The Peyti Crisis: A Retrieval Artist Novel: Book Five of the Anniversary Day Saga (Retrieval Artist series 12) by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Page B
Authors: Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Tags: Fiction
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dome not damaged in some way by the Anniversary Day attacks. While many of the cities had functioning jails and functioning police departments, the key word was “functioning.”
Many of those dome governments had asked Armstrong to take the Peyti prisoners. Armstrong had a first-stop “Reception Center” for prisoners who had been charged with major crimes, but not yet convicted. The Reception Center was a maximum security facility that was “temporary” for the prisoners, while they were being bound over for trial.
There were only two on the Moon. Armstrong’s Reception Center was by far the largest, so it was getting the Peyti prisoners.
Armstrong also had enough interrogation facilities to handle the large wave of prisoners.
What Armstrong didn’t have was jurisdiction over the attackers from other domes. Until and unless the interrogations bore fruit, the attacks had to be prosecuted on a local level. There was no Moon-level of jurisdiction. Either the attacks had to be prosecuted by each dome, or they had to be prosecuted by the Earth Alliance itself.
Nyquist scraped his omelet out of the pan, and wiped out the pan, and poured the stirred eggs for DeRicci’s omelet into the pan. He monitored that while taking bites of his. The omelet was fluffy, the cheese perfectly melted, and the tomatoes just crisp enough to add a sweetness that his omelets usually lacked. He wished he hadn’t put in any spinach, and decided not to add it to hers.
Any good lawyer was going to see the problems here. Nyquist had already told Gumiela that the individual domes had to send permission for the Armstrong PD to act in the stead of the other domes, and hope that it would all stand up in whatever court the prosecution ended up in.
Gumiela had countered that her plan was simple: no Armstrong detective would interview a suspect from another dome. If those interviews got done, they’d be done by police detectives from those domes, who had to travel with the prisoners.
That might work as well, but Nyquist wasn’t so certain.
Nor was he convinced that anyone would get these Peyti clones to talk. They had all been on the Moon for years, and during that time, all but a handful of them had been practicing attorneys. The one he had corralled had been one of the most important defense attorneys in Armstrong.
Getting these Peyti clones to talk would take a skill set he didn’t think most detectives had. He knew he didn’t.
He finished his omelet and put it in the sink. Then he left two large notes for DeRicci, one that would float in front of her face the moment she left the bedroom, and the other on the back of the door, telling her that she had enough time for breakfast, since it was cooked, and it would only take her a minute or two to eat it.
He hoped she would take five minutes, but he didn’t want to discourage her.
Then he gulped his coffee—a travesty, she would call that—and grabbed his shield, and his weapon.
He had a long day ahead, in what might be a series of long days, maybe even long months.
His biggest worry wasn’t so much getting the Peyti clones to talk—he already saw that as close to impossible. His biggest worry was that another group no one paid attention to would try a third attack.
And he was afraid the third group would learn from their predecessors’ mistakes.
He was afraid the third attack would succeed.
ELEVEN
LUC DESHIN DID something unusual. He went home only an hour after he arrived at the office.
He needed to. He had to settle something before he could move ahead on his business.
He knew coming home would worry his wife; he also knew that it could not be helped.
He swept through the front door. His home was modest. Most of the money he spent on the house he’d spent on security. He kept all the security features up to date, and since the latest attacks, he’d also placed some guards—human guards—outside.
For once, Gerda hadn’t objected. She was good
Many of those dome governments had asked Armstrong to take the Peyti prisoners. Armstrong had a first-stop “Reception Center” for prisoners who had been charged with major crimes, but not yet convicted. The Reception Center was a maximum security facility that was “temporary” for the prisoners, while they were being bound over for trial.
There were only two on the Moon. Armstrong’s Reception Center was by far the largest, so it was getting the Peyti prisoners.
Armstrong also had enough interrogation facilities to handle the large wave of prisoners.
What Armstrong didn’t have was jurisdiction over the attackers from other domes. Until and unless the interrogations bore fruit, the attacks had to be prosecuted on a local level. There was no Moon-level of jurisdiction. Either the attacks had to be prosecuted by each dome, or they had to be prosecuted by the Earth Alliance itself.
Nyquist scraped his omelet out of the pan, and wiped out the pan, and poured the stirred eggs for DeRicci’s omelet into the pan. He monitored that while taking bites of his. The omelet was fluffy, the cheese perfectly melted, and the tomatoes just crisp enough to add a sweetness that his omelets usually lacked. He wished he hadn’t put in any spinach, and decided not to add it to hers.
Any good lawyer was going to see the problems here. Nyquist had already told Gumiela that the individual domes had to send permission for the Armstrong PD to act in the stead of the other domes, and hope that it would all stand up in whatever court the prosecution ended up in.
Gumiela had countered that her plan was simple: no Armstrong detective would interview a suspect from another dome. If those interviews got done, they’d be done by police detectives from those domes, who had to travel with the prisoners.
That might work as well, but Nyquist wasn’t so certain.
Nor was he convinced that anyone would get these Peyti clones to talk. They had all been on the Moon for years, and during that time, all but a handful of them had been practicing attorneys. The one he had corralled had been one of the most important defense attorneys in Armstrong.
Getting these Peyti clones to talk would take a skill set he didn’t think most detectives had. He knew he didn’t.
He finished his omelet and put it in the sink. Then he left two large notes for DeRicci, one that would float in front of her face the moment she left the bedroom, and the other on the back of the door, telling her that she had enough time for breakfast, since it was cooked, and it would only take her a minute or two to eat it.
He hoped she would take five minutes, but he didn’t want to discourage her.
Then he gulped his coffee—a travesty, she would call that—and grabbed his shield, and his weapon.
He had a long day ahead, in what might be a series of long days, maybe even long months.
His biggest worry wasn’t so much getting the Peyti clones to talk—he already saw that as close to impossible. His biggest worry was that another group no one paid attention to would try a third attack.
And he was afraid the third group would learn from their predecessors’ mistakes.
He was afraid the third attack would succeed.
ELEVEN
LUC DESHIN DID something unusual. He went home only an hour after he arrived at the office.
He needed to. He had to settle something before he could move ahead on his business.
He knew coming home would worry his wife; he also knew that it could not be helped.
He swept through the front door. His home was modest. Most of the money he spent on the house he’d spent on security. He kept all the security features up to date, and since the latest attacks, he’d also placed some guards—human guards—outside.
For once, Gerda hadn’t objected. She was good
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