Freehold (70 page)

He woke lucid. He was worn and beaten looking and very hungry. He ate and kept the food down and suffered only an occasional flash of hallucination. "I hope that's it," he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

Rostov came in with an assistant and watched while Rob's responses were tested. He gave no expression either good or bad and left shortly. Rob was experiencing somewhat lesser effects now, and slept deeply and uninterrupted, snoring loudly. Accepting a risk, Kendra wrapped an arm around him and slept with him. She cried herself to sleep. How long would it be before things were normal? And what would constitute "normal"?

Rob was pronounced fit the next week. Kendra drove him to Marta's, he not being allowed to operate equipment yet. He kept the vent open for fresh air and looked queasy by the time they arrived. That was expected. His brain had adapted to the control module and lacked balance of its own now. That should improve, they'd been told, but not completely.

He greeted Marta very gently, utterly platonic and friendly. They exchanged stares, each reading the other's thoughts but not able to speak. They simply hugged, then sat apart while Kendra took over as hostess. It would take a long time to get used to each other again.

She traveled into duty every day, feeling better with both of her friends to watch each other. She still called to check on them several times during the three divs she worked. She tried not to sound as if she was checking on her dysfunctional children and neither of them ever mentioned it, but it obviously bothered them. She tapered the calls down to two, then to one at lunch. They did seem to be making progress.

Rob needed a lot of physical attention and his sex drive was normal. Marta's was not back to normal, but improving. Since Marta couldn't deal with Rob yet, and he realized his control was still lacking, Kendra found herself busier than she'd ever been, as exclusive lover for each of them. She was okay with Rob, leery around Marta, and still not entirely comfortable making love to a woman without a man present. It was aesthetic and sensual, only rarely orgasmic. She had to work at it to stay interested and interesting to Marta.

Rob was shortly able to run the house and as the net came up he resumed work. There was plenty for him, but no one could pay much; the economy was a shambles. Marta received a letter from the bank informing her that they were waiving accumulated interest on the mortgage, but payments must resume within five months. Most of her investment assets had disappeared and her military pay would just cover the house, but nothing else. Kendra's covered the basic essentials of food, power and water. Rob was working tirelessly to bring in enough to handle repairs, vehicles and incidental expenses. He cut his tenants a deal of two months free rent with at least quarter payments after that, no rent for the war months and up to a year to resume full payments and make up any shortages due for partials. There wasn't much money there, either.

He gradually got details from Marta, and realizing Kendra was rather cool sexually, talked her into revealing her experiences. He was quiet and perceptive and made fewer and gentler requests for her in bed. She found it both helpful and painful. She wanted to give him all the attention he desired, but just couldn't relax yet.

Rob spent three days buried in his comm, digging through UN files. She wasn't sure how he hacked into their system, but she did overhear him make a call to military intelligence. He pulled in a favor or two and made notes, then crawled back into the net.

"Home is not where you live, but where they understand you."

—Christian Morgenstern

"Call for Kendra . . . Call for Kendra . . . Call . . ." the comm announced. She stared at it for a moment. Rob and Marta were here and Naumann would use her military comm. Who could it be?

"Answer call Pacelli," she said.

"Ms Kendra Pacelli?" the caller asked. It was a woman with a European English accent, blonde, dressed in current business fashion.

"Yes?" she replied. What was this about?

"I'm Monique Sten, with the UN delegation. Would it be possible to meet with you?" she asked.

"About what?" Kendra asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

"We wish to apologize for the way you were treated regarding the logistics thefts. While it became apparent you were not a guilty party, that information was badly handled. Can we meet this afternoon?" Sten asked. She looked somewhat anxious.

"I can be there at five-thi—er, one o'clock," Kendra agreed. "I'll have an injured friend with me," she said. She was taking Rob for backup. She couldn't explain why, but it seemed a wise precaution.

"We'll see you then. Thank you," Sten smiled and cut off.

Rob agreed to go. He hid Marta's smaller gun under his clothes, strapped the Merrill on his hip and climbed in next to Kendra. She drove gently to avoid distressing his sense of balance, and headed for the UN office, near the spaceport. The 'port was functioning again at a reduced level and massive construction was going on to restore it to full operation.

As expected, they were stopped at the door and required to check their weapons. There was a delay while the UN located a female guard to pat Kendra down. She suggested the male guards just go ahead and search, not being bothered by the idea. The guards were bothered, blushed and stammered negatives. Kendra wasn't too surprised when Rob managed to sneak the second weapon in, despite and due to, a laughably inexpert search.

They were led right in to Sten's office and seated. She introduced Rob in passing, and Ms Sten offered refreshments. She took a soft drink. Rob took water and sat silently. He betrayed a very slight tension that indicated he was ready to fight if necessary, but would start nothing. It was doubtful anyone save Kendra could see it, even if, as she assumed, they were being recorded.

"First of all, Ms Pacelli," she began, "we wish to extend a formal and very sincere apology. Your attempted detention was a mistake by an overzealous security detail. We understand completely your fear, which was only reinforced by their unlawful treatment of your friends."

"What happened to Janie and Tom?" she asked.

"They were held for a few weeks, but were released. They were not badly hurt, but were treated unprofessionally and we compensated them for their trouble. Naturally, it didn't make the news. There was a risk of it creating a disturbance," Sten explained. Kendra had to think back to remind herself that the UN could do that. There was no possible way to keep it silent here. But then, it couldn't happen here.

"You must understand," Sten said, standing and looking out the window, "that there were numerous incidents over a period of years that were similar. While they do happen occasionally, they are
not
condoned and we do stop them when we find them. Several ranking inspectors from UNPF Department of Special Investigations and the Bureau of Security Interior Investigation Office were made to retire. An oversight committee will be watching for similar incidents in the future."

Kendra waited. What was the point of this?

"The charges against you were dropped, but it was believed you were dead and since no one likes to admit to errors like that, it was never publicized. You know how the press is." Kendra did indeed.

"The bounty recently was simply a military attempt for psychological warfare purposes. It was not sanctioned by any civil charges. Again, I'm sorry you were treated in such a fashion and stuck in the middle." Sten looked quite embarrassed at having to concede all this. Kendra gathered heads had rolled.

"So, with all that said, all charges dropped and your military service obligation completed for the record, I'm happy to offer you a free transit home. We'll work with you to find you a home and employment," she finished, looking more relaxed and cheerful. Her smile was honest and open.

Kendra was too surprised to speak. She pondered the implications for a bit, then said, "I served in an active capacity with the Freehold Military."

"We will not hold that against you," Sten assured her. "We also know you were involved in the incident at Langley. Believe me, we understand what it means to take orders and we know you weren't willingly fighting your own people. The war is over and this is just one of the situations we have to resolve. It's actually lucky the bounty was offered on you or we would not have been aware that you were here and wouldn't be able to make reparations. Which reminds me; your accumulated pay for the UNPF, plus leave time, is to be paid. And as I said, we'll be glad to help you get placed in employment."

Kendra understood, although she doubted Rob did. It was an embarrassment to the system and had to be corrected to make these people feel at peace.

Home? Her parents were dead. Her brother could be anywhere. The planet was a shambles. There'd be a lot of work to do. Constructive, peaceful work. Her thoughts whirled. "I can't give you an answer yet," she said. "I have to think about it."

"Please," Sten said, nodding. "Contact me when you have decided."

They left unhurriedly and said nothing until they were in the car and traveling.

"Well?" she asked Rob.

"I think she's honest. The question is, do you want to go back where 'mistakes' like that can happen?" he asked.

"I don't know. But it still is my home," she said. "I have a lot here, but . . ." She tapered off.

Rob nodded. She'd been caught between both sides and seen a lot of violence up close. He still missed his parents after ten years. How must she feel? "It's your call," he said. "I imagine it's a tough one to make. But you'll always be welcome here, no matter what you decide. And Mar and I will front you the return transit fee, if necessary." He hoped she'd stay. "And I do love you," he added. He wanted to shout about the stupidity of trusting a system that could fuck up to that level and cavalierly offer cash as compensation, while the idiots responsible got a pension instead of sued into indentured hard labor. He knew she'd get defensive, and it wasn't fair to try to influence her. He kept silent. She was too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice.

That evening, they all sat around and avoided the issue. Kendra was very introspective, wondering what would happen to her parents' assets, whether or not enough relatives survived to make memorial arrangements. She'd never been particularly close with her cousins.

Marta refused to give any input, simply saying, "I'll support you either way, love. It wouldn't be fair of me to judge a system I've never been to."

She sat thinking, alone. Rob and Marta had gone upstairs, leaving her in the dark comfort of the common room. She stared at the dimly lit cases of minerals and other decorations. The Lubov painting had been restored. Rob knew experts in the field and had refused to tell Marta what it had cost. It was a striking piece. And it was from Earth. Almost five hundred years old.

She came back to the present. As beautiful and amazing as the Freehold was, she was still an outsider. People heard her accent and gave her curious or angry glances. She would forever be a stranger here. And despite all the complaints about the UN, her family was well enough placed that there weren't any real problems. They were honest business people and she'd be fine.

She fell asleep on the velvet warmth of the couch.

"Revenge is like a margarita: salty, with a twist of lime."

—Leon Jester

"Mr. Calan!" a voice greeted him as he left through the back.

"Yes?" he replied. The man was well dressed, but Calan didn't recognize him. "Do I know you?"

"We have mutual acquaintances," the stranger said. He stepped closer. "Kendra Pacelli and Marta Hernandez."

Calan stiffened at the names as Rob grabbed him. He slammed Calan into the wall, turned him around and jammed his hand onto the sensor. The door opened. Rob shoved him through into the silent office and let the door close behind them.

"You hurt a lot of people, Mr. Calan," Rob said, sounding coldly angry and disappointed.

Calan stood shivering, trying to remember the basic martial arts he'd studied so many years ago in school, as he backed behind the imported cherrywood desk. But his opponent was clearly a master, younger, in better shape and mean. "I did what I thought was right," he tried to explain. "I was sure we would lose and I thought—"

"Horseshit," Rob replied as he approached. "You were looking for credits and trying to hurt Kendra because she wouldn't let you
pimp
her." The word was a gross insult in the Freehold.

Calan said nothing. Rob stepped forward, holding him against the wall with one hand. He shifted slightly and began.

Calan gulped and turned purple as the first blow paralyzed his diaphragm. He tried to scream as his elbow was shattered, but the pain reinforced his inability to breathe. More blows followed, until he passed out.

He snapped awake from the whiff of an inhaler under his nose and tried to scream, but there was tape across his mouth. He snorted air through his nose, until the inhaler was stuffed against his nostrils again. He gagged, eyes watering, and rolled his head. His entire body was on fire, from toes throbbing from being crushed, to shoulders stabbing in pain from fractured collarbones. His brain somersaulted and he tried to vomit, choking when it couldn't escape, and swallowed as much of the sour, bitter fluid as hadn't burned his lungs into a paroxysm of coughing. He was barely conscious from oxygen deprivation again, and the inhaler was a mixed blessing as it scorched his nostrils.

"My first thought was to leave you alive," Rob said. "But you can afford regeneration, and even that pain isn't enough for shit like you." He pulled out a long, slim, deeply hollow-ground dagger. It was the work of a true artist in metal. Calan snorted for breath and stared in paralyzed fear at the glinting steel. "Then I decided to cut you, let you bleed to death slowly, thrashing around in pain. But you might live until morning and then we'd have the same problem—your survival." The blade twirled through Rob's fingers idly. He'd spent so many divs handling knives that it was unconscious. "So I've decided to tweak your pains a bit at a time, until you pass out. Then I'm going to wake you. Then I'm going to kill you." The look on his face was utterly emotionless.