"I need more time than that!"
"Trainee, it's taken you two days to not write an essay. How long will it take you to not write a speech as well?"
"Can't I just make it up as I go along?"
"That is one of your major strengths," admitted Bernie, "but in this case, careful preparation is the key."
Alice pulled a face. "Can I take the cruiser, at least?"
"No."
"It'll be heaps quicker."
"A cab will suffice."
"What kind of crime-fighting bad-ass turns up in a cab?"
"The kind who goes off fighting crime when they're supposed to be doing their homework." Bernie raised her hand, forestalling any more arguments. "No more arguments. Start working on your presentation immediately."
— ♦ —
As soon as Harriet heard Alice's name, she did a hasty U-turn, her shoes squeaking on the tiles. "What do you want with Alice?" she demanded. Then she realised the woman might have nothing to do with Smith, or Alice's past, and she softened her tone. "I mean, I can probably help."
"My name is Teresa. I met … Alice this morning, in the park."
Harriet frowned. "She didn't mention anything to me."
"Oh. Are you her partner?"
"No, we're sisters."
Teresa stared at her. "But … she doesn't have a sister!"
Okay, so it was something to do with Alice's past. "Come on," said Harriet. "We're going to walk and talk." She took the woman's elbow and guided her outside, and they set off along the pavement beside the towering Peace Force station.
"I'm sorry, what's your name?" asked Teresa.
"Harriet."
"I know Alice as Rebecca. We're distant relations."
"I guessed that," said Harriet shortly. "How come you're all wriggling out of the woodwork?"
"All?"
"Yeah. First Tyron Smith, now you."
Teresa turned pale. "Tyron was here?"
"Yeah, and if he shows his face again, Alice might just kill him," said Harriet harshly.
"No wonder Rebecca was upset this morning."
"She would be, if you insist on calling her Rebecca." Harriet glanced at Teresa. "Are you with Tyron? Is this the softly-softly approach to his sledgehammer?"
"I wouldn't have anything to do with him. No, I—I heard a rumour he was looking for her, and I thought I could help."
"She told me her entire family abandoned her, after her uncle died. Not a peep from any of you while she suffered."
"It wasn't like that."
"It was to her." Harriet frowned at her. "So what is it? Why is everyone interested in her all of a sudden?"
"You're right, it's not a coincidence." Teresa sighed. "When Sandon Smith was killed—"
"Sandon Smith?"
"That's Rebecca's uncle."
"Are you telling me they're all related?"
"Not directly. Smith is a convenience to keep the authorities happy, but in Family circles we use the name of the ship we were born on."
"What family?" demanded Harriet. "The Smiths, you mean?"
"No, the Family is a collection of traders, couriers, cargo haulers … spacers, you'd call them. We keep to ourselves, help each other out when we can. There's no formal leadership, although Tyron would disagree. Anyway, Rebecca was born on the Sparrow, so her real name—"
"Okay, enough with all the names," protested Harriet. "Just call her Alice, all right?"
"Sure. Anyway, when Sandon died, he left a lot of debts and a not much else. The creditors took his ship, and the rest was auctioned off. We all thought that was the end of it, but recently there have been rumours." She looked at Harriet anxiously. "I know you're a cop, but can I speak freely?"
Harriet gestured impatiently.
"Okay, well Sandon was a smuggler. Nothing really bad, he just dodged import duty on a few luxury goods now and then. Then, this one time, he got a much bigger cargo. Something valuable, no idea what. And … he claimed he lost it. Some ridiculous story about the whole lot falling out the back of his ship. Nobody believed a word of it, of course. Everyone thought he'd buried the goods somewhere."
"Including Tyron Smith?"
"Yeah, and it was his cargo. He confronted Sandon, they argued, and Tyron shot first. At least, that's what Rebecca … I mean, Alice … said, but she was the only witness."
"So it's possible Tyron was trying to defend himself? Sandon shot first?"
"People have been arguing over that one for years."
"All right, but this is ancient history," said Harriet. "What happened to bring it up again now?"
"A box turned up."
"Some of the cargo?"
"No, just a little thing, about so big." Teresa held her hands out. "It was addressed to Rebecca Smith, from her uncle Sandon."
"What was in it?"
"That's where things get interesting. Do you know what a DNA lock is?"
Harriet shook her head. "Never heard of it, but I could probably use one on my apartment."
"It's pretty advanced. You use someone's DNA to seal it, and you need the same DNA to open it again."
"Or a hammer."
"No chance. These things have a mini atomizer."
"They spray perfume at you?"
"They dissolve things into their component atoms if you tamper with them. So, the box is still sealed."
"And you need Alice's DNA to open it."
"Smith does. He ended up with the box."
"How do you know that?"
"He went around the fleet trying to find anything which belonged to Alice. People put two and two together, and realised he was after a trace of her DNA. When that failed … well, he's looking for the original."
Harriet saw the problem. Smith couldn't very well ask Alice for a lock of her hair, just so he could open a sealed box which her uncle left to her. But he could have picked up a hair somewhere else. The break-in at the apartment, and the missing hairbrush! She'd blamed Alice for borrowing it, but Smith must have taken it from their bathroom. Well, if Smith tried to open this mystery box he'd get nowhere fast, because the brush wasn't Alice's. And that meant he'd be back. "You still haven't told me what the box contains."
"Tyron thinks it might be directions to his stolen cargo."
"A treasure map?" Harriet almost rolled her eyes. "Oh, give me a break."
"We all think
