Twenty-three

 

The elevator doors opened onto DeRicci’s floor in the Security Building. Flint stepped out, feeling tired. Not physically tired. Discouraged. He had wasted too much time pursuing this investigation in the wrong direction, and he had done so without the correct information.

If he had known about designer criminal clones, then he could have made a lot of connections faster. If he had thought the entire zoodeh mess through, he would have found the other sources of zoodeh in the Earth Alliance quicker and maybe made some connections.

Flint had tried to keep that discouragement out of his meeting with Nyquist. Nyquist was one of the best detectives on the Moon, and he had contacts no one else did.

But he was also involved with DeRicci, and Flint didn’t want Nyquist to tell DeRicci about Flint’s mood.

Flint actually felt betrayed. He wondered how much other information—important information—DeRicci had withheld from him, citing some kind of stupid need-to-know basis.

She used to be a detective. She knew that the more information an investigator had, the better the investigation. The fact that she had withheld something as important as the clones disturbed Flint deeply.

And made him realize how far DeRicci had gone, from detective to Chief Security Officer for the Moon, to a politician fighting to survive. In the past, she would have ignored the confidentiality requests. She would have seen how important it was to find whoever had done this.

Now, she was weighing Earth Alliance secrets against the good of the Moon. The good of Armstrong.

He didn’t like it.

Flint turned a corner, expecting to see a few staffers, busy at work. Instead, he found Popova still at her desk, Talia sitting across from her. The remains of a meal covered the desktop, and they both were laughing.

He wasn’t sure what shocked him more: that Popova had eaten a meal at her desk or that she was laughing.

And then he remembered that he had told Talia to stay in his office.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Talia jumped, and he understood why. All of the frustration and disappointment he felt with DeRicci and the stalled investigation had come out in his tone. He couldn’t call the words back, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He at least wanted his daughter to listen to him.

“Um,” Talia said. “I got hungry.”

“I gave you a chance to eat before I left.” He couldn’t quite set the irritation aside. Not that he really wanted to.

“I got hungry later,” she said.

“I’m the one who invited her here,” Popova said.

“I don’t need you making excuses for my daughter,” Flint said. “She’s been acting up all day.”

Even though that was entirely true, she had done the right thing at school. But she had done it in the wrong environment, endangering herself. He worried about her more than he wanted to.

“Go to my office,” he said to Talia.

She got up, her mouth open slightly, as if she’d never heard him talk like that before. Maybe he never had, not in this way.

She walked past him, head held high. In spite of himself, he felt admiration. It was hard to tame this girl’s spirit, no matter what she faced.

Still, he didn’t watch her make her way to his office. Instead, he glared at Popova.

“I don’t need you circumventing orders I’ve given my daughter,” he snapped at her.

Popova stood. She piled the dishes onto each other. “I don’t think you should be yelling at her.”

“The way I treat her is none of your business.”

“She handled herself really well tonight,” Popova said as if he hadn’t spoken. “She left the office to use the restroom, and got approached by one of the Earth Alliance investigators. She didn’t answer any questions.”

“She got approached in the restroom?” Flint asked.

“I don’t know,” Popova said primly, which convinced him that she was lying for Talia.

“So she got approached in the kitchen,” he said, and he didn’t make it a question. Popova bent her head and gathered the silverware. Her movements were as good as a yes. He would deal with Talia on that later. “What did the investigator want?”

“She wanted to know if you worked here,” Popova said. “And honestly, if she heard you a few minutes ago, she would know that you do. ‘Get to my office’ indeed.”

“I don’t work here,” Flint snapped. “You provided me with space.”

“And you decorated it,” Popova said.

“If I work here, then someone should damn well pay me.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t angry at Popova. He was angry at DeRicci.

Logically, he should take Talia home. But he wasn’t quite ready to do that.

“So,” he said, “that Earth Alliance investigator is still here.”

“They will be until the chief comes back,” Popova said.

“That’s why you’re still here,” he said.

“Fortunately, I don’t have a life.” That sounded bitter. And considering the depth of the mourning she had experienced, she had the right to sound that way. “And there’s a couch in this room.”

In spite of himself, Flint glanced at it. “You’re going to spend the night?”

She shrugged. “I don’t want them to snoop.”

“I’m pretty sure I can prevent that,” he said. “Where are they?”

“You’re not authorized to talk to them,” Popova said, her voice rising.

“I’m not authorized to do anything,” Flint said. “I don’t work for you, remember?”

Then he pivoted and walked down the hallway. If Popova wouldn’t tell him where the Earth Alliance investigators were, then he would just have to find them on his own.

Maybe DeRicci didn’t want to work with them, but he did. This looming threat was too important for politics.

If someone else could solve it, then he was all for it.

He was tired of living in fear. He suspected everyone else was too.