rose next to her, placing the gaping maw of his weapon against her kidney and fastened magnetic shackles firmly around her wrists. Grasping them, he pulled her around and out of her car, his rifle now under her breastbone. About ten meters from the vehicle they stopped. Her escort stepped back and slung his weapon as a woman with an explosion of red hair around her helmet stood in front of her. The woman's face was mostly hidden by a darkened visor, but her mouth was visible and totally emotionless. Her weapon was unwavering.

Kendra heard more orders from the first guard, who was behind her now. "Spread your legs wide. Wider. Place your hands on top of your head." She did so, feeling the shackles bite into her wrists. Her shoulders stretched back awkwardly.

She had expected to be searched by the woman, was surprised that the second male guard was approaching. He started at her head, mussing her hair, crushing the fabric of her collar while looking for small items, slid his hands down her back, over her hips, down each trouser leg and into the tops of her boots. He stood and walked around in front as the other two guards moved to keep him out of line of fire. He resumed his search. He pulled at her lips with gloved hands. He then felt along her sleeves and under her arms in a fashion that might have tickled had she not been so scared. He reached inside her shirt and felt the neckline again, then ran fingers along the contour of her bra and grabbed both her breasts. By the time she realized it was neither an intimate gesture nor an assault, but still part of a very thorough search, he had felt around her waistband and clutched at her crotch. He slid down her legs again and checked the fasteners of her boots. Finished at last, he stepped back.

Kendra said, "I need asylum. My name is—"

"Silence. You may see the ambassador later."

He unslung his weapon and all three guards moved back. She was directed inside, the three standing well clear and keeping their weapons on her. Not a word was spoken to her and Kendra didn't feel like offering anything. She was taken down a service elevator, marched in front of a door and stopped.

The woman approached this time and quickly unfastened every button, snap, zip and rip on Kendra's clothing. She stepped around behind Kendra, grabbed a leg and pulled off a boot and sock. She repeated the procedure from the other leg, then yanked her pants and underwear down together and pulled them off one foot at a time. Reaching up, she uncharged the shackles, whisked them away and pulled Kendra's arms down behind her. Shirt and bra were pulled off, leaving her naked. A wand ran over her, seeking anything dense, metallic or electronic, and while she expected it to be silent, she having nothing concealed, she was reassured that it didn't betray anything. Illogical, but her current situation had her scared beyond reason. "Bend over," she heard, and complied. There was the expected snap of a medical exam glove and cold but surprisingly gentle prodding, which she knew included a camera and another sensor. These people were thorough. She shivered despite herself. A door opened, and she was pushed gently but firmly into what was obviously a cell. The door closed with an ominous heavy click.

Kendra looked around, breathing again, and took stock of her environment. It was adequately warm, well lighted, and contained a stall shower, a toilet, a sink and a futon with a quilt. The whole room measured three meters square.

There was a security camera mounted in one corner. It was not even discreetly hidden. Kendra stared at it as it glared unblinkingly at her. Finally, she made an obscene gesture and ignored it. She needed to use the toilet, and the camera obviously wasn't going to be a gentleman. Or lady. Or polite machine.

Brooding and pacing would be totally unproductive, so she brooded and paced. She had no idea of the passage of time, and was wondering if this attempt at asylum was the right idea. So far, she had been asked no questions, given no opportunity to speak and had no clue what was going on.

Right idea or not, she had to play it out to the end. There was no possible way she could return now and be believed innocent.

After what seemed like hours, the door was opened. The redheaded woman was there alone, without armor. She still carried her rifle/grenade launcher. Her combat uniform, designed to be loose, was close in spots over firm muscles. She motioned slightly with the muzzle and said, "This way. You can see the ambassador now." Her voice was amazingly well modulated and pleasant.

Kendra walked out, still naked, preceding her guard. She was directed when to turn and quickly realized how large the building was. She passed a man in one of the corridors, who nodded disenterestedly. She flushed crimson. The second man they passed swapped greetings with the guard and Kendra wished for a swift end to her ordeal. After several minutes, she was shown into a well-lighted office with large windows. The woman behind the desk stood, nodded briefly at Kendra and said, "Romar, please get a robe for our guest. There's one in my suite." The guard snapped to and left.

Turning back, the ambassador continued, "Please accept my apologies. Well-disciplined guards, but not overly familiar with Earth customs. Our climate encourages casual nudity, but I'm sure you're not used to it. She'll be back momentarily. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Kendra nodded, shifting her hands around to keep herself covered. While the ambassador poured, the guard knocked, stepped in, handed Kendra a robe and moved unobtrusively into the corner. Donning the garment, Kendra felt much more comfortable.

The ambassador spoke again. "I am Citizen Ambassador Janine Maartens of the Freehold of Grainne. You are Sergeant Second Class Kendra Anne Pacelli of the UN Peace Force, wanted for embezzlement and pictured on all the news loads. I am recording. Please tell me briefly why in the name of God and Goddess you are in our embassy?"

"I need asylum," Kendra began. "I was—"

Maartens interrupted with, "We do not grant asylum to crimin—"

"I DIDN'T DO IT!" Kendra shouted her down. "I knew nothing about it until this morning when the MPs tried to grab me. I have little idea what is going on, but I know they need me as a scapegoat. General Robinson probably has me rigged to take the fall as part of his cutout. My only way out is to get off Earth."

Sitting down, Maartens chewed on a pen. "Tell me the rest of it," she demanded while gesturing at another chair.

Sitting also, Kendra breathed deep and said, "I was assigned to the Forty-Third Logistics Support Function's detachment during the Mtali Mission. The general and Colonel Bruder were very concerned with our operation. Stuff was missing by the truckload on a daily basis and they made us keep track of it. No one knows where the stuff was going, so there had to be inside help. They were probably selling it to the rebels is my guess. This is all deduction in the last four hours. Then, I assumed the problem was being investigated. Eight a.m. today, the MPs were going to drag me off for questioning. I saw where things were going, thanks to a friend of mine. I left the base and drove around until I figured out that of all colony worlds, you could probably help me."

"We are not a colony anymore, Sergeant," Maartens said coldly, then thought hard. Colonel Richard, the Freehold unit commander from the Mtali mission, had made similar deductions regarding the UN forces logistics system. Pacelli's story was probably true. Perhaps the military would be interested in her information. Citizen Maartens would have to decide that on her own. Unlike a national ambassador on Earth, she could not call for advice; advice was thirty-four light years away and any question would take at least two days for a response, to allow a message to be relayed through the jump point on the next ship. If it had to be sent physically to reduce the risk of interception, it would take at least twenty days each way.

The best approach was a firm one, see how the situation developed, Maartens decided. "I'll have to check all angles of your story. You may stay in the meantime." Her voice was grudging but not hostile.

Heaving a huge sigh and slumping from released tension, Kendra replied, "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome. There are conditions. Number one, if you are a spy, you'll disappear. Two, whether or not you are guilty, if the evidence points that way, you'll be handed over to UNPF. I can't risk an incident without solid substance to back it up. Relationships are critical and delicate right now; they always are. If you check out as legitimate, I'll help you arrange travel to the Freehold. It won't be cheap and you'll have to pay for it. We don't have budgets for such things."

"I have some cash. Not a lot."

"We can acquire any assets that haven't been seized, and make it untraceable. Our technicians will expect a share, however."

"Ma'am?" Kendra asked.

Sighing, Maartens explained, "The Freehold is a completely neutral nation with a tiny government. We don't budget for refugees, publicity, tourism or any of a hundred other things you take for granted. We can't do anything officially, so this will have to be done clandestinely. If our staff are to convert your assets to cash or pull funds from your accounts, they'll be doing it on their own time and with their personal gear at some small but real risk. For that, they expect to be paid."

"I have what I came here with," Kendra said, scared again.

"Then with your permission, we can move your car as parts. This will make it harder to trace you, and gain you some more funds."

Kendra though for a moment only and agreed.

"Fine. I'm afraid we must keep you under guard for the time being." Maartens waved and the guard approached. "Corporal Romar," she said, "you are to accompany Sergeant Pacelli. She has free access to unrestricted areas, but only under escort. Find her secure quarters in the guest wing tonight. Keep me informed of anything relevant. She is not to leave."

"Yes, ma'am," the young woman replied. Turning to Kendra she said, "Please come with me, Sergeant."

Kendra stepped into the hall. After the door was closed, Romar asked, "Where do you wish to go, Sergeant?"

"I . . . don't know," Kendra replied. "I'd like to get some clothes and some lunch, if possible."

"Certainly. Would you like a shower, too?"

Kendra realized how stressed and exhausted she was. It had been less than six hours since her ordeal started, but seemed like a week. She needed a shower, both to wash away cold, clammy sweat and to relax. "Please," she said. "And call me Kendra."

"Okay. Follow me, Kendra. And you can call me Jelsie, since it doesn't appear I'll have to shoot you anytime soon." There was a disturbing dryness to the joke.

They wound up at what apparently were Romar's quarters. The room was small but well appointed and had a fantastic comm system. "Shower's in there," Kendra was told, as the woman pointed through a door. "I'll be next, so don't take too long."

Kendra gratefully made use of very luxurious facilities, borrowed soap and shampoo and was surprised to find her bag waiting when she got out. All ID had been removed, but her clothes and personal items were intact. She picked casual clothes, dressed and entered the room.