Port Casper

Chapter Thirteen

A mature, red-headed woman sat behind an obsidian desk, her back to a vast window overlooking the spaceport. She rose and came around to greet Grace, her hand outstretched. Her clothing was utilitarian but expensive: a black protector combat-and-utility jumper, made of real, non-mimic fabric. It fit so well that it was probably handmade. A holstered phasewave hung at the woman's side: preference for the authentic apparently didn't extend to sidearms, Grace thought smugly.

"Maud Van Decker," said the woman. "Pleased to meet you, and welcome to ITB."

Grace shook Van Decker's hand. Her boss had a strong, muscular grip.

"Please, have a seat," Van Decker said, gesturing to a pair of chairs in front of the desk. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No thank you."

Van Decker resumed her seat behind the desk. Grace took a moment to survey the room. She had heard other voices, but they were alone now. A conference call, perhaps. No, the seat was warm. There had been somebody else in the room.

"I see, Ms. Donner, you trained at Red Fox."

"Yes." Grace nodded.

"Commandant Huber still in charge?"

"Yes, he is. Have you met the commandant?"

"Oh, yes, I've met Commandant Huber," she said, leaning to rest her elbows on the desk. "But tell me more about your unique method of graduating. Tell me about this waiver."

Her boss smiled, but the tension Grace saw in her mouth and jaw made it look painful. Or forced. She had seen that smile on cadets after a particularly bad loss. Van Decker wasn't fond of Huber, or the academy, or both. Grace adjusted her plan of presentation and took a deep breath.

"I asked for a waiver to graduate early, and they took it as an insult," Grace said. If Van Decker had body monitors in the room, this lie probably wouldn't set them off. Grace almost believed it herself. "They concocted a charge to kick me out. I still can't believe it. I'd been training since I was twelve. They knew I was ready. Once I proved it in the Meat Grinder, they had to give me the waiver." Grace shook her head as though annoyed at the wasted time. "Huber was a bean counter. I just wanted out."

Van Decker grinned. This smile was real. "Well, you're most definitely out, Donner."

Grace smiled back. "Finally."

"You scared the hell out of Terkle the other day. I watched the recording. Hilarious."

"I hated to die alone," Grace said with a shrug.

Van Decker sat back. "Are you in the mood for something challenging, Donner? Someone with your potential should be doing special things for ITB."

"A good protector doesn't get paid for what she does. She gets paid for what she's willing to do," Grace said. One of her father's ranch hands had spoken similarly when asked to harvest sperm from their prized bull, Redshirt. She'd never forgotten it.

"A good philosophy if you're a contractor," Van Decker said. She reached to her side and drew her weapon, laying it on the desk. A phasewave, Noozer P99, with a polished black grip and a snub-nosed focusing chamber. Nicer than the dreck at academy, but mass-produced nonetheless.

"Let's see yours."

Ronnie and Jonnie looked ancient next to her boss's sparkling phasewave. Grace was on edge. She couldn't read Van Decker on this. And there had been too many tests since she got to Port Casper. Too much information spread around. How much does she know about me? Have I been tracked from the beginning? Grace wondered, understanding the power and meaning of a permanent record, even a short one.

"Look what we have here." Van Decker reached out a finger and touched Ronnie's grip. "A protector with a slug thrower. Two, no less! And I bet you can do as much with those relics as I can with this fully programmable toy."

"I suppose." Grace took her guns and holstered them. She didn't like Van Decker touching her weapons.

The other woman leaned back in her chair, leaving the phasewave where it lay. She folded her black, gloved hands over her torso and watched Grace with cool green eyes.

"You're a good liar, Donner."

This is it, Grace thought. Messed up again. This city is just too big and advanced. Too many ways to get caught. Why had she tried to lie, anyway? It wasn't like being involved with forbidden tech would be frowned upon here. Grace cursed herself and her stupid pride. Raj should have hired himself a professional.

"Protector Van Decker, nobody but trained protectors leave cloister willingly. It was my only way out, and I made it," Grace began. Van Decker raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.

"You hired me. I hoped details of my last few days at the academy would not be a sticking point. It isn't necessary for me to go into a story about myself, is it? I'm ready and able to work."

Van Decker considered Grace in silence for a moment.

"I installed people at Red Fox Academy," she said, finally. "That's how we get good workers. And that's how I heard about the illegal tech--a nice touch, Donner. Surprisingly, Huber gave you the chance you deserved."

Surprising? Did Van Decker mean Huber had done the right thing, but the ouster had been wrong?

"I don't care about anything except ability," Van Decker said, standing up and leaning over her desk. "Your résumé is short, but what's there already separates you from lesser protectors. Learn the protocols, execute your assignments, and check your ptenda for updates. You can go far at ITB."

She paused, a smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.

"Mini grinder Charlie was my favorite. I recognize the dye in your hair. How did you get it off your skin so quickly?"

"Well, I..."

Van Decker waved her hand. "Never mind. The manual is on your ptenda."

She sat, turning to her desk display.

"Bounce, Donner!" Van Decker said, not looking up.

By habit, Grace stood, turned, and marched.

She was halfway down a random corridor when she got her breathing under control. Van Decker's nostalgia had saved her. The forced ouster from academy and cloister now looked like an embarrassment for the academy rather than Grace: an injustice making her upset enough to lie but not enough to deny. ITB hadn't fingered Raj and didn't care where she got the dermal.

She'd done it! She'd shed the ouster and established herself as a licensed protector. It felt strange, exhilarating. Like vanquishing all of the grinders at once.

Her ptenda flashed. She was to report tomorrow morning at 0900 to 55 New Haven Road and rendezvous with a Mr. Gobi.

Bounce, indeed!