The Peyti Crisis: A Retrieval Artist Novel: Book Five of the Anniversary Day Saga (Retrieval Artist series 12) by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Page A
Authors: Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Tags: Fiction
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of the Anniversary Day attacks.
Since then, the surviving members of the United Domes Council had gone home to their cities to help rebuild, leaving the Security office and a few other organizations as the only representation of the United Domes. Everyone seemed to agree that a Moon-based, not a city-based, government was necessary, and with the serial crises mounting, no one wanted to upend the system that was already in place.
Not that there was any legal framework for it. DeRicci was seizing power, and she knew it. It made her deeply uncomfortable, but at the same time, she had no idea where the threats to the Moon were coming from.
And clearly, the threats were to the Moon.
Nyquist wanted to go over to her and brush the hair off her face, but he was afraid to wake her. They had gone to sleep about 4, and the four hours that she had was probably the most continual sleep she’d had since the beginning of what the press had started calling the Peyti Crisis began.
He worried about her more than he should have, given the casual nature of their relationship. Her curls were now threaded with gray, she had frown lines on her face, and permanent shadows under her eyes. She wouldn’t see a doctor because, he knew, she was afraid the doctor would tell her to slow down.
Since she was the only major Domes official left standing, she didn’t feel like she could slow down.
And Nyquist didn’t feel like he could do much to help her.
He could give her a quiet place to sleep. He had convinced her security detail that he could handle anything that might happen, any break-ins or threats from whoever it was that had been attacking the Moon.
So she got what passed for privacy here, and a little bit of time to think about things other than bombings and assassins and mysteries that neither of them could solve with conversation.
He left the bedroom, and went into his small but functional kitchen. Since Anniversary Day, he had stocked up on essentials, and kept the pantry full. He liked to tell himself he did it to make sure DeRicci ate when she came to his place, but if he was honest, he wanted to have supplies in case society broke down completely.
Besides, he found that he liked cooking.
He made himself some coffee, using one of those special blends that Flint kept giving DeRicci. She had a weakness for real Earth food, even though she felt like she should only eat Moon-grown items. But when someone gave her something, she rationalized it by saying it was churlish for her to refuse to use it.
Nyquist had never suggested the obvious: that she could give the food to one of the city’s food banks. If he suggested that, she would feel guilty that she hadn’t thought of it, and she felt guilty enough about everything already.
He pulled eggs out of the refrigerator, along with some cheese, fresh spinach and tomatoes, and just a bit of oil. He would make two omelets, and leave hers in the warming basket. She could reheat, and while the omelet wouldn’t be as good as it was when he scraped it out of the skillet, it would still be better than anything else she would eat all day.
He stirred the eggs, cut the tomatoes, and concentrated, as much as he could, on cooking the perfect omelet. He had cut up some fruit the night before, making DeRicci promise she would eat it before she left. He dished some out for himself.
The cooking calmed him, and he needed calm—not as much as DeRicci did, but more than usual.
Everything at the police department was in chaos. He had a meeting at ten a.m., and he was stalling his arrival. Every detective had to come. Apparently, the Chief of the Detectives, Andrea Gumiela, was going to assign interrogation partners.
She was determined to break the Peyti clones, and find out not just who created them, but who sent them on these sleeper missions.
There were a million problems with Gumiela’s ideas, first among them her refusal to see the scope of the situation. Armstrong’s was the only major city
Since then, the surviving members of the United Domes Council had gone home to their cities to help rebuild, leaving the Security office and a few other organizations as the only representation of the United Domes. Everyone seemed to agree that a Moon-based, not a city-based, government was necessary, and with the serial crises mounting, no one wanted to upend the system that was already in place.
Not that there was any legal framework for it. DeRicci was seizing power, and she knew it. It made her deeply uncomfortable, but at the same time, she had no idea where the threats to the Moon were coming from.
And clearly, the threats were to the Moon.
Nyquist wanted to go over to her and brush the hair off her face, but he was afraid to wake her. They had gone to sleep about 4, and the four hours that she had was probably the most continual sleep she’d had since the beginning of what the press had started calling the Peyti Crisis began.
He worried about her more than he should have, given the casual nature of their relationship. Her curls were now threaded with gray, she had frown lines on her face, and permanent shadows under her eyes. She wouldn’t see a doctor because, he knew, she was afraid the doctor would tell her to slow down.
Since she was the only major Domes official left standing, she didn’t feel like she could slow down.
And Nyquist didn’t feel like he could do much to help her.
He could give her a quiet place to sleep. He had convinced her security detail that he could handle anything that might happen, any break-ins or threats from whoever it was that had been attacking the Moon.
So she got what passed for privacy here, and a little bit of time to think about things other than bombings and assassins and mysteries that neither of them could solve with conversation.
He left the bedroom, and went into his small but functional kitchen. Since Anniversary Day, he had stocked up on essentials, and kept the pantry full. He liked to tell himself he did it to make sure DeRicci ate when she came to his place, but if he was honest, he wanted to have supplies in case society broke down completely.
Besides, he found that he liked cooking.
He made himself some coffee, using one of those special blends that Flint kept giving DeRicci. She had a weakness for real Earth food, even though she felt like she should only eat Moon-grown items. But when someone gave her something, she rationalized it by saying it was churlish for her to refuse to use it.
Nyquist had never suggested the obvious: that she could give the food to one of the city’s food banks. If he suggested that, she would feel guilty that she hadn’t thought of it, and she felt guilty enough about everything already.
He pulled eggs out of the refrigerator, along with some cheese, fresh spinach and tomatoes, and just a bit of oil. He would make two omelets, and leave hers in the warming basket. She could reheat, and while the omelet wouldn’t be as good as it was when he scraped it out of the skillet, it would still be better than anything else she would eat all day.
He stirred the eggs, cut the tomatoes, and concentrated, as much as he could, on cooking the perfect omelet. He had cut up some fruit the night before, making DeRicci promise she would eat it before she left. He dished some out for himself.
The cooking calmed him, and he needed calm—not as much as DeRicci did, but more than usual.
Everything at the police department was in chaos. He had a meeting at ten a.m., and he was stalling his arrival. Every detective had to come. Apparently, the Chief of the Detectives, Andrea Gumiela, was going to assign interrogation partners.
She was determined to break the Peyti clones, and find out not just who created them, but who sent them on these sleeper missions.
There were a million problems with Gumiela’s ideas, first among them her refusal to see the scope of the situation. Armstrong’s was the only major city
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