Second interim, p.6
Second Interim, page 6
By the time she shut her door, the Vreng was in motion on the streets of Spane.
“Where will we go?” Coura asked.
“Out of town.”
Coura gasped, then swore. “My mother! Will they go after her and Dad?”
“It’s possible. We’d better call them.”
Coura didn’t love that idea, but the need was bigger than any guilt or shame she might feel for having hidden so much from them. They had hidden more from her, of course, but that seemed more like an excuse than a justification for doing the same in return.
Bare seconds later, Coleridge said without taking her eyes from the road, “Hello, Serenity. It’s VC.”
After a moment’s confusion, Coura realized that Coleridge had reached her mother at the orchard using her comm implants.
“Let me do it,” Coura said. She’d mostly caught her breath since her mad escape, but now it started to get away from her again. “Can she hear me?”
“She can now. Keep it brief.”
The mandate for efficiency added pressure, but in a way it was a relief. Maternal recriminations could be put off until later.
“Hi, Mom,” Coura said dismally. “I can’t talk long. I think I’m in some trouble. The wrong people might have found out who I was, or, you know... who my father is. VC is protecting me. I’ve gotten to know her. I trust her. Please listen to whatever she tells you to do.”
Her mother’s voice came from speakers in the Vreng’s dashboard. “Coura, I don’t understand. What is this? What did you do?”
“I can’t talk, Mom.” Coura wasn’t sure why that was, but it was convenient.
“Serenity,” Coleridge interrupted. “Leave your house now. Without calling it by name, Coura will describe a place that only you’ll know. Meet us there. We’ll call Simon and send him there, too.”
“He may be with her already,” Coura interjected.
“Is he?” Coleridge asked Ren, who answered, “I’ll tell him.”
The fact that Coleridge planned to make the entire eight-hour drive from Spane to Martijn Orchard, or near it, was news to Coura. It wasn’t unwelcome news, though. When the world came crashing down, home seemed like the natural place to want to go.
Thinking quickly, Coura told her mother, “The place we always used to go swimming, the three of us. You know the one?”
“Of course. Sweetie, are you alright? I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Coura said.
In the face of the idea of Haake or people like him harming her mother, any anger and resentment she had felt in the past melted away and seemed suddenly petty.
“Serenity,” Coleridge said, “for whatever it’s worth coming from me, you did right by Coura. You and Simon raised a good kid. Young woman,” she corrected herself. “You should be proud.”
“We are. Coura, please be safe!”
“I will. VC’s taking care of me. She’s...”
Coura looked with fresh eyes at the scarred, expressionless woman who’d believed her story today without an instant’s hesitation, someone who had dropped everything to protect her. Someone who thought enough of her to tell her parents they should be proud.
“She’s a really good friend,” Coura finished.
The compliment produced no visible reaction.
“You stay safe, too, Mom,” Coura said next. “Goodbye for now. I’ll see you soon.”
Coleridge terminated the link. Coura spent the ensuing silence gazing out the window suppressing panic as the Vreng accelerated onto a highway.
“Your parents are back together?” Coleridge observed at length. Coura confirmed it. “That’s nice. For them. And you, probably.”
Coura looked over sharply, but opted not to express her surprise any further.
Was this... small talk?
“Yeah,” Coura said. “I’m happy for them. They sort of split up over me when I learned the truth, so... yeah. It’s nice.” As little as she wanted to say it aloud, she had to ask the question that dominated her thoughts: “They’re not going to die because of me, are they?”
“I can’t be sure,” Coleridge said, proving herself as much a novice at reassurance as she was at causal conversation. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Glad for the distraction, Coura proceeded to give an account of her summons and visit to the bank building. She spared no detail when it came to telling how she’d broken free when Haake grabbed her wrist; how she’d put herself atop a woman on the floor and possibly broken her arm; how she’d raced the bank guard and slid under the closing security gate just in time; how a passerby had chosen the wrong day to be a good citizen and taken a palm-strike to the face for his trouble.
The deeper into the tale she went, the more invigorated she felt and the more exuberant her telling became. By the end, she was breathless.
“That was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said. “It was insane. I can’t even believe what I did.”
“I believe it,” Coleridge said. “You were taught well.”
“True,” Coura agreed. “If not for you, I’d be—I don’t even know. Glad I didn’t have to find out. Thank you.”
Eyes front and lips tight, Coleridge made no reply.
After coming down from the high of reliving the day’s adventure, and with lots of time to kill, Coura offered Coleridge some conversation training.
“Is this your car?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Coura studied the cabin and ran her palm over the supple leather of the seats. “It’s spotless.”
She wasn’t sure whether or not to speak her next observation. But after what she’d been though today, she felt brave enough to take the risk.
“Unlike your apartment,” she ventured.
“I don’t invite guests,” Coleridge said placidly.
It wasn’t exactly an explanation, but it made a sort of sense. Her home was private, while her vehicle was something exposed to the world.
At least, her home was usually private.
“I suppose, living where you work, you probably don’t drive much, either,” Coura guessed, with the helpful intent of explaining away the seeming dichotomy.
When Coleridge didn’t bother to answer, Coura’s courage ran out, leaving her ready to let the subject drop.
“You’re grateful for what I’ve done for you?” Coleridge asked not long after.
“Eternally,” Coura swore.
“You want to pay me back?”
“I doubt I ever could. But yes. Of course.”
“You never saw where I live, did you?”
“What, I don’t—oh! Right. No, I never saw it. Don’t want to, either.”
“Good kid.”
They drove on.
Chapter Six
Three hours into their flight from Spane, Coleridge announced an incoming comm.
Coura sat up straight in the reclined leather passenger seat. “Who from?”
“From you.”
“Wh... You mean, from my hand-com?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe it’s that guy I hit.”
“Maybe. I’m going to accept.” Coura understood her next words to be directed at the unseen caller: “Who is this?”
The reply came through the Vreng’s speakers.
“My name is Tennor Haake. You’re Valerie Coleridge, correct? I know Miss Martijn is in the vehicle with you. Can she hear me? I’d like to clear up some misunderstandings, if I could.”
Shifting nervously, Coura kept her mouth shut. Coleridge began craning her neck as she drove, studying the sky through each of the vehicle’s windows. When she ceased that, she resumed speaking to Haake.
“Coura can hear you. Who do you work for, and what do you want with her?”
The Vreng’s speed decreased. Coleridge’s only hand went to her gym bag on the console and fished inside, leaving the steering vane momentarily unattended. She rested a small, sleek object on the seat between her thighs and resumed driving.
“Ms. Coleridge, I commend your commitment to protecting this young lady,” Haake said. “But she’s in no danger. Coura, I apologize that you felt threatened this morning. We only wanted to talk. There was no need to run.”
While Haake spoke, Coleridge brought the Vreng to a halt on the highway’s shoulder. Coura gave her a questioning look that bordered on panic. Shouldn’t they keep moving?
Coleridge answered with a signal to be quiet then pointed at the Vreng’s dash and flapped her fingers like a mouth: Keep Haake talking.
“You shouldn’t have touched me,” Coura told the man.
“Miss Martijn. It’s nice to talk to you,” he returned. “You’re right. That was my mistake. I apologize.”
Meanwhile, Coleridge opened the door and exited the Vreng with the device from her bag in hand. Through the open door, Coura watched her aim the thing skyward.
“I didn’t expect...” Haake stopped and laughed. “Well, you sure can take care of yourself. I’m impressed. Shinley’s arm is going to be fine, and that gentleman who got in your way on the street, the one I got your hand-com from, has been compensated. You’re not in trouble for any of that, Miss Martijn. It was our fault things went the way they did.”
Outside, Coleridge stood stock still with arm upraised and slightly moving, as if tracking something above her. Looking up, Coura saw nothing in the sky but clouds.
“What do you want from me? And are my parents safe?”
“Of course they’re safe,” Haake said. “We’re not trying to harm anyone. We’re not the kind of people who do that. It’s a huge misunderstanding. I’d love it if we could just get together and talk.”
The device in Coleridge’s hand emitted a small flash, barely visible against the sunny sky. The next thing that caught Coura’s eye was a tiny streak of black smoke above the treeline. Coleridge stepped back into the Vreng, put the device—now confirmed to be a weapon—back into her bag, and resumed driving.
Putting aside her questions for Coleridge, Coura asked Haake, “What’s special about me?”
“Plenty,” he said. “But among other things, yes, it’s who your father was. I know Mayweather Kearn wasn’t a terrorist. Even if he was, we don’t hold children accountable for... Hmm, Ms. Coleridge, I see you just shot us in the ‘eye’ there. Nice work, but entirely unnecessary. We’re not adversaries. We all want the same thing, and that’s what’s best for Miss Martijn.”
“I decide that,” Coura said.
“Absolutely. But don’t you want to know all your options? That’s what we were hoping to discuss with you this morning.”
“You want to recruit her,” Coleridge said. It sounded like an accusation.
“That’s not entirely accurate. I’d prefer to save the details for when we can talk face-to-face, when misunderstandings are behind us, tensions aren’t high, people aren’t shooting down expensive drones, et cetera.” He laughed. “Take your time, Miss Martijn. No one’s chasing you. No one wants to hurt you. Just get in touch when you’re ready. Have a nice drive. Take care.”
A tone sounded that Coura took to mean disconnection. Still, when she spoke to Coleridge, she whispered, out of a strange feeling she could be overheard.
“Do you believe him that we aren’t in danger?” she asked. “That he just wanted to talk?”
Coleridge answered at normal volume. “I believe they wanted to talk, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. Sometimes, when people give you options, they’re only options until you choose the wrong one. And just because someone’s not trying to hurt you doesn’t mean they aren’t using you.”
Coura sighed and nodded but was eager to let herself feel relief. “But... do you believe him that no one’s trying to hurt me or kill me right now? Or my parents?”
“Yes. I believe that much. Do you want to continue, or turn back to Spane?”
Coura didn’t have a quick answer for that. She’d already missed classes today, and if they kept going, she’d miss more tomorrow. But could she bring herself to tell her mother and Simon that everything was fine now? Oh, sorry, never mind. See you another day.
While she weighed those options, Coleridge suggested a third: “We can ask Simon and Serenity to get on the road toward us. If you’re going to meet Haake without keeping it secret, you may want them with you. Or your parents may insist.”
“You think I should actually meet him?” Coura asked, mildly surprised.
“I think you have to. As I said, options aren’t always options. If that’s true of Haake, refusing to hear them is the quickest way to get him to make the choice for you.”
“You’ll go with me?” Coura asked.
“Do you even have to ask?”
“Sorry. Thanks.”
Continuing on their way, they made the call to Serenity and Simon, who agreed to set off in the direction of Spane to meet them about three hours hence at a predetermined public location. Coura and Coleridge reached the meeting place to find Simon’s truck already waiting. Coura and her mother leaped from their respective vehicles and ran to meet in an embrace in the middle. Simon Ascher followed and joined it, while Coleridge remained seated in the cabin of the Vreng until the hugs were over.
On seeing Coleridge approach, Coura moved to head off any ill will that her mother might have a mind to aim at her. Looking Ren in the eye, she told her quietly, “I don’t know what I would have done without VC, Mom. If you need to be upset at anyone, it’s me.”
Ren assured Coura she wasn’t upset, only glad to hold her daughter and have her be safe, and when Coleridge joined them, both Simon and Serenity thanked her genuinely.
“Perhaps you two should return to Spane with us,” Coleridge suggested.
Ren took Coura’s head in both hands, as if she was a toddler, and looked wistful. “Can’t you come home, just for a short visit?”
“I’d miss classes tomorrow,” Coura said. She felt torn, but since she didn’t intend to part from her chief protector just yet, she turned to Coleridge to learn if she might make the decision for them.
She didn’t. Not quite, but she did offer a suggestion Coura found immediately appealing.
“Instead of visiting Haake in Spane,” Coleridge said, “we could invite him to the orchard. There’s an advantage to meeting on familiar territory.”
“Yes, Mom, Dad, I’d like that,” Coura said. “Let’s go home. I can explain everything to you on the way.”
Home was all Ren needed to hear. Her answer was yes. It was agreed that Coura would join her parents in Simon’s truck while Coleridge drove ahead of them in the Vreng. During the ride, Coura came clean about her months of training with VC and her efforts to access spacer bank accounts, all leading up to a recounting of the morning’s events that had led her here.
Serenity wasn’t pleased. When all had been told, she threatened to lock Coura up in the house and never let her return to Spane. Simon tried to stake out a middle ground, urging Ren to stay calm and Coura to acknowledge she’d been stupid. That only got Ren yelling at him and Coura worried she’d provided the reason for yet another split between them.
“Stop!” Coura screamed from the backseat, interrupting a tirade from her mother aimed indirectly at Coura through Simon, who focused pointedly on the road. “Today I thought I might die, and you know what? It was the best day of my life. I don’t regret any of it! I got drunk twice and threw up and passed out, and I don’t regret that, either! If you don’t shut up and start supporting me, then my only regret will be getting in this truck with you two! I’ve made my choices, now you make yours. Are you going to help, or just try to get in my way?”
“Coura... you’re—” Simon began, in what sounded like a reasonable tone.
However reasonable, Coura cut him off. “No, Dad! I love you, but you wait for whatever Mom says, and then tell her that you agree. That’s what works. Understood?”
“Yes... that’s best,” he said and just drove.
But Ren said nothing for kilometers. In one of the vehicle’s mirrors, Coura glimpsed tears on her cheeks.
Good, she thought. Let them fall, if that’s what it takes to make her see clearly.
Eventually, though Ren still said nothing, her hand snaked into the backseat with open fingers. Coura took hold of it, they both squeezed, and that was that for the remainder of the trip.
* * *
Coleridge arrived first at Martijn Orchard. Coura and her parents pulled up afterward to find the ex-assassin finishing a circuit of the house, armed with the weapon Coura by now knew as a pulsecaster. Meeting the Martijns in front, she asked them to let her inside first.
“I thought you said we weren’t in danger!” Coura reminded her.
“I’ve been wrong before.”
While Coleridge checked the interior, the remaining three clung to each other outside, or more accurately Ren dug fingers into the arms of the other two until Coleridge emerged and declared the place clear, and they all entered.
While Coleridge bolted the door, Coura whispered in her ear, “Maybe try not to scare them so much, alright?”
“Better scared than dead,” Coleridge said less quietly.
“See, that’s exactly the kind of... Never mind. Thanks for keeping us safe.”
Over a dinner of leftovers, they convened to decide the next move. Coleridge suggested they call Haake that night to arrange a meeting in the morning. Ren swiftly protested, directing her argument at Coura.
“If he’s interested in you because of Kearn, then it’s some kind of trap,” Ren reasoned. “I don’t know where Kearn is or what he’s doing, but if they want him, they won’t hesitate to use you to get at him.” She sighed angrily. “You just had go using his name. I knew this would happen!”
Perhaps realizing that recriminations weren’t helpful now, Ren calmed herself and asked Coleridge, “What if we don’t answer this Haake at all? Just ignore him. He said to talk when Coura is ready. What if she’s never ready?”
Coleridge answered, “If she refuses to talk, Haake will probably only move more quickly to Plan B.”
“What’s Plan B?” Ren asked.
“I don’t know. Something less friendly.”
