Well, I seem to be seeing the inside of a lot of government offices lately. Now it's the local constable's place, though I note that at least two Advocacy types are mixing with the Prime officials. Nothing like interrupting the public's lives with actual gunfire to make life interesting.

What I really need is to get back to bed, but I suspect that isn't happening soon and these folks are on a very different time zone so they aren't even likely to ask. (sigh)

I wonder why it is always the burly ones who wander my way, I mean I'm not Conan or the Hulk. Nevertheless, a bear of a man who easily could weigh twice what I do walks my way and without introduction asks, "Will you follow me, Citizen Ryan?"

"Sure," I try to chuckle, "I seem to have lost my notes on where to go anyway."

He looks at me for a moment as if to assess if I'm trying to be funny or just a wiseacre. From his expression, or lack thereof, neither is relevant to his duties; he turns and I follow.

The route we take passes closely enough to the knot of folks discussing me that I catch a few words.

"...ceased checks as a hunter. Ugly blade, though, doesn't fit."

"Private call. One search turns some Tev on Gen."

"Legal?"

"Doubt it."

"I just don't like his hist..."

"In here," the walking mountain says, pointing in an open door.

The room is small, but not as bad as the OES interrogation room in New Austin. There are chairs, a table, and at least a few obvious vid sensors. There aren't any people, but I suspect that is about to change as I hear a couple voices approaching from behind. I walk to the far end of the room and turn, expecting to greet the new arrivals. Oddly enough, the approaching speakers seem to have other things to do; they walk past the door without even a glance in.

Oh well, might as well pick a chair and try for a quick nap.

None of the furniture seems designed for comfort, but the chair I bet they send me to is less so. For now, I take one of the several along the left side of the table and put my head down on my arms.

I don't know if I got much or any sleep, but there is a hand shaking my shoulder.

"Mr. Ryan?"

Might as well leave them a bit uncertain, "Two eggs, over easy, bacon, wheat toast, and a large clisnas, please."

Someone is chuckling.

"Mr. Ryan, you aren't here for breakfast," someone else says, close enough that it is probably the one shaking me.

I look up and there are two folks present: a compact woman of indeterminate age who still has her hand close enough to guess that she did the shaking, and a young man in the livery of the local police.

"May I help you?" I ask, rather more groggily than I might prefer.

"Would you mind sitting over there?" The male asks rather sheepishly.

"Yes, this one is more comfortable. There are two others on this side."

I don't think he expected that response, he looks confused, like this is a breach of his well controlled but fragile routine.

The woman, however, takes it all in stride. "I am Agent Ellison of the Advocate's office. Agent Van Dyke has given me the details he observed from JonJohn's. I've read some of your history. Would you like to make a statement?"

"Don't forget his rights," the young officer says as he slumps into the chair meant for me.

Ellison looks me in the eye and asks, "Can we dispense with the hand-holding legal mumbo-jumbo? We both know the list I'd have to go through."

"By all means," I reply, knowing they disregard the rules if it suits them anyway.

"Good. What happened, say in the last few hours?"

I have both of their attention as I start, "I got a call from Banner, woke me up in the dead of night to meet him right away here in Prime..."

"It isn't the dead of night yet," youngster interrupts.

"It is at the plantation. Probably morning soon."

He looks about to speak but Ellison raises her hand and says, "Please continue, Mr. Ryan."

"Thanks. Anyway, he said it was important information. I flew into the starport, caught the rail, and did the cloak and dagger stuff he wanted me to do. That's when..."

"What kind of cloak and dagger stuff?" she asks.

"I was to find a booth in JonJohn's and order the super porterhouse and a couple pints of Guinness."

"And that was odd?"

"Yup, especially since I'd had dinner not that many hours ago. I told him so and he had said something to the effect that the steak was for him."

"And you thought he might have had information that was so important that you would get up and fly here in the middle of the night?"

"Yup. He said something about hearing my name mentioned. Things have been really strange lately, with a couple attempts on my life. Anyway, since I've flown his wing a few times before... honestly thought we were friends or at least friendly acquaintances, I figured he might be looking out for me if he heard something serious."

"Okay. Go on with your story."

"Well, I did what he said. Then he calls my mobi, tells me I've been followed, and asks me if I'll..."

"Followed? Do you know if you were followed?"

"Nope. If I was, I never knew."

The young and still unintroduced officer asks, "Is it even likely that you would be followed?"

"It's quite possible, a lot of folks seem to have an interest in me lately."

"Like?"

"Well, there are the folks at MARC, the OES, the Xi'An spies, and apparently some Tevarin from Gen working for a couple senators."

Well, I could have added the Imperator and perhaps the Pope and not have gotten so much disbelief expressed. Neither speaks, but I would suspect they both think I'm a certifiable nut-job.

"I know you have a bit of history with our office," the Advocacy lackey begins, "But I would appreciate it if you take this inquiry seriously."

"Let me assure you that I am, Agent Ellison."

"And the OES and Xi'An intelligence types might be following you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She nods like I've just made a mockery of her kind intent. Her tone doesn't drip sarcasm, but it comes pretty close as she asks, "And just why would Senators need to hire a Tevarin to follow you?"

"I have no clue. I just know that what the Major said was confirmed at least in part by what Dalton said tonight before he tried to off me."

"Major who?"

"Mc Something... OES type, assistant to Mr. Po. Um..." While I try to remember the Major's name I could swear that they are both thinking I'm making this stuff up. Honestly, would I believe it if I heard it without anything to back it up? Suddenly, my old brain clicks, "Major McMurdoe."

"And Major McMurdoe told you what?"

"That the person behind the attempts on my life was a middleman from Gen, a Tev named Hornek Tish. An assassin called 'Vixen' was supposed to have the kill for me, a male assassin in spite of the nic."

"And you think Tish was out to get you for what reason, again?"

"Not a clue."

"Do you seriously believe that Senators would have anything to do with trying to have you..." her mobi chimes annoyingly and she snaps at it, "I'm busy, can't you see the interrogation marker?"

Whomever on the other end seems to take offense, I can almost hear them even though she has just a tiny in-ear. Her expression changes suddenly and she looks at me with something akin to fear.

The young officer tries to pick up her line of questioning, "So why exactly are we to believe..."

"Come with me," she orders him, interrupting with a tone that silences him instantly.

They both head out into the hall. I fold my arms on the table and let my head sink back onto them.

…..

I'm not sure how much time has passed, but I am sure I've slept, if for no other reason than my arms have gone to sleep from the point my head was resting on all the way down to my fingertips.

Now, however, my name is being called from close at hand and I get the sense it is not the first time this person has called me. Looking up, I see Major McMurdoe sitting across from me with something of a bemused smile. I would swear that he is not at all pleased with the situation, but he is hiding the fact reasonably well. My final observation for the moment is that he appears a bit disheveled and I get the distinct impression he was asleep when whomever got him headed my way.

Seated beside the Major is a very calm character in what I suspect is a black ops version of light body armor. Being seated, it isn't obvious if he is packing weapons, but I rather doubt this one goes anywhere without them. Something in his demeanor reminds me of Mr. Bellforte.

The Major opens with, "Good evening, Mr. Ryan."

"Major," I reply before turning to the other person, "And I didn't get your name, sir."

"Jones."

"You must have a big family in the organization, I met another Jones just a week ago in..."

"Mr. Ryan," McMurdoe interrupts, looking for all the world like he wants to shut me up. "I understand you had some excitement earlier."

"Yup." Might as well cut to the chase, "So is Mr. Jones here to kill me?"

My grin fails as the Major soberly answers, "That is one of the options on the table."

"You have my attention," I reply, not breaking eye contact.

"Good. You named people earlier. You most certainly should not have done that."

"You're not telling me you used your real names... are you?"

"Actually, yes, I am. That is privileged information."

"Well, I guess no one told me that little detail."

"Consider the oversight corrected. You are not to give any details about your visit to our little paradise."

"When the Advocacy asks something, I'm not going to lie. I already know what life is like when they screw things up. I'm not giving them anything they can misinterpret to jerk me around with."

He nods like that is something he can agree with, "Granted, but you will not mention anything further and will refrain from mentioning anything in the future."

"Says the man who has never spent nine years as a guest of a Roussimoff Rehabilitation facility."

Jones shifts a little, he has a half interested look that makes me nervous... all the more so since his hands seems to be occupied with something under the table.

Quietly, the response comes, "Says the man with the authority to make sure you never leave this room alive."

"Unless you give me an alternative to lying or being framed by what I'm not allowed to answer," I look over at Jones and say, "Might as well get it over with."

Jones says nothing but waits, clearly for orders from McMurdoe.

"Just tell him to do it quick and clean, no drugs and no suffering," I offer the Major, who looks a little rattled that I'm taking the death option so well. "I rather go out with my boots on in a warm room than bleeding into my pressure suit on the bottom side of wreckage on some frigid little asteroid."

Jones smiles and nods.

The Major stares, holding eye contact. I've got nothing to lose and we make this a contest of wills... who will blink?

It is a tie, at least in my opinion. Jones moves suddenly, up and over the table to my side and I don't have to be told that the cold whatever pressed against my skull just below and behind my left ear is the business end of a weapon.

"Like I said, quick and clean, please."

Neither of them move.

I can hear my heart beating. Okay, that isn't true; 'pounding' is much more accurate than mere 'beating'. We're doing the locked eyes thing again, McMurdoe and I.

Still nothing... my racing heart is normalizing. I might at least go out with a semblance of peace. I wonder if there is anything after it's over... guess I'll probably find out shortly.

Or not... the Major speaks, "You have another alternative."

Then why all the drama, I wonder. "Which is?" I ask.

"Cite the UEE Statute that covers OES covert ops: OEGC 2741-171 Section 4."

"I'm not OES and how do you expect a nearly senile old man to remember something that long?"

He laughs, "I've reviewed your file, you are neither 'nearly senile' nor that forgetful. As for the membership, you don't have to be an Associate in the OES, merely a witness to classified information to cite that section of the Governmental Code. You are already a registered witness."

"So why all the drama with the weapon Jones still has against my head?"

"Because I haven't decided if you should survive yet."

…..

"You know," I say with a hint of annoyance filtering into my tone, "This is going to end badly if you don't make a decision soon."

The Major snorts and rather derisively asks, "And how would that happen?"

"Well, option one is that Jones here decides to shoot me on his own, probably because I would be trying to take the weapon away from him and doing everything I can to prove the old adage 'Old age and treachery beats youthful strength every time.'" I sense Jones shift just a bit at this, though I doubt he is afraid of me in the least.

"Second, I might actually succeed in taking the weapon, followed immediately by my shooting you for being such a pain in the ass. Of course, one or both of you might still get me before I get a shot off, so still no more me.

"Third, I might get the shot or shots off and then building security would rush in and shoot me down here near your stiffening bodies."

McMurdoe looks rather annoyed, "So any way you play it, you lose."

"But at least I would get to decide instead of playing your little phony game."

He shakes his head just a little, "No wonder the shrinks hate you." He gestures for Jones to resume his seat, which the man does.

"So, what's next?"

"We knock you out and relocate you somewhere where you have even less control."

"Like the interrogation rooms under the Xeno Affairs building? As I remember, you gave me an expense paid trip to a tropical island after that went so well."

Major McMurdoe does something with his mobi and says, "Would you pick up the guest please? Be sure to tell her nothing."

Moments later, the answer comes clearly, "Yes, sir."

The two of them rise and the Major says, "We will be back in a little while to see if your attitude can be changed."

"Tell Xin I'm not interested."

"No need to bother her, she is occupied this evening."

The door slips closed behind them as I'm putting my head back down. What other 'her' could he be referring to? The question teases my brain just enough that I don't sleep this time.

…..

Both the Major and Jones return to the table, the latter without any visible weapon for me to threaten to take away. He could probably break my neck without any difficulty, but that is another story.

"Ready to cooperate?"

"Ready to kiss my furry white buttocks?"

Into his mobi he says, "Send her in, please."

The door whisks open and a familiar woman's voice shouts, "Get your filthy hands off me!"

It is Camilla's voice.

She is dragged into the room by two of Jones' clones... well at least their physique is identical, if not their genes.

Camilla looks the worse for wear, hair messed up, clothes obviously thrown hurriedly on, and that look that would make a hungry somal run in terror. A third clone is tying a broad cloth gag over her mouth so nothing intelligible is coming out.

"Do I have your attention now, Mr, Ryan?"

"You have got to be kidding me."

"We at the OES do not have a sense of humor, or if we do, I am not aware of it." His tone is callous and indifferent and his expression lacks any of the smiling from earlier. He has the winning hand and doesn't want to dink around anymore. "Are you willing to play ball now, or will I need to have the young woman hurt?"

Anger and resistance fade from Camilla's eyes, replaced by shock and fear... those holding her could easily do real damage in mere moments.

I sigh and ask, "What was the legal citation again?"

"The UEE Statute that covers OES covert ops is OEGC 2741-171 Section 4. I've printed it out on a physical card for you and sent it to your mobi."

"OEGC 274..."

"OEGC 2741-171 Section 4."

"OEGC 2741-171 Section 4."

"Yes. If I hear you have spoken out again without permission, I will make sure this woman and her husband suffer the repercussions normally reserved for someone like you."

"You know MARC has your place bugged, right?"

"I really doubt it. Do we have a deal?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I'm not sure I heard you say anything just now that I can have confidence in. Please try again." One of the thugs behind Camilla grabs her hair and pulls her head back. Through the gag she screams in pain and rage.

"Yes, I will do as you insist."

"Very good. You two are free to go."

Camilla is unceremoniously dumped into a chair and the five of them troop out. I move swiftly to Camilla and free first her hands and then loosen the gag.

Let me just say that nothing she says now should ever be put into print, it is definitely not family friendly. Finally, she winds down enough to look straight at me and ask, "Why did they do this to me? What did they want to get you to do?"

"Not answer questions about them."

"And you let them kidnap me and beat Arron up over that?"

"They didn't tell me they were going to do any of that. First they threatened me, but then they just went away and only returned just before they brought you in. I didn't know you two were in danger."

"You're in real danger, too. You need to get out of this business before these thugs get out of hand."

"I think things are already so far out of my control that I'm not sure where to turn. Did they tell you I shot someone tonight?"

"No! Why?"

"He was trying to kill me."

She looks stricken, "Oh Shawn... you gotta get out before some whoaho does you in."

"You're probably right, Camilla..." I sigh. "You are probably right."

…..

The Advocacy types gave us no further trouble, I didn't even have to recite the OEGC 2741-171 Section 4 stuff... they just led us out and told me that if they needed anything further they would contact me. Now I'm walking with Camilla to the nearby monorail to catch the line out to the space port and my 350R. We move cautiously through the people on the platform and I wonder if I'm being watched or stalked. I do try to surreptitiously watch for anyone tailing us, but I really have no idea what to look for, so there isn't much chance I could catch them if I saw them. Besides, my idea of watching for someone following us is probably based more on vids than reality; I doubt real spies write their methods into the scripts for the actors to reveal to the cosmos.

A train door opens next to us and we slide in with the rest of those headed for the flight-line.

Camilla leans close as we stand near the end of the car and asks. "Do you think someone is following you?"

"Don't know."

She glances around, "They all look suspicious to me."

"What about those two toddlers?"

Laughing, she replies, "Clever disguises, of course."

We both get a chuckle out of this and I see her relax a little.

…..

We have arrived at the hangar without incident, and the 350 responds to commands and opens properly. Inside, I set up a jumpseat for Camilla and help her strap in. I really don't think she likes to fly, or perhaps she has never thought about flying with me at the yoke.

I drop rather stiffly into the pilot's seat.

Duncan offers his challenge, "Well, it's about time you got you fat ass into the chair."

"Well, who died and made you boss?"

"You don't look like a pilot to me, you best jump back out before the real boss shows up and kicks your sorry rump."

"Bite m e, Duncan."

"Welcome back, Shawn."

"Duncan, please scan both your software and the ship for any signs of tampering."

"You got it."

I watch as numerous systems report their diagnostics onto the multitude of glas before me.

"Nothing you didn't already know about."

"Fair enough, let's fire the bird up."

The sounds of start sequence invades the space around me. Over my shoulder, I announce to Camilla, "We will be out of here in a few minutes, have you home in a half hour tops."

"You taking us into space to get there?"

"It's quicker that way... why, would you rather I not?"

Camilla is uncharacteristically silent, I wonder if she heard me.

A quiet voice asks, "Can I see the stars when we are up there?"

There is a huge smile in my voice as I answer, "Of course! We can take all the time you want to look at them."

"I've never seen them from space."

"Then I'll certainly make sure you see them this trip."

"Thank you."

…..

Camilla sits in the pilot's throne, controls locked out for the moment. Awestruck wonder dominates her features as she sees the Great Banner for the first time without atmosphere to dim it.

"Wow!"

"Yup," I agree.

I would swear I can hear her humming something, but she is keeping it so quiet that I'm not sure and I don't want to interrupt if she is.

Finally, she says, "I used to think you must be exaggerating when you talked about the stars. I was wrong."

"First trip is almost always like this. And for those of us who are losing our minds, every trip seems new."

"Oh stop it. You aren't losing you mind, old man."

"How would you know?"

"Experience, Mr. Ryan, experience."

…..

It is a subtle maneuver to turn a ship around in the hangar without blowing anything not secured completely away. It takes skill and alertness, and should never be attempted by anyone impaired by chemicals or lack of sleep. While I haven't had any drugs to impair me, exhaustion more than makes up for the lack, slowing my reactions and dimming my ability to anticipate problems. I catch motion out of the corner of my eye as I think I'm deftly pivoting the 350R to face out for takeoff. The motion turns out to be one of the rolling tool-cases I have on hand... laden with at least a hundred kilos of tools... and it is accelerating towards... (sigh).

I set the craft down and open the hatch for Camilla to head up to the house. A quick survey of the damage indicates that I'm going to be cleaning up for a while. I think I'll run up to the house real quick and see how Arron is doing and get some work clothes.

…..

Arron and Brother Patrick are listening to Camilla's story as I walk into the big room. I motion to the two men to stay put and head upstairs for that quick change.

Somehow, the smell of old coveralls dried on a clothes-line in fresh air just speaks to me. How many times have I wished to just stay here and work the land. I meant to once... but the stars kept calling me.

I'm really tired, but if I don't get things picked up, I'll be in real trouble getting motivated to do it tomorrow. Down the stairs I go, Camilla is still weaving her tale and I leave the lot of them to it.

…..

I really didn't do as much damage as might have happened, several cabinet doors appear to have gotten pushed closed by blast and thruster wash, ensuring that their contents are at least moderately secure, albeit rather in disarray.

The tool-case is the biggest mess, it hit one of the drain tracks and laid over on its side... with open drawers disgorging their contents onto the floor and surrounding furniture. The impact must have been a doozy, the upper and lower chests came free of each other and...

BOOOOOMMMMMM!

I'm tumbling from a shock wave. Okay, tumbling is an understatement, I'm tossed like a child might angrily toss a toy during a tantrum. I'm dimly aware that I've smacked hard into something unforgivingly solid, my head feels about like it will explode and there is some liquid getting into my left eye.

I'm crumpled against something unyielding, I can't see, there is dust and smoke and an odd lack of air... I'm... I...

…..

"This one's alive!" I can't place the voice. I seen rather unable to see and nothing seems familiar.

Another voice is coming closer, "I need a stretcher over here stat! Gordy, get the medkit from my bag! You there, I need help with this guy!"

Whomever is giving the orders seems to have come close to me.

"Can you hear me? Can you tell me where it hurts?" He yells as if to a nearly deaf man.

"I can..." wow, breathing REALLY hurts, "Hear you... don't yell."

"Okay, old fella, just tell me where it hurts."

"All over, but mostly my head."

"How about your neck?"

"No more than any of the rest of me."

"Can you move your fingers, let me see you move your fingers."

I do so and he says, "Good, good. Okay, just rest. We are going to move you onto a stretcher. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"What's your name?"

"Shawn Ryan."

"Ryan, you from here?"

"This is my place. Well, with Arron and Camilla as partners."

"Anyone else?"

"No, why?"

"We recovered three bodies from the..."

I don't hear anything more, my mind is screaming and I suspect I'm bawling like a child.

…..

It seems like my brain is fogged in... it's like that sleepy morning fog in the fall when the sea breezes have carried low altitude moisture laden clouds into the hills around the plantation and walking outside means barely seeing your own hand in front of your face.

I seem to be sitting, at least that is what my eyes are hinting at, but I have no clues about where or when I am. Is this a dream? Maybe if I get up... hmmm... nope, not doing that. Actually, I seem unable to move. Whatever is wrong with me?

There are people in the room, but I recognize none of them. It would seem that people here like to dress in white, but I can guess nothing more.

There are noises coming from my right side, but I'm not sure what is making them and can't seem to make my head turn that way.

This all seems very tiring... maybe I'll take a nap and it will all make sense later.

…..

Awake again, I think.

More people in white.

Hmmm... and one in green and brown. Well, now that I look harder, I can tell that the person is green and the clothing is brown. Fascinating. There are sounds coming at me from all sides, but again, I'm not making any sense of them. Is this some new type of music? Definitely not my taste, I like melody and rhythm and the notes to sound good together.

I still can't move, is this a complicated dream of some kind? If so, I'll never understand it.

I wonder if I can talk... no, guess not.

A thought occurs: I'm drugged and restrained somehow. It makes sense, but that begs the question: why?

Again, too much mental exercise makes Shawn a tired boy; I feel myself falling asleep.

…..

Hello! I'm awake and now I HURT! This isn't dreamy, this is TORTURE!

"Mr. Ryan, can you hear me now?"

I know my voice won't work, but I try to answer anyway. To my complete surprise, words come out, "Yeah, I think so."

"I'm Doctor Harrington. I lowered your medication dose to where we seem able to communicate."

"I hurt."

"I'm sure I can't imagine."

"How bad?"

"Skull fracture and a concussion to go with it, three broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, broken collar bone out closer to the shoulder than the spine, numerous scrapes and cuts, but nothing else serious. You are restrained and under a lot of medication while the stemcells rebuild material for you."

"Joy. What happened?"

"You survived some kind of explosion at fairly close quarters."

"Explosion?" It all comes rushing back and I remember the night in the hangar, being tossed like a toy, and falling against a stone wall. "Oh no..."

"Look, I guess you've been through a lot, but there are several officials from several agencies who want to talk with you. They seem rather insistent, in fact, and my own supervising surgeon ordered me to bring you out at least long enough to answer."

"Camilla and Arron?" I ask

He sadly shakes his head and I ask, "Brother Patrick?"

"Was that who the third was? I've heard of him, no one here knew much more than that he once served with the Marines and had disappeared from the grid decades ago."

"He was a monk."

"One of the ones from Weymouth Priory? I'll notify someone over there."

Through the drugs I still have in me, I know I will feel real pain when I can over losing my friends, but for the moment, I can't seem to connect with my emotions. "My other staff?"

"They haven't brought us anyone else, either injured or deceased."

"Okay." It all seems a world away, like I'm considering facts offered by some talking head from a news feed.

A new person has arrived. He confers quietly with the doctor and then addresses me, "Mr. Ryan, I'm the Fire Marshall for the Torre Nor second district, where your plantation is. The doctor says he has lowered your medication enough that you can answer some questions."

"Sure. I'll try to help."

"Good. Do you know how long that LNG bottle had been in the ground?"

"Well, it was there when I bought the place maybe twenty years ago."

"Have you had it safety checked since then?"

"Yeah, I think so. Camilla and Arron were my managers until they bought a controlling share."

"So you do not know for certain."

"Well, no, but..."

"Have you smelled any of the odorizers that the local LNG carries?"

"No. You think..."

"Do you know if there had been any cooking in the hour or so before the blast?"

"Well, no. Camilla just returned and Arron usually prefers not to try."

"I see."

"What do you think happened?"

"Well, that large an explosion must have been the LGN bottle unless you or your friends were storing a lot of high explosives."

"No, and neither the 315 nor the 350 use any explosive ordinance."

"So it was a gas explosion. There are some inspectors coming up tomorrow to poke around, but I'm confident enough that I'll already have this in my report."

I'm rather getting tired again and my answer is muted at best, "Okay."

He turns and walks away.

My doctor asks, "How are you doing?"

"Tired."

"I'll let you sleep again before any more visitors."

I feel myself getting foggy again; whatever he is using, it works quickly.