"I appreciate it. Alice will too, when I tell her."
"Just … look after her. I know she doesn't want any contact with the Family, but we're out there if she needs us."
"She needed you years ago, when her uncle died. I'd say you're too late now."
"What did she tell you about that? The time after he died, I mean."
"She was shipped off to an orphanage, an endless round of foster homes, you name it."
Teresa looked at her. "Those were her uncle's wishes, you know. He was her guardian, and he left instructions that she be placed into care."
"Her uncle did that to her? Why?"
"Who knows? Something to do with her education, I think."
Harriet looked thoughtful. Alice held her uncle in high regard, and there was no way she was going to shatter that illusion. Anyway, this woman might be lying. "All right, leave Alice to me. I'll keep a close eye on her."
"Thanks, Harriet." Teresa put her hand out. "And good luck. You're going to need it."
Chapter 6
"Problem?" asked Birch, when Harriet returned.
"I don't know. I think she was feeding me a load of bull, to be honest. Family vendettas, stolen cargo, treasure maps … it's all a bit penny dreadful."
"Hey, there's money in those things."
"Really?"
Birch tapped his sheaf of paper. "I'm just finishing one now."
"You write?"
"Bugger all else to do around here," remarked Birch. "You try sitting around all day waiting for customers."
"We do."
"Well … yes."
"And mine don't pay."
"All right, you win," said Birch, with a laugh. "And I won't forget about the security for your flat."
"Thanks, Dave. I really appreciate it." Harriet remembered something. "Have you heard of DNA locks?"
Birch looked at her in surprise. "You said you wanted something basic. Now you're after top secret gear?"
"Top secret?"
"You use them to keep things top secret. I don't mean the locks themselves are … oh, you know what I mean."
"So if someone left you a box in their will, sealed with one of these DNA locks … what might be inside?"
Dave shrugged. "That's like me guessing what you have in your pockets."
"Two melted chocolate bars and a cheap penknife. You should know, you just sold them to me." And with that, Harriet returned to the office, where an astonishing sight met her eyes. Alice was hunched over a computer, typing furiously, while Bernie stood over her, keeping watch. "Don't tell me she's finishing that essay at last," remarked Harriet.
Bernie shook her head. "She's writing a speech on the topic of obeying orders."
"For or against?" said Harriet, eying the dense paragraphs of text on the screen.
"For, of course."
"But why? She hasn't finished the essay yet."
"Alice is giving a presentation at the local primary school this afternoon."
"You're sending her out?" Harriet gaped. "But … what if Smith follows her?"
"Alice is a Peace Force trainee. She can't hide from danger."
"She's only fifteen, Bernie. At her age she's supposed to be hanging out at the mall with friends."
"Yes, because Tyron Smith certainly wouldn't approach her there."
"Bernie, is that sarcasm?"
"I do not know the meaning of the word." Bernie eyed her thoughtfully. "I took a call from an Agatha Foster, the head of the Dimolle Residents' Association."
"Oh yes," said Harriet casually, masking her sudden panic. "What did she want? Someone to give away prizes at a fete or something?"
"No, she has a few issues with the way this station is being run. She was keen to speak to the officer in charge."
"Well that's okay, then. We don't have anyone in charge."
"I am in charge of this office," said Bernie, with a frosty edge to her voice. "I know you trainees like to think of me as a big, playful, cuddly toy—"
Harriet almost burst out laughing at that, and had to cover her sudden grin with the back of her hand.
"—but the fact remains, this Peace Force station is my responsibility. However, that leads to a problem, because Agatha Foster is expecting a superintendent, or a person of even higher rank. Worse, she expects to meet a … a human."
"All right, I'll deal with it."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're far too young to be in charge of a station like this. It will have to be someone else."
"You're not suggesting Alice, are you?"
"That is beyond ridiculous, and bordering on the inane."
"Can't you get someone in from HQ? A temporary loan of some kind?"
"Absolutely not. Out of the question. Impossible."
"So that's a no, then." Harriet shrugged. "Oh well, lucky you're in charge, isn't it? I'm sure you'll work something out."
Bernie shook her head slowly. "I have put her off for now, but we must come up with a solution quickly."
Harriet couldn't help noticing the 'we', but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she sat at her terminal, opened up a database and ran a search to see whether Tyron Smith was still on Dismolle. The result was no help: not only was he not on Dismolle, according to the database he hadn't landed there for over a year. On a hunch, she searched for Sandon Smith instead. His name showed up, having visited Dismolle a few times, but the last was years earlier. Then she tried Teresa Smith, and discovered the woman had landed at the spaceport the day before. Harriet filed away the name of her ship, then closed the terminal and sat back in her chair, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Alice typed away like a two-fingered pianist playing a duet - on her own.
"Bernie," began Harriet. "You're not running some kind of training mission, are you?"
"No, the primary school visit is legitimate."
"I don't mean that. I'm talking about this Tyron Smith guy."
When she heard the name, Alice stopped typing and stared at her. "Has he been here again?"
Harriet could see there was no point
