Freehold (16 page)

"All right then, thanks," she said, acquiescing. "Did Mar invite you?"

"Yeah, but this block has to be ready by two tomorrow. I'll be staying here."

"Get some sleep," Kendra insisted.

"Sleep is for wimps . . ." he began. It was a mantra of his and she'd heard it all weekend long. She joined him for the rest.

" . . . Healthy, happy, well rested wimps; but wimps nonetheless!"

Leaning close, she wrapped arms around his shoulders, licked his earlobe and whispered, "You need sleep so you can make love to me later."

"I'm out," he agreed. "Are we still flying tomorrow?" he asked. He'd offered her a ride aboard a combat vertol and she'd been intrigued.

"Oh, yes!" she agreed. She wasn't going to miss that.

She walked into her apartment, showered and put on clothes from her small selection that was appropriate for evening wear. She chose a shoulderless tunic with a mandarin collar and stretch slacks in gray, with a broad belt for her pouch and holster. Done, she headed for the kitchen alcove and mixed up a soup that would have made Rob scream in disgust—thick with starches and with a paucity of spices—and ate while reading her loads.

The news from Earth was available in the Freehold system, but most of it had little market. There was an interest in trade and industry, although not as much as Kendra expected. Earth was regarded as a backward, slightly industrialized source for second-rate products. She appreciated the irony that the public back home regarded the colonies as rustic and rural agricultural backwaters.

Considerable digging had yielded what she sought. She found the listing on her parents' business, saw it was doing well and wished again she could send them a message. They must think her dead by now and she wondered what they'd done with her personal belongings. Or did the government still have them as "evidence"? That was a common enough occurrence. Still, her vid gear, music, clothes and such wouldn't have done her much good here. There was no word on her brother, either good or bad, but he often didn't post to his site for weeks at a time, with all the fieldwork he was doing in grad school.

The general system news was slightly worrisome, containing many negative references to Freehold, its businesses and politics. The North American regional report listed crime, weather and special events. She had trouble remembering that it was only a day old, that being the minimum time for a message to crawl to a ship in transit, be received before jump and retransmitted immediately after. Most of what she had downed was the same news it always was, but she read intently, enjoying the closeness she perceived from loads written in a language she could understand. When done, she switched to local news.

If Utopia was defined as a lack of news, Freehold was not Utopia. A Citizen had been shot by an offended plaintiff and was hospitalized. The editor of Jefferson Live News announced that it was the seventh shooting of the year. That couldn't be right, she thought. Minneapolis, at fifteen million people, typically had about fifteen hundred by mid-year, and firearms were illegal for all but police, federal officers and a few state and local agents. They had less than seven percent of that total here, per population. It didn't seem possible.

The suspect was in custody and would be tried as soon as the investigators put a case together. Since a Citizen was involved, the government had hired an investigator on contract, having none of its own. There was a side issue of the contractor having previously been owned by another Citizen and hints that favorites had been played. Politics mixed with a murder was so suddenly familiar that she laughed in relief. At least some things never changed.

There was a huge financial row over Resident Service Labs. Since there were no government standards, most manufacturers paid to be rated by one of three large or several smaller rating firms. The firms' integrity was their stock in trade. RSL employees had apparently been caught accepting bribes for ratings. Instantly, all companies rated by them had lost business by concerned customers. The other two large houses were promising to rate them as soon as was practical, but refused to rush the jobs, not wanting their own quality to suffer.

Quality Assessment Specialists had offered a discount to all the injured parties and was likely to move into the top three. RSL seemed destined for bankruptcy. So did the handful of operations that had bribed them, and their senior staff would likely be indentured for life. Simple enough.

The problem was that all the injured businesses, and all the soon to be former employees of RSL, wanted blood, as did the owners and shareholders of RSL against the employees in question; they'd been hurt and needed compensation. Several insurance companies were involved as well. There were suits from clients against the companies that had bribed for ratings, and by more insurance companies, who wanted settlements from both the bribers and RSL. There were more than tenthousand plaintiffs party to the suits already and more seemed certain. Then there were suits by employees against employers. Citizen Hernandez and four others had agreed to referee several mass settlements as soon as the facts of the case could be established and to hear the other cases as quickly as possible after that. Their regular case loads were deferred among several other citizens. The news estimated that the government's cut of the settlement was likely to be close to half a billion credits.

In other news, the Freehold military was conducting an exercise near one of the jump points. An Earth fleet was on the other side and was conducting "safety inspections" of ships entering Earth space from the Freehold. This had happened before, she vaguely recalled. It hadn't seemed important from an Earth-based view, but from a tiny nation like this, she suddenly saw the intimidation it could create. Earth didn't like the lack of cargo manifests made possible by the Freehold's laissez-faire approach to trade, but couldn't do anything until the ships were in their space. Then, however . . . 

They were apparently seizing some shipments, if the crew didn't have a good story as to who they were transporting for. Both the carriers and the shippers were outraged and had filed complaints. In response, some in the Assembly were calling for more action against the Freehold.

Had she walked into a war? she wondered. Then she decided she had to be reading too much into it. It was just politics and something she'd never paid much attention to. Not until now, anyway.

She finished digesting the headlines and out of curiosity, dug for info on the Freehold Military Forces. She found a wealth of information and selected some graphs and figures as her first inquiry.

It was tiny! The whole military establishment numbered less than one million on a planet of two hundred eighty million, and thirty million more in the Halo. The Table of Organization & Equipment was actually available to the
public
, and listed tons of hardware—vehicles, aircraft, spacecraft, support equipment and heavy weapons. She was just treeing another search, with a note to Rob as to what she was seeking, when Marta called through the door, "Anyone here?"

"Come in. I'm just about ready," Kendra replied.

Marta walked in and smiled. "You look good, lady. Grab your cloak and let's go."

"Okay," Kendra agreed. She eyed Marta up and down and noted she was wearing a black unitard. It was cut high and low to emphasize her snaky hips and firmly muscled chest. She wore black makeup painted as spiderwebs across her face and her hair was tied straight down in back and left its presumably natural black color.

"That seems a little plainer than usual," Kendra remarked.

"Yeah, well, this is social, not professional. Should I dress up a little more? Does it look all right?"

"It looks great," Kendra assured her. "Let's go."

Marta had left her car running, which shocked Kendra. No, it wouldn't be stolen; she was learning to accept that fact, but didn't they care about pollution? Then she remembered that the fuels here were formulated to minimize it. They were also dirt cheap and the vehicles extremely efficient, if not economical. She climbed in and fastened restraints as Marta nailed the throttle again.

Kendra hung on in terror as Marta wove through traffic and north out of town. Her responses to Marta's cheerful conversation were rather terse, because she kept remembering that there were no traffic laws, only advisories. Her mind kept seeing an advisory that two women were splattered here last month, so please slow down.

Once out of town, the traffic density dropped drastically and she relaxed slightly. It was odd not to be flying, but the view was interesting. Marta explained her plans. " 'Cabhag' is the name of the band. They're very eclectic, so there should be at least some of it that appeals to you, but I think you'll like it all; they're very good performers. We have time for a bite first and I know a great place nearby. You like lamb?"

"Umm, no. Unless it's vat raised," Kendra said apologetically.

"Oh, well. They have some good seafood, or so I'm told, but I hate the stuff so I wouldn't know."

"That'll work," Kendra agreed. She'd decided that marine animals were low enough on the chain that she'd manage to eat them. It still made her feel a bit adventurous.

She looked Marta over again and wondered what was bothering her about her friend. She was energetic, but so was Rob, so that wasn't it. She was a little intimidating, and her career would take some getting used to, but that wasn't it either. She turned back and watched the scenery. The north suburbs were buried in forest that was composed of Earth evergreens and local trees that looked like a cross between ginkgoes and palms. An old style, painted, non-interfaced sign noted, "Delphtonopolisburg 80 km."

"Delphtonopolisburg?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah. The first settlers had a twisted sense of humor."

"No fake," Kendra agreed.

The trip progressed and Kendra realized that there was little between the two towns. There was the occasional cleared farmstead beside the hardened roadbed and two little charge stations, but not much else. Breaking down out here would be a disaster, and the alienness of it all got to her again. She was glad to have a competent local guide and looked over again at Marta. They were just taking a moderately hard bend and her shoulders rolled as she turned the wheel. It was a movement that was perfectly average, but on Marta it was suggestive and sexy.

Kendra realized what was bothering her and wasn't sure how to handle it. She'd been in an erotic encounter with this woman and Rob last night. Rob had told her that by local custom a date frequently implied sex. Marta might be expecting more than Kendra was prepared for. That was slightly confusing. What was
very
confusing was that she'd just looked at Marta and thought her sexy.

"Travel to the Freehold of Grainne and discover within yourself passion and sexuality you never knew existed." It sounded like a ridiculous concept for a campaign and Kendra decided she'd never see an ad like that. She laughed to herself and tried to relax. Her mind was playing tricks on her. This was just a friendly outing. She turned her attention back to the road and tried not to stare at Marta.

Delph' broke the rules again. It was a small Gulf State town with East Coast hedonism spilling out of it, transported across space and dropped in a far northern evergreen forest. Bright lights and dark woods clashed within meters and Marta pulled into a dirt parking area. "Lock the door," she said. "There are a lot of idiots around here who might pull a dumb stunt like pass out in back and yack on the upholstery."

If that was the worst risk they faced, Kendra thought it would be a very enjoyable evening. They walked toward a lighted strip and Marta moved closer to her. Shortly, she felt fingertips on her back, drifting idly down to her hips. Adrenaline rippled up her spine, and she was about to speak when Marta drew her hand back. She knew she should still say something, but had no idea what.

The Coracle of Delphi sat on the banks of the river called the Frigid Ditch. Marta requested a table on the edge and they were seated immediately, on a wooden deck with running water below. Kendra ordered a glass of wine and Marta picked a drink called "blog." It was garishly bright and apparently very potent. "Mind if I light up?" she asked Kendra after they ordered.

"No. You smoke tobacco?" Kendra asked back.

"No, this is tingleweed. I don't smoke often, but this has been a busy week and I'm celebrating," she explained. "Like some?" she offered.

"Thanks, no," Kendra said. "Has it been a profitable week?"

"Very," Marta agreed.

The fish was good and Marta paid, as Rob and most others did, in cash, with a generous tip for the server. The amount of cash she was casually carrying made Kendra flinch. Very well paid indeed. That roll would be dangerous on Earth.

It was getting dark as they left and Marta led Kendra along the river. It was quite gloomy under the tree-lined bank and bright lights were visible ahead. Kendra had good night vision. She stayed close to Marta, however, because instinctively she felt uncomfortable away from the lights.

Fingers slid along her back again, traced a circle over her left hip and tightened around her waist. She felt a bit uncomfortable and shifted slightly. The movement put her shoulders closer to Marta and in a moment they were standing face-to-face, although Kendra wasn't sure how. Hands slid under her cloak and around her neck and lips brushed hers. She was about to protest, but the sensation had caught her by surprise and she hesitated just long enough for Marta to start kissing her.

She kissed back, her brain disconnecting itself. It felt different than any other kiss and it wasn't Marta's intensity or technique. After a few seconds, she pulled back, although Marta was obviously willing to make it last.

"I . . . hm . . . ah," she began.

"Yeah, I liked it, too," Marta said, grinning.

"No . . . I mean . . . I think . . . this is a little confusing," she started again. "I'm a bit overwhelmed by all this. And I'm not comfortable with public touching. Can we keep this nonsexual? Please?"

"Yes! I'm sorry," Marta said, concern in her voice. "Am I making wrong assumptions? It seemed you were getting used to the idea."