Элизабет Мун - Into the Fire

The look on Mac’s face convinced Grace not to delay. Kvannis must really have his undies in a knot about something; perhaps it had to do with the personnel from Miksland. She felt much better, she told herself, not just because of Mac’s help down the steps. Yet the fragmented memory of Fulland, of Esterance, of the riots and the… things that had happened… that she had done… remained. She struggled to pull them together. Jaime Vance was from Fulland, from Esterance? Which side had his family been on? And had she run into any Vances back then? Mostly the people she’d known used only single names, often not their own—call names, they’d said. But she had been well known, especially postwar, after all the communications were back up. Her trial had been widely publicized.

“You’re damn lucky you’re alive,” Mac said when they were back in the car. “Any symptoms?”

“Pain in my throat and nose, temporary loss of voice—that’s why I didn’t call you immediately. Some dizziness, weakness—that passed off fairly quickly. I think I’m fine now.” She didn’t mention the tremor. He would be sure it meant something dire.

“You’re going to the hospital. No arguments.” He said that last firmly though she hadn’t argued. She had felt better, but now—as the car moved swiftly through the streets, around turns, bouncing a little over the occasional pothole—she had an uncomfortable feeling that she ought not to have eaten before being checked out. That maybe being checked out was a good idea.

“Did Kvannis really call me?” she asked to take her mind off her uneasy innards.

“Yes. He wants to get hold of Ky and said he couldn’t reach her at the Vatta city house. Some questions about the people she knew in Miksland, he said. I didn’t give him her skullphone number.”

“Good. Nobody should have that but those she chooses.” Grace paused. Her stomach really was upset, and she could feel the muscles in her arms and legs twitching now. Surely it wasn’t the food; the whole family had eaten from the same dishes. “What was that stuff in the house, anyway?”

“MZT-43. Bad one, Grace. I wouldn’t be surprised if you threw up that dinner you just ate; it attacks mucous linings, among other things.”

She should know what MZT-43 was, but it was hard to think, harder every minute.

They reached the Marvin J. Peake Military Hospital before the worst happened; staff with a lift chair were waiting at the curb. “Rector—can you make it out of the car?”

“Of course I can,” Grace said, but her voice was weak and harsh again. Her legs trembled when she tried to stand. Mac helped her, and she was in the chair, safe, but feeling much worse now. “Call the family,” she said as they pushed her inside, and he nodded.

The kitchen had been closed off again, and they were all in the dining room listening to the survivors tell more about their experiences, when the house com warbled from the security office across the entrance hall. Stella went to answer it. “It’s probably from Vatta headquarters.”

“Go on,” Ky said to Inyatta, who had stopped midsentence.

“Then I opened the cell door,” Inyatta said. “That loudspeaker was still going about the emergency in Wing B. I gave Barash the door card, and she let Kamat out—we were all kind of shaky, so we raided the food cart and hoped that would help, and it did.”

“And Kamat remembered we should be sure the evening dose was missing, so it looked like we’d taken it,” Barash said. “That curtain we hadn’t been able to see past was actually a kind of changing room—there were more suits like our guards wore hanging in it. We put the booties they wore over our slippers and that helped when we got outside—”

“We almost didn’t,” Kamat said. She shuddered. Ky nodded encouragement. “But Inyatta just kept going, like she knew—”

“I knew I’d rather die trying to escape than be drugged and helpless in that place,” Inyatta said. “It seemed to take hours to get out of the building, though, let alone out of the compound. We’d relocked the doors the card opened, but they had sniffers, if they’d thought to use them.”

Stella hurried across the foyer to the dining room. “Ky—that was MacRobert. It’s Aunt Grace. She’s been poisoned!”

“What?”

“Someone put poison gas canisters in her house! It could have killed her—it should have killed her—and she could still die—” Stella’s breath came in gasps; she was trembling. Rafe stood up and went to her.

“Stella—take a deep breath—easy now.” He took her arm and guided her to a chair. “Sit down. If Mac’s with her, she’ll be taken care of. Where is she?”

“That big—that big military hospital in the city. He said stay here, stay safe, don’t come, but I—but we’re family—” She looked at Ky. “We should go.”

“If she’s that sick, we can’t help,” Ky said. “Mac’s right; he’ll be sure nothing more happens to her.” The possibilities ran through her mind as if outlined in light. “We need to call your mother—if this is the start of new attacks on Vatta, she should stay on Corleigh but maybe not in the beach house.”

“You don’t think anyone would kill the twins—”

“And you need to alert Vatta headquarters,” Ky said. “All operations, here and elsewhere.”

“Don’t you even care about Aunt Grace?”

Ky bit back the first response and tried for something less antagonistic. “Stella, I do care about her. I care about the whole family as well. I can call headquarters, if you’d rather, while you call your mother.”

“You’re not listed anymore,” Stella said. “You have no authority there. It’s my domain.” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and the warn-off was clear.

Ky could see, from the corner of her eye, the three survivors staring fixedly at the table. “You’ll want privacy for that,” she said, and stood, beckoning to the others. They followed her out of the room. To them she said, “I’m going down to the gym.” Rafe gave a slight nod toward Stella; she knew he would stay with her, try to calm her.

“There’s a gym?” Kamat asked.

“Yes,” Ky said. “My uncle Stavros put it in. Come see.” On the way down she considered explaining more about her background and Stella’s, but they didn’t need to know—yet, anyway—and she did want to hear more about their escape. Surely they knew something useful.

They had all worked up a sweat on the machines by the time Rafe showed up at the door and beckoned Ky over. “I come in peace,” he said. He glanced past her at the others; they had been chatting at the other end of the room.

“Of course,” Ky said. “Nobody’s mad at you. Has she calmed down yet?” She wiped her face.

“She’s gone up to the office and wants to be alone. I suggest that you not bother her tonight.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Ky said. “Neither of us can do anything for Grace tonight. So I’m focusing on what we can do for the survivors who are being held captive. Our guests have some ideas—we were about to go across the hall to what Uncle Stavros called the bunker.”

“Bunker?”

“Situation room, it would be, in military terms.”

Rafe gave her a puzzled look and said, “Do you want Teague down here?”

“Yes, both of you. He worked for the guy who got your parents out.”

Rafe paused to call Teague on the house com, then followed her across the hall into the bunker. “Stella knows a lot more background on politics than you do—” he began.

“I’ve been gone for ten years.”

“And were busy the whole time. I know. She says Grace isn’t popular. Widely believed to be behind the former President’s apparent suicide, after the attack on Vatta, even though it was the Commandant with him at the time. Apparently there’s a rumor she and the Commandant had a connection in the past. Lovers or something.”