Alliance Unbound

C. J. CHERR YH

Section i Book I: INCOMING!

Danger!

Echo in the raging cacophony. Adjust!

Fingers fly without conscious thought. Shrink the field. Change the parameters of the bubble. 3-2-

[Fifth decimal adjustment.]

- 1: Now!

Implemented. Phase-shift spits

them free. And the universe heals. God. What had he done?

Ross Monahan, senses reeling, stared at the screen in front of him. Graphs. Numbers. Gibberish—

—that should make sense. That would make sense, dammit...

once the

auto-drip drove the last of the trank from his system. It had damn well better make sense. His fingers had just input those

numbers, as crazed, as insane as those numbers might be in retrospect. He focused—hard—on one graph in particular , convinced his drug-laced

brain to remember......

color ...

Yes. Color. Ought to be five lines on that graph. Red, green, magenta, gold—

Where was blue?

Blue line was his input. Wher e the hell was blue?

Adrenaline, natural and real, surged. The numbers and graphs swirled,

swam in and out of focus. He blinked repeatedly , desperate to see those

lines...

but when it cleared, his first impression held. There was no blue

line. So what had he done?

What the hell had he just done?

Comp didn’ t lie. His input wasn’ t there. But he remembered the drop to

realspace, the bubble, the crazed buffeting that defied all logic. He

remember ed pounding those numbers in, dammit!

God. Had he frozen?

Bad enough to read the system entry as crazed as

memory held it, but not to put the numbers in at all?

Even wrong numbers?

He didn’ t know which was worse. Dropping the ship was Nav 1’s job. Green line. Kate’ s line. And red, Nav

1.2.

Bucklin. Perfect echos. Not so much as a pixel of separation. The

magenta and gold lines, Nav 1.3 and 1.4 , were right alongside green,

separated on entry , but within the margin of error , and slowly dropping

closer to green. It all looked right, and the graphs now described a ship in normal space,

as they ought to be. But there was no fifth line. Not even a blue border , top or bottom, that

would indicate his reading of the drop and subsequent input would have put

the ship literally of f the charts. Only one answer: he’d hallucinated his input. And that was, for a

Navigator , for his ship, lethal, if his had been the Nav 1 line. The only way

the computer would disregard Nav 1 was if 2, 3, and 4 were together and 1

was the anomaly. He’d frozen. Even worse: his gut instinct, his read of the situation, had been right. Right , dammit!

His hallucinated input would match what he saw evidenced

in that graph. Up to and including that last instant change in the fifth

decimal. He’d read the entry dead right...

but he’d frozen, had failed to

trust that chaotic input...

and not keyed anything. Not one damned—

The universe turned inside out as the ship made her first V-dump, a

quick dip into a partially formed bubble. He wasn’ t ready , and his mind was

reeling as they exited at a markedly slower pace...

and with all four lines

in perfect synchrony. All but his. Second failure. Dammit!

His hands shook. His fingers tingled. When he rubbed them together ,

skin sloughed, but that was just what it did. In realspace, weeks had passed

since the ship had jumped...

at Helm’ s command and on Nav’ s numbers,

her crew tranked down against the insanity that ruled inside an FTL bubble. Now the physical debt came due. Throughout the ship, crew would be

coming out of that drugged state gently , sanely , slowly; but on the bridge,

Nav, Helm, and Scan had to hype up on a second drug that chase d the trank. Hype left them all buzzed, nerves jangled. Ross took one final glance at that betrayal on the screen. Reality and

inexperience had played tricks on his memory. That was all. Never mind it

had neve r, ever happene d befor e. Not even his first time sitting at a shadow

board...

almost a decade ago, ship-time. Face it, he told himself. It

happened. Move on. But he had to confess it. As if Kate wouldn’ t notice. And if it happe ned again—if it ever happened again—he’d be out of

Nav. Permanent ly. That was the reality of his chosen profession. Nav errors

meant death, not just of the ship, but of the entire Family that crewed her. At the moment, on this ship, he was a guest, still a trainee, still only

shadowing the real boards, which were in expert hands. Fortunately. Thanks

to that fact, the ship, the legendary Finity’ s End, and her equally legendary

crew of Neiharts, was safe. No thanks to him—a Monahan and Nav 1.3 on the Monahan’ s Galway—

they were where they needed to be...

and there were still two V-dumps to

calc. So get your damn brain online, boy!

Fallan’ s voice rang in his head. Fallan, Galway ’s own legend, Nav 1.1 and Ross Monahan’ s mentor , might

not be here, but damned if Galway ’s Nav 1.3 would do anything more to

embarrass the old man. The shakes he was experiencing ...

that was normal, as bodies began

communicating properly with brains—as was sight tending to

monochromatic. Red this time. Gut-churning flash of deja vu. A nightmarish drift through space....

streaks of black-r ed. Blood. His blood. Beyond the streaks: a metal

monster glowing r ed with r eflected sunlight. Finity...

Dammit. He thrust the memory away. Food. He needed food, that was

all. He fumbled a nutrient packet from the chair arm storage, tore a careful

hole in the top, squeezed the supposedly fruit-flavored contents into his

mouth, swallowed: and tasted velocity and distance...

as the numbers on

the screen spooled along. A mark from Helm indicated a requested course

correction as the ship approached its second V-dump. He shoved self-doubt out the airlock, and his hindbrain began

calculating that dump as he finished the packet and shoved the empty back

into the armrest. Hands free, he input without hesitation...

and the fifth

line was back, reassuringly near the others. As routine as such things ever

were. Dump came. He concentrated on those red lines, at the other graphs and

numbers that would tell him if anything went wrong—

And suddenly , as the ship phased in and out of hyperspace— it was back. He recognized it now for what it was: a mass...

huge. More, it was a color. A nature. A presence that defied common sense. Wave after buffeting wave

of gravitational force warping everything in reach. His mind insisted: Finity’ s entry shockwave reverberating off the

Ardaman limit, the outflowing event waves of Pell’ s gravity well. His gut said: Pell was pissed. The star was furious as hell at the massive

intrusion into—

The bubble dissipated, unformed. The numbers reasserted realspace

around them and the monster receded. He blink ed, dazed, at the readou t. Was that...

his mind searched for a

memory , a word...

what a G-class star...

felt like?

Fallan had told him, promised him that one day soon he’d feel it, and if

it were Fallan’ s grey head at that Nav 1 seat, he could ask him about it. But

Fallan, his lifelong mentor , was far, far away , on Galway , where Ross

himself damnwell should be...

and wasn’ t. Fallan, along with Galway ’s

whole First-shif t, was on his way to Ireland, trailblazing the once-fabled,

now-God-willing real, FTL route to Sol and Earth. The holy grail of trade

for every Alpha spacer ever born. The hope for the future of the entire First

Stars loop. And a damned scary ride to get there. Two very chancy gravity wells

into a final one that would make the monster outside seem tame. He’d seen

the numbers, run the sims. And if he’d frozen on those boards...

God. Maybe it was a good thing fate...

with a little help from Fallan

himself...

had thrown him out Galway ’s airlock. Advisement came. Another marker on the chart. Third V-dump. Coming

fast. Another calculation; he keyed in; they went up...

And the monster , the center of that violence, was waiting. Quieter. Saner , this time. But undeniably there. He deliberately sent his mind spiraling back to those first moments of

flux, trying to understand what he had felt, sorting the tamer Now from

untamed Then, still not resolvin g what he saw/felt/tasted, but accepting it as

legitimate input. Reference for his reality. And wondered...

as the half-formed bubble dispersed like a

remembered dream...

was it truly a first, or simply the first time he’d

noticed...

whatever it was he sensed. It was his first time into a G-class. The numbers of its violence were off the chart of anything he’d ever

calc’ed, real time. He’d only known M-class stars like Alpha, little, red, and

moody , flaring of f from time to time. This star, this monster , was Tau Ceti, a yellow G-class, locally known as

Pell’s Star , and it had one prevailing mood, white-hot and angry. The monster faded away. They were down again. Safe. His blue line ran

near the others: conservative, but well within parameters. And blue. Solid, true blue...

as all other color had returned to him. Job done. They’d be releasing to Second-shift soon. Which left him too

much time to try and figure...

not what had happened, but why. Why had

he frozen?

Worse, why had he hallucinated putting in those numbers?

Before making this final jump into Pell, he’d run the numbers according

to the data he’d been given, calc’ed the bubble and the phase-flu x and input

the code...

fundamentally no different than he had dozens of times before. He’d matched Kate then. He was relatively sure he’d matche d Kate and

Bucklin at the outset. So had Ty and Jim, all four live Nav posts in

agreement on the easy part. Those numbers might have been unlike any

he’d run for real before, but over the years, Fallan had tossed him thousands

of different scenarios, includi ng Pell’s, and he’d run sims of every

conceivable situation...

on Galway. Always on Galway. A beaut y of a

ship, in her way. His ship. His home. But a fraction of the mass and power

of Finity. Galway was smooth on entry— polite compar ed to the behemoth that

was Finity’ s End. Still...

he did know what he was doing. He was Nav 1.3 on Galway. Still shadowing, but not, so Fallan threatened, for long. He’d long since lost

count of the number of times he’d sat jump on Galway. It was First-shift’ s

job to bring Finity into a populated system...

as it was Fourth’ s to bring

her in to dock. He’d felt Finity’ s power before, coming in to Bryant’ s and

Venture, systems he knew well. He knew there was range beyond anything

he’d ever imagined under his hands. But this...

This...

feel...

on system-drop had not been what he’d expected from

the numbers, and memory still insisted he’d changed his instructions to the

ship on the fly , on that barely sane downside of trank. Had he?

Had his screen somehow failed to show just that blue line?

God, a mechanical glitch would be far and away better than the alternative. Is this what you meant, Fallan?

He longed to ask. Is this what it means to feel a star?

Since he could remember , Fallan had claimed he could feel them. His

fellow Monahan s laughed and called it Fallan’ s Fancy , and with Falla n’s

sense of humor it was hard to tell...

But Fallan’s discipline never kidded around when it came to sitting ops,

and Fallan’s voice in his head right now sternly told him to quit

nardyfardling and get to work. He’d been given the opportunity of a

lifetime, to sit Finity’ s boards. So quit whining. Absorb every moment,

every right choice...

and learn from every screwup. I’m tryin g, Fallan. Trying to learn all I can, but grand as it all is, I

should be there. With you. Should have felt that squirr elly jump-point. Should have—

Nardyfardling. He’d had a blank spot, was what. Caught by surprise. Own it. Be done. Be glad his Family wasn’ t counting on him. Rookie mistake. He could have

killed them all had he been sitting Kate’ s chair. But he wasn’ t in her chair ,

thank God, only shadowing. Mistakes like that weren’t unexpected from the

shadow-boards. First time out of the First Stars was some excuse, if not an

excuse that sat well with his pride. He just had to reset his memory to

accept what was on the display , and never blank out again. So he analyzed the numbers, the memory , discovered he viscerally

agreed with what Kate and Buck had done, and what Ty and Jim had done. He understood it. If he really had done what that same memory recalled, he

would have been proud of that answer. Old stuff, to Kate, this star. To all the Neihart Nav. To them, to Finity ,

this was home port. Another rub of his hands, more dead skin. His entire body would be

shedding like that. His clothes were rank, and dusty with shed skin cells. Everybody’ s were. Fans and filters on each chair worked const antly. Silent

in normal operation, the fans picked up speed as he and those around him

began to move: painful cacopho ny to senses peeled raw. A shower was in

the offing once they’d settled, once the all-clear came down from the

captain and Second-shift came up to take over the bridge. He yearned for

that. Hot, steam ing water to banish the chill and silence the rattle that the

entry had set into his nerves. “Nav. All clear?” The query came on Nav-com from Kate, four rows

forward of his, on a bridge crowded with ranks of chairs and operators,

most only begin ning to stir from trank. He answered in turn, behind the

three seats in front of him: “Nav 1.5 , clear.”

Special designation, that “5” at the end. Fifth seat, a position, on Finity ,

for trainees, teen-aged kids, which he was not...

never mind he’d just

blown his first truly major test on Finity. Stop nar dyfar dling!

—Yes, sir , Fallan, sir!

“Nav reports,” Kate’s voice again, on gene ral com, “all well, all

responsive.” And a moment later, directed to her own: “Nav 3 through 5,

clear to r elease.”

Ross flipped the clamp on his elbow and pulled the needle from his arm,

still feeling a little queasy. He grabbed another packet and swallowed fast

before attempting to stand. Around Nav, other stations had been coming on

line. Nav, Helm, and both Scan posts, Scan and Longscan, were first to get

the hype flowing, right along with the Executive of the shift, roughly

plunged into awareness ahead of others of the crew , ahead of the rest of the

ship. Critical stations were hype d out of trank hard and fast. Minds had to

come clear. All the stations were computer -managed during jump. Frail

humans did their work at the start of a jump and at drop-down, but in the

latter there could be issues, either the star or the ship, one or the other , that

took a little finesse. Or a lot. Memory said—there had been an issue on this one. Memory said he’d

input the changes. But memory lied. And that, for Nav, was the scariest thought possible. Nav depended on

memory , infallible and absolut e. Tracking truth from fantasy was Nav’ s

primary job. Damn it. First panic and then a memory lapse. Worst of all, Kate would have seen what he’d done. Or, more critically ,

not done. Kate would know he’d frozen, for whatever reason; and among

the sensors he’d just disconnect ed would be his heart rate, a record which

had to be embarrassing, and would probably get him a query from Medical. A hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped. Turned his head...

a little

too quickly. It was Kate that came into focus. She’d disconnected and left Nav as

Second-shift began to move in and take seats. There would be a nineteen-

year-old Finity kid wanting his. “All well?” Kate asked. “Fine,” he said, and he moved to get up. Kate stayed him with a hand

held in his way. “Sure of that?” Kate was not alone. Bucklin, Nav 1.2 , was with her, now,

Ty and Jim moving up on his other side. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a little...”

“Spooked?” Kate asked. “Up there?

Spooked?”

He didn’t know how to answer. Up there. In hyperspace , he’d

functioned. But coming out, coming down, conjured a shape, numbers in

his head. A monster of a sun. A monster that shook with force he had never

met. No, it wasn ’t up there that spooked him. He had spooked at the edge of

realspace. And still felt it here. Maybe it was just memory...

but maybe it

wasn’ t. And that maybe...

that spooked him now. “The old girl hiccupped,” Kate said. “That’ s all. You felt it, Galway?”

Felt it. She’d said it first. Didn’ t mean she meant it the way Fallan did. “I felt...

feel—” There was no expressing it. It was still there, that

monster. Even as his head cleared...

he felt it. He just wasn’ t sure what he

felt. Kate’ s hand landed on his arm a second time. “You’re seriously lagged. Get to the showers. Are you all right for that?”

Rotation had almost gotten them to 1 G. Not quite. It took a bit after

shutdown. And it was the effects of trank, maybe. But the spoo ked feeling

lingered...

increased, if he were honest. A sense of threat , as if he’d

touched something that didn’ t want to be bothered. And Kate kept asking. “Just a little shaky,” he answered Nav 1.1.

“I’ll be all right.” And he got

up, eased past Kate and made his way aft, to the next takehold on the way

to the showers. Section ii Book I

JR Neih art, senior captain, watched Ross Monahan leave, watched the

slight stagger , the reach for the next bulkhead—a reach aborted. Pride. Determination. And a likelihood of falling on his ass. “We had a hiccup,” Kate said. “Noticed that,” JR said, with a shift of the eyes from Kate to the young

man from Galway. “He input,” Kate said, meaning Ross Monahan had keyed in on arrival

—as he should, shadowing the working boards. “Was he right?” JR asked. “He felt it,” Kate said, and her eyes flicked to meet his. “And adjusted on

the fly. First time facing the Old Girl and he matched my numbers and

Bucklin’ s close enough you couldn’t see his line for ours. Blew the first V-

dump—nerves, likely. But not the second and third.”

That was interesting. Finity , when she dropped into realspace, and when

she blew off V, was no incons iderable force plowing into a stellar

environment, and Tau Ceti could be cranky when poked. Force met force,

Finity’ s shockwave and the unpredictable flux of Pell’s recent activity , first

at the heliopause, far, far out, where Finity’ s near-light mass dominated the

encounter. Then with each V-dump, that initial shockwave came back to

haunt them until they crossed the Ardaman limit, after which their speed,

legally speaking, had to be low enough their bow wave ceased to matter to

the star. At smaller stars, like the M-classes Ross Monahan was used to, and for

ships the size of his Galway , the heliopause and the Ardaman limit were

little more than mathematical navigational markers, but young Ross, who

had only ever met red M-classes, had felt the situation and reacted so close

to Kate’ s numbers he’d been inside the computer ’s curve. The Ardaman limit, that elusive boundary at which a star’s outgoing

energy—shock waves, solar wind, gravitic forces and the like—were

dispersed enough for an FTL ship’ s realspace disruption not to wreak

havoc...

was Nav’ s number one nemesis. One never knew exactly what

one would meet on arrival in-sy stem, and calcing the V-dumps to minimize

the disru ption and still bring the ship as close to the Ardaman as possible

approached an art form. Instinct, pure and not so simple. Remarkable. Galway had themselves a

treasure in that young man. Truth was, Finity’ s effect at run-in was not Galway ’s. At several times

Galway ’s mass, Finity was her own major dimple in spacetime when

coming into realspace at just under lightspeed. Ross had had a taste of that

difference coming in to Bryant’ s and Venture, but Tau Ceti was a G-class. He’d told Kate to give Ross the charts and let him work it out the hard way. He’d wanted their Galway navigator to internalize the numbers—and then

see what he’d do in the entry. Not uncharacteristically , Tau Ceti had obliged them all with its own little

surprise, shed a few days ago— one of those things a master Navigator

adjusted for on the fly. So. Test passed. If Ross Monahan hadn’ t had a Family and a ship

counting the days until he returned, he’d be a welcome addition to any

crew , never mind the blown V-dump. But Ross did have a Family , and hopefully , in the not-so-distant future,

that Family would get their ship back to Alpha safely and Finity would send

young Ross and his fellow Galways back to their own region of space. On that hoped-for day, the Galways’ collective lives would change

forever. But then, on the day Galway dropped back into Alpha system...

all of

human space would change. Forever. Section iii Book I

The shower helped. It didn’ t solve the wobbles, but at least the grime and

the red haze were gone. Ross managed to dress as far as loose coveralls,

grey, and scuffs, likewise grey as the walls, and got to the lounge, where

there was a supply of drink-packs, a wide choice of mostly empty reclining

chairs, and in one of those chairs—

What was she doing here?

Jen Neih art, who by rights shou ld still be waking up in her cabin, was

already there, her dark hair wet and eyes bright. Waiting for him, dammit. Not unusual for her to join him, after a jump, but usually he had time. Time

to get his head together , get his electrolytes in balance, to, God help him,

debrief with his Nav 1.1.

Of all times, he needed—and dreaded—that

debrief more than anything. But there she was, and there was no dodging her, however much he

might, for the first time, want to. He flung himself down, let his head fall back, and breathed. That was

all, for at least a moment or two. “You don’t look so good,” said the young woman, who probab ly never

had a bad hair day in her life. “Everything all right?”

He thought about blaming it on the drugs, thought about denying there’d

been anything unusual. That he was always a bit green at this point. But that

wasn’ t how they were. They didn’t keep secrets...

not importa nt ones. Not

since their first few meetings. “I blew a calc,” he admitted, reluctantly , keeping his eyes closed. It was

safer now, a comforting stellar dark without flashbacks lurking in the

shadows. “Good thing my board wasn’ t live.”

“Tau Ceti’ s a big star ,” Jen said, as if she actually knew. “Dif ferent.”

Jen was Security , and in training. She knew a lot, was good at what she

did, but someho w he didn’ t think she had a clue just how big Tau Ceti really

was. “Good try,” he said, and half-opened the eye nearest her. “What are you

doing camping out here, when you have a warm bed to be in?

You’re up and

walking with Nav and Helm, woman. Who does that, that doesn’ t have to?”

“True love,” Jen said, with a hand dramatically to her heart. “Yeah.” He let his eye drift shut again, as if that could wall out the

situation. “Right.” He and Jen joked about love. It wasn’ t for spacer folk, or

at least not forever -love. Lastin g love was for kin. Romantic love was for

station-calls, and meeting people you were glad to see again— some more

than others, but everybody dockside was transient, even the best. His attachment to Jen, while special from the start, was...

different. Monogamous, was a word Jen had found and embraced. All he knew , it was a station-side attachment come aboard for a while,

which meant sharing parts of life reserved for sharing with Family. Except

up there on Finity’ s boards...

well, he was still a guest. Still

something...

apart. On Finity’ s End, he was hers, though there were others

who wanted to discuss that issue, but in truth, he wasn’ t interes ted. Getting

himself entangle d with multiple Finitys in ways that could challenge what

he had with Jen was just not the way he wanted to go. He’d decided that for

himself, long before she brought up the m-word, as she called it. The other

Galways aboard Finity —there were eight besides him— were free and easy

and all ordinary about their shipboard relationships. Certainly none with the

specialness of Jen, so far as he knew. And she was. Special. Maddening at times. Younger than he was. Not all that younger in years. Two, maybe, in ship years. But younger in

never having been poor. Never having had to nurse a drink or sit talking

with cousins about how they were not going to make a payment on a debt

this run. She had a kind of innocence, this constant assumption that

everything was possible, everything was affordable, everything could be

handled. On Finity’ s End, it probably could be. In the Beyond, with its bounty of

resources and trade goods, it probably could be. Not so, for a First Stars freighter , even the newest and best of them,

which Galway was. He felt her presence but he appreciated her silence. Input...

was not

something he wanted at the moment. He drifted a glance in her direction,

wondering if he should say something, found a rather vacuous, half-lidded

gaze looking through him, and figured the need for quiet went both ways. Anchor. That’ s what Family provided, and right now with his Family ,

the Monahans, scattered in every direction, Jen’s...

monogamy ...

was

damned precious. As was her can-do optimism. He wondered, even if all the luck went Galway ’s way and if the future

turned as bright as they all hope d...

if he would ever, ever feel that way. That safe. That secure. That eternally hopeful of good things to come. And

the flip side was the concern that this extended association with Finity’ s End

might instill an expectation in him that his own future would never, could

never , meet. There was a reason spacers didn’ t think in terms of forever love. No two

ships were alike. No two ships plied the same route at the same speed. Sleepovers were, by their very nature, ephemeral. Ships purposely

staggered runs in an effort to get the best trade deals on either end of a run. You could go years between one shared dock and another. Still, back in the First Stars, Alpha, Bryant’ s, Glory , and Venture—

everybody did meet again, event ually , so you said, Until next time. And you

expected it, on endlessly circular routes. For Galway , a loyal Alpha ship, the chance of meeting a Pell ship like

Finity was, quite literally , a once in a lifetime event. So better , for a whole

different set of reasons, that he would have to say goodbye to Jen someday

in the near future, and face the hard truth that they might never meet again,

depending on where the ships went. But when that time came (and it would be “when,” not “if”) that anchor

Jen provided could become a treasured memory. When that time came, the

Monahans would be reunited, running a new, lucrative route that included

Sol, and newly refit engines that would maybe, just maybe, put Pell on their

regular route. “You upset?” Jen asked, at last. “You shouldn’ t be. Mistakes are how we

get better. You don’ t make ’em, you’re not pushing.”

Damn. He really , truly did not want to talk about that. “Yeah,” he said, “well.”

There was a stir around them. He slitted his eyes to test focus and

discovered the whole rest of First-shift was coming into the lounge, moving

to the showers, as others came out. His Monahan cousins, Maire and

Siobhan...

twin sisters, both Scan, had shadowed the ride as well. He

heard their voices among those coming in from the showers, registered a

greeting from them to him, and lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Anything

more could wait. The ship was entirely in Second-shift’ s hands now, and

everything safe, everything fine with the ship, or they’d have delayed shift-

change. He thought he’d have about two more packets of that yellow

electrolyte stuff without throw ing up and then he’d be right again. He

moved to pull one from the dispenser on the table, and saw Patrick,

Galway ’s Helm 3.1 coming in behind Senior Captain, JR Neihart. Standing

order was not to stand for officers in the lounge, for which he was, at the

moment, extremely grateful. He sensed someone behind him, and looked up to find a shower -damp

Kate Neihart standing at the side of his couch, sharp as if she hadn’ t just

come off shift. Her eyes were on Jen, who gave her a cheeky grin, before

setting her hand s on her chair arms to lever herself up—only to thump back

down again, eyes a bit wide and startled. “Sit,” Kate said quietly. Senior among seniors of the shift, Kate could

have asked Jen why she, not bridge crew, was sitting in proximity to her

trainee, but Kate just rested a hand on Jen’s couch-back and one on Ross’ s

shoulder. “How’ s the stomach doing?” Kate asked, shifting her gaze to him. “Fine.” He forced the word out. “Doing fine.”

“You know what you did, don’ t you?”

That almost did it. Ross choked down hard. “Froze,” he said, trying to

look at her without seeing her. “Why do you say that?”

God help him, she was going to make him explain. And there was the

rest of Nav 1 behind her , listening. Adrenaline sur ged. “Because there wasn’ t any—” He mended his intended language. “I

don’t think I input.”

Her chin lifted. “Adjust that. You definitely did input.”

He swallowed hard as the adrenaline failed again. “That bad?” He tried not to mutter. “Spot on,” Kate said. “Ace job, Galway. Perfect line with me and

Bucklin.”

“No lie. Seriously , no lie?” He tried desperately not to sound desperate,

but Kate would know , better than anyone aboard, just how important the

answer to that question was. “To seven decimals.” Kate looked entirely on the up and up,

and...

seven decimals. That could explain the missing blue line: Kate’ s

and Bucklin’ s would have completely masked his. Kate waited, maybe expecting an answer , but no brilliant words came,

and the corner of Kate’ s mouth twitched. “Question is,” she said, with a slap on the chair arm, “can you do it as

good again?

But then, it always is, isn’t it?

Get some rest, Galway. You’re

excused from the sims today.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ross managed not to throw up, and Kate walked away to

take a seat over near Jim B, Helm 1.

Ross forced down another gulp of the

yellow stuff, which was not as good as before. When it wasn’ t, you knew

you’d had enoug h. But he’d pushed it fast. He’d squeezed for an extra dose

of the wake-up juice, wanting to be sharp on entry , and it was still running

races in his veins. “So you didn’ t drop us into the star,” Jen said, and swept the back of her

hand dramatically across her forehead. “Whew!”

“God.” Was all he could manage. Jen could joke. He couldn’ t. He’d tried

to revise his mem ory so he hadn’ t input, but now Kate said he had, had told

him to adjust the hard won revision, so now he had to remember he had,

and reality was still dancing back and forth, like the focus of his eyes. “I

really don’t think it was much other than luck. Couldn’ t be, could it?” But I

felt it. I felt it. Different than anything ever. He breathed a moment, trying

hard not to feel those waves, whether for real or for memory. Finally , out of

that struggle, he hazarded a question to Jen: “Do you feel a difference

between, say , Venture, and here?

Do you feel the pressure?

The star?”

“Pressure?” Jen gave a shrug. “I don’t know.” Her brow wrinkled in

thought. “Would I know where I was when I woke up, without knowing

where we were headed?” Another thinking pause, then: “I think, maybe,

yes....

but I couldn’ t say why. And that...

sense of place is just as I’m

coming up out of trank. Once my brain kicks in...

I just know where we’re

supposed to be, so that might be all that’ s going on.”

He hadn’ t thought of that. Maybe that was all he was feeling. Like

tasting velocity or seeing the world in monochrome. Numbers transformed

into sensation. Maybe, if he worked at it long enough, he’d convince

himself. “Speaking of brains kicking in...

how in hell did you get up here so

fast?”

“Security can get the high-powe red juice. Thought I’d try it. Once. Just

to know what it’s like, waking up while we’re still up there. Curiosity ,

mostly. I rode it out with Fletcher. He always hypes, just in case.”

Fletcher. Head of Security. Office just the other side of the section. So

she hadn’ t had a long hike. That was how she’d beaten him to the lounge. He’d damn near gone into a trance in the shower. Curiosity , she said. A curiosity about ops that just happened to manifest

on this run, his first run into Pell space?

Not bloody damn likely. They were lovers. And exclusive. He was hers. She was his. And he

liked that. But he wasn’ t sure he liked her pushing into his duty-space,

asking what he felt, when he wasn’t damned sure himself, and turning up

when his stomach was taking a poll on whether to keep what it had or return

it, using her pretty eyes to get him to talk about stuff he really wasn’t ready

to say. He took another swig of the yellow stuff. It tasted fully vile. Which

meant he could well and truly begin to trust his mind, could begin to put his

universe into perspective. I did it, he told himself firmly. Kate was her e. I didn’ t imagine it. Kate was here...

and so was Jen. He glanced sideways at her, without

turning his head on the back rest. “You did it,” he said, “to keep tabs on me. To see if I’d spook...”

“Hey. Cheering squad here.” She held up her hand. He just closed his eyes. They both knew better. “Besides.” She finger -poked his arm, which sent shock wave s to his

toes...

not in a good way. “Nav’ s fairly important. And it was your first

time into the big system.”

As if every other place in the cosmos was minor. In her eyes, it probably

was. So she’d parked herself in the security office by Chief of Security

Fletcher ’s permission, because the kid from Alpha might have a breakdown,

a serious thing, Nav being what it was, critical. And she got that permission

because Jen Neihart, the Senior Captain’ s niece, and Fletcher Neihart’ s

watchdog, could go where she pleased. And, give her credit, he knew damn well she thought she might have

helped, if that breakdown had happened, and more credit still, likely she

could have. Still...

“Vote of confidence, Jen. Give me a little.”

“Plenty of confidence. Besides, didn’ t Kate just say you aced it?”

Additional confirmation: Kate wasn’ t a hallucination. “Luck,” he repeated, fighting overconfidence, which could be as deadly

as ignorance, but he knew it hadn’t been. He’d figured it. He’d been sane

enough in that moment to know he wasn’ t on Galway but not sane enough

to remember his input didn’ t count. If he were honest, he’d not been that far from the breakdown in

question. Had he not been capable of holding it together , he might have

been very glad to have Jen there. He’d been starkly terrified in that

nanosecond of arrival, and the feeling was still resident, a black beast still

sitting on his shoulders. Maybe it was just hyped-up nerves, but he’d never

felt so naked as when he’d felt that presence out there, like a living fire. But he had held it together , he’d walked off the bridge under his own

power and made it here, where Kate had found him and confirmed his

input. Kate was real, Kate had praised him, but he wasn’ t any blazing success,

either. He’d blown the next operation. He’d screwed the first V-dump. He

was sure of that. And Kate hadn’ t mentioned it. He had to wonder what

Kate really thought. That he was damned lucky , probably. That he was a

ragtag small-ship wonder who might be too dim to learn. Well, there was nothing ragtag about Galway , and damned right he could

learn. He’d relive that entry in sims until it was nothing more than—

“You’re not mad, are you?”

He wasn’ t. Not really. It was just...

he was all raw nerves at the

moment, and she was just Jen, Jen who shed whatever fell on her, stainless

steel and not givin g a particular damn. But Jen didn’ t deserve to be on the

receiving end of his temper , no matter she had pulled favors to get here, to

be sure her Galway lad had gotten through all right. In front of everybody in his shift, where he most of all didn’ t want to be

special or made over, but was. The youngest Galway aboard, invited to sit

critical boards on a shift that handled the most technical jumps, for reasons

even he suspected...

Hell, it wasn’ t Jen’s fault. He was an object of

curiosity just being here. “Damned good job,” Ty said, voice from somewhere to his right. He turne d his head carefully. Kate had said his number s were on the

curve with hers and Bucklin’ s. She hadn’ t said, with Ty’s and Jim’s, Nav 1.3

and 1.4.

“Kate’ s impressed. So’ s JR.”

Ty’s image doubled, swirled. He swallowed hard, and willed him into

one body. “Didn’ t know I’d done it. Thanks.”

“We were all close enough not to fry the old girl,” Ty said, self-

vindication on a grin. He was glad to know that. “Spooks?” Ty asked. “A little,” he said. “Not unusual,” Ty said. “Still get them myself, now and then. One

reason Security always backs us up, coming into Pell.” He leaned forward

to look around Ross. “Thanks, Jen. How was your first time hyped?”

Jen pretended to gag. “I’ve had more fun.”

It took a minute for that to register. “Backup?” he asked Jen, and she

lifted her eyebrows. “You think I’m here just to see a cute spacer -boy puke up his cookies?”

She smiled then, that smile he’d swear she used just on him and against

which he had zero resistance. “SOP , Ross. We’re basically emer gency

runners with keys to every door. I wanted to be up here, but I didn’ t ask,

precisely because I don’t have experience, and I’d hate myself if you or

anyone else needed help and I was too busy puking up my cookies to

provide it. It was Fletcher ’s idea that I take the bridge on this run, his,

normally , and the fact he suggested it means to me that he and Senior

Captain had every confidence in your ability to handle it...

and be ready to

hold my hand if I needed it. So we both passed.”

“Yeah. Right.” He grunted and leaned back, as if it didn’ t matter one

way or another , but when her hand found his, he interlaced their fingers and

squeezed lightly before releasing her, because, dammitall, that touch was as

painful as her earlier poke. There was quiet for a time, everybody in slow recovery , with the juice

ebbing down. Helm and Nav had been the talkative ones for a while. Then it

was everybody else settling in, talking to each other. Med came over

general com, asking if anybody was not doing all right. “You all right, Jen?” Ross asked , Jen being the one who was not where

she was routinely supposed to be. “Y ou okay?”

“Fine,” she said, and beyond his closed eyes, a fingertip very lightly

traced his, where it rested on the chair arm. And very quietly: “What

y’thinkin’, Galway?”

“No more than I have to.”

“Truth, Ross.”

“Sorry ,” he said. “Stressed. A bit tense. Fallan. All the others. Trying to

run the numbers, figure where they are. Could be all the way to Sol, by

now. Wondering if they’re still alive. Those jump-points...

God, they were

hellish.”

“Figured,” she said. Another finger touch. “It’s okay , Ross. You’ve run

the sims. You know the points are viable.”

“Points don’t matter if those Earth Company bastards...” He

swallowed hard. “...

took out First-shift and tried to take the ship through

themselves.”

“Abrezio says they couldn’ t have the coordinates.”

“And they’d never get them out of Fal.” Wasn’t the first time they’d had

this conversation, but damned if it ever got any easier. “Still...

should be

there with them.”

“Soon as this stuff wears off, I’m gonna punch you,” she said lazily. “You know damn well Fallan was right to throw you out. We needed to

know what happened, and those EC bastards might have finished breaking

your head if you’d stayed.”

He took a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the memory of that heavy

blow from an EC baton, the blood-blind drift between Galway ’s emer gency

exit and Finity’ s service entrance. “Must be at least a year station- time now. Can’ t imagine how the rest of

the cousins are doing. Going stir , likely.”

“We left sims. They’ll be smarter than you, time you get back.”

“Hope so.” And another breath. Shaky , that one. “Honestly thought I’d

blown it,” he said. “Don’ t be thinking about that,” she said. “We’re at Pell. Beginning of

the Beyond. Think about that, spacer lad.”

He did. It felt surreal. He’d left the First Stars, and he’d arrived at the

beginning of the Beyond. Where everything changed. “Lots to show you,” Jen said. “Trees,” he said, and she giggled. Section iv Book I

Finity was inertial now, en route to Pell Station on an ordinary approac h, all

sound, all in order—beautiful job from Second-shift Helm, JR thought. People could move about, open lockers, see to duties or pursue their own

off-shift busines s as Finity took stock of herself from life-support down to

safety checks and start-up in the galley , not to mention starting one massive

load of laundry. JR slid into his chair in his own bridge-side office and found Tom had

put a dry coffee packet and a granola bar into the keep-safe. There was hot

water for the coffee—synth, instant, and bitter , near the bottom of their

supply , but it served. JR stirred the coffee, opened the wrapper on the bar—

real grain with synth-flavored fudge—and ate and drank slowly ,

reacquainting his body with actual food. He’d dropped mass on this trip: a

lot of jumps, very little dock time, and hell-for -broke run-out s there and

back again. He planned to put on a kilo or two on Pell dockside. He hoped

to have the chance...

but the job ahead of him had gotten complicated,

way more complicated than the local authority was going to want to hear. What Pell truly, truly didn’ t want...

had happened, and Finity , at the

head of the information wavefro nt from Alpha, was about to drop that news

along with the rest of the black box data. And since station-time stretched long over the condensed months they’d

run...

there was no knowing yet what ships might have dropped in here

from Cyteen-side, and what changes of direction local politics might have

taken. Always a challenge, at this dynamic hub of interstellar trade. It was a safe run-in, however , so far as operations went, and barring

relativistic surprises propagating invisibly between here and the

station...

they could relax. They were in the grip of a generally well-

behaved star, headed for a well-regulated station, where the local traffic

politely stayed in the ecliptic and the miners operated far from the approach

lane. The jump range at stellar zenith was wide and clean, reliably clear of

any debris of size. There were no worries such as there had been even at

Venture, the Hinder Stars being painfully short of robotic sweepers. Theoretically—they could relax for days. Local law said they had to. Relax. Eat. Sleep...

all of which left too damn much time to think

about questions which would have no answers until they docked—not to

mention those questions they might not have answers to for years. Madison was captain of record, now, Second-shift being in charge. Com

would be busy receiving and sorting the local data stream from the outer -

system buoys, bringing the ship records into sync with local conditions,

everything from Pell Station’ s clock to ship arrivals and depa rtures. In a

typical merchan ter’s situation, they’d have a few days running-in, a few

days running-ou t—and a precious week or two at dock, enjoyi ng freedom

of movement in a massive struc ture that, short of something extraordinary ,

was never going to go up, down, or sideways without warn ing. Unlike

stations locked in their steady , predictable orbits, ships while underway

saved themselves with very little care to the safety of the occupants. You

got, at most, a blast of the takehold siren, and you grabbed the closest

takehold, because you always had one in reach if you were not a fool. That

was a condition of life, a subtle awareness any time you were underway and

carrying V. They’d had a fair number of those blasts this trip. Unswept lanes aside,

Finity , all along her course, had been running fairly hot, there being no

witnesses and no traffic on most of the path they’d taken, a route that had

involved Hinder Stars stations none but the oldest Neiharts had ever seen. A

jaunt to Viking and Mariner and back to Pell was Finity’ s ordinary routine,

but some two years ago, station-time, in an unprecedented joint operation,

four ships had left Pell for Venture, an operation that would ultimately take

them clear to Alpha. Of those four ships, Finity’ s End was the first to return,

and when Finity linked her black box to Pell Station’ s computers in a few

days, information about that operation would flow—there was no stopping

it. Pell’s Stationmaster , however , could put at least a temporary hold on the

general dissemi nation of that information—and had to do exactly that. Which request coming from Finity was going to raise its own questions. And that data they needed to put on hold?

Explosive news from Alpha,

not all of which was in a form the ship’ s black box could relay. Face-to-face

meetings with Pell’s Stationmaster , Emilio Konstantin, would be required,

along with as much silence in the system as they could manage. It also made critical their meeting with another ship they hoped to find

in this port, a small merchanter named Estelle, Quen Family , Cyteen

registry. They knew her schedule, and while nothing involving FTL was ever

exact, it was possible Estelle might still be here. That was one, though not

the only, reason for the massive push to get back here. If they could not, if

Estelle had, in fact, already come and gone, well, that was the way it was:

they would have done their best. The sneaker -net might need another set of

legs to get the news from Alpha to the Reillys of Dublin , but get there it

would. One hoped, sincerely hoped, that Estelle would manage to leave them an

update from the Beyond, in code, if nothing else there being politics

involved: Cyteen and Pell did not have official contact. Given Finity’ s news

from Alpha, Pell might need the assurances Estelle could give them. Hell, he would be upset, in their place. So much, so very much,

depended now on speed of communication. JR sighe d, and began to scroll through the information incom ing from

Pell Central, routine business...

ships in system, ships recently arrived,

ships recently departed...

And there she was:

Estelle. Left system two days ago mainday. Two friggin’ days. Damn it!

Missed them by a whole week. He tapped his desktop, and a red light flashed. “JR?” came back, and JR answered absently , staring at the readou t:

“Fletch?

Are you free?”

“Problem?”

“Estelle’ s been here and gone.”

“Well...

damn,” Fletcher said. “She may have left a message for us,” JR said. “I’d expect she has. If it’s

written, it’ll probably be in my personal queue. Whatever it is, it is. We

can’t hurry it or improve it. Or ask it questions. If it’s coded, it’s probably

on Konstantin’ s desk, waiting for us.”

“If it’ s good news...”

“Let’ s hope it is. We’ve still got our own last two shadows to catch. I’m

hoping Nomad and Mumtaz caught one or the other at Glory and got a

signature.”

“Maybe we won’ t need them.”

“Maybe.” If they were missing any ships from Dublin’ s signature-

gathering, or if Cyteen was waffling, absolute unanimity on Pell’s side of

space could be persuasive, and, damn it all, their two holdout merchanters,

Miriam B and Come Lately , had managed to be inconveniently absent, just

left or not expected there, all the way from Pell to Alpha and back. “Minor fish,” Fletch said. “A creaking liability , as far as repairs go,

most likely to be in need , and it’s on their own heads. They’ll reach some

port and sign, or they won’ t—and end up broke on Glory dockside, but

they’r e har dly worth mor e sear ch. W e tried acr oss five stations and back.”

“I’d still like to be able to tell Emilio it’ s unanimous.”

“It’s, for God’ s sake, Emilio’ s own brilliant idea. —Hold that thought. On my way.”

Ironically , the notion of unitin g the merchanter Families as a third

power , balanced against Cyteen and Pell, the notion that had sent them

kiting off to Alpha, had indeed originated with Emilio Konstantin. If Cyteen

gives you grief, Emilio had said to JR, one late meeting on Pell, hell, cut

them off. The lot of you merchanters can have a party out at Tripoint until

they agr ee to behave. Tripoint being a treacherous little triple mass jump-point on the way to

Mariner and Viking stations...

that nobody liked to visit. They’d been sipping Scotch, he and Emilio, discussing shifting

economics and the impact on longhaul trade of the two functioning

megaships, Finity and Cyteen-bui lt Dublin. Those two ships, the prototypes

of an unacknow ledged technolo gical race between Pell and Cyteen, were a

next logical step up in power , carrying capacity , and range. Independently

developed, they were nonetheless very similar , extrapolated out of identical

technology and constrained by the same fundamental laws of the universe. JR and Dublin’ s John Riley had compared notes more than once, though

how honest Dublin’ s captain had been in that exchange of stats was a matter

of speculation. JR knew he had hedged his numbers. But which desig n held the edge would likely never be tested, because no

merchanter captain would risk both ship and Family to find out. The reality

was, the viability of concept was proven, and that was all that really

mattered. They were two highly specialize d ships and thus far, they were only two. Problem was, a handful of mega ships thrown willy-nilly into the interstellar

economy could wreak havoc on the smaller merchanter Families, and the

possibility that Cyteen, with their seemingly endless resources, would make

such a move was worrisome to everyone. Not that the Neiharts or Dublin’ s

Reillys would begrudge other Families the luxury...

and the

headaches...

of a megahauler , but the possibility that those ships might be

handed over to a Cyteen-born azi crew , cloned-men, machines created with

human biology , taking massive amounts of trade away from hardworking

Families...

that would be a problem. I don’t think you need to worry , Emilio had said on that occasion. At

least for now. Cyteen could build merchant ships, but the crews to run them,

the training, probab ly the programming of azi, with all those attendant

problems; and decades to get it all moving—that would be one hell of an

effort, even for them. In point of fact, Cyteen had never made shipping a priorit y. What,

exactly , Cyteen did prioritize was something of a mystery to the rest of

humanity. They ’d discovered FTL, but for its theoretical interest, for the

science rather than trade or even monetary gain. Rather than run the

sublight pusher -ships out of business, they’d handed out FTL technology

for free. They’d converted pusher -ships to FTL, housed and trained their

crews...

also for free, in return for the Families’ promise of impartial

service, not even seeking to cut trade off from Pell or make demands

regarding routes. That had been a good deal all around, a public relations

triumph. It had also been a cold, calcu lated deal. And an absolutely brilliant

strategic move, as the ships had come with a map of jump-points linking

every station...

except Sol. The lack of jump-points to Sol effectively cut

the EC there off from the rest of humanity , give or take the light-speed

information Stream and the occasional pusher ship load. The fact is, Emilio had said that day, over their imported Scotch, their

interests lie elsewher e. Merchanters are more than a conveni ence to the

Carnaths of Cyteen—at least right now. You’re a necessity for them to

maintain their pace, to build up the population, the industry , the reach, so

they can tell Sol go to hell for good and all. That’ s their dream, you know. Maybe they’ll tell Pell the same, someday. But right now they won’ t. Emilio had made a weird kind of sense in that argument, as much as

anything that had to do with Cyteen ever made sense. Emilio was right. Cyteen’ s interests lay elsewhere, once the technological puzz le had been

solved. They need you, Emilio had insisted. Hell, we need you. So long as you

exist and maintain your independence—we don’t have Cyteeners coming

here, and they don’t have Pell crews invading their space. This way, we

each have our own bubbles to manage—in peace. Bad things can’t happen,

that way. Of course, it also meant that few people outside the Cyteen sphere of

influence ever really encounte red the enigmatic azi. According to the

merchanters who dealt with them on a regular basis, there was little to

differentiate them from born-m en, other than mathematical infallibility ,

speed with answers, inability to appreciate jokes, and an annoying tendency

to extreme good looks. According to rumor , Olga Emory , the most notorious of Cyteen’ s

geneset manipulators, did like her eye candy. “If I were you,” Emilio’ s final observation, in retrospect, was

disturbingly prophetic: “I think I’d be more worried about Sol finding their

own way out of their sub-light bubble and owing no one. The EC isn’t into

sharing, especially wher e there’s profit to be made. They’ve been hungry for

a real return on their investment for a very long time. And we’ve annoyed

them.”

It was indeed a now overriding concern. In the opinion of the EC, every

station ever built was the offshoot of the ships and station cores the EC had

built at Sol centuries ago and pushed out to the Hinder Stars. In the EC

mind, the space rs and stationers were all just EC employees. If stationers,

impatient with answers that took decades to get—and then made no sense—

found their own solutions in the interim, well, stationers were simply

displaying the cleverness for which they’d been hired in the first place. Any

innovations stationers made were on company time, and therefore company

property. God...

that was a notion that would never fly out here. Hope, hope that

Abrezio could help finesse that initial contact, when and if it came. Because as it turned out, the threat to trade, as they’d found out at Alpha,

might be imminent—-and if that was the case, the Earth Company was

coming. Maybe someday had become very possibly tomorrow. When Finity , along with Little Bear, Mumtaz, and Nomad, had headed

out to Alpha, first and oldest of all star-stations, their sole intent had been to

talk to other ship-Families regarding a long overdue attempt to organize—to

create what amounted to an insurance company funded by merchanters, for

the prote ction of merchanters and merchanter interests. The idea had been

to help all merchanter ships handle the shifting economics of FTL trade, a

shift that had disproportionately hurt the Hinder Stars, but to which no ship

running was immune. Protections included sanctity of the routes

themselves. A major part of the agreement was that only Family ships could

carry car go. Meanwhile, a serious challenge to that agreement had been under

construction at Alpha for over two decades, station-time. If it hadn’t been for the Earth Company’ s attempt to copy Finity’ s End

from stolen plans, Finity might well have left the Alpha run to Little Bear

and the others, but when they discovered at Venture that the EC’s copy-ship,

one Rights of Man, had made...

and aborted...

a test jump, the Neiharts

had decided to go to Alpha and see firsthand what was going on. They had though t, back when the plans were stolen, they knew what the

EC inten ded to do with their megaship. There had been a theory floating

about—still was—that a megaship’ s jump capacity could top 7 lights, if

running empty , and if true, that would indeed get Sol, at about 6 lights from

Alpha, out of their isolation. He could attest it was not true, but that hope might well have prompted

the EC to steal the plans and build that ship. But between cost overruns and

that aborted test jump, that hope was rapidly dwindling when Finity arrived

and turned Alpha Station on its ear. The possibility of the EC eventually finding some viable FTL route to

some star in its highly cluttered region had been a given, requiring only the

discovery of intermediary jump-points. Alpha was closest. Alpha-based

merchanters had long dreamed of that day. They saw such a discovery as

their own salvation—and exclusive control of exotic Sol trade as their just

reward for keeping the Hinder Stars alive all these years. Outside the

Hinder Stars, however , the arrival of the EC at FTL speeds would be

greeted with far less joy. The influx of luxury goods would be welcome, but

the EC getting involved in trade was a direct threat to the merchanters, and

the EC arrivin g with EC notions of station ownership was equally

unwelcome to the stations. That looming possibility had been no small

impetus to the ef fort to or ganize. While Cyteen’ s founders headed off to harvest yet another viable planet,

populate it with birthing labs, and invent FTL...

comp etition and

individuality had taken over in the rest of the star-stations. Now , every star-

station had its own rules, every Family on every ship had its own unique

culture and in many cases, their own language. None of them, not even

Alpha...

now...

would willingly bend again to the EC’s ancient notions

of ownership. The flip side of that resistance was that no single station or ship could

fight EC tactics on their own...

which gave the fledgling Alliance a whole

new importance. The specter of the EC horning in on FTL trade had been bad enough, but

the situation Finity had discovered at Alpha proved far more ominous. The

moment Finity’ s crew laid eyes on The Rights of Man, parked in royal

isolation on Alpha’ s A-mast, they’d known they weren’ t looking at a cargo

hauler. Her exact purpose became clear once Finity docked and began

recruiting merchanters to the Alliance. The EC rep in charge of the Rights

project, one Andrew Cruz, objected, slammed down martial law on Alpha

Station, and tried, twice, to force a look aboard Finity , the working version

of his failing copy. The EC, they’d realized, was building Rights not for trade, but for

transporting personnel: EC Enforcers and their weaponry , sending them up

the chain of stars—Alpha-to-Bryant’ s-to-V enture-to-Pell. Control. Regimented control. Taking advantage of the conflict on his own dockside, Alpha

Stationmaster Ben Abrezio—who had seen the Rights project rob his station

of necessary supplies for two decades—had made his own countermove. Using information he’d sat on for years—coordinates for jump-points on

the longed-for FTL route to Sol—h e’d asked their best local ship, Galway ,

to attempt that route and prove its viability. If they succe eded, fame,

fortune...

and a chance to convince the EC to change tactics. If they failed,

well, Senior Captain Niall Monahan had signed with the Alliance, had

committed his ship to keeping Alpha independent, and damned if the

Alliance wouldn ’t see the Mon ahans were taken care of, if Galway didn’t

make it home. Which possibility loomed painfully large very fast. When Galway , with

only her First-shift crew aboard—a skeleton crew—had pulled out of dock,

Cruz, having guessed the plan and having no crew capable of piloting a

jump-ship, had been waiting aboard with an Enforcer squad. Cruz had

seized Galway at gunpoint and left for Sol, intending to return to Alpha in

absolute glory , himself the hero of the EC and a kingpin of the new EC

trade loop. Of the Monahans aboard, one had gotten clear to warn Alpha what had

happened...

Young Ross Monahan, their youngest Navigator...

the kid who’d just

felt the star. A kid in limbo...

as were they all until the fate of Galway

came clear. So much, so very much, depended on who was in control of Galway

when and if the ship ever got to Sol. It was possible that the jump-points

they thought they had would not prove out...

and the ship and all aboard

could be lost, which could leave the whole Beyond back where they had

been before, with Sol trapped in its isolation, and with every other star-

station fired up with new and major grievances against the EC. If, however , those mass-points proved viable; and if Galway got through...

So much depended on who was at her helm. If Cruz survived despite Niall Monahan’ s intent to incapacitate the

inexperienced intruders, if Cruz retained control and survived the jumps

despite all odds...

If all that happe ned, all bets were off. The Monahans would be floating

in space and Cruz would hand the EC everything they needed. The EC

knew how to build jump-ships, could, for all anyone knew , have ships

waiting for jump-points at which to aim them. They would bring officials

demanding to take charge, the way they had back in the days when only

pushers plied the star-routes...

bringing Enforcers to back up their

demands. The EC would try to lay down rules and make decisions the way

they’d made them back when they had controlled the economy , but they’d

arrive with no comprehension of what a complex, potentially dangerous

situation they were trying to take over. If on the other hand, the Monahans won back control of Galway ...

if

Cruz and his minions were incapacitated by the guts-puking jump-exits

Fallan had promised to give them, they’d be overwhelmed by functioning

Monahans and stuck in lockup somewhere chilly and uncomfortable for the

duration. Once they arrived at Sol, the Monahans would demand

agreements—in writing—befor e any numbers were exchanged. They’d

bring a small group of EC folk back with them and use a gentle return

voyage to educate them to the realities of life in the FTL universe. The Monahans could be a charming lot, given half a chance. But they had no way of knowing which scenario had won. Niall

Monahan had sworn to take time at those two jumps to prudently map the

systems ahead. And if Galway was lost, for whatever reason , and never

arrived?

The coordinates would still get to Sol. Stationmaster Ben Abrezio

had transmitted them to Sol, for good or ill, to arrive there in six years,

light-speed. What the EC did at that point, possibly having built ships, but

having no trained crew and no assurance of viability...

no one could

foretell: but in that third case, they could be looking at a decade or more, if

ever, before they had to worry about the EC. He hoped, they all hoped, for a safe return of Galway under Niall’s hand

in, oh, another couple of years, station time. So, yes, the automatic download of logged information—which would

include Galway ’s Sol-bound venture...

and the official report of Cruz’ s

hijacking of the ship—was potentially explosive, and the Pell Stationmaster

absolutely neede d to hold it secret for a bit. At least long enough for said

Stationmaster to prepare the populace for deeply disturbing news. JR did not envy Emilio that bit of finessing. Too much news too soon

could breed its own problems. The fact was, even at FTL speeds, it would

be years, by stationer reckoning, before the EC came anywhere near Pell’s

docks. They had time to prepare...

if they were smart enough. The Neiharts’ own concept of an empowered merchanters’ organization

had, unexpectedly , become a whole lot broader issue than they had thought

they had when they’d headed out to Alpha. Broader , and far more

imperative. They’d managed, with stationm aster Abrezio’ s help, to put the EC at

Alpha on hold, at least for now. Cruz and his hand-picked crew were off to

Ireland (as their determinedly optimistic Monahans put it) and as of Finity’ s

departure from Alpha, most of the Enforcers and Cruz’ s second-in-

command, Enzio Hewitt, were stranded off Alpha Station in a stalled-out

Rights of Man. Do the man credit, Ben Abrez io was working to get his

station in order in hopes of meeting the incoming EC with something

approaching a stable economy and with his people solidly behind him. Part of Finity’ s job here at Pell—possibly the hardest part—was to

convince Emilio to release the cargo vital to that resurrection, never mind

Alpha could by no means cover the cost...

yet. Emilio was a Pell stationer , many generations a Pell stationer , descended

from one of the original builders, with a Pell stationer ’s view of the

universe—namely that the star-stations rightfully ruled everyt hing within

their star’s gravity well, including the occasional planet and all

between...

to hell with the EC. But in the spirit of keeping the goods flowing, and evening out the

distribution of metals, with which Tau Ceti was not greatly blessed, and of

foodstuf fs, which Tau Ceti produced in quantity—the Konstantins of Pell

were decidedly in favor of ships going and coming frequently to all the star-

stations, those founded by the Earth Company , those founded by Pell, and

those founded by that other outcome of a hijacked station core, Cyteen. The ship-Families were decidedly in favor of Cyteen trade, too, and of

keeping Family- run ships in the black. No one in the Beyond argued with

the merc hant ships that kept goods moving from points of abundance to

stations in need. And should any government, station or planetary , try to screw all that up...

Cut them off. Hold a party at T ripoint...

The moment he’d heard Emilio ’s suggestion, only half in jest, JR had

sensed the possibilities. It could work...

but only if every merchanter

moving agreed to such a ban. And that took or ganization. Difficult when the necessary signatories were typically lights years

apart. But the idea had taken root, a major behind-closed-doors topic at every

station from Pell to Cyteen. Fortunately , the Cyteen-side megahauler ,

Dublin , agreed immediately. Without Finity’ s and Dublin’ s initial financial

input, the idea was doomed from the start. Together , JR and John Reilly had

hashed out certain important principles. They’d kept the language simple, the goals clear and unequivocal. What was the Families’ overriding interest?

The same as it had ever

been: ships. Their ships. And corollary to that priority: survival. Which meant maintenance to a

standard. Square dealing where it came to trade. Finally—and the principle most likely to meet resistance from the EC—

immunity from interference on ships from anything that sat locked in orbit

—station, moon, or planet. That meant no unauthorized boarding, no

internal inspections of ships or cargo in hold, and no detention of crew

excepting on felony char ges. It was a good plan. Convincin g ships to sign had its challenges. But

they’d managed, all but two ships and maybe one station. If Dublin had had

similar success, or better...

God, they might just make it work, might just

have it all in place befor e Sol turned up on Alpha’ s doorstep. So here they were, fastest of all available ships, to spread the word to the

beyond. Little Bear was running a vital part back to Alpha, and Mumtaz and

Nomad were headed to poor dwindling Glory Station with some vital

supply. They hoped to sign the station and, of somewhat greater importance,

the final two Hinder Stars ships, Miriam B and Come Lately. The coffee grew cold, the cup too long in hand. Eyes saw things not

present. People. Events. Situations. They were home, such home as Finity had. They would dock at what

was by far the most luxurious station they knew. Overtaxed bodies and

minds would get a sorely needed chance to slow down, hyped nerves would

adjust to Pell’s scale of things, and eat, sleep, recover. Things as simple and

as ultim ately necessary as that. The kids aboard—there always were—could

play and antic about. Juniors could resume duties. Himself...

well, he’d know a lot more once he could access a message

from Estelle. That most of the Family ships on Cyteen’ s routes would sign

was almost a given, and John Reilly of Dublin had been confident of getting

Cyteen’ s cooperation. But then John Reilly was...

well...

John Reilly. He

was also a slick-tongued bastard, and knew the Carnaths and Emorys

personally. But he had his own worries. A red light flashed above the door. “JR?”

“C’mon in, Fletch,” JR said into the com. Fletcher came in, dropped his lanky frame into the interview chair, and

tilted his head in that way that asked a question without asking it. “I wish I knew. Won’t get a message until linkup. But the fact they’ve

been and gone...

one has to assume Dublin finished ahead of schedule.”

“John Reilly wouldn’ t give up until Cyteen agreed,” Fletch said. “He’ s

good at politics.”

“I hope you’re right.” JR sipped his synth coffee, and Fletcher , with an

envious glance, pushed himself to his feet to fetch his own cup. “Obviously easier if Dublin got everyone,” Fletcher said, taking the cup

back to his chair, “but we have enough signatures as is to make our point

and draw in any holdouts. Stations giving preferential treatment to Alliance

ships will change minds in a hurry. And since we were able to get the

Hinder Stars—the Deep Beyond will feel compelled to match us. Cyteen

might hedge, but there’ s history , and they aren’ t that eager to cut ties; I

think Emilio was dead-on there. Trust John Reilly to convince the

Carnaths.” He took a cautious sip, hissed, and blew across the top to cool it. “What would we do without crazy relatives?

Reilly has Carnaths. Alpha has

Sol. We deal with Pell. Pell deals with Alpha and Cyteen. At least

Konstantin’ s not crazy. He’s a stationer through and through, but he’s on

our side.”

“First on my list is to talk with him.”

“Are you going to tell him everything?”

“We have to,” JR said. “Our secrets have come close to ruining us. This

time we have to lay it on the table.”

“Do I get to come?”

“You. Madison...

but I might ask you to sit outside to start. I think

Emilio might say things in private he wouldn’ t say with witnesses. Maybe

consider things he wouldn’ t like to consider in front of witnesses. I’m going

to try to get him without his aides.”

“Good luck with that.”

“If you two arrive with me, but voluntarily stay out of his office, I think

I can do it.”

Fletch dipped his chin. “What’ s our run-in time?”

“Five days, four hours, and fourteen minutes.”

“Wish we could fast track. I’m anxious for this one.”

“So am I,” JR said, “but let’s not set Pell on edge any more than we have

to. We’ll have queries from Commerce, but we won’ t take on cargo until we

know which way we’re headed, which I hope is back to Venture with that

load we promise d Abrezio. I hope there’s nothing from Estelle to worr y us. But we’re making no commitm ents in any direction until we know more. Meanwhile soon as we’re near realtime in the local feed, I’ll send

Konstantin a coded request for an exception on Finity’ s feed, get him to

hold it until we’ve had a chance to discuss what’ s in it. There’ s information

in that feed he won’t want hitting the station until after he’s had a chance to

prep the stationers. I’d send the request now, but there’ s no need for him to

worry before he has to.”

“I’m happy with that,” Fletcher said, downed two gulps of coffee and

started to get up, then changed his mind. “Regular rules on this one,

upcoming?

If we’re going to have to restrict everybody , I want to tell them

early , before they build up expectations.”

“I don’t look for any problems dockside. Shore time for everybody. Even the junior -juniors. The only caveat is keep coms on receive, no

exceptions, no off hours, and read your messages as they come in. Everybody.”

“I’ll put out the bulletin,” Fletcher said. “Jen showed up in the lounge.”

“Sorry about that. Had her do post-jump. My suggestion, not hers.”

JR shrugged. “She had to start sometime. Hyped wake-up is part of your

job. Might as well start her now when she’s got something else to think

about.”

“My thoughts, too. Fact is, she’ s worried about young Monahan.”

“Reason?”

“Nerves, she said.”

“His or hers?”

“Hers,” Fletch said, “about his.”

“First jump to a G-class. Reaso n enough,” JR said. “I’m watch ing him,

too. And she’s good at teasing him out of his head. He tends to overthink

everything.”

“Something you know nothing about,” Fletch said with a grin, and JR

snorted. “Part of my job, cousin. But this lad...

he’s got a load on him. Part of

him I’m sure is with Galway. He was fully prepared to risk his life along

with the rest of their First-shift crew , and instead, he finds himself living a

life of luxury he’s never known before. The wait for news of Galway ’s fate

is particularly hard on him. But that situation with Jen is another part of the

load. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have that kind of personal tie. Who

among us has ever had more than a handful of days in the grip of that

chemistry?

Thin gs have gotten stranger and harder for him, the further he

travels from Alpha. Skating the points to get here—that’ s something

Galway just wouldn’ t do. But it migh t have spooked him. And we hit a

wavefront, don’ t know if you noticed, but we did.”

Fletch winced. “I noticed. Lose it, did he?”

“His input matched Kate’ s.”

Fletch’ s mouth opened, shut, then: “Shit all.”

JR nodded. “If he survives the next few years, he’ll be a Family

treasure.”

“The Galways certainly watch out for him.”

“I’m sure they do. Like a little brother. He’s their youngest. In love. And

confused. Jen and I have talke d on the matter , but between you and me,

she’s young, in love, and confused, too.”

“Damn.” Fletch gave a reluctan t shrug. “We could hold all the Galways

aboard. But we’d better make it clear before too much longer.”

“God, no. More than Jen woul d complain, and she’s been hyping the

wonders of Pell, since before we left Alpha. I’m sure there are no fools

among them. And Ross has been steady thus far. But I do want her right

with him day and dark, I want her to tell us where they bunk, where they’re

going, and when they get back. And I don’t want her taking him too far

from other Finitys. If any other Galways try to go off on their own, I want

somebody with them. I don’t want them to feel watched, but they don’t

know the customs here, they know too damn much, and they can reference

places we’ve been that we really don’t want referenced yet. Sorry to mess

up your leave, Fletch. It’ s been a godawful run.”

“We can do that,” Fletcher said. “Arcades. Bars. Restaurants. We can get

volunteers. No problem.”

Section v Book I

“I wish First-shift was handling docking,” Ross said, breaking another long

silence. Jen blinked at him. “No you don’ t. Trust me.”

“You sayin’ Jim B can’ t handle it?”

“Only sayin’ Vickie’ s the best. Wouldn’ t want to scare the newbies.” She

winked and closed her eyes again. “You’re so full of it.” He closed his own eyes. “Still...

never seen a

ring-docking. Might be a little curious.”

“I can get you a pass to watch.”

Damn. He should have known she’d take it as a request. Still...

tempting. So tempting. He didn’ t like to pull privilege on Finity. He

was only a passenger , in one sense. The Finitys gave the Galway s they were

training most anything they asked for, and it was not pity—it was

hospitality , and he understood that. He just wasn’ t inclined to ask for it. But, damn, he so wanted to see that operation. And it was, technically

speaking, one of the major changes Galway could face in the future...

“It’s no problem , Ross. Really. Give Vickie a chance to show off and

all.”

Resistance wilted. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I’d like that.” And he plunged ahead. “All us

Galways would. If only on vid. We don’ t need to be underfoot.”

“I’ll work on it,” Jen said. Jen, who had no compunction whatsoever

about calling in favor points. Or makin g them up on the fly. Jen was a fixer,

par excellence. The sort who could make both sides feel they won. And she

was smart. And on his side, all through this whole voyage. “Thanks,” he said and reache d for her hand, eyes still closed, just

knowing, someh ow, where it was. She took it, gave a little squeeze, and

relaxed without quite letting go. She was good, really good, at keeping him from taking life too seriously. He was going to miss her , really miss her , when—

He stopped that thought cold. Parting from Finity was not only a given,

it was the future he very much wanted. He was here, along with eight other

Monahans, at Senior Captain’ s invitation. His job right now was to take

advantage of the opportunity JR Neihart had given him, to absorb

everything a ship like Finity , one of the two largest ships ever built, could

show him over the next few months or even years. Things like the ring

docking which, with luck, Galway would one day get a chance to employ. His job was learning, keeping sharp, while the majority of the Monahans

necessarily waited back on Alph a Station, for Niall and Fallan...

and the

rest of First-shift...

to bring Galway home. It was hard, really hard, to realiz e, coming out of every jump, that it was

months more, station-time, that Galway had been gone. Back on Alpha, his

cousins and aunts and uncles, and nieces and nephews...

they’d all be

checking days off on a calendar. God...

he couldn’ t imagine. Over a year

now. He’d never , ever spent so long away from a ship, let alone without

jumping. To a point, the longer Galway was gone, the better , because Niall had

promised JR to delay as long as he could, to give the fledgling Merchanter

Alliance time to prepare. But the success of their mission wasn’ t a given,

and there was no way to know until Galway broke triumphantly into Alpha

system. If Niall and Fallan didn’ t show this year or the next or the next,

they’d all count themselves lucky, but if that absence conti nued much

longer , the Galways would be down to facing the grim possibility that they

had lost not only the ship, but the people that were the heart and soul of

Galway. Life would go on, if that were the case. Galway ’s name would live, even

if it came to the building of a new Galway , at Venture. JR had promised. There’d be a new ship...

and a new generation to rekindle that heart and

soul. He was here to hold JR Neihart to that promise and secure the

Monahans’ future. “Chilly.” Jen’s voice pulled him out of that pit of concern and near-

overwhelming responsibility. She’d tucked her arms around her ribs, trying

to warm her hands. He reached for the nearest, discovered it no longer hurt

to touch, and sandwiched it between his own. “Food?”

“Not yet. Just got the fourth packet down. ’Bout to fall asleep.”

“Best not to, until your stomach settles.” Which she knew as well as he

did, but she just nodded. “Mmm. Just thinking about my list. All the things you’ve got to see on

Pell. Places we’ve got to eat. Things we’ve got to do.”

“Looking forwa rd to it,” he said, just a touch mechanically. Most of him

was looking forward to it, but a part of him was a little scared. So much

new, coming so fast. So many expectations. A lifetime of wild stories about

this place, and now theoretical someday had arrived. Would it live up to

expectations?

What if it did?

Could he go back to his life...

before...

without regrets?

Dammit, he chastised himself, don’ t go there. Galway was Alpha’ s hope. Galway and the Neiharts’ Merchanters’

Alliance. Galway ’s mission to Sol, to prove a newly discovered FTL route

Sol could take, was Alpha ’s best hope of bringing the First Stars into the

modern interstel lar trade...

if Sol didn’ t take that new route and try to

monopolize the potentially lucrative Sol trade, using their own ships,

denying that opportunity to the ships that had remained loyal despite Sol’s

decades of neglect. The Merchanters’ Alliance was key to keep that from happening : a still-

solidifying agreement that united merchanters large and small into one

potent force, with stations agreeing to trade only with Alliance ships. If it

held, if the stations agreed, it was hope, where hope had lately seemed very

thin for the oldest merchanter Families, running little ships , old ships,

serving the stations left behind. If it held—they could present a united front

to Sol...

a future of trade benefitting everyone. If that future held...

if that message their Galway carried got a positive

response out of Sol, this might be the Monahans’ first visit to Pell...

but it

wouldn’ t be their last. Galway could be tradin g here, in the not-so-distant

future, with all her crew aboard , right alongside Finity’ s End and Little Bear

and Mumtaz and all the rest. And Jen would be waiting. Section vi Book I

Lower decks, where the Galways bunked, were the dropdown row where

bridge crew and trainees berthed, accessible by step-lift, easy enough, Jen

thought, if you weren’ t coming down off hype, which she was, and hype

and a stint of mind-jarring duty, which Ross was. It was a ride down the

little lift-belt, one foot on, and a handhold, then a hike to Ross’ s cabin, and

inside....

Inside, against the door, they hugged clumsily , and bumped foreheads in

a wordless exhaustion, let hands drift down, interlocked. “Stay or go,” Ross muttered. “I’m good for nothing. Hype’ s running

out.”

“Mine, too.” She tipped her head back. Lips met lips, energy lacking. She gave up and just leaned against him, arms around his waist, content just

to stand there a moment. “Are you all right?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice. “I’m fine.” She squeezed him and rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Just not used to this stuf f.”

Which was only partially true. If she were honest with herself, it was

more than just the hype that made her content to stay right where she

was...

maybe forever. She wanted him so bad, didn’ t want to take him

back to Alpha and leave him for a ship that may or may not return, and even

if it did, would probably jump at the chance to dominate the Sol import

trade. The Monahans would be fools not to. Which might mean...

never seeing him again, or maybe, like Ross’ s

Fallan and Finity’ s Fourth Captain, Mum, not meet again until they were

old. Really old. Forever was a scary thought...

a prospect of losing

everything as well as gaining. Her heart took up a panic beat that wasn’ t the

drug, wasn’ t just being here, wasn’ t just the attraction they’d celebrated, oh,

way many times. It was the thought of forever. And never never after. “Easier if you have a job to do,” Ross said, still talking about the hype. “You wake up fast to do a job up there. All you had was me. No

emer gency.”

“I had a job,” she said, and pushed herself away. “It was time for me to

learn, and Fletcher wants to put me on the regular schedule now. You were

an excuse. Fletcher had doubts. Was worried about you. I knew you’d make

it all right. Knew you would.”

“Knew more than I did, then.”

“’Course I did.” She put on a grin, took a step back...

a knee gave, and

he caught her elbow , held her steady until she could trust her legs again. “Going to make it to your cabin?” he asked. Hers was downspin of here,

two sections removed. “Think so,” she said, gave her head a little shake then wished she hadn’ t. “Stuf f’s way wicked.”

“How much did you take?

You do know you don’t keep squeezing that

stuff.”

“I’m all right. Nasty stuf f.”

“Debt comes due,” he said. “Keeps us sane, at least. Long enough to

react.”

She stared up at him, giving her eyes a reason to focus, felt his quiet

calm replace the churning in her gut. He was funny that way. He seemed so

lost at times, desperate in his desire to do his job right—never shaking that

guilt at leaving his Family behind. She’d heard him once or twice recording

his ongoing account to his ment or Fallan, who was on that ship taking that

never -before jump-route to Sol— soulful things he’d said, talking to the man

who’d brought him up and trained him. He poured out his troubles to

someone absent—but he was the emotional touchstone for all the Galways,

the youngest of them, the hero of Galway ’s report to Finity. Everyone close

to him...

herself included...

knew what a heart he had. Uncle-captain

said she was good for Ross. She had news for Uncle-captain, sir: Ross was

good for her, too. And as a Navigator , well, it seemed he was pretty damn

good at that, too. And she was good as drunk. Hype was running down. Suddenly. Spectacularly. She looked up at him. “You ever—want—to see what’ s up

there?

In hyperspace?”

“Idea comes to me sometimes ,” he said, and gave a lazy grin, eyes

drifting to half mast. Green eyes, he had. He said blue. “Used to, anyway. Then Fallan told me about this guy he knew who did that. Told me what he

saw. Don’ t want any of that, nope, nope, nope.”

She waited. And when he failed to elaborate, eyes shut...

she poked

him. “So?”

Eyes blinked open. “Said it was hoses and pipes.” The grin froze, and

Ross gave a little shudder. “Winding all over , only alive.”

“You’re having me on.”

“Hoses and pipes. God’ s truth. Said he just knew you could go down

them and not come out.” Another shudder , all over. “Sheez!

Not something

I want to have in my head, going to sleep.”

“Fallan was having you on.” The old man had a wicked sense of humor ,

she’d met it head-on herself at Alpha. “Maybe he was.” But Ross didn’ t sound convinced. “Pipes to

everywhere, maybe, if you didn’ t come down from jump.”

“God, what an imagination. Think about this instead.” She caught his

face for a secon d kiss on the lips, light but letting it linger , fought the urge

to make it more. “Go ’way.”

“It’s my cabin.” But for a split second, his eyes said he wasn’ t quite sure. “Technicalities,” she said with a grin, knowing that his hold on

whereabouts-and-when reflected that very desperate hold on reality so vital

to Nav. Fletcher had warned her about it, told her never to mess with it, and

she’d seen the truth in that firsthand, more than once since Alph a. He’d had

a few memory lapses back at Alpha, in the days just followi ng his head

injury , still had flashbacks to his desperate escape from Galway to Finity ,

and part of her job of watching him, so Fletcher and Uncle Jim insisted,

included helping him steady down and regain his confidence. Something

she’d do, job or no job. She was to report any serious doubt. She had never

had that. “You staying?”

“I’m going. We’re in system transit and unlike you, I’m on call now and

I have to haul myself out of this and function for the rest of the watch. See

you. Soon.”

She slipped outside and shut the door, then walked, mostly without

staggering, two sections on, to her own quarters. A message was waiting for her , green dot on the wall display. Fletcher. Damn. She’d missed the beeper. Had it in her jacket pocket, not on her

wrist. The see-me call had a star for text attached, and she hauled out her

com. Re your question: it’s a go for station leave, but keep Monahans together

and safe. Particularly Ross. Why , damn it, single out Ross?

And she would have asked Fletc her that,

if the message had ended there, which it didn’ t, Fletcher not being one to

give arbitrary orders. It went on: Precaution, not judgment. Ross is self-

starting, we know that. He took action back at Alpha. Remember the raid in

the bar. Doesn’ t start things, but he’s Nav and he’s fast. He’s juniormost,

and the Galways protect him for what he is and what he did. He carries

personal trauma from what happened at Alpha. You reported that yourself. And he doesn’ t know the cultur e here. Don’ t let him play the hero, especially

not to protect you—or his cousin s. Get between him and trouble if he walks

into it. That seemed silly at first, until she thought of the antics to which some

of the Beyonde r Families were inclined, little pushes she was more than

accustomed to handling, but which might head straight for the Galways. Here’s the issue. We won’ t ask the Galways to wear Finity colors. That’s

too much. But the Galway patches will rouse curiosity and they can’t satisfy

it beyond saying they’r e taking a lift to their own ship and, no, they’r e not

from Cyteen space. They’r e free to say Ventur e registry , but I’d really , really

hope you’d divert the conversat ion away from port of origin in one of your

very clever ways. Senior Captain is relying on you to keep them entertained

and away from too much contact with locals. Backup won’ t be too far, but

please don’t spoil anybody’ s docktime by needing it. Senior Captain is

relying on you, Jenny. God. Only Fletcher and Senior Captain-Uncle-sir needled her with

Jenny , Fletcher being Uncle’ s closest friend and an almost-uncle too. She leaned against the wall, punched buttons and dictated, to Fletcher:

Received your message, sir. Understood. Shore leave. Nine people to watch. Unlimited budget. I’ll manage. Hank expressed intentions to help guide,

and nobody messes with him. Hank...

Twofe r, fellow Security , came by his nickname hone stly, and

not an ounce of it was fat. No need to check out security kit for Pell...

local law saw to things. She was just a guide. Hard duty that was going to be, guiding the Galways

through the attractions of Pell. Getting them back undamaged. But it was an official duty. She’d wear her arm-band, she’d go that

official, to help Fletcher keep up with the group’ s movement s. The arm-

band had a servi ce locator and universal id, so she’d be treated as official by

Pell’s own security , who were trained police, and could request help

keeping a Situation under contro l. She was oddly a little embarrassed about

the idea of swag gering about Pell with it, when she wasn’ t licensed to arrest

anybody and wasn’ t certified for weapons. Worse, where a lot of the people

they were likely to encounter at her favorite hangouts...

were likely to

recognize her. Thanks to the crazy EC enforcers at Alpha, Fletcher had been pushing

her to take the tests, while they were here. A Pell weapons certification

would transfer to most other stations. Fletcher and his number two, Parton,

were certified, but at Alpha, by local regs, ship’ s security hadn’ t been able

to carry anything. Not so much as a taser. Stationmaster Abrezio,

anticipating the potential problems that could be coming in from Sol, had

been working at getting that regulation changed, when they’d left. It was just...

weird...

that she had to be thinking of fast-tracking her

certification—damn the EC anyway. She’d declared officially for Security

years ago; had been Fletcher ’s unofficial assistant almos t from the

start...

mostly because Fletcher hated paperwork. On board Finity ,

security meant tracking down some junior -junior initiation prank down in

the deep of the ring—she’d done that. Stationside could get a bit more

exciting, answer ing a call to haul a cousin back to the ship, or doing a little

trade espionage to discover what some other ship was offering, or what a

local shop could use. She liked people, liked talking about their products,

and knowing what different stations produced and how—meant knowing

options to offer. Then there was inviting some local drunk trying to access

the ramp to leave. No, fella, no access here, this is a ship, not a bar. That

was a joy yet to come. At Alpha, EC Enforcers had swaggered about with lethals she hadn’ t

even recognized at first sight—because...

who was going to need stuff like

that?

It was not as if a criminal was going to escape. It was hard vacuum

outside the walls of a ship or a station. There was always time to find them

without endangering everyone around you. And what happe ned to the Monahans aboard their own ship...

that was

downright scary. Overnight, Security had gained a whole new meaning. So had the need to counter that kind of threat. Fletcher and Security

number two, Parton, were licens ed for everything Finity had, taser, needler ,

pellet. Twofer was licensed for the first two. Ever since Alpha, at Fletcher ’s

request, she’d been working seriously on level ones and twos, prepping for

those certifications here at Pell. She had the written exam down pat—that

was the hardest part, in her opinion—and Fletcher had told her he’d arrange

for her to take the tests during their layover. Not that a taser was much use

against Enforcers carrying lethals, but it was a statement, rightly applied. For this stay, however , she would at least have the arm-band, and she

shouldn’ t feel it was pretentious. Its locator meant that wherev er she was,

Finity could find her and so could Pell Security. And if she had to track

down somebody , and had to get cooperation out of random strangers, there

it was in plain letters, Finity’ s End Security. So peop le would know she had

authority. The Galways wouldn’ t give her trouble intentiona lly, but she

didn’ t want any of them to stray off into it. There were a few places on Pell

you could get into trouble— she’d heard about them, at least. Uncle-Captain

would have a word if any Finitys went visiting there. But they would know

better. Coming from where they did—

—well, coming from where they did, the Galways could probably

handle the rough spots of Pell better than some of the subtler problems they

might encounte r, and do it with gusto. But that wasn’ t among the

experiences she wanted to give them on Pell. Tests. She really hated tests. But she needed to make time for that in all

the fun there was to be had. She had some few days before docking: time to

do a little crash study. She could pull up the manuals now, but her eyes were

getting heavy. Hype’ s all run out and I’m wasted. Ross is tucked in his space. I’m in

mine. All snug and accounted-for. Second-shift’ s up. No duty til supper. Do

it tomorr ow. She acknowledged Fletcher ’s message: Got it. Sounds great. Looking

forwar d to it—pushed send, then started to pull off her clothes, casting a

slightly sleep-fuzzed eye toward her bunk. Clean sheets, turned down and

immaculate—with a little cutout paper tree silhouette tucked under the

pillow strap, that was not, she was certain, housekeeping’ s idea. Trees. Pell and trees. Her promise. Her thoughts turned to a lazy kiss, an easy-on-the-eyes Galway

navigator , and endless hyperspace tubes...

Sometimes her job was easier than others. Section vii Book I

Bed. Bed was good. Lie flat. Let the adrenaline ebb down. Later for Jen. Lots of time for Jen. She was going to show him Pell. They all were going

to see Pell. Pell was just another station. With trees, yes, but...

Ross

wondered...

could anything the station offered compare with what he’d

sensed today , in those moments teetering on the edge of hyperspace?

What he felt, even now, if he gave in to it?

That feeling, that awareness

changed everything he knew. About himself. About the profession he’d

chosen. “Memo,” he said to the recorder. “Fallan. Add to.”

“Adding to: Fallan,” the recorder said. “Fal, sir, just back from my shift. And hype’ s fading. We’re just in at

Pell. At Tau Ceti. And I felt it. I swear I felt it. Never felt Barnard’ s, nor

Kreuger or 61 Cyg, but I felt it here, oh, my God, Fal. I could almost see it

through the hull, white-hot and huge and outputting—output I could feel,

and a wave—big one—right of f the Ardaman. “What are the chances?

We skate through cranky , touchy little reds one

after the other and the stable G-class hands us that on entry. We were hot. Godawful hot. We’d skated the points between Venture and Pell. Never

calc’ed anything like it. But we couldn’ t have caused it. Scared hell out of

me, I’ll tell you. “But I still input, I did that, and Kate says I was right on. So ‘on’ I

couldn’ t see my line. But she said hers was on top of it, and hers took

priority , of course.”

Deep breath. Remembering it, eyes shut. “I don’t know whether I’m still feeling it or remembering feeling it. I

was so stupid I froze, Fal, I absolutely froze on first dump, and if I’d been

sitting Kate’s seat, God knows where we’d have dropped, that I know. Coming down off the hype, now, shaky as hell, a little sick at my stomach. I

guess you can tell by my voice. I’ve got something to make up for on that

blown dump. A lot to make up for. “I try to do you proud, Fal, I really do try. I guess it was kind of a mixed

bag this run. Maybe that’s useful—so I can’t say to myself, Self, you could

take charge, you’re that good already. Now I have to say, Fool, you were

still looking around when you should have been acting, so don’t get all high

on the freak moment you felt the star. “I don’t know , Fallan. I can’t say it was pure guesswork. But it was a

thorough spook out. Can’ t have been that clear -headed in the calc’ either ,

can I?

Anyway , we’re at Pell now, safe and sure. And I have n’t seen the

station yet. Just the schematics. I’m looking forward to it. “But it’s weird, Fal. Remember Pru saying she regretted drinking good

wine, the once, because it woul d spoil all the wine she’d enjoy from then

on?

But I thought, at the time, I’d rather try it...

just once. Now...

I’m

not sure what side I’m on—whether I’m looking forward to Pell or scared

stiff of it. Really don’t want the highlight of my whole life to come before

I’m thirty.”

He was starting to drift, losing his train of thought, scary slide toward a

deep dark with a blazing sun trying to suck them down. It was all right, though. He was in his own bed, flat on his back, job

done. He could slide all the way down now. Second-shift was at the

controls, and the ship wasn’ t under his hands. Never had been: Kate had been between him and the white hell he could

still feel. Still see—with his eyes shut. Kate and Buckl in. Ty and Jim. He was just the trainee on this ship,

aiming their huge mass in arrival at that unthinkably massive hell—his

boards had never been live. And there were no tricks such as making them

live, and not telling him they were. That was graduation stuff. That was

when your first-seat was sure you were ready , though Fallan had threatened

him with it...

But that was Galway. His ship, his boards. He damn ed sure wasn’ t ready

to go live on Finity’ s. Not with the hellbent course they’d run and a

bowshock that, dropping out of hyperspace and hitting a star’s energy, could

do damage to more than their fragile selves. He wasn’ t ready...

But he was getting there. Section i Book II: PELL

Coming into Pell for docking, Finity ’s crew ring had coasted to a stop. Down ceased to be down. That was no novelty , and Ross just did the normal

things, using the handholds, following Jen through the ship, headed for the

bridge...

with a feverish load of excitement. Any spacer from the First Stars was used to zero- G mast-docking—a

simple matter of shutting down the internal ship rotation and mating their

exit tube up with a tube from a, relatively-speaking, stationary mast. Down

in the mast didn’ t exist except as a referent to the direction the lift took. You

made it to the lift, the lift started , and you made a slow, sane, and head-first

progress toward the midpoint of the mast, which you could call “up”—or

“down”—your choice. If you were a kid, you played mental games, trying

to imag ine the geometry that had your feet on the floor and your head

aimed at the ceiling, which could be rightside-up or upside-down depending

on whether you were coming in from A-mast or B-mast, until that sense of

direction slowly vanished as the lift reached the station’ s gimba led, rotating

mast-core, and slid into one of the outward spokes, where the station’ s

rotational velocity took over and the lift began to go down in an even

queasier way. But there’d be no mast-dock here. At Pell, the mast was for ore, water ,

or servi ce-craft docking. Larger insystemers and incoming jump-ships

docked directly to the outermos t ring of the station. They lined up with the

docking probe— he’d seen engee diagrams and vid of the process—and

when the grapple had made solid contact, it would ease the ship gently and

entirely into the station’ s refere nt, then move them around and down into

sync with the ring itself where the specially designed airlock of the ship

would lock into its ring counter part, making Finity essentially an extension

of the station itself. Hard to imagine, with something of Finity’ s size, but

then there was the monster scale of the station—no small part of which was

the outermost ring added especially to accommodate the megaships and

their massive car go canisters, which required special handling. Harder still to imagine—as they swung through the bulkhead marked

Bridge and drifted into the vacant lounge—Alpha station expanding to

accommodate such a ring. There’d been talk of that happening, but he

couldn’ t help wondering about the Alpha he knew—had known —all his

life: the Strip, the civilian section...

the venerable old hotels that had

accommodated pusher crews since the beginning of interstellar

travel...

what would become of those?

A moot point, conside ring the EC

would never allocate the raw materials for such a project, but still...

All the more reason to take advantage of a chance to observe a ring-

docking first hand. Besides, even if Alpha never got a ring, there was

nothing, nothing to say that Galway , victori ous and refurbished, wouldn’ t

someday catch this very same docking probe...

Well, maybe at least one at Venture’ s soon-to-be-finished ring, Ross

thought, as he sailed through the lounge, skimming above the seats. He

followed Jen’s shapely rear to the bridge, where all the stations were vacant

and a small gathering of other swimmers floated, shadows in the light of the

massive center screen. The majority of the crew would not see this. They would ride out

docking in the lower corridor , an area of the ship not visited in ordinary

travel, being part of that specialized and stationary docking bow. That

corridor had been warming for days, so Jen said, even while the crew ring

had still been rotating—and most everybody would be there , waiting to

leave the ship, nobody to be left aboard but the littlest Neiharts—there were

six—and their minders, up in the loft, that section of the ring locked high

and inaccessible, to get a reliab le G once Finity grapple d in. The junior -

juniors would be let out on the docks, but with a designated sleepover , and

strictly under governance of their appointed minders. The junior -juniors

would get a daily hour of docks ide freedom, but back they would go to the

same sleepover. The junior -seni ors were given full liberty , but given to fear

the wrath of God for causing a scene; and the seniors and senior -seniors

were just expected to report upright, clothed, and self-propelled at board-

call. That was the way Jen had explained it, and it was not too different

from any ship anywhere. Except having the loft available and the littlest kids staying aboard. Except not having Earth Company custom s sure to wander through the

ship at will while they were gone, opening personal lockers and

disarranging bunks. Finity didn’ t allow that. Hadn’ t from the start. And now no Alliance ship

was going to. Ever , on any Alliance station. That was a new freedom, at the largest, most powerful station on this

side of space. Confidence that your shipboard stuff was going to stay where

you’d left it, at very least, and nothing was going to go missing...

that was

a whole new universe. Jen spidered carefully past the two operations seats where Fourth-shift

now held sway , and Ross followed. “Late,” Captain Mum’ s voice greeted them. “Have we got all our

Monahans, now?”

“Yes’m,” Jen said meekly. Ross slipped into the second-trainee spot at

Nav, behind a teen-aged kid who was occupying his First-sh ift seat. Jen

slipped into the matching trainee seat beside him, and buckled in. Across

the rows all his cousins were here, eyes and ears for the entire Monahan

Family. “Belt and tether ,” Captain said, which wasn’ t usual, in Ross’ s

experience, but if a belt clip failed in an unplanned vector -shift, a free-faller

on the bridge would be a hazard to the ship—not to mention the damage to

the luckless missile. Ross pulled the tether from its socket beside the belt

and clipped it to the reinforc ed strip around his waist, according to

procedure. The big screen forward was all Nav telemetry and they were

close. But that display was a little disappointing, when the invite had been

to come up and see the ring-dock. Fourth Captain, Lisa Marie, old as Fallan, remained adrift, maintaining

at a takehold on the front row of consoles. The legendary Captain Mum, as

the Family called her—the last Senior Captain of the legendary Gaia. Captain Mum, who stepped down only when the next-generation ship

Finity’ s End demanded a next-generation senior crew. And in that seat at

which Mum was maintaining, was Helm 4.1 , Vickie Neihart, who generally

handled Finity’ s docking. Vickie herself was a legend, Ross had found out

at Venture, for having worked out how to mast-dock a titan like Finity. Most of Fourth- shift were like that, retired from First-shift, but teaching the

trainees sitting with them finesse , giving the youngers a final polish before

getting any perm anent seat. That was who they were, this Fourth-shift, and

a Nav 1.5 needed to keep his mouth shut and watch the screen he had. “Well, Monahans.” Fourth Captain’ s habitual warm tone was back. “What do you think?”

As the screens came alive. Theater. It was that. A set-up. The set-up of all set-ups. Venture Station had been a curious sight, with its half-completed ring

under construction a few kilometers off from the current main ring. But that

separation failed to provide any sense of scale. Pell’s docking ring was—mind boggling. He’d heard its dimensions,

seen the technical diagrams and tried to conceptualize it—but it was the

sight of a handful of small merchanters in dock, looking like toys against

Pell’s ring, that brought the reality of those numbers home. God—the ship

farthest on, smallest of the lot, was the same class as Galway. In overa ll design, Pell was no different from any other station: central

core, masts on either end, and varying numbers and sizes of rings rotating

about that core, the angular velocity of that spin being dependent on the size

of the rings. All technicals, all the dynamics of it were familiar— and Pell’s

outer ring, the one where Finity was set to dock, seemed barely to move at

all. That was the sight that brought the chills. To a spacer accustomed to

coming into Alpha’ s mast with a full view of the station ring below , Pell’s

outer ring, now making a wall in front of them, was a scary sight. And the

lack of apparent motion—

He knew , intellectually , how they’d be coming in, and his heart still

picked up its beats in a queasy feeling they were about to ram the station. Mast docking meant a comparat ively easy approach: station rotated, but the

mast, through a complicated arrangement where ships needed to grapple on,

above and below—didn’ t. There was a simple hatch to hatch tube hookup,

lines to keep the ship from drifting and freezing. Utility pushers accessed

the hold and moved car go to a separate lift on the mast...

“Grapple extending,” second Helm said. One quadrant of the display zoomed in, and a red crosshair appeared on

the edge screen. Part in shadow , partly sunlight, and flashing with green

lights, the docking grapple was extending out from the ring. Nav’ s job had

gone from finding a star on the scale of the visible galaxy to finding a

blinking light on the scale of a man-made object. And there it was. Ross

saw it, watched, heart poundin g, as Nav locked on, visually , and there

wasn’ t a thing he could do. There was back and forth chatter—the ordinary mixed with the new and

strange as Nav began to shut down and active control automatic ally shifted

to Helm. Helm talked to station, and now it was waiting and feeling the little

shifts as Finity ’s fine adjustme nts shed residual V to make safe contact. It

was Helm’s job and the station’ s job, a lengthy process to coordinate

contact and lock, after which— just the slightest tic of the inner ear, the

slightest feeling of one’s body meeting the seat cushions and getting rapidly

heavier , as down asserted itself. Then...

Thump, bang rang through the hull. New sound. Ross’ s heart jump ed. None of Fourth-shift so much as

blinked. “We’re in,” Jen said. A distant whine of hydraulics, their own. “Bundle’ s in,” Engineering said. The bundle. In the First Stars they called it the lines. They were

preparing to connect the cables that the ship needed to do business, while

the ship’ s main was shut down. Power. Fuel. And shielded information. “Shift to station power ,” Captain Mum said. “Aye, Mum-sir ,” Engee 4.1 said. “As of now,” Captain Mum said, “we are part of Pell’s ring, snug and

locked in. Thank you, Vickie. For our guests, we are in. We are secure. Pell

will have been making its own adjustments...” Moving its entire water

supply , that was, in compensation for Finity’ s mass; Ross had read about the

process. “You will have noticed we have a slightly heavy G. Our guests are

free to make their way to the downside corridor , but stay if you choose. We

note the presence of Security. Jen, show our guests the way down.”

“Aye, Mum,” Jen said, and, already unbelted and unclipped, gathered

herself to her feet. “Galways?”

Ian, Galway ’s Helm 3.1 , was still paying attention to process as Helm

shut down. Other stations were already shut down or shutting down, except

Com—Com was madly busy, all occupied, and cousin Patrick was listening

closely , jotting notes. Ross uncli pped and unbelted and followed Jen back to

the lounge and the lift outside, with the others following. The bridge and the loft would be topside, the docking corridor would be

bottomside, and everything in between would be inaccessible by ordinary

means, and anything not properly stowed—the Galways had gotten the

junior -juniors’ warning—would not be where one expecte d. Possibly

violently so. They were used to gentle drift of such items in dock, so Ross

had done a last-moment reexam ination of his housekeeping...

but Vickie’ s

docking had been soft as a pillow. “So,” Jen said, walking beside him. “W as it everything you expected?”

He couldn’ t answer for a mome nt. He’d seen wonders. Amazing things. And then he’d heard the probe engage, and knew that infor mation was

starting to flow to the station, things that were going to upset what was, and

change things that part of him never wanted changed, and part of him

thought— we have to. It’ s too late to go back. W e’re in it. A moment of panic. The black box had never been scary , but then the

black box had never held secrets to change the universe...

not in his

lifetime. The instant the bundle had locked in, the black box system started

spilling to station everything it had—absolutely everything it had—as

station returned the favor , a massive dump containing all Pell’s relevant

business and everything other ships had fed into it. Too late to rethink or

make exceptions. Time and distance jumped immediately into Pell’s

reference, and their paths, their status, their knowledge, their history

jumped to Pell’ s data banks. And that was it: station admin was going to get...

everything. Beyond

that, information easily traveled on sneakernet, over beers or cocktails. It

would instantly be all over this huge place...

who they were, where they’d

been, and what had happened out there, on a net that moved to every ship

bound in every direction. Pell wouldn’ t have heard it from Venture yet,

because Finity’ s End was the fastest ship going. And from here—ships went

to Cyteen. To that scary side of space. Change...

was going to happen. But not, they were assured, while they

were still in dock. Word had come down from the Senior Captain in no

uncertain terms: keep your mouths shut. Which was fine by this Alpha-based spacer. “Hey , you!

Finity to Galway!

Was it everything you expected?” Jen’s

voice yanked him firmly back to real time as they reached the lift. Not the

first time she’d caught him staring stupidly into space. “Yeah,” he said, and put enthusiasm into it, because he couldn’ t undo

anything the universe had done, and he couldn’ t go back to what he’d been. The Monahans were relying on him, among other things, to get this shiny

new technology , to understand it and to bring it back and teach them to

survive the changes that were coming. “Yeah,” he said again. “It’s

something, isn’t it?

Just a little stunned at the size of it.”

They were stuck there a momen t, waiting for the lift to round-trip. Jen’s

hand landed on his shoulder , and he looked at her. “You all right, Ross?

Is

this all right?”

She had this uncomfortable knack for reading him. “It’s a lot,” he

admitted. He caug ht Uncl e Connor ’s eye, among other Monahans awaiting their

turn at the lift, and read the same thoughts: We’re in it now. This is r eal. “Ross?” Jen asked. “Glad to have seen it,” he said, avoiding her real question. “Now we’ll

be begging the chance to be there for undock.”

“I’ll work on that,” Jen said, but from her tone, she knew there was

more. Something he wasn’ t saying. “Yeah,” he said. He was grateful to have seen it. And tried to wish the

cold out of his bones. “God. Pell’ s big, isn’ t it?”

“Bigger on the inside,” she said, straight-faced, and Ross found a laugh

to reward her efforts, as the lift returned. They crowded in...

then held the

door as Ian and Patrick came running up to join them. It whisked them

down and down, further than the sub-deck of Finity’ s ring. And on. “This way,” Jen said, as the lift slowed and stopped, and beckoned all

the Monahans out into a chill corridor. “Everything’ s arranged. Keep

together until we get to the sleepover. It’ll be a short trip. Then...

sights to

see. Things to do.”

“You promised me trees,” Ross said, as if she’d need reminding,

grasping at that singular wonder she’d described to him way back on Alpha,

their first night together. “Did. And I’ll deliver. I got us a room. Got us some funds. I’m

responsible, you know. For the lot of you. I’m supposed to make you all

enjoy this.”

“Hard job,” he said, half seriously , and she grinned. “But somebody’ s gotta do it.”

“Looking forwa rd to it,” he said. “We all are.” And it was truth. It was

the dream, Pell, being here, seeing these sights. Jen Neihart was his

personal added benefit. “Have had to get pictures,” Netha said. “Lots of pictures.”

To share it all with the rest of the Monahans not so lucky as to be here. Like aunt Peg, who was waiting at Alpha, and his mother , halfsister to

Connor Dhu. Most of all for Fallan and Niall and Aubrey , who were on

Galway , wherever she was. God, he wished they were here. Section ii Book II

Finity ’s downside executive office was a steel and plastics sort of place—a

wide desk that doubled as a conference table, with chairs on tracks and

oriented to that surface, and a selection of computer screens that reported on

cargo, routine information from station, scheduling, trade. One screen had

exec-level communications. JR slid into the primary chair and looked at

that screen, whose electronic eye stared back. Messages waiting, the screen said. Of cours e there were. Most were cargo and orders, but one from Blue

Section said: Emilio Konstantin, Stationmaster to Captain James Robert

Neihart. Y our earliest convenience. See me. Convenience. When it was perfectly clear that Emilio had been stewing

all through their days of run-in and hours of docking, wanting a meeting

and wanting news he was not going to get until they were in private, no

matter what chaff they put out for general consumption. Emilio was a

priority. Oh, indeed, Emilio Konstantin wanted a meeting. So did one other:

Requesting a meeting, your convenience. —Nielander Quen. Convenience in either case meant now. Emilio Konstan tin was a given. He didn’ t know the other , personally ,

but the surname was Quen. Estelle crew, a man he very much want ed to talk

to. Konstantin had agreed to the temporary hold on the outgoing auto-feed

from the black box—an unusua l request, but not unheard of. The station

feed arrived as usual, but until Konstantin lifted the hold...

or Finity

undocked...

all that went out was Finity’ s navigational data, and that was

exotic enough. An information-hold like that was station’ s choice—enough

to make futures markets jittery for as long as the hold lasted, and enough to

send a deluge of questions through news services. That controlled feed at dock had been announced two days ago, but it

wouldn’ t stop them from getting questions. The black box system was tamper-proof, but the abilit y of the

stationmaster to disrupt that otherwise automated process had been part of

the tamper -proo f black box system from the start. Even Cyteen, who had

integrated that data-transfer inextricably into the new FTL systems, had

recognized the possibility of incoming information being too volatile to hit

the station without some preliminary preparation. The usual exceptions

involved the common sense of permitting company-to-company and

station-to-station confidentiality , and among things transmitted but

remaining encrypted were copyr ighted works and patents that had to be bid

upon. It was not a way to avoid attention, and heaven help the ship that tried

to hold of f and delay the feed to play the market. Matters of diplomatic mail, personal mail, copyright, patent, trademark,

and proprietary information—those messages flew back and forth the

moment the secure hookup had been established, each at its own level of

security. Ships’ records— those were privileged in particular ways, but to put one

under executive wrap and a total shutdown of trading information?

That

was fairly noisy. Speculation took hold where facts were scarce. You could

have ten layers of security and permissions on a thing, but sneakernet still

sneaked. Which meant Emilio was going to want answers in his own hands

soonest, and fewer delays meant Emilio in a better frame of mind. So the message he sent to Emil io, even before that to Nieland er Quen,

said: First thing when I leave the ship. Estimate: one hour. Section iii Book II

The tube was in place. They were all present, in the large room with the

rows of takehol ds and the low overhead, and safety lockers for the bags

they were taking ashore. There were the senior -seniors, all able enough, and

the shift officers, who kept order; and the active crew , and the active staff,

then the slightly rowdy juniors, and the overawed junior -juniors—the whole

Family was there, all the Neiharts excepting the babies and the minders and

a handfu l of cargo crew and top-level execs. Ross, with Jen, joined the rest

of the Galways in the aisle to the side of the takehold bars, as Fourth-shift

ops crew filed in, last to arrive. “It’s not all a lark out there,” Fourth-shift Security said at the front of

the room, the amplified sound stopping all milling-about a moment. “You

know what you can say and what you can’t say. Remember that at all times. You juniors and below , you stay in sight of your minders and you don’t talk

out of turn and you know what you don’t talk about. You act up, you spend

the next six station-calls up in the loft with the one- and two-year olds. Got

it?

Say got it.”

“Got it, sir ,” came the fervent answer from a dozen youngsters. “Rest of you,” Security said, “stay semi-sobe r and remember what’ s at

stake. Or vice-versa. Now...

get your gear and go have fun.”

Mesh gates on the baggage lockers rolled up, giving access to the row

labeled row of duffles they’d stowed before dock. Names rang out and

duffles were passed overhead to hands waiting to receive them. Ross waited for the rack to thin, uncertain where to look. House keeping

had brought his bag down, and the slots seemed to be in alphabetical order. There were Galway -green duffles among the Finity black, lumped together ,

from what he could see betwe en crowding shoulders and heads. Patrick,

taller than most and with bright red hair, was working his way toward that

lot. But among them was not the blue bag that was all he’d been able to put

together before leaving Alpha, his regular gear having left with Galway. Damn, he was thinking, they didn’ t get it down. Now it was out of reach. Jen, who had somehow darted to the front, returned hauling two duffles. She dropped one at his feet. “Sorry it’s Finity black, but your blue one is in

it. You need room, friend. Maybe two bags. Buy a green one. You’re

coming back with stuff.”

“I’ve got everything I—”

“For the Monahans back at Alpha. Official order from the captains. Finity can bring needfuls, but you, sir, can pick out stuff that’s a little more

personal, and you have just docked at one of the truly best shopping strips

outside Cyteen. So you and all the rest of the Monahans among us are

charged with finding those particular things that you know the rest of the

Monahans woul d like, consumables and personals. And you’r e not to be

worrying about the tab, hear?”

Monahan pride flared. “W e’ve taken charity enough just in—”

“Yeah, yeah, and put in hours of work and all. This is on Finity’ s

conscience and our honor, so just make us happy and pick out stuff, all

right?

Latest games and pretties and some nice souvenirs.”

He moved, he had to, because people were supposed to migrate out and

down the corridor to the connector , and he was blocking people behind him. He took the mostly empty duffle, too light to swing to his shoulder. He

carried it by hand and moved, just a little upset by the notion of Finity ’s

charity , but likewise, he couldn’ t say no to the idea of souvenir s and treats

for the Monahans who weren’ t here. Jen was rattling on about where they

could go and how everybody would be visiting the shops and all, but he

couldn’ t answer past the lump in his throat. He focused his attention on the

corridor , and the cousins, a small green knot of them, ahead of him,

wondering if they’d been told abou t souvenirs, or if that revelation was

being left up to him. God, he hoped not. Finitys were kitted out in their grey jackets with the Finity patch on the

sleeve, nothing but an unrelieved black spot, space itself, and nobody else

could claim their aristocracy , offshoot of the first-ever interstellar colony

ship, Gaia. That was who they were, the oldest, the richest, the biggest. All

of that. His own jacket— the Family had seen to it he at least had that before he

left—was green and grey, and the patch on his sleeve was the Monahan

Celtic knot. Togetherness. Unity. They weren’ t the oldest ship, not near it,

but they were old, the Monahans were. They were also Alpha Station’ s

finest and most trusted. They had those mosts to their credit. They walked past the downside offices, where the captains could do

business through out their stay, and headed for the airlock that would cycle

them not into space, but into the connector , which was given to be cold as

hell’s hinges—n o different in that sense than Galway ’s exit corridor into

Alpha’ s mast-dock. The wonde r was that instead of floating along that

connector , they had their feet on the deck at a good 1 G, and locked through

to the corridor in groups of ten or so, as if they were already on the station

strip. It felt weird. It looked surreal. And when it was his turn and Jen’s, along with half the Monaha ns and a

few Neiharts besides, it was quick through, pressure being equal—just a

hell of a chill in the passage, where it was not so much the thin jackets as

body warmth that kept them safe enough. The cold there stung noses and

throats and quickly numbed fingers, though it was given to be a heated

passage, and everybody moved fast to get to the next airlock, no hesitation

in that cold. The lock and lift combination let them out into another short corridor

leading to another airlock and a sign that said: Welcome to Pell Station. Docking bay 32.

And Caution: ramp ahead. Please use the hand rail. Boot

soles may be slick due to cold. That lock let them into a terrifying large space...

and well above dock

level. A steep ramp with a ribbed surface ran out past a skein of giant hoses,

two massive hazard-orange machines, and a towering secondary structure

of girders painted yellow. And, yes, there was a handrail. “Those are the can-handlers,” Jen informed him, pointing at the

machines. “Cargo comes out below us, hits the cradle, gets moved over to

the car go ramp and then onto the carriers.”

Noises echoed in that vastness, and looking up, he quickly discovered,

was a mistake. He grabbed the handrail and, with somewhat better inner ear

cooperation, managed to look out across the vast open space between them

and the neon lights of, God, was it a restaurant across the deck?

He tried

looking up again, where lights shone like groups of A-class stars. Blinding

bright. Impossible to see above them, though common sense said there was

solid structure at the tops of grey standing girders. But he could n’t see that

boundary between him and infinite space, and for a terrifying moment, he

found himself flashing on a downward view of Finity herself, a dista nt

haven in an endless sea of stars, an image so vivid in mem ory that his

equilibrium failed him again. Stifling a curse , he tightened his death-grip on

the hand rail, forced himself to look ahead rather than up— though that

distant view of the restaurant was only slightly less unnerving—and started

down the ramp. He was relieved to note he was not the only one gripping that railing. Glances passed between Monahans, all sharing the same slightly dazed

look. The open dock felt unsafe , recklessly unsafe. Human places weren’ t

meant to be this lar ge. Were never this lar ge. Even at Venture. Worse, there were no takeh olds. Just the thin rail he was expected to let

go of, and, he supposed, walk out onto that vast expanse. Like decks he

knew , it curved upward, but—s o broad and so gradual a curve it boggled

imagination, and tricked the inner ear. Jen’s arm found his elbow as they neared the end of the ramp, a

curiously reassu ring anchor , for all she was no more attached to the deck

than he was. At least if rotation failed, they’d fly off together. Nor were they

the only pair to take hold of each other. A machi ne thumped, like the crack of doom, echoing into other echoes. He jumped, glanced about for the source, and Jen gave his arm a little pat as

they walked out into the echoing vastness. Ahead of them, a transport rolled

up, slowed, gathered up a number of passengers, who just stepped on and

gripped its handrails, and trundled of f. “Want to walk?” Jen asked, coming to a halt. “Or ride?

It’ s free.”

“Walk,” he said. His inner ears were giving him trouble enough. He

didn’ t want to add speed to the equation. “I need to get my feet under me.”

“Sure,” she said, and reached out to stop Ian and Netha, before they

walked in front of another trans port that rolled by, its quiet hum lost in the

ambient echoes. “Damn,” he said. “Up-ring, they go on this side of the dock, down-ring they’re over by

shopper ’s row,” Jen said, and with a glance aside, started walking again. “Just look to your left, always your left, until you cross the yellow midway

line, then it’s look right. Always give them right of way. They’ll stop rather

than hit you, but the riders won’ t thank you.”

“I’m not going to argue,” Ross said. His eyes were drawn to this, to that,

to the far spaces and moving vehicles and flashing lights—distraction was

everywhere, around and above, and it was an ef fort to screen it out. He’d have walke d in front of that damn transport if not for Jen...

as the

cousins just behind him, Maire and Aidan, would have, if not for the Finitys

walking with them. So he wasn’ t the only Monahan under escort, which Jen

most definitely was for him. And glad he was to have her. There were people everywhere. So many people. People milling about

the shops, on the people-movers, even people waving to them from the

front of those shops, trying to entice them in. He avoided eye contact. “Is it all like this?”

“Pretty much, though Finity’ s a big arrival. There’ s always food and

lodging sharks, who’ll try to steer you to their dive. Be just a little careful

getting on a trolley that’s got a sleepover advertised on it. They’re apt to

whisk you off God knows how far to some place at the edge of the section,

and not the best, either. We have our own list, where we’ll be—all in the

vicinity of the Versailles—so we’re not scattered. I’ve got the lot of us

booked at the Purple Pagoda, otherwise known as the Royal, which is just

way less tight-assed than the Versailles. The damn Versailles is just too

wonderful to be polite to anyb ody under fifty, while the Purple Pagoda,

only two doors on, has a happy hour with free pizza in its bar.”

The chaos and dock-noise thinned out as they crossed into the up-ring

traffic and even more so as they made it all the way to the commercial

frontages. There were people who were clearly stationers mixing with

spacers on the strip—the dockside, Venture called it, and probably that

described it here. The neon colors pulsed like a heartbeat, music added itself

to the echoing racket—it was a bath in chaos, and Ross though t of Rosie’ s,

cozy, dark, with scarred tables and the drain that always had a trail of water

going to it; Rosie himself, genial and large and sympathetic to often-credit-

short customers—who’d give tips when they had it, and got a free beer

when they didn’t. The likes of Rosie’ s certainly wasn’ t here, in these vid

displays and this pricey confusion. “Let’ s get signed in first,” Jen said. “Get registered at the sleepover , so

we have a package drop, and then we’ll go out on the docks.”

It was reasonabl e. Establish a handhold somewhere in this chaos, where

they could reach each other. A place with a name people would know , if

they got lost. Grey-and-green jackets and the Galway patch were a

minuscule presence here. On Alpha they’d been the biggest, newest ship

going. He cast a look back the way they’d come, where the orange can-handler

was the most discernable feature, except...

except a big holographic sign

that probably said Finity’ s End, but they were too far and there were a

couple of the big girders in the way. There were other signs for other ships,

hanging, like magic, in the air , looking the same no matter the angle. He’d heard of such things. Knew from vids that holo-signs were

common on Sol and in the Beyond...

but he’d never actually seen them. He tried to imagine one of those signs reading Galway ...

and failed. Which didn’t stop him from being determined that he would see that sign

someday. Galway would get here and those eager solicitors would greet

Monahans with credit to burn. Damn right they would. Jen waited for him as people passed them. Waited. Said nothing. Just let

him look. Jen had the plan. Jen knew this place. Knew things and places he

couldn’ t even paint in his mind. Viking. Mariner. Stations not as big as Pell,

but far , far from Alpha and Bryant’ s and Venture. And a living world was under their feet, brilliant blue and white in the

blindingly brillia nt light of this violent star. He’d seen the planet closeup on

vid as they approached. A planet that had intelligent beings who sometimes

came up to the station and moved through the service tunnels. Who were

employed to maintain such passages as their own habitat, wher e they lived

and worked and dealt with humans. Downers, humans called them, their

world being Downbelow. Hisa was their word for themselves, but one

shouldn’ t speak to them unless they spoke first. He knew that. And he

looked, as he gazed about the moving traffic, for any figure near the edges

who might be smaller and different, but chances of seeing one of them were

few. Jen claimed she’d seen one. Once. In all the times she’d been here. “Trees,” he said, lest anyone for get. “We’ll get tickets,” she said. “First thing on my list.”

Section iv Book II

While the cargomaster ’s office, forward, had its own share of people

coming up the ramp and into Finity’ s downside corridor , there was one

visitor inbound who wasn’ t headed for Car go. “He’ s here,” Fletch said over com, it being perfectly clear what he

needed to be reported on. “Copy that,” JR answered. “Thanks.”

It didn’t take long. The light above the office door flashed an advisement

and JR keyed it open. The man walked in—brown jacket, the Estelle patch and the stylized

sword that meant ship’ s security , two bars. JR rose, offered a hand, warmly

and strongly taken. “Captain, sir ,” Quen said. “Welcome,” JR said. “I hope Estelle’ s well.”

“Well and on her way. Apologies from us, that she had to move—

granted I could stay to tell you, from the Reillys, that their job is done.”

Job done , from Dublin, relayed here by Estelle. It was a vast, resounding

yes. “And Cyteen?”

“Will sign if Pell does.”

A signature that, God willing, he’d get in the upcoming meet ing with

Emilio Konstantin. “What percentage could they get?” JR asked. “Hundred percent, sir, in theory. Every ship signed. Including,

obviously , us. Viking and Mariner in theory , but also contingent on Pell.”

“Not surprising. Reservations?

Comments?

Requests for amendments?”

“None that I know of, other than, in at least one case I heard personally ,

what took us so long.”

“Splendid. Absolutely splendid. We’re nearly there. We’ve got two

standouts in the Hinder Stars. Unless Dublin got them. Come Lately and

Miriam B. You wouldn’ t know anything about them, would you?”

“I know the names. Met a Com e Lately once, here on Pell. Years ago. Chatty , but pleasant. It was her first time beyond Venture. Exclusively

Hinder Stars, by what she said. That’ s a hard lot to track.”

“She say what brought them here?”

Quen shook his head. “Lots of innuendo and bravado without substance. If I had to guess , it was a special commission that gave them an excuse to

visit Pell. They certainly couldn’ t make the jump fully loaded, by what she

said. Wouldn’ t be the first time a marginal ship like that looked for an

excuse to make the run, every ship-time decade or so.”

JR had met a few of those himse lf, out at Mariner. “Well, we’ll hope that

Nomad and Mumtaz found them at Glory. We split from those two at

Bryant’ s. But Alpha has signed, without reservations. So has Bryant’ s, with

provisions about Pell’s participation, and Venture, also without reservation

—if Pell should ask.”

“Three stations. Outstanding.”

“I think we can safely say four. Glory’ s in no position to argue. We’re in

good form, provided Emilio signs. I’d offer you passage, but I’m afraid our

course is back to Venture, and Estelle’ s on to Mariner?”

“Mariner and Cyteen. No, I’ve already got a way. The Olvigs’ Hammer. They’ll be here another five days, and if you hadn’ t shown in system by

then, I’d have found another. One thing about Pell, there’ s always another. But Hammer ’s on to Mariner , so I’m in good shape.”

“Excellent. Are you here alone?”

“Well, not quite alone, so to say.”

“Anything you need from us, just ask. I’d like to comp you and a

companion those five days of dinners, if you’ll accept, places of your

choosing, plus your lodging. No charity about it. We owe you.”

“I make it a point never to turn down a free meal,” Quen said with a

grin, then pulled a stick from his pocket, and handed it over. “Here’ s the lot,

everything Dublin gave us.”

“I’ve got one for you and Dublin, ” JR said, and pulled two from his

pocket. One, he handed to Quen. “My one request: you can share this with

Hammer and any other ship, but only after you’re underway and out of

here. With so much depending on Konstantin’ s signature, we need to keep a

low profile until we have it. This one—” He raised the second stick, then

slipped it back into his pocket. “Is for Konstantin. It’s his discretion how he

deals with it locally, but you can trust he’ll sign the agreement. My word on

it. I’ll hope to get his signature before you leave. If I don’t, you’ll get

word.”

Quen pocketed the stick. “If he hasn’ t signed before Hammer breaks

dock, I’ll be staying until he does.”

“We’ll personally be beholden to you for that favor. Truly.”

“Deal,” Quen said, and rose and offered his hand. “An honor , sir. An

absolute honor.”

JR took it. “You’re going into Finity’ s log. Eternal debt, Quen. In my

personal book as well. Thanks.”

Quen left. JR stood there until the door closed, then sat down, ran a

safety check on the stick on the isolated slot, then switched it over to the

general system. “JR Neihart,” he told the comp uter. “Ship’ s log. Security Second-shift

Neilander Quen off Estelle deliver ed the following report from Captain

John Reilly of Dublin. Insert time stamp. Estelle is away , but Quen stayed

on his own to bring the report, saying the tally stands at a hundred percent

of ships on the Cyteen reach. Recording a debt owed to him and Estelle. We

tendered our own report to him, which Quen will carry to Estelle via

canhauler Hammer , outbound on the thirtieth. Log a debt to the Olvig’ s

Hammer for that passage, no matter if Dublin and Estelle also handle it. Debts are many on this voyage. I am moments from meeting with Emilio

Konstantin with that report and with our own. Computer , sign of f log.”

He drew a breath then, and several more. “Computer , copy the inserted

file onto an unstamped stick, and eject.”

Two sticks came out. One had a stripe that would ID the machine that

created it. One had no stripe. He pocketed the one with no stripe, the same pocket that held the other

data stick. And called Fletch and Madison. Section v Book II

The Royal, aka the Purple Pagod a, was an extravagance of gilt, purple in all

hues, and a broad touch of whimsy , including the glittering gilt statue of an

elephant in the reception. Lifesized, the plaque said. It was impressive by

any standard. Ross tried hard not to gawk, as Jen went up to the marbled counter , laid

down the credit voucher. “We have to go to the exchange,” she said, “to get

some pocket currency. For little stuf f. But it’ s just down the—”

Flash of movem ent from behind him; Ross jumped aside from a rush of

—monkeys?

Jen laughed, and gave him a little poke in the ribs. Another

dash through the lobby , and this time he saw it was, indeed, wiry little

monkeys, jump ing and leaping over one another in vigorous play, and

overhead were some sort of birds—more of that holographic tech. Real,

except a slight transparency. It was fascinating. And strangely upsetting. Monkeys and birds...

even a tiger lurking behind a semi -transparent

forest. Ross knew what they were from still pictures, even entertainment

vids, but they really didn’ t belon g in a hotel lobby , and he eyed the massive

gilt elephant suspiciously , for all it looked very solid. The sleepover on

Venture had been a bit too fancy for a lad from the Alpha run to be entirely

comfortable. Fancy...

but sensible. With no holos. Sensible was out the airlock here. Evidently. “This,” he said to Jen, when they had indebted themselves for whatever

this place cost, “this is fairly scary. What did we just spend?”

“Not as much as we would have at the Versailles,” Jen said with a grin. “Last chance: rest or roam?”

“Roam.”

“Good answer. If you go back to Finity less than pie-eyed with

exhaustion, I have not done my job!” She clipped a tag to her duffle and

another to his, then slung her duffle onto a passing low carrier. “Quick, toss

yours on. It’ll get them to the room. Then...

follow me!

I have so much to

show you!

Twofer ’s in charge of everybody , but I’m stealing you for a

couple hours!

I’ll let him know.”

She fairly vibrated with excitement, as they walked out together , past

that monstrous elephant. He felt its presence even with his back turned. A

body just couldn’ t forget it was back there. Up there. Looming over them. At least the monkeys had not repeated. They walked a safer track along the frontages of restaurants and

sleepovers—he wondered how all of them found customers enough, until he

remembered that sight on dockin g, remembered just how big Pell was. How

big. How rich. How incredibly rich. How many ships were docked...

but

even those would have a hard time accounting for the numbe r of people

he’d seen out there. “Are these all spacers?”

She looked up at him. “You mean do the stationer folk keep to their own

side, like at Alpha?”

That wasn’ t quite what he meant, but close enough. He shrugged and she

shook her head. “Fifty-fifty...

ish. At least for those you see, shoppers and such. Lot

more stationers, if you add in those who actually work dockside.”

God knew there was room in this enormous ring for station population

to grow. Room. Jobs. And if the EC, for once, played fair...

Alpha might

experience a comparable boom. He wasn’ t certain he was really ready for

that. He dared not imagine the room that awaited their return. He hoped for

basic: a bed, a place to wash and change clothes. Somehow he doubted

anything in that place would be...

basic. Fortunately , Jen would be there. That would make up for the cost, not to

mention any...

creepy holographic monkeys. Still, it was overwhelming. Galway wasn’t rich. It never had been. Waste

was not what they did, ever. But then, neither was Alpha rich. Alpha, like

Galway , survived. A beer at Rosie’ s, sidestepping a leaky pipe...

that’s just

how life was. Pell was beyond anything he’d imagined, let alone experienced, and try

as he would to relax and enjoy the hospitality offered, it was all

just...

disturbing. The elephant, the eerily realistic monkeys, even the

knicknacks on shelves, and the fancy chairs...

it was just...

too much. And...

wrong. The entire station defied the rules of his universe. Like the

docks, with trolleys whizzing past and the bright lights and tiny people

scattered across a scary great distance—

All he could think when he looked out there was...

what the hell would

happen if they ever suffered a takehold emer gency—a disaster with a big

ship like Finity , maybe—anythi ng that caused that steady rotation of the

ring to falter...

God help them. Maybe the eleph ant was bolted down, even if the chairs weren’ t, but size

didn’ t matter much, when the gravity went. What happened when some

poor fool didn’ t dodge a flying chair because he’d grown so accustomed to

bounding monk eys that passed right through you?

So many things not

secured, depending on gravity to keep them from becoming missiles flying

through that great overhead out there. People were just not meant to be in

big spaces like that. At least, he qualified—after a moment’ s reflection on life on planets, a

life more alien to him than Pell’s dockside—not in space, they weren’ t. Jen

stopped to look at a display. He saw their reflection in the window. On the

far side, trinkets hung from strings, fancy globes like miniature worlds, and

their reflections were giants gazing down on them...

like a station

hovering above a living planet. Maybe it was Downbelow that distorted people’ s ambitions here: a

living world, so rich, all marbled with oceans and clouds, where trees grew

and gravity was a given. Down there, where people looked up...

And up. Maybe that was what they were trying to create on Pell Station,

which never had experienced a vector shift: a fantasy of life on a planet. Except Pell wasn’ t a planet , no matter how stable her rotation. Being on

any station meant hazards, and God knew that Alpha ran on risks,

dilapidated as it was, and with the basics under constant repair , but Alpha’ s

hazards weren’ t so evident or so challenging to the eye. In Rosie’ s, he could

reach up and, with bit of a stretch, touch the ceiling. The table s and chairs

all ran on tracks and locked in place. All his life, he’d halfway imagined Pell Station from a combination of

pictures he’d seen, but something those pictures could never capture was

the sheer size, the sense of...

newness. The variety of input, things he’d

never imagined, much less seen....

The people walking tens of meters

from the nearest possible takehold, where a sudden vector shift of the ring

could send them hurtling to intersect that unseeable ceiling beyond the

lights. Alpha was little, now that he’d seen this. Forever little. And old. Even

Venture was. All he’d wanted, when he’d accepted Finity’ s offer, was to see

a Downe r, a single tree, which would be something to tell, back in Rosie’ s. How would he ever describe this place when he got back there?

Even with

pictures, he’d never find the words to explain the physical sensation of

being here, never be able to explain the occasional shudder some memory

caused. His cousins, unless someday they were able to come here and

experience it for themselves, would never understand. And for a moment,

he felt very , very lost, and a little unhappy. Jen, with a puzz led glance at him, left the window , to just stand beside

him: there, if he needed to talk. She was like that. Solid. God, he loved her

for it. “Does it bother you?” he asked, and she tipped her head. Puzzled. He

knew the look. “So many things not tied down. Those monkeys, appearing

out of nowhere and running right through you. Real where nothing like

them should be. But...

not.”

He’d never been all that good at describing what he felt, and this was

one of his clumsier attempts, and do her credit, she didn’ t answer right

away , just looked at him, frowning just a little. He felt a touch on his hand,

and turned his to accept hers. “They aren’t, you know ,” she said, very quietly , and with a small smile

that would fool any casual watcher into thinking they were having an

intimate conversation, which they were, just not the kind any stationer

would understand. He met her gaze and stifled a shiver. “Aren’ t?

What...”

“Real, Nav 1.5.

Those monkeys.”

“I know that!”

“I know you know. In your head. But convince your gut, right here and

now.”

He got, then, what she was about. Reality. Nav’ s most important

touchstone. And she was right. Pell itself was a constant assault on, at the

very least, his personal reality. He drew a breath, squeezed her strong,

slender hand. “I hear you, Security. I’m working on it.”

Her smile returned, and she lifted their clasped hands to give his a quick

kiss. “Have every confidence in you, spacer -lad. —As for all the loose

chairs and such...” Jen let their hands fall apart and shrugged. “Yeah, it

bothers. Doubt it’ll ever not. They’re smarter at Viking and Mariner. But

you’ll never convince this lot, until disaster actually happens. I’m just glad

the odds of us being here when it does are pretty low.”

“No kidding.”

“Now , quit stalling!” She jerked her head toward the exchange and

started walking. As he turned to follow , a glint of gold behind them caught

his eye. The Royal. Down-spin of the direction they were headed, and

suddenly , as he fell in beside Jen, he realized they were walk ing, just as

with any station , up-spin. You went up-spin or down-spin, and it was still,

no matter how big, how busy, how noisy , how strange, just a case of up-spin

and down. Even if he got separated from Jen and didn’ t have a map, he

could always find his way back to Finity. It was never more complicated than that. Up-spin and down. He could find his duf fle. And Jen. Easy as finding a gilt elephant. “What’ s funny?” Jen asked. “I just got my bearings,” he said. “Shaky for a bit, but I think I’m

situated now.”

“You’re feeling the star?” She sounded entirely impressed. “Not this time,” he said. “No. Don’ t need to. I got an elephant, don’ t I?”

She blinked. Twice. Then her eyes lit up, and she laughed. “It’s the dead

easiest place to find in the whole universe, that’s sure. Probably creates its

own gravity well. Not to mentio n there’ s a Finity -sized berth opposite. Only

one ship ever takes that one.”

He drew a deep breath, put his hands in his jacket pockets as his spine

relaxed, and looked ahead with eyes that began at last to make sense of the

chaos. “It echoes. That’ s the thing. There’ s so much sound from all over. Makes me a little dizzy.”

“Me, too, somet imes. Kind of hard to hear yourself think in some places. But there’ s sound baffling back in the Royal. Do you want to go back and

find the room, just maybe get some quiet?”

“Hell, no. I’m good, now. Let’s go up and down a bit. See what’ s on

offer that’ s weirder than where we’re staying.”

Section vi Book II

The receptionist in Emilio’ s office didn’ t get the chance. Emilio popped out

of his office and waved them all in, where a decanter of liquor , with four

glasses, awaited them on the desk. The of fice was otherwise empty. Fletch caught JR’s eye—it wasn’ t what they’d agreed on—but JR tipped

his head toward the door, letting Emilio set the tone. Another couple heads

taking in the proceedings couldn’ t hurt, but unless directly addressed, Fletch

and Madison would just sit and listen. Convincing Emilio was JR’ s job. “Is this to be a celebration,” Emilio asked, as JR, Fletcher , and Madison

took seats, “or fortification?”

“A bit of both, ” JR said, propping the all-important briefcase he’d

brought in against his chair. “Are we secure?”

Emilio raised a brow , as he gently worked the stopper out of the

decanter. “I’ll cut right to it, then,” JR continued. “We got Alpha, Bryant’ s,

Venture, and probably Glory by now, all signatory to the agreement, and

every ship we could find that operates on this side of space, which is all but

two.”

Emilio nodded, and poured the first glass. “Excellent news. Excellent.”

“The bad news is—Sol may be about to escape the bottle.”

The pour hesitated on the second glass. Then resumed. “I knew ,” Emilio said, “when you didn’ t want the data link, that we had

a problem. Tested?”

“Not yet. Not even a robotic probe. Just potential jump-point

coordinates a retired historian pulled out of masses of pusher data. Our

Nav’ s run sims; says doable, but dangerous. We should know for certain

soon: a merchanter is making that run stone cold blind from Alpha.”

Emilio passed him a glass with an admirably steady hand. “Tha t’s...

a

little crazy. Why the rush?

Why not a robotic probe?”

“Major power struggle at Alph a involving the Rights of Man project. Project director , man name of Cruz, is EC to the core and a militant ass. Sending a probe would have alerted him that the coordinates existed. Stationmaster Abrezio kept the coordinates secret, waiting for the next

pusher ship from Sol. Figured to send them in a secure packet—make sure

the station and the old man got credit for finding them, but let the EC

handle the testing from their end. Didn’ t even trust the numbers to the

Stream, until circumstances forced his hand.”

“‘Until,’ you say.” Emilio hande d glasses to Madison and Fletc h before

sinking into the chair behind his desk and picking up his own for a lingering

sip. Hard to read just how he was taking the news. Calmer than JR had

expected. “So he did transmit them?”

JR nodded, and Emilio’ s eyes narrowed as he digested that bit of

information. The Stream, Alpha’ s ancient communication link with Sol, was

limited to the speed of light, unlike the merchanter ships’ black box system

that let the rest of humanity communicate at FTL speeds. Emilio was the

only stationmaster outside of Alpha who might truly understand that long

delay , Pell having maintained its own Stream to Sol in this post-FTL era. Mainly because Pell never trusted Alpha as the information gatekeeper

to the EC. One of several points of distrust between the two stations that

they would have to overcome soon, possibly in the next half hour. “Which means Sol will have the numbers in, what, six years?—No,

wait.” Emilio shook his head. “Less your return travel time. So...

four?

Four and a half?”

“More like five. We...

made good time.” He didn’ t elaborate. “And

that’s only if Galway doesn’ t get there first.”

“Galway. —That’ s the merchanter who’ s making the trip?”

JR nodded. “Heroes?

Glory seeker?

Money-grubbing idiots?

All of the above?”

“Good Family with a solid ship and outstanding crew. They saw

opportunity for themselves and all the Hinder Stars, and took a gamble with

their ship and their First-shift crew, a gamble that could end up saving all of

us.”

Emilio’ s hands, folded atop his desk, tightened at that, but he said

nothing. “I’ll be honest, Emilio,” JR continued, “what we uncovered at Alpha

was disturbing, to say the least. If Galway makes it throu gh and can

convince the EC of certain realities of life beyond Sol, it could go a long

way toward keeping EC enforcers from flooding in and taking over

Alpha...

possibly every other station they can reach.”

Silence. A swallow that wasn’ t a sip, on Emilio’ s part. Then:

“What—in—hell,” Emilio asked, “what in bloody hell did you stir up

out there?”

“Nothing that wasn’ t already agitated. Their precious megaship, on

which they’ve lavished materials and man-hours for years, can’t make

jump.”

“The Rights of Man, you mean. Their copy of Finity’ s End.”

JR nodded. “Without the modifi cations we made. And I have to say, you

stopped the leak very effectively. —Part of the reason Finity herself went

all the way to Alpha was to have a first hand look at her.”

“You said you might go.” Emilio’s hands relaxed. That compliment

about the leak had done its job quite ef fectively. “What tipped the scale?”

“We heard rumors at Bryant’ s that she’d powered up, even tried to

jump...

and failed to initiate. Fairly common opinion on Alpha is that it

was the ship herself that aborted, which is why she’ s in one piece.”

“Aborted?

Why?”

JR allowed himself a slight smile. “Local spacer opinion holds the ship

sensed fools at the helm and refused to jump in self-defense, but there’ s no

real data, yet. The EC in charge of the project kept those records tightly

password-protected. At the time we left, Stationmaster Abrezio was still

trying to get at them. I can think of several reasons the ship’ s systems might

have overridden human input, but whether or not she is or ever will be safe

to jump is, at the moment, a minor concern. What she is, the chang es they

have made to the design, is far more concerning. Cruz may have started

with Finity’ s blueprints, but Rights is definitely not Finity , not in

configuration, not in capability , and not in crew. From the reports Abrezio

could give us, we can definitely say she’s fundamentally the original

drawing board version. She lacks all the system modifications that make

Finity operati onal, changes we made as production proceeded. She also

lacks the new bow. Not because they only use mast docking out there, I’m

quite sure, but because the entire ring-docking system was under

development at the time those plans were stolen.”

Emilio nodded, a bit smugly. JR had often suspected those initial, first-

draft plans, store d in files “carelessly” left on a desk, were bait for the Pell-

based Earth Com pany reps that had become a serious pain in Emilio’ s ass. Once those were stolen and sent on to Sol, the theft became grounds for

throwing the EC presence off Pell’s deck completely. The EC had since

been allowed back, but only under strict regulation: effectiv ely, the EC

office on Pell had been politically and operationally castrated. “More significa nt,” JR said, before Emilio could get too satisf ied, “are

the modifications they’ve made on their own. The hold is way smaller. The

crew space is way larger. Rights was built to move people. A lot of people. And people-scale equipment.”

Smug turned utterly grim. “Going where?”

“There aren’ t a lot of directio ns they can go, are there?

But it says

volumes about their intentions and their attitude.”

“How are they crewing it?

Certainly not merchanter Families?”

“No. From what I got, they didn’ t even try. Such is EC distrust of

merchanters that they were recruiting unemployed stationers, plentiful in

the economic situation at Alpha, and training them with sims.”

Emilio’ s eyes widened. “As a megaship’ s crew?”

JR shrugged. “Good...

God. Could they do that?”

“That remains to see. We all start on sims. The first Family FTL crews

had never jumped and they all learned.”

“From azi, who had actua l jump experience!

Of course azi could learn

with sims. That’ s how they learn everything. I mean, some of those Cyteen

clones are walking, talking computers!

But those early converted FTLers

weren’ t Finity , not even remotely.”

“No argument here. And from someone who actually made the

transition, standard FTL to a megahauler...

damned if I’d trust my life to a

sim-trained stationer crew. If they don’t turn Rights over to a Family for a

real shakedown, I doubt she’ll survive. But what’ s truly concerning: all of

her crew are also certified Enforcement. Desperate, disenfranchised

stationers recruited, trained in weapons, a thuggish hand-to-hand—and a

very bad attitude.”

“Excuse me.” Emilio raised a hand, extracted a small box from a drawer ,

and slipped a wafer taken from it under his tongue. A mome nt later, he

sighed and waved for JR to continue. “When we arrived at Alpha, the Rights project was horrifically over

budget and behind schedule—th e failed run being only the most recent and

devastating blow. The project manager , so-called Admiral Cruz and an

enforcer -type, Hewitt, a support goon sent on the last pushe r, had been

pushing Abrezio hard, trying to diminish his authority , exerting enforcer

control on the Strip, where they could get their young stationer recruits to

push merchanters around. Between them and in the name of the Project,

those two have confiscated everything brought in on the last two push ers

from Sol, twenty years’ worth of essentials, which has left the station

increasingly unable to keep the merchanters or its own operatio ns up to

snuff. The stationers are hurting, badly , and so are the merchanters.”

Emilio’ s brow twitched. That last had struck a nerve. JR registered that

twitch for future use and continued:

“I suspect, but have no proof, that the EC has been trying to get some

Family so desperate they’d sign on and solve all the technical problems

with Rights. Cruz and Hewitt certainly didn’ t like our presence and really

didn’ t like the notion of merchanters organizing. So I don’t know whether it

was our presence that pushed the situation over the edge or whether it was

already headed there independ ent of us. It says something about local

politics that Abrezio didn’ t tell the EC about the jump-points. He’d kept the

coordinates in his pocket for years, waiting to send them in a secure packet

on the next push er. But shortly after we docked, in response to overt power

plays by Cruz and Hewitt—which were triggered, if not outright caused, by

our arrival—Ab rezio risked transmitting them on the Stream, so that he’d

get the credit with Sol, and Cruz and Hewitt wouldn’ t.”

“He’ s always wanted a place in the history books.” Cynical tone: there

was history between these two stationmasters: Abrezio, newly assigned

stationmaster , had been the one responsible for transmitting the stolen

Finity plans to Sol, and relations had gone downhill in the decades since. But in this case:

“Maybe,” JR said. “But I suspect his main motive was unde rmining

Cruz and Hewitt with their hand lers back at Sol. Those two are poison and,

say this for him, Abrezio’ s sincerely got Alpha’ s interests at heart, above the

EC’s. Besides, as I understand it, that transmission made a point to ensure

the old scientist, who actually found the points, got full credit and his place

in history , which is more than the EC men would have done.”

Emilio flipped a hand, dismissing the issue: no interest to Pell, the

internal politics of Alpha. “The point is,” Emilio said, “it’s a done deal. The

coordinates are en route to Sol, where there’ s every chance the EC has been

building jump-capable ships—God knows they’ve got the resources...”

“No question.”

“Fool Abrezio should have stuck with that. Hell, given, say, six plus

years for the data to reach them on the Stream, a couple of years for probes

to verify...

We could have been looking at decades to prepare. But if that

damned merchanter actually makes it through—” Emilio broke off. Coughed. And met JR’s frown squarely. “I didn’ t mean it that way and you

know it. Bad, bad choice of words. We all hope for the best for the ship and

crew.”

“Indeed.” JR controlled his expression...

and granted Emilio the

benefit of the doubt. A lot of what ifs were running through the

stationmaster ’s head right now. Questions and possible answers JR had had

months to process. And damned if he had the leisure to take offense. Too

much depended on Emilio’ s being on board with them. “To Abrezio’ s

credit, he transmitted before fully understanding what we were there for. He

was facing an imminent coup by Cruz, who would co-opt those coordinates,

and the credit, and use his EC contacts to take control of Alpha. Abrezio

getting the coordinates, along with an honest account of the situation at

Alpha, on its way to his own EC contacts seemed Abrezio’ s best chance to

stop Cruz. Once he understood the potential of the alliance, becoming the

conduit for the EC gained a whole new importance for him and his station. Time became critical, and tested points and a sane new power arriving from

Sol could ensur e Abrezio’ s hold on the station: hence the decision to send

Galway. He sees both the merchanters and Sol trade as the future for his

station, and he was doing his best to make sure one of his ships got the

credit for trailblazing. The idea in sending Galway was to get there ahead of

the Strea m, prove the route, get the EC to listen to them, convey their point

of view , support the Alpha statio nmaster , and undermine Cruz and Hewitt in

the process.”

“Regardless of his reasoning,” Emilio said, “sending that merchanter

still cuts buffer time before the EC descends on us down to...

how many

jumps?

Could the round trip already have happened?

How soon before the

EC turns up on my doorstep?”

“Two points, but with luck, longer than you think.” JR held up a hand,

and Emilio clamped his lips on his next question. “It’s complica ted, Emilio. And it’s important you understa nd the kind of people we’re dealing with. The ship to station relationship is...

different...

in the Hinder Stars. Galway ’s Alpha’ s newest ship, good Fami ly crew. Abrezio engaged them to

make the run untested, yes. Promised them fame and fortune, yes. But it’s

more complicated than that. These Hinder Stars ships are deeply loyal to the

stations they serve, who are their livelihood, and vice versa. One can’t help

but admire them. Loyal, but not stupid. Had Abrezio not been desperate, he

wouldn’ t have asked, and if we hadn’ t been there to give them an option for

the Family , should the venture fail, I doubt Galway would have accepted. When Abrezio made the offer, Galway immediately came to us, to sign, yes,

but not before telling us the whole situation. They asked us to take care of

their Family—the Monahans—if they didn’ t make it, and in return, they

offered to give us as much time as possible to solidify the alliance. They

planned to laze through the jumps, mapping the points...

And they’ll have

to come in on the edges of Sol system, take their time getting to the station. That’ s a damned messy system, and our maps are centuries old. They could

pull an Oort Cloud avalanche in with them. Plus, they’ve got to come in far

enough away not to induce panic at Sol. Once they do make it to Sol

station, they’ve got to deal with the EC, and since they plan to keep their

doors closed until agreements are reached, that could take a while. Then it

depends on whether the EC at Sol has, and is willing to risk, its own ships

and sim-trained crews—or whet her they’ll use common sense and settle on

a minim al invest igative team sent back on Galway. In many ways, Galway ’s

testing the jump-points may be the safest part of their trip.”

Emilio swallowed the last of his Scotch, then stared into the empty

glass. JR sipped his own, waiting. Finally:

“You said...

with luck.” Emilio’ s eyes lifted, met his. “What

happened?”

“That’ s the truly bad news: Cruz twigged to the deal and hijacked

Galway. Hid his men until she’d released and spun up, then moved in with

clubs swinging and guns blazing.”

“Oh, good God.” Emilio pressed fingers to his temples. “And we’d have been none the wiser until Cruz showed up missing—if

a Galway Navigator , with a head injury that nearly put him in hospital,

hadn’ t taken a hardsuit route to Finity and alerted us what was going on. There was damn all we could do to stop them without killing the Galways

aboard, but at least we were a jump ahead of Hewitt, who was aiming to

take us on and take control of the station.”

“Insane. The lot of them. Which means we’re back to worst case and the

EC on our doorstep.”

“Not quite. Granted the Galway crew left under armed duress—to our

knowledge, the only one on board with the numbers for the jumps is the

Monahans’ Nav 1, and those numbers are only in his head. Before shoving

his Nav 1.3 out the airlock—Ross is the young man’ s name—Fallan gave

him the paper with the coordina tes and told him that the Family is going to

try to take back the ship as they exit the first jump. That exit from jump can

be rough or smooth depending on Nav and Helm, and merchanters are hell

and away better able to handle the phasing than stationers who’ve never

experienced jump. With luck, the EC aboard will be caught heaving their

guts up and we’ll be back on the Monahans’ proposed sched ule, with a

piracy char ge to add to Cruz’ s list of failings once they do arrive at Sol.”

“And if the merchanters don’ t manage to regain control?”

JR drew a deep breath. “Then Nav 1 will slip a decimal or two on the

second jump, and we’ll have at least four and a half years before Sol even

knows the points exist.”

Emilio’ s eyes widened. “They’d scuttle their own ship in jump?”

“To stop Cruz?

Yes.”

A pause, then: “Damn. Just...

damn.”

JR added nothing more to the mix of sentiments running races behind

Emilio’ s stare. Just waited for the stationmaster to ask:

“These points. You have them?”

“Yes. From Ross. Ultimately Abrezio also gave them to us, not realizing

we already had them.”

“How reliable are the numbers?”

“Their senior Navigator is one of the best. An old-timer named Fallan—

known to our Fourth Captain. He told young Ross they were doable when

he saw them. Our Nav agrees...

and after six sim runs, Finity’ s computer

agrees.”

“Young Ross. He’ s the Ross Monahan on your visa list?”

JR nodded. “Credible?”

“Very.”

“Good. Pell Council might want his testimony.”

“No problem. He knows it’ s a possibility.”

Another pause as Emilio digested the ramifications—and poured himself

another Scotch. No offer to refill the Neihart glasses, but JR didn’ t take

offense. Wouldn’ t have accepted if of fered. Fletch’ s and Madison’ s were still full. “And if this Cruz has the numbers, if he has his own crew commandeer

the boards?”

“Then our probl em will be solved,” JR said grimly. “And we’ll owe the

surviving Monahans a new ship, because numbers or no numbers, an

inexperienced crew will fry the ship going into Sol. Sol’s one hellish, messy

system. After that...

even if Abrezio could talk another Alpha ship into

taking the risk, he won’ t try for years.”

“He knows about the plans to delay?”

“He was profoundly relieved, especially given the rest of the plan.”

“There’ s more?”

“Just say , if Abrezio is going to stand up to the EC, he needs help.”

“Of course he does.” Disbe lief in that tone, but the brow twitch returned,

and JR judged it time to push. “Truth, Emilio. The situation at Alpha is far worse than we thought. EC

management has run Abrezio’ s station dangerously low on just about every

resource they have to import. He’s got a cadre of hundreds of newly

unemployed EC-trained kids with police skills and no jobs, with beer and

food running low, and no future in sight. He needs supply to get the

factories going, get some jobs open, get a stable food supply , get the

printers and the vats up and running—in short, he needs everything. Hewitt

is stuck aboard Rights of Man for the time being, effectively under arrest

until the next pusher comes, at which point they’ll toss him aboard and let

him stew another several years back to Sol. If we are extremely lucky , Cruz

has gone to a hot hell and the Monahans have taken back control of their

ship. But at least we’ve got Hewitt in a bottle. He’s not going to age well,

I’m afraid.”

Emilio choked on the sip he’d just taken. “That is abysmal humor , sir. What about this EC-trained crew?”

“Currently bottled up with Hewitt, but Abrezio is working to repatriate

them. They’re stationers, a lot of them kids, but some old enough to have

very bad attitude. There’ s going to be some stress. They’re unemployed and

all of them are trained to violence. But Abrezio has the support of the Strip,

and he’s never lost the supp ort of the stationers—he’ s been a good

administrator , and we’re backing him.”

“We. As in, this alliance of yours.” Emilio did not look altogether

pleased with that information. “Ours,” JR confirmed, firmly , unsubtle reminder of just who had

suggested the Alliance in the first place. Emilio’ s sour look confirmed the hit, but he didn’ t give in easily. “So

you’r e going to hold the line against Sol, at Alpha.”

He raised a brow. “Better at Alpha than here.”

“Your alliance.”

“It might not be all that difficult. I don’t think we’ll be flooded with

traffic direct from Sol in any near future. Points or no points, Sol does not

have an easy route in or out. Sol has an uncommon lot of rock. Their

planners may have anticipated the problem and taken steps to clear a path at

the zenith, but unless they’ve dedicated the last two centu ries to the

problem, traffic in and out is best left to experienced crew , a fact of life it

might take some expensive losses for them to figure out. But their influence

out here, their cachet—their supply of luxuries—” JR slightly lifted his own

Scotch glass. “That kind of economic influence can move ships. Stations. Organizations. Which is why we organize first, to make sure their

organizations can’ t get a foothold.”

“We. Your alliance.”

“Our alliance , Emilio, no matter how drunk we were when you first

suggested it. It’s a sound concept. It’s already working. Alpha has tilted far

over to our side, wanting only badly needed resources to stand firm. And in

accordance with the agreement, and to prove exactly what we’re about,

we’re already handling one desperate case: the merchanter Firenze, Galli

Family. A ship in pretty dire straits, the fact the Gallis are still alive a

testament to their skill and ingenuity. We’re arranging their refit. They’re

grateful. They’ll be operational again within the year, but in the meantime,

they’re stuck at Alpha, which means, with the Monahans, two full Family

crews added to Alpha’ s bio needs. Little Bear is running pieces and parts

and technicians from Venture to Alpha for Firenze, and meanwhile we are

hoping to pump supply back to Venture, which means much needed

business for ships like Santiago and Qarib, of whom you’ve probably never

heard. They’ve been the bottom end of the supply chain, but they’ll carry

supply from Venture to Bryant’ s and Alpha and Glory. These stations need

everything, and they’re depending on Abrezio’ s signature on the Alliance

agreement to help them get it. Just sufficient to replace all the blown lights

and leaking hose is all Abrezio’ s really asking for, but a few new games and

vids and food varieties will make the stationers and the Strip a whole lot

less vulnerable to EC bribes, when they arrive.”

“And prop up Abrezio,” Emilio said. “I find a certain irony in that. He

does not like me.”

“Respectfully , Emilio, yes. I know you two have history. But—”

“History?

He stole the damned plans for your ship!

He’s been pouring

everything into a martial counterpart!

And you trust him?”

“You know very well he didn’t order that theft. And while he’s

technically EC, a fact that compelled him to send those plans to his

superiors, what he really is, is Alpha stationer. Believe me, he’d love not to

have that giant ornament on his A-mast, sucking down resou rces. Yes, I

trust him to follow through on his promises to us. Yes, I believe he wants

what we’re offering him. I’ve met him face to face. I’ve talked with him. And as you have very wisely pointed out many times in the past, it’s that

direct contact that humans need for real agreement. It’s that direct conta ct

with other places and people that gives merchanters the advantage, and

makes us such a valuable buf fer between stations.”

“You pick the damndest times to quote me.”

“They’re wise words, Emilio. True words. Trust me: you want Abrezio

between you and what will one day be on its way from Sol. Those supplies

will enable him to offer jobs to people that won’ t be wearing the EC

uniforms any longer. And granted the Sol connection does work out and

trade starts running through Alpha at FTL speeds, Abrezio’ s popularity on

that station will mean a station in far better case to hold its own. He’s smart,

he’s local, he detests the EC at this point, and he’s in a mood to ally with

you. He’s not exaggerated the need. If anything, he’s downplayed it. He

needs to have those supplies. At near cost.”

Emilio took a drink of his Scotch. And stared of f into the possibilities. JR took a sip of his own. Two. Fletcher and Madison kept very still. Emilio followed his glance toward his cousins and frowned at them. “You two have been pretty damned quiet.”

Fletch and Madison looked at each other and Madison tipped his head at

Fletch, whose mouth twitched in a half-smile. “ His job.”

Emilio grunted. “Y eah, well, I’m asking you. Truth?”

Fletch grunted back. “You don’t want to know about the plumbing in the

bathrooms.”

Emilio closed his eyes, tipped his head back, then said quietly: “God

help me, I’ve believed for years he was exaggerating the need. I

mean...

we still get the occasio nal case of Scotch. Even coffee...” Emilio

heaved a deep sigh and met JR’s eyes. “Shit. Fire me off a list of what he

needs and I’ll see what I can justify with the Board. Maybe even swing you

a human itarian discount to bolster that buffer against Sol you’re promising. I’ll send a love note with it.”

JR felt the knot in his shoulders relax at last. “The Alliance will

appreciate that.”

Another , more prolonged silence. Then:

“You think I pretty well have to sign at this point,” Emilio said. “Don’ t

you?”

“It was your idea. Sir. And you can bask in the knowledge that by

signing, you’re also committing Cyteen.”

Emilio rolled his eyes. “As I recall, and just for the record, it was a

simple party at Tripoin t I suggested. A simple boycott of Cyteen if they

tried to muscle in on your trade routes.”

JR let his mouth soften into an almost grin. “You’ve known what we

were about.”

“Hell if. I still haven’ t seen the latest version of this document you want

me to sign.”

JR felt a touch on his arm, reached to accept the printout Fletch was

handing him, pulled from the case he’d brought in, placed it on the desk and

pushed it over. “Take your time. It hasn’ t substa ntially changed. Not for Galway , not for

Firenze, not for the little ships or for big ones.”

Emilio made a quick scan, then flipped back to the beginning to read

with more care. “How many ships did you say you’ve signed?” he asked. “All the ships but two, Miriam B and Come Lately , which we’re still

hoping to lay hands on.”

“Old,” Emilio said. “And small. What about the stations?”

“I’ve got signatures from Alpha, Bryant’ s, and Venture Stations. We’re

hoping to pick up Glory.”

“I doubt an act of God could resurrect Glory Station. We can’ t.”

“If Alph a’s stable, it’s going to help them until regular trade from Sol

keeps it there.”

“Quen visited you. I take it he brought news from Estelle ?”

“All Cyteen-side ships have signed. Mariner and Viking have signed

provisionally on your signature. Cyteen will sign if you will. If Cyteen

signs, she brings all her stations with her.”

“I know their ways. Of course they will. Not sure I believe it. Cyteen

wouldn’ t shed tears if the EC ate us alive. They’d pull any maneuver to deal

us foul.”

“Not if it mean s giving the EC a straight path to their own backside. Besides, you said pretty much the same thing about Abrezio, not so long

ago.”

Emilio scowled. It wasn’ t really the same, they both knew. Alpha was

damned near dead; Cyteen had power. A lot of power. Emilio didn’ t and

never would trust Cyteen. “Can’ t say I trust them,” JR qualified. “I haven’ t ever dealt with them. But John Reilly of Dublin does deal with them. Has dealt with them. Directly. For years. He knows names, and he’s certain he’s capable of

bringing the Carnaths and the Emorys right on an issue.” He paused for

effect. “Reilly says they feel much the same about you and trusts me to

bring you right on this issue.”

“Trusts you.” Emilio gave a disgusted snort. “Captain James Robert, is

it?”

JR winced. “How did that get here?”

“Get here?

It was born here. I take it, then, they’ve said it of you

elsewhere.”

Abrezio had saddled him with that history-char ged name that he

pointedly did not go by— tagged him on their last night on Alpha, and his

own Family had cheerfully picked it up, for all the wrong reasons. He was

the second captain of that centuries-old name, that Mum had had the

audacity to lay on him. Captain James Robert Neihart: Gaia’ s first captain,

the one to defy the EC and give ownership of the interstellar ships to the

crews. He wasn’ t that man, for all Abrezio had meant it kindly enough. From Emilio—it was a tactic meant to rattle him. “Unfair shot, Konstantin.”

“Hell if. Empathy. I know some thing about the weight of inherited

names.”

“So sign the damn agreement. We have a responsibility.”

“My ancestor was a pirate. Yours was a flaming hero. Screw

responsibility; we both have job security.”

“God,” JR rolled his eyes. “Just sign the damn paper.”

Silence as Emilio took the time to read the contract, again, and as he

reached the last page, where the signatures went: “So basically , you’re

saying throw this agreement at the EC, whenever they show up, and tell

them they have no choice: sign or go home empty-handed.”

“The truth is, they don’t have a choice. Not unless they can manufacture

a merchant fleet and crew it...

and then somehow convince the stations to

betray the agreement they’ve just signed with us, and—at the cost of cutting

themselves off from the rest of the stations—to do business with people

they don’t know. People in the hire of a company that’s been dead set,

historically , on its own interests rather than the fair trade we’ve all become

accustomed to.”

“And if some Hinder Star decides Sol is the better option?”

“We stop supplies until whatever station is involved throws the EC ships

out. —Which means the statio ns should stockpile for their own needs,

because a shutdown could happen.”

Emilio frowned. Hard. “That’ s not a threat, is it?”

“No. It’s an ability we will have. We don’t want to, but it’s the teeth

behind the agreement and it’s our defense if Sol comes rolling in with more

presence than we think likely at this time. We’re working out ways to work

in concert with the stations. To protect you as well as us. We intend to

preserve every station we’ve got.”

“Even the Hinder Stars.”

“Especially the Hinder Stars. We’ve got to prove to them they can

survive without Sol if they’re to be an effective buffer against Sol’s own-it-

all attitudes. If we succeed, if we can make Sol see the possibilities, the

money to be made...

God, three living worlds trading products and ideas. What can that do for us?

All of us—including Sol. Sol with its history and

luxury goods from the planet that birthed humanity , Cyteen with an entire

populace run by insanely brilliant scientists pouring out tech—and Pell

being the pin that holds it all together.”

“Us—in the middle of this doubtful sandwich.”

“You—who are set to be the invaluable buffer, if you’re moved to do so. You’re independent, but unlik e both the EC and Cyteen, you are not

territorially inclined. The Kons tantins have dealt with both the EC and

Cyteen for gene rations. No one else can make that claim. Whether this side

of space can ever be comfortable with Cyteen and their azi and their

expansionist notions, I don’t know. What Sol itself is like by now, we’ll

only begin to see with the first-in from there. But Pell is the bridge. The

point of reason. Pell can mediate. I have every confidence you can negotiate

with them, with merchanter help and backing. It’s our best chance to control

and moderate Sol’s re-entry into our affairs—and to define their role for

them in ways actually useful.”

Emilio’ s eyes went from him, to Madison, to Fletch and back. It was not

a happy stare. “You’re a dreamer , JR. You’re also a golden-tongued, manipulative

bastard trying to turn me up sweet. You hand me a situatio n with Sol

inbound into our affairs and a prime reason for them to be damned unhappy

with us, and say ‘Make it work, Emilio.’ Thanks. Thanks ever so much.”

“Well, we were bound to stir up a little turmoil.”

Silence, as Emilio just looked at him, tracing the lines on the paper with

one fingertip. A very long silenc e. Then: “All right, all right.” He tossed off

the last of his Scotch. “I’ll sign your agreement. I’ve got to convene the

board and notify them, but I’ll make the case for what I’ve done. Understand...

they can veto.”

“We depend on your eloquence and reason.”

Emilio gave an...

eloquent...

snort. “We depend on your silence, all

of you, across the docks. I’ll keep that feed under a temporary security lock

until you break dock to go do—whatever you do from here.”

“Currently , I expect to go back to Venture in two weeks, to make sure

the supply we’re asking for gets to Alpha.”

Emilio nodded slowly. “I’ll bring the Board along. Somehow.” A long

pause. “God, should I tell them about the jump-points befor e or after I

secure your lading?

It’ s not as if we have alternatives.”

“Well, you do, but if the Board wavers, you might point out that if they

ignore the Hinder Stars, they make them completely reliant on the EC, and

if the EC does in fact make it outside their gravity well...

in not that long a

time, you lose Alpha, you lose Bryant’ s and Venture...

and have the EC on

your doorstep, in force.”

“You’ve fairly made that point, ” Emilio said. “We do still have an EC

office, you know. Getting their orders on the Stream, same as ever, twenty-

four years out-of-date. Basically , we ignore them.” He gave a little shudder. “FTL ’s going to change that. Big time.”

“Even FTL can’t make EC orders relevant to anyone other than their

own reps,” JR pointed out. “That’ s what Sol needs to learn. That’ s what

they need to understand, more than anything. Stations and ships are

independent for more than just preference. Real decisions have to be made

in real time.”

“I plan to bring their local agents along slowly , lead them to our point of

view ,” Emilio said. “I’ll give them the basics before I release your feed. Let

them feel Significant. The curre nt set—there are three of them— are decent

and sociable, Pell-born, and Venture-born before that. We invite them to

official dinners. We share information. They play the EC’s word games

more for the paycheck than any real loyalty. When the Sol conta ct becomes

imminent, who knows?

They might have their own reason to worry. They’re

stationers. More to the point, they’re from here. Earth’s more foreign to

them than Downbelow.”

“Just—don’ t trust them.”

A steady gaze. “I don’t.” After which Emilio opened the contract to the

final pages. An impressive collection of signatures. All the ships. All the

stations. Excepting two. “Miriam B, you said.” Emilio continued to scan the names. “What was

the other?”

“Come Lately.”

“Contact would be in their interest,” Madison said, out of his long

silence. “Their best interest, in fact, if you have any information on them.”

“Put in the recor ds request to my office. I’ll priority it. You should have

an answer.”

“What we need is executive access to Pell’s records,” Madison said. “Such as they exist. We discovered, from Venture’ s records, that those two

ships are on the old first-issue black boxes. Still do their cargo trades in the

offices, in person, and turn the boxes on and of f at will.”

“Hinder Stars compliance, in other words.” It was an old proverb,

objectionable in the Hinder Stars themselves, describing an attitude about

inconvenient rules; an attitude definitely not limited to the Hinder Stars—

and certainly not foreign to the near-hereditary directorates of Pell and

Venture. Emilio tapped up computer function on his desk, and asked it,

“Display all station calls for ships Come Lately and Miriam B.”

There was a few seconds’ delay. Then: “If their systems are as old as you

say, the Venture to Pell jump string would be rough on them, loaded. We’ve

seen Come Lately twice in the last twenty-five years, Miriam B, once. Nothing recent.”

“We’ll find them eventually ,” JR said. “Hinder Stars stations all have a

message waiting for them, when they do show. They may have gotten word

we’re looking for them, and aren’ t trusting our reasons.”

“If they turn up here,” Emilio said, “I’ll sign them up, myself. Give

everybody a share of this, so Sol can’t call any of us innocent.” He flipped

to the last page, firmly , and took up the pen on his desk. “Now shut up, the

lot of you. Let’ s get this done.”

Section vii Book II

The first shop Jen dragged Ross into, utterly disregarding his protests, was a

clothing store, when what he wanted was a beer or two in a comfortably

small dim bar. True, he was under -equipped, since all his gear other than the

bloodied jumpsu it he’d escaped in was on its way to Sol. True, he’d been

living in borrowed Finity greys. He’d managed to cobble together a bare

minimum of necessities at Alpha before boarding Finity , and in Finity’ s

haste, he hadn’ t had time even for practical shopping at Bryant’ s. At

Venture, it had all been: wait for Pell. Jen had promised him better deals at

Pell, practical clothes he could afford with the credit Finity insisted on

giving all the Monahans—but new clothes were hardly his top priority , and

somehow he doubted that this place, where holo models changed clothes

and genders in confusing succession, would be a source for any kind of

bargain. But Jen insisted he at least give this place a try, and from the cheerful

greeting betwee n her and the owner when they arrived, she was something

of a regular. Customers were expected to undress for a rather embarrassing full body

scan and then stand too long, in his opinion, at the click-and-model kiosk to

see what he’d look like in various over the edge offerings. And after an

embarrassing argument with Jen over her gift of a dress jacket for high-

dining—an argument he lost—he placed an order for three basic green

jumpsuits, a pair of pants, a shirt, and a jacket that would be delivered to his

room by dinner time. Tailored to his body. He couldn’ t imagine. He had a few minutes, then, while Jen disappeared into a fitting room, to

wander among the true luxury pieces on display , garments claimed to be

made of actual woven plant fibers and, according to a fancy tag, hand-

embroidered on Pell. He ran his fingers gingerly over the soft fabrics, felt a

ragged nail catch, and pulled his hand away. A quick check assured him he

hadn’ t damaged it, but he moved immediately away from the item. “Like it?” Jen asked, coming up behind him. “It’s different than printed stuff, that’s for—” Words failed him as he

turned to face her. “Wotcha think?” she asked with a teasing grin, and twirled around to let

him view from all angles. The silvery one-piece gracing her slender figure

was almost Finity-grey , he could say that for it. She laughed. “I have

absolutely no excuse to get it, but I just had to try it on. Isn’ t it fun?”

“Um...” He tried not to stare. She laughed aloud. “Good answer , Galway.” She headed back to the

fitting room. “Back in a flash.”

He took a mom ent to appreciate the retreating view , then cast a second

look at the woven-fabric clothes and a weave-patterned jacket he did covet,

but couldn’ t conceive an occasion to wear it. Woven fabrics weren’ t

unknown in the First Stars—time was, shipments of basic plant-fiber fabrics

had arrived on the pushers from Sol—but like everything else not destined

for The Rights of Man, those shipments had ceased before Ross had ever

escaped the minders. One non-printed jacket he owned had known at least

one or two owners before him—soft through years of use, but nothing to

compare, visually , with the clothing on these racks. And it was on its way to

Sol. The Neiharts’ shore-leave jackets were made of the same durable,

printed fabric as every other ship’ s, if somewhat more standardized. He

knew now, from the sartorial splendor in Finity’ s off-hou rs lounge, that the

crew’ s simplicity dockside had been deliberate care not to flaunt their

wealth in First Stars stations. And what he’d seen in the Finity off-hou rs

lounge only hinted at the variety he found on the racks of the store. As he

carefully sorted through the hangers, he suddenly realized that, beyond the

holo signs and immensely high ceilings, the noise and the sheer number of

people walking the docks here, the wild diversity of clothing out there was

itself a challenge to First Stars senses. Those twice-sol d fabrics from Sol that were available in the First Stars

were solids, basic colors, with none of the exotic prints available in this

shop, certainly nothing like that jumpsuit Jen had just modeled and was

probably going to leave with. In his experience, embellishment, such as

there was, tende d to be in the form of embroidered patches of all sorts,

transferable when clothing wore out. He’d seen the machines working,

once, when he’d gone after more Galway patches. There’d been an amazing

array of colored threads there to choose from. But those were just spools. In this shop, this assault on the senses, a kiosk screen said a certain

vibrant red was a dye from Downbelow , processed from plants , complying

with statute...

whatever that meant. There was a list of sources, foreign

words, excepting the minerals; and the colors derived from them were too

many to count. It was color you saw in vids, not in clothes you could buy. Ther e was an

option to have the file downloaded, and he opted for that in his handheld—

you had to be a little careful, Finity ’s shore- orders advised that; but Jen had

told him at Venture that high-end shops were all right. He put his name

down to receive ads for the store, for all the good that would do him, but the

Monahans at Alpha would be fascinated just with what he could upload. Which put him in mind of their mission to find special souven irs. The

clothing itself was too expensiv e, though a scarf or two might be possible. A search for small items brought him to the children’ s clothing, which

wouldn’ t be much appreciated by any of the younger Monahans, but it

made him think of Winslow , a tiny, multi-jointed doll—hand-carved of

precious wood and passed down through generations of Monahans—for

whom various Family members made detailed clothing and in-scale

paraphernalia out of whatever bits and bobs they could find. Buy an entire garment to be ripped apart to make something new...

for

a doll?

Except it wouldn’ t be for the doll alone, but for the whole ship. The

doll, Winslow , fragile with age, was kept in a clear case in one of the ship’ s

lounges, a mascot for generations, his pose and outfit, even his setting,

changed “mysteriously” from time to time, to the endless delight of the

youngest—nobody would be so low as to tell them the magical secret. Winslow would justify at least the price of a scarf. Provided, of course, the little guy returned from his trip to Sol. Ross squelched that painful thought and was thumbing through the

catalog, looking for tiny prints that would work for the doll, when Jen

returned. “Going back after that shirt?” she asked, and he explained, hoping

she’d have an idea. Before he was done, she was grinning. “Scraps,” she said, and headed for the sales desk. “Jen, what—”

“Hey , Kiara!” She waltzed up to the woman at the desk and flashed her

friendliest grin. “Got a question for you.”

“Certainly.” The woman smiled back. He’d yet to meet anyo ne who

could resist Jen’s grin, the best part of which was that it was absolutely real. The Finity patch didn’ t hurt either , he imagined. And the clerk had, no

doubt, tracked Jen’ s foray into the fitting rooms. “Do you make all these?” She waved her hand vaguely about the room. “They’re really great.”

“Not personally.” Another smile. “But we’re a consignment outlet for

locals, in additio n to the on-dem and printed stock. Some of these are sewn

entirely by hand. No machines involved.”

“That’ s what makes them so different!

That and the fabrics. Local?

Downbelow?”

“Natural fiber. Entirely.”

“Mmm.” Jen picked a frilly shirt off a rack and appeared to examine it

minutely. “This woven stuf f...

it’ s done in big long strips, right?”

“Yes...” the woman said slowl y, obviously beginning to wonder where

this conversation was headed. And over at a rack, the owner , who had called

Jen by name, had stopped what she was doing to listen, a little grin on her

face. Another glance up. “So they cut pieces out of that strip?”

The wom an nodded, looking as puzzled as Ross felt, and her eyes made

a quick dart to her boss, whose was immediately busy again , apparently

oblivious to the exchange. “Must make for a lot of waste,” Jen continued. “I mean, printed stuff can

always be recycled, right?”

“We recycle, yes.” The woman shifted into friendly sales mode, patently

relieved to be able to fall back to familiar territory. “As for the fabric, the

computer calcul ates the most efficient layout and lasers cut the pieces, so

there’ s little left over.”

“But there’ s still some left over , right?”

“A very small amount.”

“I wond er...” Jen leaned an elbow on the desk. “You know I’m a

merchanter.”

“Finity’ s End. Of course. No question.”

“I have a notion. Pure spec. Not sure anything would come of it. But we

just got back from the Hinder Stars, and they’ve got nothing like these

fabrics. Actual clothing is out of the question and even the large pieces of

fabric would be too much for spec, but those scraps...

as trim, they might

have some resale value. How much would you sell it for?”

She named a price that sounded reasonable to Ross. Jen winced. “Well,

maybe a little steep for our mar gin. Can you maybe do a bit better?”

“I’m sure we can work something out.” That not from the clerk, but

from the boss, coming over to join them, and fifteen minutes later, they left

with a large bag filled with bits of locally-grown fabric, scarves for Peg, his

mother and his sister...

And one glittery silver -grey jumpsuit. Section viii Book II

“We’re signed,” JR said. It was a staff meeting, Madison, John, Mum, and Fletch, in the downside

office, the common meeting space. “Difficult?” John asked. “After we explained about Galway?” JR said. “No, though he wants to

talk to young Ross.”

No real surprise there; it was one reason the Monahans had been invited

aboard. “What else did he say?”

“We talked about him mediating between the EC and Cyteen.”

There was a general quiet around that answer. Mum folded her arms and

looked grim, and Fletch just heaved a sigh and shook his head. “He’ s earned the right to try, and fair’s fair, I brought it up first,” JR

said. “The EC has always had a fondness for people who sit in offices. They’ll try to deal with him, until they start to shove too hard. I think

there’ll be a period when it all works. Until it doesn’ t. And do him credit,

Emilio knows it, too. The Konstantins have sat in that chair about as long as

there’ s been a Pell Station. The Earth Company is going to come in here

with their usual finesse, they’re going to claim ownership of everything and

complain about having to steal plans that, in their opinion, should have been

added to the Stream—” Meaning, they all knew , Finity’ s plans. “And

they’re going to demand a complete update on the modification s, at which

point he’s going to tell them no, it’s not theirs for any asking, to figure it out

themselves—same as Pell’s engees did—and they’re not going to like it. They’re going to have to get used to the word no on a lot of points. They’d

be mortal fools to antagonize the Konstantins, they’d be absolute idiots to

press Cyteen, and that’s where the Alliance can make a differenc e: it may be

up to us to convince them of that reality. Getting Pell and Cyteen both

signatory and on the same page before Sol gets this far will be a major

step.”

“There’ s no love lost with the Cyteeners,” John said, “but Earth’ s

proprietary notions actually might bring the Carna ths and Konstantins to a

wider agreement.”

“Double-edged, that,” Mum said. “If the EC has any sense, which I

don’t grant, they’ll view the Konstantins as the best ally they could have. Raise Konstanti n hackles, push Pell and us into alignment with Cyteen and

against them, and I’m afraid it’ll be the Carnath’ s vision for the future that

prevails. Hopefully whoever the EC sends will be able to see it, too. Pell

has proven it can hold its own against Cyteen, but if Sol push es too hard,

they’ll come smack up against Cyteen politics, and that will not end

anywhere comfortable for anyone.” She shook her head. “Rampant

expansionist territorialism is the plague of human history. Let Sol out of its

pusher -bound bottle unchecked, and we get it running amok on both sides,

with damned little consideratio n of what might be waiting on their own

borders, maybe something a lot older than the hisa, and not near as

welcoming.”

Beta, everyone in the room made the connection. That station nobody

named. Proxima Centauri. The pusher Santa Maria had docked there to find

the station empty , intact, and no clue what had happened. Not being fools,

nobody had ever gone back to try to find out...

possibly to stir up

whatever lurked there. Would the Company be as restrained in exploration as the Hinder Stars

had become?

Cyteen’ s expansionism was a worry. Greed tended to make

fools of the smartest people. So much depend ed on having rational people

in char ge. And the Company’ s history...

Wasn’t that the elephant in the room?

“We do what we can,” JR said. “It makes it all the more important to get

the agreement into operation, and follow through on what we’v e promised. We take it we’ve got the agreement with Cyteen sewn up, at least before the

EC makes it to Pell in any force. Quen has been informed and will carry a

copy of the signed agreement to Dublin. We have to trust John Reilly on

that one. And thanks to the agreements signed with the Hinder Stars

stations, the only way the EC will move beyond Alpha is on one of our

ships, and that’s not happening in any hurry. I hope to God that Abrezio,

with our backing, will be able to talk sense into them.”

“Alpha and Pell both maintain the Stream,” Mum said. “They still do

talk.”

“Across a massive lightbound gulf,” John said. “And face it: we paint

the picture we want Sol to see and Sol paints the picture they want us to see. We don’t know each other. We haven’ t known each other since Gaia

launched.”

“That will change,” Madison said, “the moment Galway drops in on

them.”

“Granted they get there,” John said. “Six years on, they’ll still get the news,” Madison said, meaning the

transmission from Alpha, on the Stream. “And the numbers. Even if

Galway doesn’ t make it, doesn’ t mean the numbers aren’ t sound.”

“One way and another , it will happen,” Mum said. “And when Earth

goods do start flowing to us, Pell’s lifestuf fs are going to lose a little value,

but not much. Might even improve as soon as the Sol market discovers

them. Earth’ s always been touchy about what gets to it. They’re

understandably protective of the motherworld biology. Pell’s equally

protective of Downbelow , and can teach Sol a lot about the topic. We’ve

learned a few things out here. We can maintain the protections. And Earth

proper ’s not the only market there.”

“Exotics will still move best,” John said. “Liquor , flavors, scents. Designs will flow both ways.”

Mum raised a brow. “Once we have a path in, we will trade. That’ s a big

and populated system of planets and satellites. Except for a few personal

transactions, the pushers have always dealt directly with the EC. Who

knows what we’ll find?”

“It’ll be a sort-out,” Madison said. “Pell, more than Alpha, will be the

heart of it. With most to lose if it goes sour , most to gain if it goes well.”

“Not sure I agree with that,” Mum said. “If Sol breaks all expectations

and comes in with a renewed lot of trade, Alpha’ s too small to really take

immediate advan tage of the flow. But it will grow. If the EC plays fair, that

whole region could flourish.”

“The Hinder Stars,” JR said, “are owed something in all of this. But it’s

going to be tough. They’ve got Rights hanging over their heads. The EC

will blame Alpha engineers, they’ll move in their own people, and they’ll

be continuing the project. I wouldn’ t put it past them to demand the revised

plans as part of any deal they consider making with us. Does the EC ever

give up an idea, once they launch it?”

“Stealing the plans and then demanding the updates is a little much,”

Mum said dryly. “Konstanstin’ s no fool. Sol will find that out. But they’ll

make a try, with Rights. If histor y is any indication, they’ll be throwing

administrators at the problem instead of engineers, and firing them one after

the other, granted they haven’ t learned anything, as they probably haven’ t. They’ll promise. They’ll threaten. They’ll deny they threatened. Then

promise again.”

“Unless,” Fletch er said, “Rights is only the tip of the iceber g and they

have a fleet of sensible, proven FTLers waiting to head our way, bellies

filled with Enforcers.”

“They’ll find they’ve no place to dock,” JR said, “if we can back the

stations.” It was how the Alliance was supposed to work, everybody

supporting the one in trouble; and if the one in trouble happened to be larger

than a ship and inconvenient in distance, like Alpha, that was what still had

to be. “Now that we’ve got Pell’s signature, with Cyteen to follow, there’ll

be no trade and no supply if Sol wants to argue. That may have to happen

once or twice. They may have to run that reality past their eighty-odd

governments to figure it out. But we’ll manage. That’ s all. We’re taking on

another full fuel load right now...

no knowing what kind of time we’re

going to need to make. And counting on Emilio to come through with his

council, we’re going to be loading for Venture, with goods all the stations

down the line can use, not a high profit mar gin for us, but a decent one.”

“I do like the word profit,” Mum said dryly. “So do we all. Foodstuf fs, metals. Small canister -loads, obvious ly. We’ll

take the load to Venture and let local ships take it from there—unless, worst

case, the Monahans lose control of Galway , the points prove out, and the

EC is already back at Alpha, in which case, I think we have no choice but to

push through to Alpha and talk to them. With luck, Little Bear will be

waiting at Venture with news. Min said he’d wait for us.”

“We owe him,” Fletch said. “We certainly do. But we all benefit from Alpha being armored against

the EC when it arrives. Getting the plumbing fixed and plenty of food on

the table will definitely help Abrezio maintain his grip.”

“Firenze herself might make that jump, once she’s got her upgrade.”

That, from Katrin D, Finity ’s chief engineer. “She’ s a tough old lady.”

Whatever patch-together she’d had for nav, whoever did her last engine

conversion had done a proper job. With a new nav system, she was due to

make the Venture route, which was the ultimate test for a First Stars ship. Firenze was the Alliance’ s showcase project, their proof of concept—about

to be famous clear to Cyteen, for rising from the near-dead. Her successful

rehab would prove the Alliance could keep its promises: seal and stamp on

the idea. “Anyone else just the slightest bit queasy?” Fletch asked. “I want to

count the Alliance a success, but there’ s still too damn many unknowns.”

“Getting Firenze back on schedu le without Sol materials and without the

EC mandating anything is major ,” Madison said. “Everyone can look at her

and say: we can do this. I mean, nobody wants Sol back in the picture, real

time. Not really.”

“Except the Hinder Stars,” JR corrected quietly. The recent trip had been

more than a bit of an eye opener. Sol wasn’ t just the EC. Not to the Hinder

Stars. The First Stars, as they called themselves, both stations and ships,

wanted that route to Sol opened up. They didn’ t want EC interference any

more than the rest of the Famili es, but they wanted Sol trade. Their futures,

their ability to become, in their own minds, viable members of the emer ging

Alliance, lay in getting that Sol trade and moving it out to the Beyond. They

couldn’ t hope, under current circumstances, to compete in the Beyond, but

with the exclusive rights to Sol trade goods, coming at FTL speeds, they

had a chance, a real chance for the first time in living memory , to thrive. “Except the Hinder Stars,” Fletcher repeated. “I just hope, for their

sakes, the EC doesn’t try to drive them out with ships of their own making,

with crews loyal only to the EC.”

That...

no one wanted to see happen. The Alliance existed specifically

to keep it from happening, whether it was Sol or Cyteen or Pell herself. No

one, no one was carrying cargo except the Family ships. At least...

that

was their startin g position. He and Abrezio had talked at some length, and

as the bridge to Sol, Alpha would have the unique clearance to accept non-

Family cargo...

but only from Sol. From Alpha to the rest of the Hinder

Stars and to Pell herself...

that car go would go on Family ships. Period. He hoped it wouldn’ t come to that. Hoped that the EC would see the

value in letting merchanters handle the interface between stations, the value

of leaving FTL to those inured to it from the womb. Sol was going to remain a factor , wanted or unwanted, but she’d soon

find out she was just one more star with planets—a lot of planets, and a

living planet, yes, but that bounty made her equal with Pell or Cyteen, no

more, no less. That was where it all was going, the EC’s opinion

notwithstanding. The Alliance was the solution to the problems of the

Beyond, problem s centuries in the making, problems that arose from the

isolation of stations, and the imbalance in economic power. Sol as a whole

could be a major player in the Alliance network, Sol and the trade Sol

System provided. How much of that bounty the citizens of Sol system

decided to hand over to the EC was their business, but the EC and EC

notions of ownership had no place in the new order out here. Massive

pusher -ships no longer ruled deep space. Sol-produced goods no longer

kept the stations alive. The Beyond, and now the First Stars, had other

interests. Their survival was far more dependent on the politics of Pell and

Cyteen than maintaining any vital interest in Sol. No EC. No complex Earth politics. No blessing from the mothe r-system

required. That was the answer they’d found, the concept they’d all signed onto. A

universe of trade, in which what one did and how one fared affected

everybody , short-term, long-term, and equally. But Mum had said it: they all needed to quit spending money and get

back on track to earning it. “So small cans, foodstuf fs, and materials for the Hinder Stars ,” Mum

was saying, Fourth-shift captain, once Senior. “No risk. Fast trip. And then

back to our own business. Take our Monahan guests on a tour of business as

usual, hoping we can reunite them with their ship.”

“That’ s the plan,” JR said fervently. Section ix Book II

The rest of the Galways turned up at the first game shop, a huge room filled

with vid screens and electronic equipment. They were sitting in strange

chairs, with plastic hoods over their heads, below which their entire bodies

were twitching in uncanny unison. Ross and Jen walked in unnoticed, dropped their packages, and

collapsed onto a small couch, footsore and exhausted. From across the

room, Dot, one of their Finity watchdogs, glanced up from a shelf of

displays and came over with a grin on her face. “I think we’ve found a winner ,” she said. “But I’m not exactly sure what

or how much, since we haven’ t been able to pull your cousins away. This is

the newest VR—came out since our last call here...”

“Ga-aa-aa-aa!” Frustrat ion filled the air. One of the hoods lifted, and

Ian thrust himse lf up. “Where’ s the nearest loo?” he asked, looking a bit

desperate, and Dot laughed and pointed. “Take his seat,” Twofer suggested. Nice guy...

one of Jen’s fellow

security , who’d been sitting quietly nearby watching the players. Ross looked in that direction, but Jen grabbed his arm. “I know you,

spacer -lad. You get started and I won’ t see you for hours.”

“Ten minutes. Set a timer. Word of honor.”

“Go. Get yourself killed. See if I care.” She gave a wave of her hand

toward the gallery of chairs. “I’m going to check on tickets for the Garden.”

He went. He sat, slid his hands and forearms into padded sleeves

attached to chairarms. The hood lowered...

and suddenly he was in the

midst of sound and fury. Somet hing came at him and he flung up his hand,

which miraculously gripped a sword. He swung it wildly in self defense. “Heads up!” Siobhan’ s voice rang in his ears as something came flying

at his head. A dome materialized around him. Everything blurred as a force

grabbed him and set him on a high rock, where he could actua lly view the

chaos. Somethin g shaggy and snarling rushed at him from the left and

without thinking, he swung the over-large sword in a wide arc—and a

shock reverberated through him as the sword met a body. Fur and teeth

disappeared in a burst of fireworks—

—and two shaggy things came at him. Ten minutes later, when Jen’s voice hauled him out, and the hood raised,

he told himself a batch of these chairs needed to be added to Galway ’s

overhaul, to hell with the gym. Not that it would happen—the promised

refit was to bring Galway up to merchanter standards...

not to provide a

state of the art gameroom. Still...

He looked wistfully at the decep tively simple chair as he pushed himself

to his feet, and thought of Bryant’ s and Alpha, where just one of these units

would revolutionize arcades...

staggered as surprisingly fatigued muscles

went to jelly. He welcomed Jen’s hold on his arm as he turned and found

Ian, whose hair was spiked with water from the lavatory. Or sweat. “Did you get me killed?” Ian asked. “Three times,” he had to confess. Ian heaved a huge sigh, and scrubbed his hair into submission. “Save us

from this. We won’ t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Shush,” Jen grunted, once more occupied with the Pell-network pocket

com only she carried. “Problems?” Ross asked. “That new exhibit,” she said, without looking up. “Booked solid for

days.” She was frowning. But a grin flashed up at him. “But I’ll get us in. Don’ t you worry!

Trees will happen!”

The other Galways had hoisted themselves free of the VR-chairs as well,

and came over to find out what was going on. All agreed the game was a

keeper , once they discovered there was a conversion unit that would let

them play it on any legacy system, and that once the conversi on unit was

added to Galway ’s system, even more games they’d never seen would come

available. Like all copyrighted digital material, games transferred from

station to station via the feed, but unless Galway ’s systems met the

minimum requir ements of a game, they’d never even see it listed. That

conversion unit itself was a real find, and as for the game, if they bought it

here, so the flashy ads claimed, it came with extras...

for a few creds

more. But those few creds would get them a fancy light show and a pair of

flashing toy swords emblazoned with PELL for the youngers. So they ticked several more names of f their list. While Ian was negotiating with the sales clerk, Ross caught Jen looking

quizzically at him. “What?” he asked. “It didn’ t bother you,” she said, which left him still in the dark. “What didn’ t?”

“The game. Total immersion VR, and you brush it off like any normal

human being, but you’re spooked by a few bouncing monkeys.”

That stopped him cold. Made him wonder , until he suddenly realized:

“Because there was never any doubt.”

She looked smug. “Keep going.”

“Because I put on the helmet and sat in the chair , and deliberately went

into the game’ s reality. It wasn’ t just jumping at me in the real world.”

She tilted her head a moment. Then nodded. “Interesting. Keep that on

your backburner , Nav 1.5.”

“Will.”

His pocketcom beeped: a message from Maire telling them to hurry up,

and he realized the others had escaped the store while he and Jen were

talking. As they hurried toward the door, he grabbed Jen’s hand, and said,

“Thanks.”

She glanced up at him and winked. “Anytime.”

They found the others waiting in an adjacent bar. By the time they’d

recovered from the game, exclai med over the scarves and bits of fabric, and

designed at least three improbab le outfits for Winslow on Maire ’s handheld,

they’d officially joined forces for the day, making a rather large and fairly

riotous party. But since the Finitys were on strict orders, and the Galways

were highly conscious of the impression Galway patches left on the locals,

the rioting was polite and limited to a walk further down the row, where a

toy store and a regular supply store with a sideline in patche s turned up

some gems, patches for Cyteen-side ships, no less, and the Viking iron

pusher , Edwar d Gorey. Those were gold, back home. They had some

Galway patches to trade, and those, as Alpha patches, produced a fair

handful of change—it was a great and prideful temptation to say those were

going to be worth a bit more, come a year or so—but the order was deep

silence on dockside, where it regarded Galway ’s busin ess, and they gave

not a clue. Jen continued checking her shore-com, hoping for news on the tour of

the Gard en. The party had grow n steadily , until they had a total of twelve,

including all the Galways and their two additional Finity guides. Getting

two admissions on short notice was rarely a problem. Even four was

sometimes, with good luck, granted within a few hours; but twelve?

That

needed special application, an assigned tour guide, and a stack of oaths of

good behavior. And no chance, none whatsoever , that they’d get a slot for the maindawn

spectacle Jen had hoped for. Jen put on a face about that, and asked for the

Pell Department of Guest Relations. For a time, it appeared not even Jen’s gift of persuasion would be

enough to make an opening in the next few days. The two extra Finitys

offered to bow out, willing to wait for the new stuff, but Jen insisted they

not give up yet, a renewed resol ve in her eyes. Ross suspected that Fletcher

and possibly even JR had beco me involved, but, knowing Jen in pursuit-

mode, he didn’ t venture to ask. The call came while Jen and Ross were having a gelato at a certified-

authentic Italian booth. The group had split up temporarily , unable to settle

on a single treat with so many options available. “Yes!” Jen said, and flipped her way through the message. The

triumphant gleam faded as quickly as it had arrived. “Problems?” Ross asked, swallowing a mouthful of goodness. “Not really. They got us all in. It’ s just...

short notice.”

“How short?”

“Really short. Tonight. Maindark.” Her eyes flashed up at him. “There

goes our fancy dinner in the Jade Room and an early-to-bed evening.” Her

thumbs flew, sending a message to all the others. Within moments, she had

answers from the entire group, and distributed the ticket downloads and the

address. “I’ve told everybody to meet us beside the elephant. We barely

have time to shower and change.”

“How’d we get in?” Ross asked, as she set the com down and applied

herself to her own balls of frozen dessert. “Cancellation,” she said. “A local party.”

“That was convenient.”

“Oh, cut the sarcasm, spacer -boy. Whatever deal Finity made is nothing

more than she’d do for any of us, if occasion warranted. Us being on a short

shore leave, sometimes we have to pay a little extra to accom modate our

schedule, and stationers will budge. Chance s are it cost no more than a

bottle of Scotch. Okay?

Time is short.” She shoveled the last of her dessert

in a single large bite and immediately pressed her fingers to her throat. “Ouch!

Brain freeze!” She hopp ed to her feet and pulled him up. “We have

got to shower , re-dress in casuals—there is water involved—and meet the

transport. Move-move-move!”

A bottle of Scotch to get alread y-pricey tickets, and he had the feeling

she was serious. A single shot of the real stuff was way beyon d his Alpha

imaginings. Ross licked the last taste off the ceramic spoon, dropped the

spoon and the cup into the return at the exit, and headed out to find the

elephant. Section x Book II

Their room in the Royal was extravagant, no end, but for all the overboard

color and furnishings, there was, like the gilt elephant, a decidedly playful

sense of fun to it all that didn’ t take its specialness seriously. And if the odd

tassel cast weird shadows in the bath or an embroidered elephant-shaped

pillow didn’ t quite tuck into any part of the human body , the bed itself was

decadently comfortable, with a plethora of pillows that did tuck perfectly

well into the odd crook of an elbow , or under the neck. “Check this out.” Jen turned off the ambient light and a mom ent later,

the room was filled with tiny , glittering spots of lights, randomly floating. Ross twisted around on the bed and watched, lifting his hand into the air

to catch those glittering motes...

only to have them flitter away as if they

were alive, and found himself thinking about those motes highlighting a

rather dif ferently shaped body part. That was inspiring. “Fireflies,” Jen said, and her finger slid down the list beside the dial. “We can have stars, rainbows, birds...

anything you want tonight.” She

cast him a wicked look. “Even monkeys.”

“I’m good,” Ross said hastily , and Jen headed for the shower with a

giggle. He lay there, watching fireflies, doing his damnedest not to think of

monkeys and tigers, trying to sort all he’d seen, to imagine what more there

could possibly be...

besides trees...

but the games and the shops and the

day on the dock s hazed rapidly down into the dark behind his eyelids. For a

moment he was back on Galway , ready for an Alpha run. Going home....

Fallan was at his post. On Galway , they were side by side. And Fallan

went about business, cool as ever, while he felt a vague anxiety...

he

couldn’ t say why. “Fal,” he said. But Fallan kept checking and pushing buttons, and he

couldn’ t remember what cours e they were setting. He’d been wrong. It

wasn’ t Alpha they were going to. The numbers didn’ t look familiar. “Fal,” he said again, and he might as well not have been there. Fallan

just went on doing what he’d done. Again. And again. Like a replay. He was stuck in this—until he wasn’ t. He was back in the row behind

Kate and Bucklin, behind Ty and Jim. And Jen was trying to get his attention. Damn. That was weird. Crazy real. He reached to turn his pillow over

and burrow into it, but a tassel hit him in the face, as somebody pulled the

pillow out from under him. “Wake up, sluggabug. Shower!

Now!”

God. He was anxious to shake that dream. “You can join me.” His hand found smooth skin beneath dripping hair. She twisted her head and gave his palm a quick kiss before pulling

away. “Not and make it to the elephant in time. Go!

Up!

Move!”

He sighed, forced muscles to move, missed the edge of the bed and

recovered himself, barely , with a foot on the floor. The motes still

surrounded them , and the room had shapes and edges. It was light enough

to wake by. “No lingering.” Jen’s voice reached him from outside the shower. “Shower and out. The trolley is going to be here.”

He showered, started with a cold blast to wake himself up, then hot as

Hades to get his blood moving. He didn’ t linger, but by the time he came

out, Jen was ready to go. She stood by the door theatrically tapping her toe

while he dressed. “Time,” she said. “T ime.” He hurried. As they were leaving the room, she slipped her hand inside his elbow

and hugged his arm especially hard. “It’s showtime, spacer -boy. I have so

looked forward to this. And for sure, you’re going to see trees.”

Section xi Book II

Jen kept it moving, and gatherin g members, but at the last moment the party

boarding the trolley outside the Royal suddenly shrank, not in number , but

in sheer mass. Sadly , Twofer had had to get off and bow out, apparently an

onboard meeting , for which Jen was genuinely sorry and so afraid she was

going to get her own call from Fletcher. But that call didn’ t come, and

there’d been a waiting list of Neiharts anxious to step up to fill out the

party: as Twofer left them, youn g Will, cook’ s helper , literally came running

and jumped aboard, all scrubbed and polished and out of breath, excited to

have won the lottery. Jen introduced William to the Monahans as they all

piled onto the trolley. Ross responded with the polite words and a nod, but

to her eyes...

he still wasn’ t, quite, all there....

Hadn’ t been , since that

phase-out in the room. Time, Jen thought, as the trolle y rolled up-ring through the increased

noise and bustle of the newly waked mainnight crowds, for some serious

Ross-distraction. He’d been dreaming, there in the room, calling to Fallan—

which he hadn’ t done in her hearing since the very first days after Alpha. Somehow , she didn’ t think it was the monkeys this time; with luck,

they’d put that weirdness to rest. Maybe it was the sheer size and noise and

racket of Pell, but again, that had seemed settled. Maybe...

maybe he was

still hearing the star. That would be scary , and she wondered should she talk

to Kate, find out if she underst ood what he was going through. Whatever

had happened when they’d dropped into Pell had shaken him, she was sure

of that, but she was not sure whether it was because of Pell itself, or

because Pell meant the end and be-all of their trip, the point past

which...

The point past which decisions had to be made. If all went as

Senior Captain hoped, they’d get loaded for Venture—car go going back the

way they’d come, destined to help the shortages at Alpha. At Venture, they

would meet Little Bear, and discover what had happened behind them at

Alpha. Dependin g on what they said there, the Galways would stay aboard,

would join them for a normal round of Viking and Mariner...

or return to

Alpha. So this was the turnaround point. Was that what had begun to affect him,

in all the raucous silliness of the Royal?

He covered it well, but when he thought she wasn’ t looking, a shadow

crossed his face. The Winslow hunt had done him good, as had the VR game, but her ace

in the hole, the promise she had made him clear back at Alpha , was trees. And trees he was about to get. If that didn’ t distract him from doubting

himself, if that didn’ t give him something to tell Fallan about, other than

feeling stars...

nothing would. The trolley pulled up at a closed airlock, a small trolley-sized door

within a much larger freight-sized pressure lock, which was in turn set into

massive section doors—standard precaution against a breach in the ring’ s

integrity. The small door opene d automatically , and the trolley moved into

the lock. “Not there yet,” Jen turned in her seat to say, raising her voice over the

burr of the tires on the decking. “Most traffic goes on where the deck

narrows. We’re now in a restricted area that serves as a protec tion for the

station and the Garden ecosystem—one of the containment protocols that

keep both this small patch of Earth safe from us and safe from getting

where it could reach Downbelow. The decon protocols for people going

down to the planet are brutal, what I hear. Question: do the hisa go into the

Garden?

Answer: no. They come and go to the planet and decon would be a

problem. Those section doors back there are matched on the other end of

this stretch. Has there ever been a biological breakout?

No. They’re careful. Real careful.”

They continued in a passage a fraction of the size of the docks they just

left. Tiny, to her way of thinking, just big enough for two standard cargo

movers to pass each other , but comparable, she suddenly realized, to the

overhead free-space on Alpha’ s Strip, Alpha’ s version of Pell’ s docks. “Weird,” Maire said. “It’ s all signs...

advertising stuf f. No shops.”

The walls, she meant, where the walls were covered with screens and

constantly shifting images. “We’re actually traveling under the garden,” Jen explained. “Above, to

the sides...

it’ s all plants.”

Beside her, Ross just shook his head, staring around him at the visual

cacophony , looking not particularly happy. Jen reached out and locked

fingers with him, and with a blink, he smiled down at her and squeezed

gently. “Soon,” she whispered, as the trolley slowed, slowed further , and

stopped, opening its passenger gate to let them off. Still holding Ross by the

hand, she hoppe d off and led the way down the single step ahead of the rest

of the Monahan s. And young Will. The empty trolley simply reversed and

headed back the way it had come, a diminishing whine in a comparative

hush. She led her Monahans through that quiet, down a painted stripe in

dim lighting. The only sounds other than their own footsteps were the soft

thumps and wheezes. The only movement was a gentle cold airflow. A second and then a third stripe joined the first, one on the ceiling, one

on the floor , signs that, in a ship, would be orientation markers for zero- G. And as they approached the Garden entrance, the adverts stopp ed, a brown

stripe joined the white, then a third, green. Finally , as they came to the lock

on the inner wall—fancy letters painted in white on brown and green

proclaimed:

Edmund Pell Gar den. And below , in smaller letters:

Experience the magic. Section xii Book II

As they approached the Garden entrance, a large floating sign lit up,

announcing scheduled events: a thunderstorm at 17:00, which it almost was,

sunset at 17:45.

And the curren t time and temperature: a comfortable 24C,

humidity 40%—slightly soggy—and, notably , an experience in itself, a

wind at 20 kph. Wind?

Ross wondered. Air moved in a station. Fans, air circulation,

temperature differences, all such things caused mostly unpredictable air

currents. In Alpha, there was a hellacious gale from the core lift when the

doors opened, far greater than the promised 20 kph. Ross rather looked forward to this wind. “Thunderstorm?” Siobhan asked and Jen answered:

“Rain. Wind. Thunder. Lightni ng. All at once. Sims, mostly , but the

water ’s real. You can get wet. Haven’ t experienced the storm, but I’ve been

in the rain shower. Which is gentler. Did I say, Don’ t wear your best

clothes?”

“Cool,” Connor said. “Seriously cool.”

“So,” Jen wave d them toward the door, flashing her com unit in the

process. “Let’ s get in there before we miss it. Move, move, move, friends!”

Ross moved. At the side of the door, a square panel lit and began to

blink:

Admission, it said. Show code. For code, apply online at Pell Ticketing. Admission is restricted to persons over six years of age. No exceptions. Groups ar e restricted to twenty. All admissions r equir e a guide. They didn’ t give a price. Jen held her com over the blinking scanner and the painted door slid

open, not on paradise, but on a glaring white chamber. A cheerful voice

said: “Each gr oup must lock thr ough together.”

They walked in. The outer door sealed behind them. “For the protection of the specimens, there will be a decontam ination. Please hold out your arms, stand quietly , close your eyes, and breathe

normally. You will notice a slightly sweet odor and a rather bright light

behind your eyelids. There is absolutely no danger. At the chim e, you’ll be

safe to open your eyes, and enter the gar den. “Flash vid is strictly prohibited. Official photos and vid of the garden

are available in the souvenir shop at the end of the tour. “Thank you for your cooperation, and enjoy your visit.”

Ross closed his eyes, the promised scent and light followed, and at the

sound of the chime, the door opened...

to a rather anticlima ctic staging

room lined with images and text describing the construction of the gardens. At a tug from Jen’s hand, he stepped into the room, and then it hit him:

scent and humid ity on the promised wind. For a breath or so, he just stood

there, basking in that weird and wonderful air that lifted his hair and tickled

his nostrils. The lock doors thumped shut behind them; the ambient light dimmed. “Welcome to Pell Gardens!” A cheerful voice greeted them, and a

youngish man appeared in a door on their left, the source of that pungent

breeze. “My name is Andrew Ridgeman. Please...

call me Andy. I’ll be

your guide today.”

Average-looking fellow , dark skin and eyes, a slightly over-ener getic

Pell accent, a dark green jump suit, and a name badge embla zoned with

Edmund Pell Gar den T our. “Are we all here?” their guide asked, and when Jen nodded, “Excellent. If you’ll all move on to the veranda, we can get the fun started.”

He stepped to the side, made a sweeping gesture toward the door, and a

dimly lighted area, beyond which it was quite, quite dark. No walls, just a

clear , waist-high barrier with a rope-blocked opening, and a nearly invisible

ceiling that rose in a shallow peak above them. As his eyes adjusted, the blackness began to gain shape and texture. Strangely shaped fronds moved in those air currents, and the floor was

neither metal nor rug, but somet hing...

granular. Smooth, but it moved and

piled as he push ed at it with his toe. Gradually , in and aroun d the group

chatter , a distant pinging noise, like a cross between a condensation drip

and the post-jump showers, teased his eardrums. “You’ve arrived just in time—” their guide said, and suddenly light,

blinding white, flashed as a sound like a six-way transport collision

reverberated through every bone of Ross’ s body. He tensed, waiting for an

alarm, fearing some major catastrophe, a breach of some seal...

But there was no alarm. Not even a hint from “Andy” to retreat to the

safety of the staging room. Cautiously , he looked up, through the

shield...

to find nothing but roiling grey overhead. And when another

assault on his hearing came, he felt the fool: the promised storm. But they

all had flinched. Even Jen, who was checking her handheld again. “Seventeen on the clock,” she said, with a hint of relief in her voice. “And here comes the storm.” As water began to pelt down on the

transparent roof. There was nervous laughter all around. Just...

part of the show. Show ,

hell, Ross thought. It was damned unfair. Scary and unfair. No wonder they

banned tiny children: kids woul d be traumatized. Hell, he was traumatized. Another blast and he still had to convince his nerves it wasn’ t the station

coming apart at its seams. The pattering sound became a steady drumbeat, as hundreds of tiny

falling streaks came pelting down. Not a flood, as water would come out of

a faucet, nor the pounding spray of a shower , but like millions of those

condensation droplets that fell from high places. They hit the transparent

plastic of the roof, making fractal patterns down that sloped shield, and

sheeting off the edge to the ground just outside their shelter , where they

formed real puddles of real water. Another flash and this time, forewarned, they all just stare d as the

brilliant light streaked a jagged pattern on the far side of that clear barrier. With each flash, light momentarily filled the stormy murk beyond, where

mysterious silhouettes appeared and vanished again, hints of the wonders to

come. And after the foremost— Ross and Connor Dhu and Siobhan—had

stuck their hands out into the downpour , declaring it pleasantl y cool, and

just as shock and awe turned into their Engees Connor Dhu and Netha

speculating on the technology involved, the thunder and lightning receded

off to the right and the darkness overhead began to break up into light-

edged, puffy shapes...

which led to further speculation as to whether the

designers were just that clever , or if someone or something was actually

listening to them and had triggered that end to the show. “Oh, shut up, the lot of you, and just look!” Maire said, and pointed

ahead, where shafts of light burst through the “clouds,” bringing the

mysterious shapes that had been shrouded in darkness into lush, green life:

plants, banks of plants, like yet unlike anything hydroponics offered aboard

ship. Those shafts of light caugh t water droplets on huge leaves and spikes

of brightly colored flowers, making them sparkle with all the colors of the

spectrum. And above it all, a transparent arc of color against the dark clouds, bands

of that same spectrum. “Rainbow ,” Siobhan breathed. “Wow...

just...

wow...” Which

pretty well summed up Ross’ s feelings. Their guide, Andy, excused his way through their group to stand next to

the chain -blocked opening. He turned to face them with a set smile, and his

voice took on the practiced cadence of an oft-repeated spiel. “Welcome to

the Edmond Pell Gardens, the pride and joy of the station. Opened to the

public only nine years ago, it is the realization of a dream decades in the

making. Its creation is a story in itself, a story memorialized, along with

time-lapse 3D imaging, in a vid available at the end of the tour. For now, we

encourage you simply to take in the magic of Mother Nature, as only the

Garden can present it.”

Weird, Ross thought, and caught Jen’s eye, saw her stifle a giggle. Apparently this florid introduction was normal. “As you move through the garde ns,” Andy continued, “you will notice a

variety of new scents, some quite potent. We assure you it’s perfectly safe to

breathe here. We really have only three hard and fast rules. One: stick to the

paths. However , you’re free to take whatever path you wish. They all loop

back to the main walkway , and I’ll bring up the rear, to make certain we

leave no one behind. Secondly , we request that you touch only those

exhibits clearly marked for that purpose. Specimens you may not even

notice are extremely fragile, many are irreplaceable, and some, which we

have carefully placed out of reach, are poisonous.”

Well, that was decidedly useful information. “Finally , and most obviously , do not attempt to take any specimens. If

you desire a piece of the Garden to take home as a souvenir , safe, duty free

items are available in the gift shop. Violation of any one of these rules will

result in a fine and immediate expulsion from the Garden—wit hout refund

—without exception. Fair warning: all areas of the gardens are video

monitored. This is for your safety as well as the Garden’ s. —Any

questions?”

Behind him, Ian murmured something under his breath, and Andy’ s eyes

flicked briefly in that direction. Not an oblivious caretaker. But when Ian

remained silent:

“Excellent. Feel free to ask, should anything come up during your stay.”

With another glance Ian’s direc tion. Then: “As a final precau tion, expect

some condensation on the walkways and drips from overhead, and please

watch your step. Biological substances and fallen leaves can be slick.”

Andy reached into his coat pock et and passed among them, handing out

small round discs about the size of poker chips. “Carry these in your pockets, or otherwise about your person. It contains

a locator, should you somehow wander off—yes, it has happe ned—and if

you press and hold the button on the edge, it will give you a lighted

pathway to the exit. Pressing the central dot will activate signs located

throughout the exhibit. These will give you general information regarding

individual plants and their origins. The holo signs are proximity and

direction sensitive: one press of the button on the chit to activ ate, two to

suppress.”

Predictably , holo signs flashed about those tantalizing green mounds

along the visible pathway. On, off, on, off. Andy laughed, and continued his

spiel in a more normal, relaxed tone. “Should you have additional questions, I’ll be happy to try and answer

them. I have a very large cheat sheet.” He grinned and lifted his handheld. “You may turn in the chit at the gift shop for store credit. They are useless

beyond this tour.”

Still he didn’ t lift that chain. Ross, already tired from a day of too much

and too rich and too new...

began to drift. He looked at his disc, identified

the dot in question, but he didn’ t press it. He wasn’ t really interested in the

names of things, or what Andy had to tell them. He wanted trees, and Andy

was standing in the way. Beyo nd their human roadblock, Ross could see

three paths, all edged with rocks that were carpeted in something green and

(one assumed) living. One path was of brown pebbly stuff, another was

black, and one that branched off the black had larger reddish stones. The

brown path to the right curved off and disappeared into shadow under an

amorphous arch of green, growing plants. The air wafting from that retreat

smelled wet, and rich, and stran ge. It was mainday bright out now, and the

plants, glistenin g with wet from the rain, beckoned. The beams of light

coming through the shifting, fluffy shapes above carried a warmth where

they struck human flesh. He closed his eyes, basking in that heat. What

spectrum was that light?

Tau Ceti’s?

Or Sol’s?

How much difference was

there between them?

He should know. Part of his training was in the energy given off by stars,

and part of prep before jump was analyzing the star at the center of the well. He’d ridden the boards into the wild angry creature that was Tau Ceti. That

was the problem: he knew Tau Ceti, but he didn’ t know Sol. No FTL

Navigator knew Sol like that...

unless Fallan and Ashlan were , even now,

diving into a Tau Ceti-type angry well, one filled with millions of smaller

objects spinning around that other brilliant sun—

Jen’s elbow jabbed him in the ribs. “W ake up, spacer -boy!”

“And now, my friends, welcome to the Tropics,” Andy said, and stepped

aside at last, taking the chain with him. Ross headed straight toward that brown pebbly path and its inviting

shadows, but Jen caught his arm, pulled him back to a pedestal tucked in

among the shrubbery at the branching of the paths. There was a plaque that

read “In loving memory. Anna Konstantin. Mother of the Garde n.” And one

of those holos hovered above, image of a pleasant-looking, elderly woman. “Who’ s she?” Maire asked their guide. “Anna Konstantin, grandmother of our current stationmaste r. Anna

maintained a bonsai museum, open to the public, which is still going strong,

for the best of her collection. But this garden, a loving dedication to

humanity’ s birthplace, was her dream. It wasn’ t until we added the docking

ring that it became a possibility. Sadly , she didn’ t live to see it, but she’s

buried here.”

“Buried?” Ross took a step back. That was just...

creepy. “Well, her ashes. Quite a lovely tribute, actually. The whole story is

available in the gift shop.”

Siobhan asked, breaking an awkward silence, “So why isn’t it called

Anna’ s Garden?

Seems only fair.”

And better than walking on her , Ross thought with a suppressed shudder. Andy said, “I don’t really know.” He checked his electronic “cheat

sheet” and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Branding,” Nolan said. “Name recognition. Marketing. Just images of

this place would be a trade gold mine. They want those goods linked to Pell,

not some unknown individual.”

“So why hadn’ t we ever heard of this place?” Ian asked, and with a wink

at Jen: “Until Jen brought it up, of course.”

“I suspect the prices in the gift store will answer that one,” Siobhan said,

a little sadly. “Well, fellow merchanters,” Jen grabbed Ross’ s arm and pulled him

back over to the brown path, “We don’t need no stinkin’ pictures !

We’ve got

the real thing, and my spacer -lad and I are of f. We’ve got trees to find!”

The others spread out, leaving that rather disturbing pedestal behind, and

awed exclamations filled the air. Ross pressed Jen’s hand to his side, and

she glanced up at him. “Thanks for breaking that up,” he said softly , and she answered in the

same tone:

“Heck. We’ve got our own Cargo. Let them get started, and they’ll go on

for hours.”

“I meant—”

She cut him off with a boot of her hip. “I know what you meant,

Galway , and with any luck, your First Stars will soon be flooded with

goodies from Pell. That’ s the whole point, isn’ t it?”

Of the alliance of merchanters, she meant. Of independence from Sol

economy. “Yeah,” he said, with an emphatic nod. “Y eah, it is.”

A bend in the path isolated them from that plaque, and he relaxed, letting

that deep green blanket that seemed to go on forever , draping itself over

rock and gravel, become his momentary reality. That blanket was a

substrate for taller plants, many of which even bloomed, in colors no living

thing should be. He was surroun ded by things you didn’ t see except in vids,

and you would never ordinarily believe, since computers could make up

anything. He stopp ed short. His thoughts flashed queasily on monkey holos, and

suddenly he had an almost overwhelming desire to touch all that green, to

make sure his hand didn’ t just pass right through them. “Problem?” Jen asked, looking at him with concerned eyes. “Tell me they’re real. Tell me they’re not just more holos.”

She relaxed and grinned. “They’re real, spacer -lad. There are a bunch

you can touch up ahead.”

“There’d better be. I dunno, Jen, between monkeys and that

game...

it’ s a wonder anyone on Pell knows the dif ference.”

“Trust me. This is all real. I mean, just imagine the lawsuits if it turned

out not?”

“Good point. So...

what did Andy mean, tropics?”

“He explained all that.”

“Must have missed it.”

She chuckled and let her hand slide into his, swung it gently as they

began to move again. As they wandered past large flowering shrubs, she

explained about zoning, about the need for a tropical wet area, a dry, desert

section, and a section for plants that needed distinct seasons, all to

accommodate plants that origin ated on the same planet. Hard to imagine a

place where so many environments coexisted, where land masses were so

large, these living things could spread kilometer after kilometer , where

these paths that rose a few steps might be mountains. Hard to imagine a

place where temperature wasn’t regulated by machin es, where

dehumidifiers didn’ t pump 24/7 to pull out every bit of excess moisture for

recycling. Beyond the flowering shrubs, the ground rose, terraces of rocks, which

were, according to Jen, fake, but looked real enough to him, and earthen

mounds (real) where more plants grew. Beyond that wall of rocks and

plants, of live water cascading in silver ribbons down through the crevasses

to disappear into the green below—was the corridor they’d walked to get

here, or so comm on sense insisted. Jen poked him and said Quit thinking so

hard, but that was easier said than done, especially for someone whose life

was figuring where a ship was relative to everything else in the universe. But as the path meandered among rock and plants, conscious ness of the

wall, or the station, or the size of things faded. Clever use of lighting and

other visual tricks made it seem like that vista just went on and on. Smells

came and went. And it all made him more than a little uneasy. He stopped at the top of

the next mound, where plants reached out and laced together overhead,

obscuring the artificial, disturbi ngly endless sky with something that was

real. Real, but...

wrong. He stared back the way they’d come, where paths meandered aimlessly

among mounds of things that...

made no sense. “Ross?”

He lifted his hand to stop her, trying to figure out why his skin crawled

and why every shadow seemed to hold secrets. The breeze didn’ t reach

here, and yet the air moved. Where there should be nothing but the constant

thrums and thumps of a working station. A part of him responded to those

sights and sounds...

genetic memory , he’d heard someone say, back before

they’d split up...

but natural or not, his skin still crawled. As he stood quietly , there were buzzing noises, and the air itself was

filled with motes that, rather than drift aimlessly like dust, moved with

seeming purpose from flower to flower. He swept his hand through the

motes and like the lights in their Pagoda room, they scattered, disappearing

into the shadows. The buzzing stopped. “Bugs,” Jen said softly , and he turned back to find her standing with one

hand palm up and nestled in it, what looked for all the world like a butterfly. The lights playe d across her skin, as the motes returned and danced around

her, and he reached slowly into his pocket for his handheld, hoping, hoping

to catch her before she moved. He had a lot of pictures of her in his

archives, but this was...

special. Her eye flicked toward him, then back to

her butterfly , and she waited until he’d snapped the picture. He checked it,

and it was pretty good. He was getting better. But then, he hadn ’t had much

practice. He’d never had much interest in taking photos...

before Jen. “More holos?” he asked, as he started to put the handheld back , but she

caught his wrist to stop him and when she reached out and put the butterfly

on his hand, he actually felt it. He jerked and it flitted of f. “They’re bots,” she said. “They’re partly for show , but they pollinate the

plants and do other things, like clearing out dead leaves.”

“What?

Like duct cleaner bots?”

She grinned, and he caught that look, too, just before she stuck her

tongue out. “Something like.”

“O...

k...”

Bugs. Pollinating. Plant sex. All around them. He drew a breath. “Experience the magic?”

“Something like.”

Ross kept the camera out, tried hard to get some shots, to remember

everything—not the names of plants, or what part of Earth they came from,

but what it smelled like, felt like. He tried to remember , not just for himself,

but for absent Monahans who couldn’ t be here. An obligation that made it

really hard to simply relax and...

experience the magic. And despite Jen’s assurance, a part of him continued to want to reach

out, to confirm that reality. Just as the urge became nearly insurmountable

—their path crossed another , where they discovered Connor and Aidan,

Cargo 1.2 , stopped at a little pedestal of plants in pots, with the sign Yes, it’s

real. Safe to touch. Do not take the leaves. Preserved specimens are

available in the Gift Shop. They touched—Ross defied anyone to resist that temptation, and as they

exclaimed over the sometimes velvety , sometimes prickly textures, their

guide overtook them, with Nolan and Netha, who stopped for their own

touch. They moved on as a group, taking a left-hand path, which

disappeared behind them as it meandered among the plants. Huge numbers

of them. Of different kinds. Hydroponics he was familiar with. Potted

plants. These were just all over each other. Crowding each other for space. Resources wars. Trying to crawl across

the walkways. “Does it bother you?” he heard Nolan ask, in a low voice, and Netha:

“The paths?” And at Nolan’ s assent: “They curve all over the place. No

rhyme nor reason. It’ s not natural.”

And suddenly Ross realized the source of his own underlying

queasiness. Corridors were straight, or they curved with the radius of the

station. Walls met at right angles. This eerie meandering, like that limitless

sky, just...

wasn’ t right someh ow. He supposed in those light-years-away

lands on Earth, paths did this, following natural contours, detou ring around

growing things and free-running water...

paths created by his ancestors

between points of interest, ancestors for whom this was...

natural. God. He couldn’ t imagine. Something heavy landed on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his

skin. Patrick’ s rich laughter identified the hand. “Experience of a lifetime. —Y ou, cousin, owe this young lady.”

“And you owe me a pacemaker.”

Laughter rang as others of their party joined them, pathways converging. Patrick triggered the labels and this time Ross paused to read them. Common name, scientific designation, initial propagation method—seed,

cutting, bonsai—and, curiously , “donated by.” Some were just names, but

others...

the vast majority of those visible...

“Those are merchanter names,” he said, and their guide nodded. “Absolutely. I assumed, being merchanters yourselves, that you knew. All of these plants, in one way or another , came from the old pusher ships.”

“Pusher ships?” Netha looked skeptical. Bonsai were popular on

stations. There were a few in shops along Alpha’ s Strip, not for sale, just as

part of a display , some plastic. The fancy ones were mostly a stationer side

thing, in areas and establishments where spacers didn’ t go. “When Jen first brought up the Garden, I remember Fallan mentioning

something abou t bonsai on the old pusher ships,” Ross said. And for the

sake of their guide. “One of our crew. Kind of a big thing, accor ding to him. All the ships had them. Don’ t know why we don’ t.”

“I think I can answer that,” Andy said. “They can’t survive FTL. The

first FTL converts discovered the hard way that FTL doesn’ t play nicely

with plants, particularly woody bonsai. In jump, they just failed. The older

they were, the more vulnerable they were to what we now call jump-rot. And no one knew why. Still don’t, though the garden’ s botanists have been

working on the problem for years. Fortunately , while Gaia was here, her

last call as a pusher , for reasons her crew never really explained, she

offloaded a number of specime ns—sold a few to private citizens, others

they donated outright to Anna Konstantin for her collection. When word got

out about the FTL effects, pushers began donating their best specimens

before going in for conversion, until Anna had far more than the museum

could hold. Then the ring-dock expansion came, and, well, this is the

result.”

“So...

what?” Connor Dhu asked. “You just took these bonsai, stuck

them in medium and they grew big?”

“Pretty much,” Andy said. “They aren’ t changed genetically. Simply

kept small mechanically , so-to-speak.”

“How old are these?”

“Many are well over a century old, but their unfettered growt h, if you

will, is at most seventeen years, which is when the docking ring went

operational. The flowering shrubs tend to be a bit more resilient, so they

went into the Garden first. The trees took a little more time in the back

rooms before they could be safely moved out here. Most of them have been

free-growing ten years or less.”

“Speaking of trees...” Jen’s hold on his arm pulled Ross into motion,

and their guide, with a glance at his watch, winced. “Is there a time limit?” Ross asked. “Not as such,” Andy replied, as they began to walk again, “but there’ s

another group coming in soon. I’ve asked staff to encourage them to take

the right hand path.”

“Wow,” Aidan said, a little breathlessly , and stopped short. “Look up.”

Overhead, against the translucen t blue light “sky”, the lumpish edges of

the “clouds” were accented now with orange and pink. “Ah—” Andy said. “Sunset.”

In deference to his stomach, Ross had avoided looking up, but slowly

deepening color , an amazing array of shades as the shadow-side went to

deepest purple...

made it impossible to look away. Jen’s head pressed

against his shoulder. He glanced down at her and beyond her upward gaze

and dark hair...

He squeezed her arm, and when she met his eyes, he nodded to the

flowers around them, flowers that seemed to glow with some color just at

the edge of the sensitivity of his eyes. Jen exclaimed aloud and called the

others’ attention to the curious phenomenon. “Interesting,” their guide said, in an approving—and somewhat

surprised—tone. “Not everyone can even see it. We have yet to determine if

it’s simp ly an idiosyncracy of the sunlight simulation or denotes some

physical reaction of the plants. We began the sunsets as pure entertainment

for the visitors, an attempt to recreate to the best of our ability an idyllic

evening on Earth itself, but we soon noticed the plants were thriving under

the change. Our botanists are still trying to determine exactly what effect

these environmental factors have on the plants. Moonlight is another

example.”

“Moonlight?” Jen asked. “Earth’ s Moon, simulation of course, will be rising shortly ,” Andy said. “The garden is open around the clock, but the day-night cycle is critical for

the plants’ respiration, so we added the moonlight for safety as well as

ambiance. Again, certain plants responded positively—for whatever reason,

and so now moonlight is a regul ar part of the schedule, whether visitors are

here or not.”

Silence surroun ded them as the colors dimmed, and they walked on. Light diminishe d. The “clouds” parted and in the empty space, points of

light winked into being: the night sky as it would appear at Earth’ s

equator...

or so Andy said, and friendly arguments arose over which of

those points of lights was the home of what station. Finally Andy held up

his chit and tapped the button in a complex pattern...

and a handful of

stars gleamed brighter and holo-signs proclaimed their names and

associated statio ns, another tap and other lights and holo signs gleamed,

ancient constellations they knew only through historical reference—gods in

the sky. Which was all well and good, but they were hardly here to see fake

stars, and at the moment, the trees they’d come to see seemed farther away

than ever, dark as it was gettin g. Then behind them, another light source

grew , casting shadows and flooding the air with a dim, bluish light. The

promised moon. “Big,” someone said in the dark. And, “Hell of a navigational hazard.”

That was Ian, Helm, which made everyone laugh, and broke the spell. It was, in its way, more pleasant than the glaring yellow of the virtual

sunlight, and in the areas where the shadows still reigned, a soft blue light

illuminated the path and touche d the undersides of the plants. Three taps,

Andy said, would temporarily bring the local ambient lights up brighter ,

and show the true colors. The path led them to a section of familiar plants. They were, according to Andy , plants impervious to the dreaded jump-rot. Spider Plant spilled down a rocky face, and a massive Ostrich Fern sat at

the base of it, all moving, wind-blown, ingeniously spotlighted. Lettuce and

rosemary , ferns, cucumbers and peppers: such plants were familiar , yes, but

never had they seen them in this vast, overwhelming size and quantity. Still...

“Trees?” he whispered, and Jen’s hand closed on his, gave it a squeeze

as they entered a tunnel of sorts , some plant that rose on a twisted, woody

network and closed overhead. Flowers and leafy tendrils, eerie in the

ambient blue light, brushed their heads. The wind increased here. A rustling

sound rose in the distance. It had texture, and moved about and over them

with a sound powerful and alive. Unlike the core draft, it didn’t howl or

shriek. It whispered in a thousand voices at once. “Wind in the leaves,” Patrick murmured, and Siobhan laughed

nervously. Ross felt it too: something...

familiar. Something at once

wondrous and unnerving. Just his mind making connections, a part of him

insisted. Another part laughed at his determinedly rationa l self. His

ancestors had known these sounds, had read them, felt them, as surely as he

had felt that monster star. Instincts as ancient as humanity. Spooks in the

dark. Which rationalization didn’ t stop him from being relieved when

someone tapped the button and the lights rose on the pathway. Another turn,

and moonlight lay ahead. They exited the tunnel. And there began at last to be trees. Ross stopped short, looked straight at Jen. “I thought you said they were

about your height.”

She grinned. “W asn’t sure you’d believe the truth.”

Holo signs flash ed in every direction. Palm trees, thick as a man’ s arm,

with, curiously , orchids—which Ross did recognize—growing right on their

trunks. Crabapp le, one sign read, of a tree with a network of contorted

branches spread ing from its trunk. A holo next to the sign showed a

miniature version, covered in tiny pink flowers, and another covered this

time with red berries. The sign read: Evolutionary response to seasonal temperatur e variation

influences this tree’s method of propagation. Details available in the

museum at the end of the tour. “Seasons?” someone asked, sparking a debate over the word, until they

reached a group of “willows”, the tallest trees they’d yet seen. Monsters

towering over their heads, with long, thin branches that hung nearly to the

ground, moving green curtains that swept violently sideways in a sudden

gust of wind, startling everyone into silence. Another gust; another rustling

ripple. “That was no chance breeze. They set that up on purpose,” Connor said,

and moved near the edge, craning his head to find the source of that gust. Andy frowned and reached for him, but Patrick grabbed Conno r’s arm and

pulled him back from that barrier. “These were some of the first trees planted here,” Andy explained,

relaxing. “They were mature bonsai when they were planted and they’re

nearing the end of their life cycle; some have already gone. Sadly, we failed

to allow them enough space. We have seedlings started in the nursery to

replace them. Those will be at least twice as tall when their cycle comes to

an end, having spent their entire life free-growing.”

Twice as tall. Maybe as much as much as ten meters. That...

was

impressive. “What happens to the dead trees?” Ian asked. “That’ s a lot of biomass.”

“There’ s a waiting list for segments of the trunks. Artists eager to try

some of the old woodworking techniques like carving and turning. We’ve

had no few disasters in the trial and error of getting the Garden to this state,

and the word has gotten out. You’ll find some beautiful items for sale in the

gift shop. Rest assured, nothing goes to waste. Everything not sellable is

recycled into the garden soil.”

“Do you sell the raw pieces?” Nolan, Cargo 1.1 , asked, in a tone

designed to imply innocent curiosity , which didn’ t for a mom ent fool his

cousins. The gift shop items were certain to be out of reach for profit, but,

like the scraps for Winslow , these raw pieces, on Alpha, could be a windfall. “Yes and no. We sell a piece along with the right to use our shop in the

back. Nothing leaves this section that isn’t processed and sealed. The risk of

contamination is too great.”

Well, that was one way to corner the market. “Contamination?” Maire asked. “Pell lies above a living world with a very different, but not different

enough, biology. Wood is a living thing, and could harbor unseen things that

could work their way to Downbelow , creating unknown havoc.”

“What...

things?” Patrick asked. “What kind of havoc?”

Andy’ s face went a little hard. “Frankly , we’ve no desire to find out.”

“Sorry ,” Patrick said. “No of fense intended.”

Andy relaxed. “Sorry. It’s a bit of a touchy topic, even for those who

have grown up on Pell. We’ve had several locals who wanted to buy stock

for their own personal garden, and even a few representatives of other

stations who want create their own public gardens. Some have gotten

quite...

insiste nt. We’ve been forced to take an extremely hard line on the

topic. All our stock dates back to the pusher -age, one way and another ,

obviously , and more than plants made their way out from Earth. Moss,

grasses, even microbes, many of which seem to have a beneficial, symbiotic

relationship with the plant itself, permeated every plant. Before Pell was

established, when there was no worry that they could ever contaminate a

living world, ships and stations traded specimens about, with very few

records kept of any sort, and no concerns about the plants’ microscopic

passengers. Now adays, orbiting the living world of Downbelow as we do,

we are extremely careful. All donations are closely inspected, and any

suspicious speci mens are refused entry. Those accepted have their DNA

recorded and spend at least a year in isolation before being put into the

garden. Importa ntly, all traffic up from and down to the planet is

meticulously decontaminated so that no fungi and no plant or bacterial

matter can cross that line—for our own safety , as well as the planet itself.”

“Death from Downbelow ,” Patrick intoned ominously , to counter the

darkening mood, and everyone laughed obligingly , but in this setting, with

plants marked “poisonous”, the popular horror vid trope gained a bit more

cred. “I assur e you,” Andy said with a chuckle, “nothing gets past our

safeguards. Noth ing ever has and we don’t intend to break our streak. On

the other hand, here in the Garden, we’re trying to get as balanced an

ecosystem as possible, and that increases the risk of contamination

exponentially. Hence the sealed section, and the decontamination going in

and out.”

None of which should stop them from selling the raw wood and

shipping it in sealed, decontaminated containers, if they were so inclined. No, this was ex-clu-sivity. An enterprise aimed directly at what Ross was

beginning to realize was a luxury market virtually unrecognizable to the

First Stars’ trade. People who used bottles of Scotch as thank you gifts. On the other hand...

should the route to Sol prove out...

Sol had

trees. Lots and lots of trees. And seeds might not get jump-r ot, or carry

contaminants. And talk about a massive profit to mass ratio...

He took a mental note. “If there are no records,” Aidan interjected, “how do you even know

what they are?”

“Classification of some of the plants is tricky ,” Andy said, seemingly

pleased at their interest. “We have some reference materials, and we

requested, decad es ago via the EC stream, a current reference for all Earth

botanicals, complete with DNA sequencing, on which, sadly , we are still

waiting. While the willow there is fairly obviously a willow , the moss

around its base is somewhat a puzzle. It accompanied the oldest of the

willows, which came to us from Viking, where it was grown from a cutting

imported from Venture, and before that, Glory. Glory is...

well, of course

you know Glory , being merchanters. Anyway , the original came from Earth

on the pusher -ship Gloriana. ”

Ancient history. Glory was part of Galway ’s route, and while it was

unlikely the guide had any idea who or what they were, beyond guests of

Finity crew , those billowing trees were, suddenly , an eerie touch of home. Living proof of how interconn ected they all were, stations and ships. Crazy how Finity and Senior Captain’ s alliance had colored his thinking. “Ready to move?” the guide asked. “We’re climbing again, and there

will be naturalized terrain, so watch your step.”

The path led upward by steps and incline, large flat rocks surrou nded by

finely ground-up stone. There was a hand rail, and Ross was not the only

one to make use of it. It had begun to be an effort—far more walking than a

spacer was used to and the twists and turns, the uneven ground worked

small muscles he didn’ t know he had. His toes hurt, for God’ s sake. As they went up, the ambient air became dryer. Warmer. There were

cacti, which were popular on stations, but really large ones; another zone,

their guide said, this one of plants that stored water , and that could suffer

from too much of it. Not partic ularly interesting, but not a bad backdrop

for...

other subjects. Ross made use of his camera, even catching some of

his cousins, who, realizing they were being immortalized, hammed it up

rather embarrassingly. Not that Andy seemed to notice, and Jen and the

other Finitys proved as bad. As the winding steps led downw ard again, quite steeply , he pock eted the

camera, ignorin g the protests, to steady himself with the handrail. Thankfully , the path soon leveled out to soft terrain, greater humidity , and

more trees—apple trees, the sign said, two with fruit in progress, tiny

globes that were, indeed, “apple-green” in color. They were not as

impressive as the willows, but they might be younger , Ross thought. Apple

was edible. They got it in synth, the flavor anyway; it was fairly popular ,

and combined with a lot of things. And next to the apples was an orange

tree, laden with tiny round globes. Oranges. Real oranges. “But they’re so tiny!” Siobhan said, “and green!” and Andy assured her

the fruits were far from ready to harvest, that the orange color was the final

indicator that a fruit was ripe. A basket atop one of the touching pedestals

held samples of the full-sized fruits, irradiated and preserved for

appearance. Fruits which practically glowed in the moonlight. Andy assured

them the texture s and colors and even smells were perfect...

and there

were samples available in the gift shop. And with a push of a button, more holos appeared, again with the

seasonal changes in the trees. Interesting, but...

not real. He wondered

what it looked like when all those branches were covered in tiny flowers, or

heavy with “ripe” fruit. “Someday ,” Jen murmured, and as if she’d read his mind: “I want to see

it in bloom. I think that would be...

really special.”

He squeezed her hand. “Send me a picture?”

She stopped and looked up at him, her brow twisted with a sudden sad

thought. Realiza tion, he was sure, that sharing the real thing was never

likely to happen. “It’s okay , Jen,” he said, very softly. “We’ve got this.”

Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight, before her mouth stretched into

her just-between-them grin. “W e sure do, spacer -lad.”

They hurried to catch the others, who had disappeared into a growth of

tall, deep green trees with strange leaves, if “leaves” was the right word for

the shiny fronds. The trees grew close and thick, and towered above them,

so for the first time they were surrounded by trees on both sides. Red cedars, the holo sign proclaimed. “You may touch this one, if you like,” their guide said, of a tree closer

than the others. Those shiny fronds were—Ross discovered, running his fingers

hesitantly through them—surprisingly soft. Delicate. Almost lacy. And the

covering on the trunk, bark, the sign called it, was hard. Human hands had

worn it smooth and shiny and strange, but above and below easy reach, it

was rough and stringy. Ross, taller than average, could just reach it with his

fingertips. A tiny bit of bark came back with his hand, and Andy let them all

examine it before taking it into custody. “It’s like armor ,” Maire said, leaning her hand against the tree, then

rapping it with her knuckles. “Very much so,” Andy said. “The bark protects the living cells that

transport nutrients from the roots to the leaves. The cedars are prolific—

they seem to like to be crowded—and we have to thin them as they grow. Fortunately , they are a very versatile plant. The local artists buy the culls

and, using our safe rooms, make a wide variety of objects, even weaving

the bark into baskets and clothing, which are—”

“Available in the gift shop,” Patrick finished for him, and they all

laughed, even Andy. They were all merchanters, in their different ways, and

damned if merchanters couldn’ t appreciate a good pitch. They moved deeper into the trees and the wind, which had subsided a

while, gusted. Water droplets came down on them, and the foliage sighed

softly. Again there was that visceral response, something both threatening

and right about the envelopmen t of sound, atmosphere and smell, as if this

was a place both remembered and surreal. Ross felt Jen’s hand brush his

arm, felt and heard cousins all around him, and still felt alone and, if he

were honest, a little scared—as if this place was sinking into his mind, and

saying son....

It was not a feeling he could describe to anyone who hadn’ t been here,

and he shied away from asking the others, chatting easily all around him, if

they felt it. He didn’ t belong to this place, didn’ t want to belong. It was

beautiful. Spectacular. Fascinating...

but as far from his existence as the

void of space. Farther. Space was always just a bulkhead away. Yet for

some reason, his mind turned to that moment he’d stepped outside Galway

into the void of space, into the greatest dark there was....

That memory met this, another vastness he couldn’ t express, only feel,

and he wished aunt Peg, more a mother to him than his birth mother , were

here to...

ground him. He wished Fallan were. And Niall. And all of his

Galway family. That was where he belonged; not some...

virtual Earth. No matter the plants were real. A part of him wanted to leave right now and

go somewhere filled with noise and station smells, he wanted a beer and to

get drunk enough to ask his cousins if they were as confused about this

experience as he was. Jen picked that moment to ask him if he was enjoying

it, and he couldn’ t find an answ er. It wasn’ t enjoying. It was scarier than

that. It was like that plunge through black, aiming for a pinprick of a hole

on Finity’ s hull, for life, and safety. For familiar. It was breathing air that could have been inside the bubble of Galway ’s

hydroponics, but was foreign, and scented, and far , far richer. It was too-soft

light shining through layers of branches and foliage, plenty to see by, but

filtered, and changed, like no light he’d ever known. They moved on, past spiky pine, and trees with trunks so thick, he

wasn’ t sure Jen could reach around them, living things—but that big. “Ponderosa Pine,” their guide said, “a North American species. These

are our five oldest. They came in with the original Pell core, aboard the

pusher Valiant. The original owner had some notion of planting them on

Downbelow , but the terraforming notion died an early and well-deserved

death. The donor was Alberta Theiss. Impressive, yes?

But come ahead...”

They were being rushed, now, no question, just when they’d gotten to

the trees he’d come to see. But he wasn’ t sure he resented that fact. He was

getting tired. Overwhelmed. He wanted to see it all, but—

The path took a deeper turn and the moonlight became markedly less. As

the pathlights came up, they revealed vapor obscuring the tops of the trees. Droplets condensed and fell, and it was more than a little chill. “Is it going to rain again?” Dot Neihart wondered. “Mist,” their guide said, as the path turned through a close screen of,

according to the signs, Hinoki Cypr ess. Shorter than the cedars or the pines,

they had twisted limbs and fan-shaped leaves. Twisted and a little

confused...

rather like he felt, dropping out of warp space. He liked them. Really liked them. “Mist is frequent here,” Andy was saying, “especially in early evening. It’s good for all the evergreens, but we’re also entering a very special

environment, for a very special new addition to the garden.”

And with that, they descended again into a clear space, a really wide

clear space. Three very different trees stood in that open area, alone,

widely-spaced. Taller than the surrounding Hinoki, with wide branches,

ending in fronds, like the cedars , but not. “Prize of the garden,” their guide

said. He liked the Hinoki better. Seemed like a whole lot of empty for just

three trees. “What are they?” Maire asked. “These are infant Dawn Redwoods,” Andy said, with more animation

than he’d yet displayed. “The sole living species of the genus Metasequoia,

and the most ancient tree species still in existence. In their long lifespans—

human civilizations rise and fall. Their origin predates humankind—all the

way back to the Jurassic. Their ancestors knew the dinosaurs.”

Babies that towered over his Hinoki. And dinosaurs. The mind boggled. “They grow very rapidly ,” Andy continued. “The young ones grow

upward, in favorable condition s, more than a meter a year. Their initial

growth spurt has slowed in the last year or so, but these trees were a meter

tall, even as bonsai, when we received them, and they will challenge the

overhead of the garden long before they reach their full growth. At that

time, sadly , we’ll have to replace them with their own seedlings. We’re

excited to have them because of their antiquity. In fact, they were long

thought extinct, existing only in the fossil record, until a last stand was

discovered deep in the Asian continent of Earth. According to our records,

they were popul ar bonsai choices on Earth, but for some reason we hadn’ t

been able to find any samples, though they’ve been at the top of the Anna

Konstantin museum’ s published wish list since long before work began on

the garden.”

As he spoke, a subtle shift of the trees happened. A ghostly holo-image

shimmered and grew. Up and up. They all stepped back to give the branches

room, for all those branches had no real substance. And as that virtual Dawn

Redwood reached for the virtual sky, it gained more and more substance

and shimmered in the virtual moonlight. A not-so -virtual shiver rippled down Ross’ s spine. It was just a bit too

much theatrics for him, but many of the others exclaimed in wonder. Jen’s

hold on his hand tightened and he glanced down. She raised a brow; he

shrugged; and she winked and turned back to the virtual damn tree. He was

less and less enamored of these holos. It was yet one more assault on that

grip on reality that was the foundation of Nav. He wished their guide would turn it off. The real trees were wonderful

enough. “When these came in, we had a bit of a scramble to accommodate

them,” Andy continued. “We had to clear this area of several established

trees and make preparations, belowground, to hold these future giants

steady , and to supply their roots with water and nutrient apart from what the

environment already provides. These will be, though you and I will not see

it, spectacular.”

“Speak for yourself, stationer ,” Jen said, in a whisper only Ross could

hear. “Promise me, spacer -lad, that you’ll get your tail back here for that, at

the very least.”

He just squeezed her hand. “Quite the coup for whoever found them,” Ian said, and the holo sign

flashed, but it lacked donor information. “So who did provide them?” Nolan asked. “What ship?

Where’d they

come from?

When?”

“The provider wished to be anonymous, for reasons beyond my pay

grade,” Andy said, with a disarming grin. Anonymous, Ross thought, looking up, and up, and for some reason that

excuse sounded hollow. For a specimen that had been on Pell’s “wish list”

for decades?

What ship wouldn’ t want that kind of PR?

What local citizen?

He glanced at Nolan, their cargo master , and caught a flash of dark

suspicion before Nolan caught him looking, and the expression vanished. “As I mentioned, most of our specimens were donated , but some were

traded for, or outright purchas ed. And some providers, especially where

credit is involve d, choose to remain anonymous. It doesn’ t make us any less

grateful.”

“You said,” Nolan spoke up, “that they were a meter high when they

arrived. That they grow , what, a meter a year?”

Andy nodded. “They were designated as bonsai, but their entire trunk

was still flexible, indicating they were little more than seedlings , and there’ s

no obvious signs of growth stunting. Since we got them, they’ve been very

carefully nurture d, first in the quarantine nursery , and then here. We closed

this section to protect them until they were well established, and are thrilled

to be able to open it to the public at last.”

A meter a year. Nolan was tracking something interes ting. This time

Ross caught Nolan’s eye and saw the same calculation going on. Andy had

not answered the “when,” but these were at least ten years old. “Their lifespan is still a mystery. Some of the first trees planted since the

original grove was discovered on Earth are, we understand, still living.”

Andy’ s enthusia sm for the garde n’s newest treat was on a roll, and while he

went on about osmosis and its associated height limits, and the trees’ unique

system for getting water above that limit, Ross was thinking...

these were

odd in far more than their water -handling. They’d arrived a meter tall. Maybe they’d come to Pell as seed in someone’ s pocket, but why not just

donate the seeds?

What about all those rules about plants grown outside this

protected area?

Except—major point—they hadn’ t been donated. They’d been

purchase d. Proof of produ ct would add much to the asking price, whic h

might not be worth risking the wrath of the local inspectors, but might well

be worth the risk of starting seeds elsewhere and bringing them in. There’d

be that risk of jump-rot, but who knew how many started that trip...

from

wherever they had been potted?

What were the odds for surviving jump?

How many would have been

started?

How much room had someone some wher e needed for that tree

nursery?

But the trees were young when they arrived. Why did it take

decades for them to make their way here?

Especially if Pell was willing to

pay for them?

It didn’ t make sense, what the guide had said. It really didn’ t

make sense. Station trade boards had a rhythm. Things came from places that made

them at a certain rate and ships arrived and left in patterns that became

ingrained in a spacer ’s gut. And there were things about those three trees

that just didn’ t fit in with those rhythms, didn’ t make real sense, and even as

Andy called to them, and he and Jen hurried to catch up with the others, he

kept turning the thoughts over and over, still coming up with unreasonable

ideas. They were nearing the end, so Andy said, with a hint of regret in his

voice, but Ross smothered a sigh of relief. The Garden had been all Jen

promised and more, but at the moment all he wanted was to sit down with

his cousins and get their help in sorting out all those crazy thoughts he’d

begun having, thanks to the Garden. He kept turning the puzzle of that Redwood over in his mind as the path

sloped down to visit more trees beyond, less exotic, a ginko, also given, the

guide said, to be a prehistoric species, but not rare. There was a banyan, off

in an isolated area, a monster in the moonlight, shrouded in curtains of its

own roots and looking like some bizarre alien lifeform brought up from

Downbelow. Their guide was talking again, and Ross concentrated on the words,

trying to ignore the questions spinning in his head. “The way the redwood grows up,” Andy said, “the banyan spreads out,

which is why we give it so much room. It is of all the trees one of the

oddest—an epiphyte, which is to say, it attaches to another tree and

overgrows it. We sacrificed a willow to this one, well before the garden

opened. Fifteen years ago, and the willow is gone.”

Interesting. Yes, indeed. One tree eating another. Damned weird. God, he wanted to sit down. They were moving again. Ther e came the thump of an airlock, which

one hoped was ordinary. “The main gate,” their guide explained. “We’re nearing the end of our

tour. It’s been a pleasure. This whole sector of the station is devoted to the

Garden, and if you’re interested in a behind-the-scenes look, we have

another tour you can take of new areas under development, not yet open to

the public. If you care to see the design process and the labs, that is still

another , separate tour.”

Beyond the ginko and the banyan, they met stands of bamboo, small and

large, species they all knew from vids. The plants were very fast growing,

and were, accord ing to Andy , routinely harvested...

the source of many of

those fabric scraps they were taking back for Winslow. Bamboo fiber, their

guide said, had proven so lucrative, it was being set up in an orbiting

facility along with the fish and algae tanks that were essential to every

station, and was also being established at Viking and Mariner and Cyteen. No one brought up the obvious question: why bamboo and nothing else?

He had to wond er if it was licensed...

and if Pell got a cut from those

facilities. There was, yes, clothing made of it. Available in the gift shop, yes,

which was next on the route. Thank God. Ross’ s legs burned. He had never walked so far or so long in his life. Treadmills didn’ t compare with the uneven surfaces and the standing and

walking they had just done—not to mention Jen’s shopping venture. He was

ready to sit, definitely ready for a beer—and more than ready to discuss

those trees that made no sense. Nolan had been tracking something; he was certain of it. Jen tipped their guide, evidently generously , by the man’ s reaction, and

they all filed into decon, and from there, at last, into the gift shop, which

smelled of flowers and tea. No way he’d get his sitdown without a tour of

the shop, and they did owe the cousi ns souvenirs, if they could find

anything they could afford, so he followed the others through the crowded

aisles: popular place. There were very small samples of wood which could be bought, but they

were coated in some hard clear substance that masked both scent and

texture. Not even a temptation, to his mind. And there were larger pieces,

the promised boxes and figur es and plaques—also coated and all as

expensive as he’d suspected. There was no possible way resale in the First

Stars would be profitable, thoug h, like the scraps for Winslow , one of those

inlaid boxes could be a communal treat, if added to Winslow’ s display case. There were seeds in vials with sealed packages of soil and small fancy pots. Provide the seeds water and light and it would sprout, the package said. And not a tree seed among them. Oh, Pell had this monopoly thing down

to an art. There were bamboo cups, far more affordable than the other wood

pieces, with a picture of the redwoods laser-etched into them, for whatever

illogical reason. And there were pymglass plates that had real leaves

embedded, green and forever unfading, with the legend The Earth Garden,

Pell Station. A Walk thr ough W onder. Those were flat, and fairly reasonably priced, and if he had to buy one

for every Monahan stranded at Alpha, they were a good deal more compact

than other options. And there were the promised garments made of bamboo fiber—socks,

underwear , and loungewear—ev en sheets. Most far too pricey for any self-

respecting space r to consider , but there was a sample to touch, soft and

smooth. And the socks were fairly reasonable, and extremely compact. Ian called them all over to a display of holo-plates, flat tray-like objects

of various shapes and sizes that projected slideshows of the various plants

featured in the Garden, along with their bonsai predecessors. The largest

was an overview of the entire Garden, with everything from the

rhododendrons to the waterfalls to the towering Dawn Redwood. It could be

set to show the shifting sunset, moonrise...

even the storm. It was, they all

agreed, the perfect souvenir to take home to the Family...

and utterly

beyond consideration, pricewise, although Ross noted Ian pausing to look

back at the display. And Jen, dammit, had been listening with a bit too much interest. “Don’ t even think it,” he said to her in a low tone, and her brows raised. “Not a clue what you’re talking about.” And in a raised voice: “Anyone

else hungry?”

God, yes. There was an attached cafeteria, and chairs, and Ian and Aidan

and Nolan moved off to claim a small table in the corner—helm and cargo:

looking to the future, bet on it; and maybe calculating a few things to tuck

into their bags for resale back on Alpha, to tar geted individuals. Maybe discussing the mystery of those trees. Ross wanted to join them,

but theirs was an obvious retreat from the group. So the rest of them pulled two tables together—there were safety-tracks

here, which was a nice comforting change—and collapsed, laughing at their

own exhaustion, around. The place offered real tea, the sign said, product of

the Garden, for a forbidding price. God, Ross thought, reading it twice. A waiter arrived the moment they were all seated. “Tea all around?” Jen

asked blithely , Finity to the core, and what was there to say?

They all

agreed to tea, that being, appare ntly, the strongest drink to be had, and since

they had just spent the equivalen t of dinner and drinks at Rosie’ s on the tea,

Ross decided that, hell, Fallan did need a bamboo cup with a pictu re of the

redwoods. It had looked durable and had a suction base: a good quality for

anything shipboard. Maybe one for Niall. Though coming back from Earth itself, they should have souvenirs to

beat all. Jen took his hand, there on the tabletop, lacing their fingers together. “Well?

What do you think?”

“It’s special,” he said. “It’s real special.” He drew his mind away from

Galway and back to Pell docks and a fairly special pair of eyes. “Thanks for

setting this up, Jen. Thanks to Finity. From all of us.”

“You didn’ t look happy , just now.”

“No,” he said. “Not unhappy. Just...

thinking.”

She grinned. “Don’ t strain anything.”

“Too late.”

Her brows lifted. “Y ou’re serious. Share?”

“Just...

a puzzle that won’ t leave me alone.” Funny how that puzzle

had driven his disrupted sense of place into some mental recess. But it had

and he’d far rather the trees. “It’s those Redwoods. Where’d they come

from?

Did some Pell stationer grow them from seeds?

I mean, he said they

were a meter high when they arrived. Who’d grow three of those in the

back room?

Who has that kind of space?

And if they came in on a ship,

what about the jump-rot he mentioned?

And if they were willing to buy

them, why didn’ t somebody , whoever had them, sell them sooner?

Just to

get monsters like that out of their way?”

“Been wonderin g the same.” Aidan, with Ian and Nolan close behind,

swung a chair around and straddled it. “Timing’ s a puzzle. A meter high

when they got here, and likely not that old, if they survived jump, and now,

say, ten at most...

which would make it after, what, nine years max?

He

said a meter a year , for young ones. You suppose that’ s right?”

“No reason to lie,” Jen said, and pulled out her handheld , started

punching button s. “As for when , there’ s got to be records, maybe just not

something he’ s at liberty to discuss. Part of the anonymity thing, maybe.”

“Only if it came in on a ship,” Ian said. “Even if grown locally ,” Jen responded, still poking. “You heard him:

they’re crazy careful of any biologicals coming into or out of the station. And legally , according to—” She waved her handheld before poking some

more. “—privately owned plants have to get inspected regularly. He said

they register the DNA of every plant. And they’re right about how tall they

get,” Jen said, holding up her handheld again. “Thirty meters in forty years,

max of fifty meters.”

“I believe how tall they get,” Nolan said. “It’s how tall they are now that

I’m interested in. Andy rather pointedly skirted the question of how long

they’d had them, don’t you think?

He said they’d cleared out established

trees to accommodate them, so it was after the garden went into operation.”

“I remember when it first opened,” Jen said, “the tour was shorter. Some’ s added each time we dock. That whole last section from the fir trees

on, that’s new, this trip. Except the ginkos and the bamboo: the exit’s the

same. But there used to be a wall. Probably letting them grow to impressive

before opening it up. —And don’t assume age when it arrived. They grow

slower in pots.”

“But he said they were flexible,” Ross said. “Little more than seedlings. Wouldn’ t that make them pretty young?”

“Something’ s not right,” Nolan said. “Understand, cargo’s my thing.”

That to Jen. “I know about that wish list. I’ve had feelers out for those very

trees throughout the First Stars since I was a trainee. I guarantee no one’s

harboring a miniature version of them out there, not with Pell-grade credit

being offered. If someone found seeds, I’d know. Damned if I wouldn’ t. Which is not to say they actually came from our side of things. But whoever

found them, however they were donated or sold to the Garden, someone

should have taken them off that wishlist, and I’m here to say, they’re still

there.” He lifted his handheld. “Are we sure these are legitimately this Dawn Redwood and not

something, I don’t know , manip ulated genetically from some other tree, not

some scam Cyteen’ s pulling on them?” Aidan asked, and Jen answered:

“The Garden wouldn’ t risk their reputation like that. It’ s got to be legit.”

“Which means, bottom line, they came from Earth—at some point,”

Aidan said. Heads dipped in agreement. “Transfer of live biologicals at Alpha was banned when Pell was

established, due to fears of contamination...

in both directi ons,” Nolan

said. “Downbelow was a serious gamechanger in so many ways. By what I

know—and I’ve studied trade boards and trends since the first FTL converts

—those particular trees haven’ t been traded anywhere, on any list, even

before they banned any plant that wasn’ t already in trade. So either the

parent tree was already on a Beyond station...

or it’s the result of

contraband trade from Sol. But that means taking one hell of a risk. The

fines would ruin any First Stars ship.”

“Even for seeds?” Jen asked. “And coming from Sol?”

Nolan nodded and began refere ncing notes on his handheld. “That list

has been around for decades. More than enough time to get word out

through the system, even enoug h to arrange a blackmarket trade from Sol

with pusher crew. Those redwoo ds were at the top of the list. People had to

know Pell wanted them badly.”

“Wonder what they ended up paying for them?” Siobhan asked. “Hell of a lot more than they’d pay for seeds, even if whoever had them

could prove what those seeds were for. Not all seeds germinate.”

“I want to know what ship they came in on.” That, from Ian, which

roused a universal:

“Hell, yes.”

“If it were just the trees, I could buy a long lost packet of seeds being

found,” Nolan said. “Somebody could have started a bunch to prove what

they were, and maybe only three made it through jump—but it’s not just the

trees.” He nodded toward Ian and Aidan. “We’ve been talking. There’ s stuff

in the shops, all along the strip, a piece here, another there....

All with the

Sol origin stamp...

And you know what it means to counterfeit that mark. Station will have your hide, let alone the EC.”

God, Ross thought, and Jen asked, with a frown: “How much ‘stuff’ are

we talking about?”

“A fair amount,” Nolan said, “none of which I’ve ever seen on the lists

at Alpha. Class F, according to the signs.” Which was to say, personal items

sold off by ship crews, immune from duty. “Again, that might explain it, if

we were dealing with the odd, single item. But there was that model boat. You saw it, Aidan, in that shop next to the gaming store.”

“Water-going boat,” Aidan said. “And not printed. Built, plank by plank

by some one there in the shop. Real wood, with metal fittings and fabric

sails. Tiny cannons. The display wasn’ t for sale, but the kits were. They had

four of them. Four. Sealed and stored on a shelf above. I didn’ t think to

check the box for a manufactur ing date—no real reason: was way beyond

my price range—but I guaran tee, there’ s been nothing like that come

through from Sol in my lifetime. Where’ d those boats come from?

That’ s

what I want to know. When?

Sol stuff sells. The clerk said he’d just sold

one the day before.” Aidan being second to Nolan, cargo was his field, too. “I have this hobby of scanning the F-class for, you know , ancient pusher

goods. Real good profit, if you can ever lay hands on it. And I never saw

one of those kits, let alone, what, six total?

Minimum?

Never opened?”

“Granted they’re legitimately from Sol,” Nolan said, “it’s possible they

came in a long time ago—befo re our time—that they’ve been in storage

waiting for better times, and somebody on Alpha decided to quit paying

storage locally and to pay freight costs to send them to Pell instead...

But

why didn’ t we hear of it?

If any of us Alpha ships could make that Venture-

Pell hop, Galway could.”

“Just doesn’ t make sense,” Ian said. “Any way you look at it.”

Ross, relieved to have his suspi cions confirmed, and trade not being his

field, just listened, but Jen asked, a little sharply: “What shop?”

“Spinward down the row from us,” Aidan said. “You and Ross were at

lunch. Trader John’ s, it was.”

“Like the trees,” Nolan said, “we should have at least heard about these. Nothing gets here from Earth without going through Alpha. And something

like those boat kits?

Bragging rights alone would warrant a free drink.”

“Did you ask the store where they got them?” Jen persisted. “Won’t reveal their sources.”

Protecting a resource?

Or a ship’s preference for anonymity...

like the

trees?

“They can demand anonymity all they want, there’ll be a record

somewhere,” Jen said, so grimly Ross barely recognized her. This was Jen

Neihart, with the ship’ s Security arm-band on her sleeve, right below that

cold-black-space patch, that undefined, starless black patch that was Finity’ s

End, with all its resources. “Order another tea. Anything you want. I’ll be

making some calls. —Nolan, can I borrow you a minute?”

As Jen and Nolan walked off, Ross frowned, and looked back at other

frowning faces, suddenly aware they were sitting in the café neighboring

the gift shop having this discussion, potentially detrimental to the Garden

itself. They’d been keeping their voices low, but people had come in and sat

down uncomfortably close. “I think I’m going back to get one of those bamboo cups.” Which would

give him a chance to stop wondering what was going on with Jen. He

supposed a ship bypassing the biological ban was something the newly

formed Alliance might want to investigate, but that grim parting look

continued to bother him. “I’ll go, too,” Maire said, and together they ended up with five bamboo

cups, a stack of pymglass plates, and a printable that could create a fairly

endless set of souvenir images of the garden, all to be sent to the Royal. For the crew. For the Monahans who couldn’ t be here. Who were

waiting it out at Alpha, while Galway made the run of her life, and for those

who might be at Earth by now, using their wits and their knowle dge to keep

the EC off their deck, and to tell the Earth Company the route they had to

take—and mayb e take back a few trainees, to give them the skills to make

that run. It was a modest tab. He signed the credit screen, Ross Monahan, Finity’ s End, which was for

credit purchases. That, until he got back to Galway. Section xiii Book II

Jen didn’ t come back. She sent a message that said Stay with the rest. I’ll

see you tonight. That was all. It wasn’ t comforting. Pell Station was a very big, very worrisome place

to have things go flaring of f sideways. “I saw the trees,” Ross said to Fallan, via the handheld—an internal file,

which had him hoping the pictures he’d just fed in didn’ t run the device

short of room. But he wanted to record the day, while it was all fresh. “Today was something, Fal, honestly. It really was. I’m exhausted from

walking, but it was worth it. They don’t let you take pictures in the Garden,

it’s a moneymaker for them, but I bought you a cup made out of a bamboo

stem. With a picture-thing they do sell. The newest display is baby trees the

size of a utility pusher. Hard to wrap your mind around. They say they’ll

grow as high as the overhead, which is way up there—I think they could

almost park Qarib on the Strip, dockside, as they call it. I guess I could get

the exact numbers on it, but I’m lying down right now. Jen’s due in later,

but she’s gone over to the ship on some business, something Aidan and

Nolan saw in a shop. Nolan went with her. Somebody’ s selling a model

boat, labeled Earth Origin. How weird is that?

I mean, if you’re going to

counterfeit some thing as Earth-made, you’d do something like a souvenir or

a patch or something, wouldn ’t you?

I mean, something that’s actually

likely to turn up?

Even as a rarity?

“But whoever could think of a boat?

So that, and the fact some of the

stuff in the Garden that shouldn’ t have been imported might have been,

that’s raised some questions. We don’t know what ship, can’t figure how

these things got to Pell, not being a route any Alpha ship takes, nor anything

Alpha’ s ever seen, for that matter. Hell, I better shut up. I don’t want to say

too much until I get me and this device back aboard.”

Ross lay back into the pillows, staring up at random colors chasing

across the ceiling, wondering when Jen was going to get back, trying hard

not to worry , trying to get all the important stuff in without stepping over

some line he couldn’ t even see. What had made Jen go all serious?

“Pell’ s gotten all of the trees, would you believe it, from bonsai pots—

apparently the plants can take off and grow full size if they get the right

conditions. And Pell provides the conditions, just like being on Earth, close

as they can make it, even to mechanical bugs, some that light up and some

that pollinate the plants. You should see it—hell with that, you will see it,

when Galway gets that overhaul. You’ll see it. And when you do, it’ll be

even more amazing than is it now. They say it’s not all develop ed yet, but,

God, it’s beyond anything Alpha ever imagined. Our legs were aching

before we ever got through the walk, which is a lot of up and down and

sideways. We walked for hours. “But a lot of what the guide said about these trees didn’ t make sense,

even to me. Nolan and Aidan came up with a question as to who got these

three trees here, and when, because of that model boat kit with Earth Origin

markings. I’d credit Aidan and Nolan for knowing the price of everything

that moves in the Alpha reach, and bonsais are restricted to the hilt. If you

sell one, you have to prove provenance, Nolan says. Nolan says the ban on

Earth biologics dates from when the EC knew they’d stolen the Pell core

and taken it to Downbelow , and it was because we were suddenly dealing

with another living planet. So Earth stuff shouldn’ t get to Downbelow nor

vice versa. But FTL kills the bonsai and so, during the conver sions of the

pusher ships, Pell got their hand s on all sorts of plants. When they started

planning the new ring and realizing how much space they were going to

have, they got the idea of creating the Garden as it is now. They are so rich,

Pell is, you can’t imagine what they can’t do. I mean, the Garden has

scientific interes t, I suppose, and it’s history , but it’s a whole sector of the

new main ring, for God’ s sake, and I do mean sector , of which there are

twelve. The scale is just amazing. And I wish like hell they allowed

pictures. “I don’t know what it cost to get us all in there, but a cup of tea in the

gift shop would buy you dinner and everything at Rosie’ s. I see these prices

and I think, hell, do I want to live like that?

I really don’t want to get where

that kind of spending is an ‘of course.’

“And, you know , it is for Jen. She just expects it. She’s Finity. With all

that means. And me, I really like her. I like her so much. But I want to get

back to Galway. I want a beer at Rosie’ s. She’s over on Finity about some

sort of trouble that worries me, and I keep seeing those big trees. They were

beautiful, but you know , their kind was alive before human beings ever

existed. And that’ s scary , how old they are. And we aren’ t. “I haven ’t seen a hisa. Probably won’ t, Jen says. But I know they’re

here, in the tunnels. Spooky feeling to know they’re there, maybe not that

far away. “Anyway , don’t think I didn’ t like the experience. I’m glad we did it. Really glad. I won’t forget it. Maybe you have to spread out an expense

over how long you’ll be glad you did it. If that’s the case, that’s going to be

forever. I see trees when I shut my eyes. And hear the sound they make in

the wind. That was scary. But it got to be a good sound. God, I do wish

you’d been there.”

He thought maybe he drifted off. He opened his eyes to a ceiling gone to

black. His handheld had auto-stopped recording. He tapped the button to

start it back up. “I’m sleepy now. Jen might just spend the rest of alterday over at

Finity’ s office—which they can just walk to, at one G and warm. You can

walk on and off the ship like you were going to a shop, here. The captain’ s

got his office there and so does Security , where Jen’s gone, so, well, I don’t

know what’ s stirred up, or what’ s going on with this question Nolan and

Aidan stirred up. But I haven’ t got enough brain left to deal with it and for

me, it’s night. I just hope it all works out so Finity goes out of here in the

right direction. I really don’t want to try to find our own way back to Alpha

from where we are.”

Section xiv Book II

There was a box in the middle of the table, when Jen followed Fletcher into

the conference room: a large new-looking box emblazoned with an image

of a sailing ship proudly plowing through white-topped waves under blue

sky and grey clouds. No one asked, but everyone checked it out before

taking their seat. Jen kept her silence. Captain-U ncle had his reasons for putting that kit

front and center , reasons she didn’ t begin to question. She had been

included in this high-powered meeting for one reason, and one reason only. Captain-Uncle, Captain John, and Captain Mum were there already , and

Rennie Neihart, Research and Records, and Lucent, Technical Records,

which was the black box system. Katrin D, Engineering 1.1 was there, too,

which was interesting, and Kate, Nav 1.1.

Captain Madison was the last to

arrive. He stared at that box a really long moment, then met Uncle’ s

carefully blank gaze, one eyebrow lifted, before taking his seat. “So,” Uncle said, when Madison had settled, “we had some information

come through this evening, on which we did some fast research that raised

several red flags. It all started when Jen came to me with a question on

behalf of our Galway guests, about the current star attraction of the Pell

Gardens. Jen?”

She swallowed hard. Thought she’d have a minute or two at least to

settle in before all those curious eyes turned to her. “Yes, sir,” she said, relieved to discover her voice was steady , and at his

nod, explained: “It’s called a Dawn Redwood. The tour guide made a really

big deal about it. Said they’d been looking for one since way back in the

early planning stages of the Garden, back when it was just a bonsai

museum, before they got really ambitious with it—there was a Konstantin

who was very instrumental in the planning, and those trees were on some

wish-list that supposedly went out on the black box system. Those things

are alrea dy large and will get downright huge. And they live forever. The

new exhibit that made tickets so hard to get is all about them. They were

very young when the garden got them. Probably only a year old. They’ve

grown them in isolation and they’ve just recently opened that section to the

public. What’s weird is, the source is listed as ‘anonymous.’ Only one we

noticed that didn’ t have someon e’s name as the source. Most are donations. The guide said these were purchased. Nolan, who is Galway ’s cargo master ,

has know n abou t the list for decades, has been looking for these very trees

and can’t see how they could possibly have come from their side. We all got

to talking and seriously wondering where they came from and what took the

owners so long to respond to that list. Long lost seeds is a possibility. So is

blackmarket straight from Earth. But Alpha’ s rules on the ban—I mean,

who’ s risking that?”

Captain-Uncle interjected quietly. “Alpha being the gateway to the

mother of all worlds, their rules are very tough. Both directions. Detectors

are hair-triggere d and the penalt y for violation is the same as murder. Local

court rules, and your ship can’ t protect you.”

Nolan had told Uncle about that, which was pretty scary. “Then there’s the stuff in the shops.” She thought of the unexplained box

on the table, and glanced at Uncle for a cue. Uncle gave a brief nod and she

continued: “Something else the Galways spotted. F-class items, so the

shops claim, stuff supposedly of Earth origin—but stuff they’ve never seen

before or even heard bragged about. Shops won’ t reveal sources, but it’s

multiples of fancy setabouts. Not like something you’d find buried in

family storage, unless you’re a storeowner , and if that’s the case, why not

just say so?

So did some Alpha stationer freight it all the way here rather

than sell it at Alpha or Bryant’ s?

And if they freighted it to Pell hoping for

prices to offset the shipping, why wasn’ t Galway , the Alpha ship most

likely to manag e the Pell run, at least involved?

That’ s what the Galways

were saying, anyway , and they know Sol trade and Alpha ships a whole lot

better than I do. None of it sounded right...

so I called in.”

And just that quick, her part in the meeting was done, and even that was

kindness on Uncle’ s part. Mostly she suspected she was here in case

someone had questions Uncle hadn’ t thought to ask her or Nolan earlier. “You thought right,” Uncle said. “For the record, Nolan Monahan,

Galway ’s cargomaster , who is available by com should we need him, gave

us a list of the suspect F-class items, into which records is still looking. But

first the trees. —Rennie?”

“Purchased nine years, eight months, and three days ago, statio n time,”

Rennie said. “First displayed to the public nine months ago. The seller of

the specimens was one Connie Bellagio. Ship name—” Rennie paused,

glanced around the table. “ Come Lately , Bryant’ s registry.”

A murmur traveled the table, and Jen pressed her lips on an exclamation. Come Lately. One of their missing ships. Here?

Rennie continue d matter of factly: “Purchase price 130,000 VC, was

actually a court settlement, whole case rushed through in five days; and that

took a bit of finagling to discover. The freight office delved deeper at our

request, and, credit where due, Emilio gave us a stationwide clearance,

without which we might never have gotten answers.”

130,000 VC?

That was quite a price, for five practically no-ma ss items. And why in Venture chits ?

How weird was that?

Why not just take Pell

credit and do a black box transfer of the balance to Venture...

or wherever

they were headed...

when they left, like everyone else did?

And them

being here was weird to begin with. Venture-Pell was an extremely hard

pull for ships of that vintage, by what the Galways had said. By what they’d

said, Galway herself couldn’ t make it fully loaded, and Galway was the

newest and most powerful ship there was in the Hinder Stars. “That was the first of the two visits Emilio told us about,” Rennie said. “Come Lately took on low-m ass dry goods, foods, and medicines on that

particular trip. The whole cargo weight under 2 tonnes, incidental to a

supposed contra ct for transport of iron ingots listed at 3 tonnes, destination

listed as Bryant’ s, though no buyer’s name is listed. However—as our touch

at Bryant’ s tells us, and we in Research are very confident—Bryant’ s

records do not show any corresponding ship- call at Bryant’ s, certainly

nothing about that iron ore...

which was paid for locally with Venture

chits. Prior to, I might add, settlement on the payment for the trees. The

next recorded appeara nce of Come Lately at Bryant’ s was almost three

years after the sale of the trees ...

keeping in mind Come Lately ’s black

box is, as we’ve noted before to our frustration, old and likes to keep its

secrets.”

The virtue of working black boxes was records from everywhere the

ship docked, updated at every station with every ship call. But working was

the operative word there. “Contract for transport,” Mum said. “Would be somebody else’s iron,

somebody else’s purchase, a freight-only haul, bulk, not cans. Unusual for

Bryant’ s. They don’ t do a lot of manufacturing there.”

“If it had gotten there,” Uncle said, “we probably wouldn’ t think twice. A Bryant’ s local, seeing the ship’ s ultimate destination as Pell, might well

have made a last minute request of the Bellagios, it being hard to get raw

metal out of Venture. But the order didn’ t show on Bryant’ s or Venture’ s

manifests. Neith er did their other cargo. We have no clue where she

dropped those goods. And there is that three-year gap until Come Lately

turns up at Bryant’ s. What did they do?

Carry the iron around all that time?”

Lucent lifted a finger for attention: “It should be noted that this is not an

unusual dropout of records for Come Lately. Venture records do not have it

docking with any regularity , and Glory—well, Glory has periods when the

entire system is down, so no help there. But the point is, I’m not sure this

specific silence should be considered significant...

except in that it is part

of a pattern of black box behavior , whether by design, simple negligence on

the part of the Bellagios, or a faulty system, is hard to say without

physically examining their box.”

“Provenance of the specimens?” Mum asked, which was Jen’s question,

and Uncle answered. “The Bellagios told Pell—paraphrasing from the transcript of the

settlement hearing—it was a chance find at Bryant’ s, supposedly from a

hobbyist who happened to have found unidentified seeds, started them, and

found himself with these trees he thought might be the ones on that list. The

Bellagios claime d they took a chance that these were the trees Pell wanted

and made the jump to Pell prim arily on spec, but supposedly only after that

order for iron came through to cover the trip. Fiscally smart, but a curious

bit of detail, to my thinking. For one thing, there’ s no evidence that they

listed on the boards anywher e as bound for Pell—but I digress. In their

statement, they claimed they knew nothing about the Pell ban on biologic s,

but curiously—a nd even more curiously , a question nowhere posed in the

transcript—when they actually got to Pell, rather than declare their find to

customs, which by that ban would have gotten the trees immediately

destroyed, they just smuggled them directly to the Garden office, in,

apparently , sealed containers inside crew duffles, and the seedlings so

excited the chief botanist, the Garden got a court injunction against their

destruction—and of course latched onto them. The white-coat folk

examined them up and down, declared them the real deal and free of

contaminants and were not about to give them up. It ended in court when

the Bellagios sued to get compe nsation. They ultimately settled for 130,000

VC for the three that survived, which was, according to the transcript, far

less than they’d wanted, but since they had tried to skirt the ban, far more

than Pell legally had to give them. But here’ s the thing: there’ s no name

given for the supposed Bryant’ s hobbyist, and no evidence of Come Lately

docking at Bryant’ s in the time frame necessary. It’s possible the Bryant’ s

hobbyist is a cover story for an under the table trade with push er crew , but

that theory has its own problems. —Fletch?”

“Nolan Monahan said he had personally spoken with both pusher crews

about the wishlist,” Fletcher said. “He had specifically asked about these

Dawn Redwoods, and did they have any, bonsai evidently still being a

favorite pastime on pushers. Both said they did not, however one crewman

did imply a little under the table was not out of the question. Nolan wasn’ t

interested, however armed with the knowledge of that wishlist, some

enterprising and mildly larcenous pusher crewman could have gotten their

hands on the seeds—on Sol Station, who of course wouldn’ t give a damn:

the only contamination they worry about is incoming from Pell—and done

that under the table with some other ship. I looked up, and those seeds are

damn small. You could outright palm ’em through customs real easy. Any

ship could have done the transaction in any friendly bar restroom, and later

traded them to Come Lately ...

or even that Bryant’ s hobbyist, to prove

viability. If this is the actual scenario, that bathroom trade was not made

with the Bellagios. According to Alpha’ s records—because we are thorough

and checked every angle of this— in the last thirty years, station-time, Come

Lately ’s docking schedule has not corresponded to either pusher ship’ s

presence at Alpha—nor , for that matter , has Miriam B ’s.”

“None of which explains that thing on the table,” Mum said dryly. “Seeds can be slipped hand to hand, but not something that size.”

Curious eyes turned to the box in the middle of the table. Jen pressed her

lips tight. She really , really wanted to know what they’d found out about

that model ship. “We’ll get back to that in a minute,” Uncle said, with a glance her way. “So. We have these three trees Pell Gardens wanted so badly they didn’ t

want to pursue the origins too careful ly. They had what they wanted, to hell

with the biolog ics ban. Cyteen might not be so forgiving if they caught

wind of it, and the political fallout of Pell actively violating the biologics

ban would be huge. Hypocritically , destruction of the specimens would be,

I’m sure, unthinkable—to all sides. I’m including Cyteen in that. You can

bet Pell will get their 130,000 back just selling cells to the Carnaths. Likely

already has, though I don’ t think records has checked that one.”

“Not yet,” Rennie muttered, and tapped the table’ s touch keyboard in

front of him to bring the computer alive. “Y ou might have said.”

“Just thought of it myself. —So rather than try to sneak these trees into

their collection, Pell waits ten years, then makes a big deal of it, too big to

have anyone question the ancient transaction, marks its provider as

anonymous , and gives it as vague a cover story as they could manage. Meanwhile Come Lately exits, if not flush with cash, at least full of fuel and

with a small cargo. Not how you prefer to do business, but let’s assume she

broke even on the run, and her crew got a chance to see Pell firsthand. Again, there’ s an explanation, even for the subterfuge. The Hind er Stars are

suffering, big time, ships and stations, and she’s not the only ship who runs

mostly dark, and likely runs some exotic contraband. If it were just the

trees, just the iron, we might be inclined to write it off. But that...

is a big

if. —Fletch?”

If?

It struck Jen suddenly what recent study of ship cargos in the security

office might have been for. “Throughout this trip,” Fletcher explained, “we’ve been building a

picture of what Hinder Stars finance looks like for repairs and other

Alliance operations. Peripherally and not in any overwhelming urgency ,

we’ve been looking for the Mallorys’ Miriam B and Bellagios’ Come

Lately , two ships that are off and on in the black box system and have been

overall elusive. But here’ s the interesting part: in the record of goods-on-

hand just ticking up and down mysteriously from time to time throughout

all the system— there may be the heartbeat of our two ghosts running

supply. We’re not sure, but we’ve been working on that. Depletion can be a

station draw on supply due to some local situation: people eat more than

you plan. But a sudden rise in a commod ity, without ship manifest

corroboration, there you are. Ghost action. And now, thanks to all the

stations’, includ ing Pell’s, complete cooperation with records, we’re

beginning to see how that ghost might be operating. Simple cash deals. A

tendency on the part of Hinder Stars ships, including here at Pell, to take

payment in Venture chits, which are spendable anywhere in the Hinder

Stars, and hard to track. Cleve r notion, and a massive thank you due to

Research.”

There was a murmur. Rennie nodded a balding head. “Numbers,

numbers,” Renn ie said, all the while tapping his keys, his eyes fixed on a

tabletop directio nal display visible only to him. “My division’ s not been

enjoying life on the docks. Thanks to our guests’ observations, we know

we’re chasing something more than seeds and trees. Once we plugged in the

Venture data—a nd you know Venture chits are good clear to Glory—that

uptick and downtick of supply began to look more obvious. And when we

plugged in figures clear to Alpha, there was little doubt left. We believe

those two ships on more than one occasion bought electronics and printing

supplies at Venture that don’t turn up down the line. Who’ s ever cared about

little ships?

Their records never get checked. And but for one extremely

lucrative sale of one high-demand, unique product a decade back, with a

claimed provenance at Bryant ’s—we might never have put the pieces

together.”

Uncle lifted a hand to stop Rennie, giving everyone time to process. When he lowered his hand, Rennie continued, no longer tapping. “Brothers and sisters and cousins, once you look at the big picture,

there’ s just a lot to worry us mathematicians. Ghost activity in the

commodities. Supplies of various things turn up. Others just disappear. It’s

no wonder , really , that Emilio doubted Abrezio’ s claims of need—and

there’ s the tragedy. Alpha asked for aid and was denied...

because Pell has

received Sol goods that did not come legitimately through Alpha—not in

the last thirty years, at least—including Emilio’ s scotch. It’s possible those

were hoarded, waiting for the selling price to escalate, but the return

numbers are even more worrisome. More consumables have been

purchased, in the name of the Hinder Stars, than have ever made it to those

stations...

unless Glory is overflowing with flour. And it’s not just the odd

food lot. Massive lot of electronics that we know hasn’ t gone to refurb

Alpha.” He tapped the table in front of him again. “And here’ s the big tell:

twenty years ago, ship parts and supplies desperately needed in the Hinder

Stars disappear from Venture and don’t show up in station inventory down

the line. Parts that could accoun t for two elderly ships suddenly able to

reach Pell and other places that you wouldn’ t think they could.”

Ears perked at that. “Doing their own upgrades?” Katrin D asked. “Retrofitting, except the

black box?”

“Is that even possible?” JR asked, and Katrin shrugged. “No one’s ever tried, that I know of. No reason to. The new systems,

with the integrat ed boxes, are better than any retrofit. But this lot...

looks

like they’ve done everything possible to avoid the modern box, doesn’ t it?

Pretty massive case of paranoia.”

“Any evidence of any other big Pell paydays for Come Lately ?” Mum

asked, and Rennie shrugged. “What we found confirms what Emilio told JR. Only two appearances

on the Pell market for Come Lately in the last eighty years, the trees being

part of the first, and the second one two years and change ago. Ship trade

was similar to the first time: nothing much coming in, consignment going

out, paid with VC. We’re still checking into the whole category of F-class

items which could be attributed to that last call, including those.” He raised

his chin in the direction of the boxed ship model. “Lot of stuff marked Sol. As Jen pointed out, sometimes in lots rather than individual second hands. Low mass stuff. And again, it’s all stuff our Monahans haven’ t seen or even

heard about—I sent a list to Nolan Monahan just before this meeting, and

he confirmed. Records thus far indicate it all came from Come Lately , and

landed them a nice little nest egg. Other F-class trickles in on other ships on

the Venture-Pell route, but nothing like what showed up on Come Lately ’s

return visit. But it all indicates there has to be pusher trade involved

somewhere, the question is, when. Were those items warehoused at Alpha

and the owner just got tired of waiting and made a deal with Come Lately?

Or is it...

something else?”

“Maybe Come Lately ’s making secret runs to Sol,” Mum said dryly. Clearly impossible, Jen thought ...

and then remembered Galway...

and had to wonder. “When did Abrezio say he got those coordinates for the Sol run?”

Madison asked, and Uncle shook his head. “Since the last pusher left. Timing doesn’ t work.”

Mum snorted. “Doesn’ t mean someone else didn’ t find them. —Redline

it.”

Which meant: don’ t just delete the possibility. “Anything about Miriam B?” John asked, and Rennie nodded. “Only one Pell docking for Miriam B, to and from Venture , some six

years ago. The only partic ularly flag-wort hy trades from the Mallorys were

Scotch and coffee, and those only because of the quantity involved. They

wouldn’ t be the first to keep a bit in reserve for emer gency dock charges,

but the quantity would suggest a fresh supply , an observation that had

Nolan using highly colorful expletives. Some evidence of F-class cash trade

with locals, but mostly standard ship credit transaction, more than enough

of that to cover the round trip between here and Venture, and leave them

with a nice little cash reserve.”

Damn, Jen thought. Fresh supp ly?

Those ship models?

Had these two

ships had some kind of sweetheart deal with the pushers coming into Alpha

that left all the other ships...

like Galway ...

struggling?

And if she was

thinking that, damn sure others were, maybe some not in this room. She bit

her lips and looked from one to the other of her gathered family , wondering

were they thinking the same?

“So,” Uncle said, “thanks to our Monahan guests, mystery not solved,

but a spotlight shone on our two missing ships, both on first-gen box

systems, which they claimed here at Pell were broken, but no, and, no, they

don’t want to install a modern box, even if Pell offers it free, along with a

nav system upgrade. They don’t want one and there’ s no law saying they

have to have one.”

“They’re right about that,” Fletc her said. “There is no law. The original

black box was an add-on. Information being a high commodity , no

merchanter in his right mind ever thought of refusing it.”

Lucent said: “For our non-techn icals present, the modern black box is an

integrated part of the modern FTL nav system: if your ship runs, if it comes

into port, it’s logged. The old box system is a separate unit—doesn’ t

integrate with nav. The old boxes—and those are the last two left except for

Firenze, which is currently getting replaced—also turn off and on at the

discretion of the crew. That was part of the deal in getting the original boxes

generally accep ted. A handful of times forgetting to turn it back on and

losing the data-flow revenue associated with it cured most Families of the

obsession for that bit of privacy. However...

it would explain the ghostly

presence of these two dinosaurs in the records.”

“Their systems may stay off during certain runs,” Fletcher said. “But

that doesn’ t explain some of the gaps in station records. They’re going

somewher e. Clearly.”

Rennie frowned and tapped the table again, reactivating the computer. “Overall, except for that clingin g to the old black box, there’ s not that

much difference between them and the other First Stars ships,” Uncle said,

as Rennie’ s fingers flew on his tabletop keyboard. “The entire lot are

clinging to existence by any means they can find. The nature of the

Bellagios’ official trade, within the Hinder Stars, is small stuff and random. How they’ve kept operating is not a question anyone ever seems to have

asked. No merchanter has complained about their actions, and stationers

don’t much care. They’re figures out of the old days. Among the very first

purpose-builts. Marginal traders. Certainly no economic threat to the locals. Everyone just pats them on the head and lets them slide through the rules. One suspects their secret is that F-class trade. Merchants buy from them,

under the table...

everywhere but here. F-class is a hole you can put a

planet through. But it’s a sacre d cow. And apparently it’s been enough to

keep them going.”

Jen wondered how the Monaha ns were going to take this assessment,

what they were going to think about being played this way. “The Bellagio’ s dealings here are...

curious. First trip really seemed to

be all about the trees, which, incidentally , were also listed as F-class, until

station got wind of the deal. Ten thousand of that 130,000 was exchanged at

Pell for Pell chits, possibly for F-class trading with Beyonder ships’ crews

—stuf f that could have real value in the Hinder Stars. Pell, as we can attest,

requires a record on every damn thing that changes hands on the station,

including F-class...

except for where it’s between ships without the

knowledge of station. First time here, Come Lately ’s F-class logged trades

were typical of their dealings in Hinder Stars stations: handcraft s, self-made

stuff, and second hand curiosities. Their second trip was quite different. Sol

goods...

of a variety and number that hints at warehoused goods,

including that very curious piece.” With a nod to the ship-model box. Rennie dipped his head. “They’ ve gotten away with it, because nobody ,

until we set up the Allia nce and asked the stations for the numbers, nobody ,

from Pell to Alpha, has ever seen the patterns and asked why—until a

handful of Alpha spacers came to Pell and went through the shops, and saw

things that shouldn’ t be there.”

“This kit,” Uncle said, indicating the box with the boat, “is a proverbial

smoking gun. It is, according to the shop, one of nine, one assembled for

display , four sold. That’ s the first red flag. Multiples, particularly expensive

items, are usuall y forgeries, and that kit is fairly expensive. We bought that

one for testing, to rule out the possibility that the kits were printer-created

off an original—it wasn’ t. It’s real wood. Cast metal. Linen sails. The

instructions are printed on wood -pulp paper , and while the date on the box

is scarred beyond reading—we believe deliberately—the date on the

instructions sheet isn’t. Any way you cut it, it’s from Earth, and by the

copyright date on the internal material, no matter how stretch y you make

stationtime versus shiptime, it didn’ t come by way of Alpha. Not

legitimately. And not from a warehouse. It’s been almost thirty years since

Alpha’ s gotten a pusher load that wasn’ t designated for the Rights build. Our Monahans say the pusher crew F-class has been virtually nonexistent. So the question is, where did these kits of tolerably recent date come from,

if not from Earth, through Alpha?”

A very loud silence followed that question. “Another thing that makes no sense, if those ships have been Pell

capable for twenty years...

why aren’ t they coming here?” Mum said. “It’s

both too many discrepancies for a one shot and too few for an ongoing

arrangement. One has to ask: Is this one individual’ s stupidity or something

higher up, and where’ s the rest of this exotic trade going?”

Not to Alpha. Or Bryant’ s or Glory or even Venture. That was pretty

clear. “The whole string of Hinder Stars,” Mum said, “lies about the same

direct distance from Sol, if the EC sent pushers straight out toward them. Longer push than to Alpha, add a decade to a round trip, but doable. When

the Grea t Circle ran, even then, not all the pushers went on to the next star. Some went directly back to Sol.”

“We damn well know Sol can build pushers,” Fletcher said. “They’ve

got unlimited resources. They could build as many as they want. Send them

wherever they want, and not necessarily carrying car go.”

“It’s been a decade since those trees sprouted.” Madison snorted. “Twenty since those two ships, presumably , got upgraded. What’ s the EC

waiting for?

Hip replacements?”

“Well, they made a hard try at Alpha,” Uncle said grimly and all eyes

turned to him. “No saying that’s all they’ve been up to. Earth is rich. It can

afford more than one angle. But before we get carried away , all we’ve got at

the mom ent is a ghostly trail of goods that might be leaking out of some

covert EC opera tion, and a coup le of merchanters that aren’ t easy to track. But one thing we know , nobody can communicate faster than a ship moves;

and the EC at Sol can’ t communicate FTL.”

Mum’ s chin lifted, and Uncle said, “All due, Mum, but if those ships

were hopping, with what we saw at Pell...

I can’t believe the first thing

they’d have brought back wasn’ t Enforcers.”

Mum frowned...

then shrugged. “Point. —So?

Where’d those model

ships come from?”

“It’s definitely not Alpha—” Rennie, who had been silently tapping

away on his keyboard, suddenly looked up and around the table. “Cash or

credit, I can say those physical goods our target took on here at Pell never

made it back to Venture, let alone Bryant’ s, Alpha, or Glory.”

“You’re certain of that?” Uncle asked, and Rennie nodded. “Significant item, brand name. You know Billi’ s Breakfast Buns?”

Rennie asked. Who didn’ t?

Jen’ s mouth watered at the thought. “Well, an obscene number of those lovely things went aboard Come

Lately. Remember the 10,000 they got in local cash?

Went into ship’ s

stores. If the Bellagios consumed all of those, I guarantee someone would

have noticed and no retrofit could haul their mass through jump. Pell

product. You can’t get them on Venture. I asked. Second trip, they tripled

the order.”

Katrin D said, “Another thought: even if they did their own upgrades,

they have to have had some support, somewhere to work. Which we know

wasn’ t Venture shipyards, Pell’ s. Or Alpha.”

“So I repeat,” Mum said impatiently , “wher e?”

“If their objective is to take on Pell headon,” John said, “Sol could send

a pusher with Enforcers straight to Pell for not too much more ef fort.”

“But a pusher...” Madison said. “The people. If they sent a force,

they’d be Family with concerns for their kids by the time they got there,

with dif ferent priorities, dif ferent attitudes.”

“Happened once and a dozen times,” Mum said, “but the EC knows that. They didn’t really care, back in the day. Pushers existed to move product. If

Enforcer ships exist, the young ones, supposing the EC didn’ t neuter the lot,

could be more fanatically EC than their parents, given enough lies and

indoctrination en route. They could send us a live cargo of Enforcers,

straight from Sol.”

“But move in on Pell, cold...

no,” Fletcher said slowly , “not straight

off a pusher ship, with no exper ience of stations, no real idea what kind of

resistance to expect. For all they know , the entire population of Pell is

armed militia. If I were plannin g any kind of takeover , I’d want a stable

point of operatio n where I could control the traffic. I’d want a substantial

force and a stable base within the proven FTL routes, ideally maintained

with minimal noise. And it’s harder to maintain security the farther you go,

the farther you stretch your supply lines. We’ve worried that Sol could be

building FTLs in hope of finding jump-points to use them, but if they just

built more pushers, which they obviously know how to manage, and sent

them one after the other to revitalize a mothballed station, man it with

recruits from the Hinder Stars, labor at first, then Enforcers in the next-

gen...

they could have an organized, systematically supplied base of

operations a hell of a lot closer to Pell than Alpha, and make themselves a

relevant force again.”

“Question is,” Mum said, sounding really annoyed now , “where?”

Which made Jen think Mum already had a damned good notion, and was

waiting for the rest of them to catch up with her. “There’ s the whole Galileo Reach,” Uncle said. “Not forgetting El

Dorado. All abandoned. All built for handling pushers. All within ten lights

of Sol. Well, excepting Galileo.”

Madison said: “El Dorado’ s fried, Galileo’ s toast, Olympus’ star,

Groombridge, is a hell hole for FTL, but there is Thule.”

Thule, Jen knew from Fletcher , was on their own short list as a possible

point the Allianc e could stash supplies and use as a layover , if they had to

stage a general withdrawal of service. And it was only one convenient hop

out of Venture. No wonder Madison sounded a bit disappointed. Damn. This was getting...

scary. “Nasty tempered little star,” Kate spoke up for the first time, “but viable. Easy jump. Better than the others in the Reach.”

“If the EC’s building a base, they’ve kept damned quiet about it, which

is suspicious in itself,” John said. “What they do openly is build a megaship at Alpha.” Jen hadn’ t realized

she’d said that aloud until they all looked at her. She ducked her head,

embarrassed, but:

“While recruiting a large number of Enforcers,” Fletcher added. “Hundreds of Enforcers.”

“Decoy?” Uncle asked. “Possibly ,” Capt ain John said. “Possibly a dual action. If they have been

maintaining pusher -routes we don’t know about, maybe more than one,

they’re invisible to us when we’re in transit, no way we could even spot

their trail if we crossed it.”

“Give or take Thule’ s star has bad habits,” Fletcher said. “Where else do

we have?”

“Well, directly next to it, also mothballed, conspicuously , Olympus,”

Kate said. “But Olympus is a damn horror show. Early FTLers found that

out the hard way and word spread, after a couple of disasters.” She was

silent a minute, frowning at nothing, then said slowly...“There was

Galileo-to-Olympus-to-Thule-to-V enture....

that was all right. But after

Galileo died, it was just not a very profitable run, and Thule was small. Very small. Most pushers bypassed it, went straight to Olympus. The

FTLers used it, but only to get to Olympus, which, with those accidents,

just faded. Not worth the effort, ultimately , just to get to Olympus and have

to backtrack.”

“Olympus is not, however ,” Mum said firmly , “a horror show for a

pusher. I never handled Gaia there personally , but I heard from senior crew. Olympus was the place in their reckoning. Even above Alpha. She did get a

few pushers direct from Sol, but only early on, when the Great Circle was

operating. Venture’s always been what it is, Thule was mostly an

underfunded scientific station, and El Dorado was the same. Galileo was

where the resea rch money went—until it blew. But Olympus...” Mum’ s

voice trailed off, and her eyes were looking at something none of the rest of

them could see, and Jen listened. Hard. Captain Mum didn’ t often talk

about the deep past, didn’ t often go there, old as Mum was, and those

stories were what she’d heard from others’ memories, that far back. “Pushers in the Great Circle Trade, Glory to Alpha to Bryant’ s, to Thule,

Olympus, and Galileo, then Venture and on to Pell and back again. Gaia,

Polaris, Golden Hind, and Argo: Earth launched us, each with a station

core, but of them all, only Gaia ever returned to Sol, the once, and twice,

before we pushed the Beta core to Proxima Cent. What we found at Sol that

last time...

we never wanted to go back. Other ships took on the Sol to

Alpha run, but of those...

only Santa Maria and Atlantis managed to stay

with it.”

Jen longed to ask what she meant by that, longed to ask what Gaia had

found that second time back at Sol, but she knew better. Maybe she’d ask

Uncle later...

and maybe she’d just let the past go. There were dark, dark

places in that remembrance, and the silence fell on everybod y...

until

Mum, with a shake of her head, broke the spell. “Well, we were not constrained by jump-points. So routes were possible

that aren’ t, now. Back then, everything took time. Until Cyte en and Pell

started breaking the pushers down and converting them to FTL,” Mum said. “Earth stopped building more pushers. Pointedly stopped building them. They weren’ t about to feed steel and parts to Alpha just to be junked. They

saw conversions as destroying everything they’d built. So routes died that

would still make sense. Olympus, who needed pushers to survive, was a

case in point.”

“Hell if. Sol sat on their hands meanwhile and sulked when they could

have built a whole string of pushers to supply Alpha and make an economic

killing,” John said. “Maybe,” Jen ventured again, “the EC doesn’ t really care about profit. I

mean, we do, but...” She let her voice trail off, not certain where the

thought was going, not wanting to make a fool of herself with the seniors. “Maybe,” Uncle said, with a quick nod to her, “that’ s the first question

we should have asked. Why didn’ t they build just one more pusher for

Alpha, or go slower with Rights , and keep Alpha supplied?

Was it a

thoroughly stupid project, doomed to failure?

Granted it wouldn’ t be the

first such. Did they think starving out the Alpha merchanters was going to

give them some desperate Famil y crew they could recruit?

Or maybe Alpha

isn’t their first concern any longer. Maybe it hasn’ t been for a long time. Decoy makes a lot of sense. A rather scary lot of sense.”

There was a small unhappy silence. “We all were working for the EC,” Lucent said, “back in the days of the

Great Circle. Families seeing to their own best interests, followi ng the rules

as they were given, and staying alive. Sure there are routes FTLers couldn’ t

and still can’t take; doesn’ t mean there are dark pushers running to some

resurrected station. Nothing to say our two ghost ships aren’ t just doing

their own business the way we all did, dealing directly with the Alpha

pusher crews and just happening to make a windfall trade for F-class stuff. The cash dealing could be to keep questions of origin to a minimum. Maybe

they were just trading goods for goods, under the table, at Bryant’ s and

Alpha, skirting the laws and not thinking twice about it. Who they’re

dealing with at the stations could be another story.”

“No, no, and...

no. They’ve got to have another damn port,” Rennie

muttered, turned off his keyboard with a hard jab, and slumped back in his

chair. “I agree with Rennie,” Mum said. “And chances are those two ghost

ships have already carried news of the current status of Alpha and Rights of

Man to the EC at some ghost port. Which will be, I’m increasingly thinking,

in the Galileo Reach, and I’d lay odds it’s at Olympus. Some folks loved

that station. A few of the oldest refused to leave when one of the last

pushers made the run to evacuate, headed for Venture. Wanted to die there

rather than on the pusher—because it wouldn’ t make port for a decade and

more.” She looked around the room. “That from the Gallis. Their pusher

made that last run, got Firenze, the first purpose-built in the Hinder Stars, as

a reward. Had some hair-raising stories about Olympus. But viable?

Depends on what the junkers did to it. And courts stopped them.”

“We need to talk to those two ships,” Uncle said “Galway put us on a

deadline which may already be reality out at Alpha. At absolute worst case,

Sol alrea dy has an FTL route to Alpha, proved out by these two ships. But if

the EC is operating closer than that to Pell, if they’ve established an

independent and well-armed base, and have our two FTLers of unknown

ability running errands in our time frame...

we need to know about it. Yesterday.”

“It’s possible Little Bear ’s run into at least one of our ghosts,” Fletcher

said. “Maybe,” Uncle said. “But it’s become far more than a signature on a

line we need from them at this point. —Rennie.”

“Sir.”

“You say our two ghosts have an off-the-record port—so what location

would you bet on, of Olympus and Thule?”

Rennie folded his arms, ducked his chin. “Until I noticed those missing

ship parts, I’d’ve said Thule, with some long layovers, but Mum makes a

good case for Olympus, and if Kate’ s right, if Olympus is, in fact, doable

for a ship out of Venture, going through Thule...

some of the gaps in the

ghost appearances could well account for runs that long. As Mum pointed

out, the amount of Sol goods we’ve located doesn’ t indicat e a regular

source, unless it’s really under the table. Personal bet, those ships are using

luxuries as bribes for contacts and information. I’m betting there are some

interesting artifa cts in certain Pell stationers’ sitting rooms, not to mention

in the living quarters of our two ghosts. With the marked exception of the

trees and suspicious F-class stuff in the shops, the rest of their trading has

been pretty standard: lifesupport stuff. Food. Medicines, and printer

materials, which makes sense if they’re trying not to be noticed—or helping

supply some mothballed stations. It’s possible the toy ships were legitimate

F-class, just a private trade. Pocket chits. Merchanters being merchanters

and financing their entertainment, but I’d bet a bit more than that. If we’re

reading this right, if they’re running errands for the EC, the ships

themselves need a bit more than fuel money. The EC might have said sell

whatever you don’t need for bribes, just don’t do it in the Hinder Stars. The

trees—that was high finance. Sorry I missed the tour. They sound like a real

sight.”

“Just for the record,” Kate said, and tapped the tabletop. “Been running

the numbers, such as we have, for real. Groombridge Point’ s going to be a

beast even from Thule.”

“Noted,” Uncle said. “Noneth eless, we have to go check this out. Rennie, latest data on Thule and Olympus, stations and stars. ASAP.”

“Sir,” Rennie said, beaming. “Copy the pertinent data to Kate when you get it. Sorry about the leave-

time. Major sorry. We’re not even going to unpack here.”

“Aye, sir.” Rennie reacquired his keyboard. “How’ s the loading?” Uncle asked, and Rennie, without even looking up

said:

“Five hundred sixty-seven cans an hour ago. Sir.”

“Out of five thousand prom ised.” Uncle frowned. “I’ll talk to

Konstantin. —Continue the fueling. Offload what we loaded, and get it to

some holding area on a backup carrier. Madison, we won’ t be doing a long

runout. I want to contact Little Bear at Venture if we possibly can, but we

might beat her back and we won’ t wait. We’ll be running light. Rennie, I’ll

need those workups as fast as you can manage.”

“Funds,” Madison said. “We’re dipping into scarce territory , here. We’ve

used up almost all our reserve.”

There were frowns, all around the table. They’d run all the charity work

they could afford, emptying their reserves, assisting three other ships out to

Alpha and back, with major complications. There were, as yet, no

contributions to the Alliance, at least on the Pell side of space. Good deeds didn’ t pay the bills. “I’m headed to Blue,” Uncle said, meaning station admin. “Madison, I

want Konstantin in his office for at least an hour, and I want a trolley at the

gate in fifteen minutes. Fletch.”

“Escort?” Fletcher asked. “Witness,” Captain-Uncle said. “In case he shoots me.”

“How much will you pay me to save your life?” Kate asked, her eyes to

the directional screen. “What have you found?” Uncle asked. “There might be another doable route out of Olympus.”

“To?”

Kate’ s eyebrows raised. “Pell.”

Silence, then:

“How certain?”

“The points are there. Never tried. Never mapped. Not remotely viable

for conv erts, and by the time purposebuilts came along, Olym pus was out

of the picture.”

“Run the numbers,” Uncle said. “And let me know. Everybo dy else,

we’ve got a board-call warning coming in about two hours. We’ll part dock

as soon as we finish filling, which is about...” He looked at his handheld. “Fifteen hours forty-five...

call it sixteen. Rennie, a major thank you. Thank you to all your staff. Kate.” He dipped his head. “Now let’s break up

and get to it.”

Section xv Book II

The cousins could move fast when the need arose. JR and Fletch were

among the last to leave, and Jen was waiting for them just outside the door. “Sir,” Jen said, in a quiet, stead y voice. Jen, who otherwise called him

Uncle Robert or Uncle, sir. Jen...

who had recognized the significance of

the Galways’ observations and had brought them this bombshell

information. “What can I say?”

Meaning to the Galways. “They’ll get the same explanati on the rest of the Family gets,” JR said. “We’re heading back to Venture , and we’re not discussing it on dockside. But in their case—if they want to stay on Pell, finish with the sights on our

tab, and catch a courtesy ride to Venture and on to Alpha, we’ll arrange it,

but they’ll need to come and pick up their stuff and get a ride through

station offices. They don’t discuss our business on docksid e, not any piece

of it.”

“I’ll relay that,” Jen said, and only an uncle who knew her well would

detect the strain in her voice. “Can I ask—at least are we still going to get

them back to Alpha if they stay on?

They’ll ask.”

JR exch anged a look with Fletch, who had finessed the Jen-Monahan

situation, and Fletch said:

“Can’ t promise our own cousins a destination right now, Jen. But we’ll

drop them off at Venture if they choose. That much we can do. Understand,

we don’t know what we’re going to find out there, but we’re investigating

the undercover doings of a company that built a military personnel ship the

size of Finity , and beggared the Monahans’ home port to do it. We can’t

promise anythin g past Venture. Tell them that. Tell them come aboard to get

the real story , and pick up their stuff if they decide to stay here at Pell. Make it clear it’s their decision, with no judgment attached either way. This

has just gone way beyond anything they signed on for. They’ll have until

the board-call to consider their options, and that will go out about mainday

noon.”

“Understood,” Jen said, as sober as ever he’d seen her. “Sorry ,” he said sincerely. “For what it’ s worth, we’ll all miss them.”

She nodded. “Uncle, sir. Thanks. I’ll say so.”

She left, behind Madison and John B. “We could lose her here, JR,” Fletch said quietly. “Or at Venture. She’s

seriously attached to that young man, and I suspect the feeling is mutual.”

Not something he hadn’ t considered before, but JR steeled himself

against a sense of personal loss. “Her choice entirely.”

“I’ll tell you, I don’t want her to go. I’ve spent three years training that

kid, she was good on Alpha, good on Pell, and damn it, JR, I love that kid. I

don’t like dumping her off head ed for Alpha with a Family that’s going to

go at loggerheads with the Company. I really don’t like what I’m feeling

about these latest developments.”

“Neither do I, Fletch,” JR said quietly. “Neither do I. Frankly , I’ve been

wondering if I ought to order all the kids, their mothers, and their minders

ashore here along with Jen and the Monahans. Even if it will put holes in

Third- and Fourth-shift.”

“I forecast the Monahans will want a piece of this if it turns into what it

could. At least Rights of Man won’ t be a factor any time soon, and if the EC

comes in at Alpha, they’ll be a while sorting the loss not only of the

megaship, but the hundreds of trained thugs they were counting on to help

them take back the stations.”

“Granted Emilio comes through and gets that cargo through to them to

have the Alpha locals employed and happy. We can’t take it.”

Fletch grinned. “We’re counting on Captain James Robert’ s golden

tongue to convince him, and make him happy to cover the bill.”

JR pointedly ignored that. “Emilio will come through—it’ s in his own

interest. I’m really not looking forward to that meeting with Xiao Min.”

They had been at the point of dismissing their three allies, still helping

in the Hinder Stars. Nomad and Mumtaz were likely done with Glory and

headed back even now to Pell. The Xiao ship, Little Bear, had agreed to

delay their return trip at Venture until a certain date—hoping to intercept

Finity for a final debri ef—before moving on to Pell and bidding farewell to

the whole set-up operation. As it turned out Finity could win the race back

to Venture. He hoped that wasn’ t the case. Xiao Min needed to know what

was going on. Fletch said: “We sure could use their backup. If nothing else, as an

alternate means for getting word back to Pell about...

whatever we find

out there.”

Whatever we find out ther e. On the bridge, there was a plaque. A bronze medallion of Earth, worn

bright by generations of Neihart fingertips. It was the only recognizable part

of Gaia left. He’d never imagined he might be forced one day to risk that

medallion—and all it represented. He felt a flash of empath y for Niall

Monahan, Senior captain of Galway , who’d made the decision to risk

everything that mattered to him...

and his Family...

for the future of

everyone. Niall had made a decision, then found himself attacked aboard his own

ship in an act of piracy unimaginable to anyone outside of EC of fices. That aggression—that piracy—could not stand. Not at Alpha...

and not

at some secret base in the Galileo Reach. Time had become essential. They’d made inquiries at Pell that might

have let information slip. And that simple, ridiculous issue of three trees

and an ancient, insignificant ship could have set rumors in motion at Pell

that could warn a far more serious problem, namely some shadow EC

operation, that the jig was up. God...

one had to wonde r if the local EC office was a part

of...

whatever was going on. Timing. Timing had become essential. There was a ship scheduled to

undock, en route to Venture, in the next twelve hours, that would be

carrying inform ation about Finity and Neihart business in its immutable

black box. Not all of it, because Emilio still had some things on hold. But

there would be other ships; ships that would dock, exchange data, and

leave, after Emilio was forced to release everything; ships that would travel

both to the Beyo nd and the Hind er Stars. Finity needed to get ahead of that

wave front, that was all, before those two ghost ships disappeared

altogether , along with their answers. Section xvi Book II

The door opened. Ross set an elbow against the mattress and lifted his head,

seeing it was Jen, back again and being quiet. “Everything all right?”

Jen shook her head, and came and stood by the bed, in the dark, hands

thrust deep into her pockets. “Board call’s going out. Senior Captain says

Galways don’t have to go. You can stay here, on Finity’ s tab, see stuff, and

we’ll leave instructions with admin to arrange another ride back to Alpha

for you when you’re ready to leave. But you would have to go now and get

your stuf f off the ship. We need to tell the others.”

Her body language said reserve. Worry. Definitely no prank. “What in hell?” He waved a hand over the bedside light switch, winced

at the sudden general glare, and tried to make out her face, which was, yes,

upset. Had she been crying?

“Go?

Go where?

And why would he want to

leave us here?

Did one of us create a problem?

Jen, did I?”

“No. No, nothin g like that.” She chewed her lip, then: “Just don’t want

to ruin your chance at Pell, y’know?

And...

we just have to move out. Life’ s like that.”

No, he didn’ t know. She was hiding something. Something big. But,

damn, could someone be listening?

He sat up, indicated the space beside him, and she sat. For a moment,

she just stared off across the room, hands clenched in her lap, then suddenly

she twisted and put her arms tight around him. “I can’t leave them,” she said, her shaky voice barely audible. “Love

you. A lot. But I can’ t leave them.”

“Leave them?

Who?

Finity?

Of course you can’t. Jen, what’ s going on?

Wher e are they going ?

Is it something about Galway or—” If somet hing

had happened at Alpha...

or to Alpha...

where his family was...

But if it was about Galway , however bad, why would Finity want to

leave them behind?

Damn it, he was still half asleep. Fingers on his lips warned him to silence, and she brought her lips right

against his ear. “Got a lead on those two ships we’re hunting. Could take us

off the Alpha route. Way of f. And we have to go.”

His heart was beating hard. It made a sort of sense. “We just need to get everybody to the ship,” Jen said, “Now.”

To the ship. Where they could talk safely , and didn’ t need to come back

onto Pell’s deck. He got that much, and worried all over again about that

too-public discussion about trees and Earth imports. The conversation had

sent Jen racing off to Finity , with Nolan in tow. He’d been puzzled by her

leaving. A little worried. Just a little. Just how stupid had they been?

Whatever the reason, though, it was nothing directly to do with Galway. That, at least. Jen push ed herse lf to her feet and began stuffing things in her carry-bag. Ross, fully awake now , collected his clothes and pulled them on. “The stuff we sent to the ship,” Jen said in a low voice. “I can get that

sent here if you decide to stay. But best you pack. In case. Got to tell the

others pack and come. Either way, stay aboard or leave, Finity will settle all

the char ges.”

He took up his handheld and keyed up a group message to his cousins:

“Meet me at Finity. Board call. Now. Bring luggage. Questions later,” and

sent it before he snatched up his own carry-bag and swept his own toiletries

into the safety bag. Jen meanwhile went into the bath and came out with all the little bottles

and samples the Royal provided. She dumped those into his carry-bag. “You can go on using this room,” she said. “If you come back. But in

case.”

Ross tried to arrange things, using a Royal courtesy bag to contain Jen’s

raid on toiletries. Come back. Hell. Nine of them staying here, nine of them trying to get a

ride to Venture with some other ship, with some unknown crew that the

Monahans—he supposed—cou ldn’t tell everything they knew , while

curiosity about where they’d come from and why would be running wild?

Space for one free rider was hard to ask for. Even with help from Station

Admin, it would be a piecemeal nightmare getting them all home. And God, yes, there’d be questions. He and his cousins knew too much

without knowing how it all connected, and that could make their slips of the

tongue dangero us. He knew that. They all knew. And they tried to be

careful, but like that discussion in the Garden bistro, there were things they

might let slip, one loose remark , one lover ’s idle conversation, and rumors

could spiral way out of contr ol. They were Alpha spacers. Strangers. Noticeable. They understood that, dammit, and yet, first night on the strip,

they’d gotten too relaxed, too careless...

But Jen said it wasn’ t the Monahans that had triggered this sudden board

call. Something else had happened. Those two ships and take us off the

Alpha r oute...

They were old First Stars ships that Finity was hunting. They shouldn’ t

be able to make it to Pell—let alone Viking. How far off the path could they

go?

“Where’ s Finity headed?” Surely she could tell him that much. “Venture,” she said, then put a finger to her lips, caution agains t further

questions. He took a deep breath and worked the toiletries bag into a pock et in his

black duffle. Damned if he was coming back alone, not with Finity headed

in the right direction. Even if they went with Finity only as far as Venture, at least if they were

set out there dockside, to find a way home...

Venture had ships headed the

right direction. Ships they knew. Families fully up to speed on the situation

at Alpha. But...

damn it all!

He wasn’ t ready to leave Finity ...

not when

everything was—

Flash of dark and a blazing red sun, naked furnace, blinding and terrible. A glowing red shape in the dark, and the sound of his own breaths. Pain in

his forehead...

He twitched. Damn it all. Every time he got stressed. “Ross?

You all right?”

Stinging acid breath, blood-spat tered light of the star, Finity’ s pale shape

far below , and above...

That was the last time he’d been close to Galway. Fallan had shoved him out the emer gency lock, then gone to save Galway

from those EC pirates. He’d been cheated of being part of that fight. Necessary , yes, to alert the Family and all the rest of the Alliance what had

happened, but if those same pirates, or at least their corporate cousins, were

operating at this end of space, they, the Galways at Pell, had to survive. Had

to find out what was happening here and carry that message to Alpha. For

Fallan. For all of them. The EC was fighting dirty, and Galway was literally

in a fight for her life. All he’d had to show for that battle for Galway was a blow to the head

that left him with that bloody , shattered memory...

and guilt that he’d left

his shift behind. He’d left Family behind again, when he’d gone with Finity. Left them

behind to suffer the sheer boredom and inescapable aging of station life, left

them to carry the burden of worrying about Niall and Fallan and all the rest

in real time, years, when all he’d suffer was months. Sure, he’d gone to

learn everything he could. To do his part for Fallan and all the Monahans. To be ready when Galway returned triumphant—and ready for the upgrades

Finity had promised...

But to leave Finity here or even at Venture, and find some other way to

get home...

Give up the connection?

Run away again?

And what was Jen saying?

Did they really have a choice?

He couldn’ t

believe they’d be forced off, not without some better explanation. The

Neiharts had played fair with them, more than fair. The Neiharts had shown

them modern systems, taught them things, shown them things they’d only

imagined. And he wasn’ t finished learning, dammit. He’d known they

might part comp any at Venture, depending on what they heard from Little

Bear. But that was an expected part of leaving Alpha in the first place. He

wasn’ t ready for a call in the dark. He wasn’ t in territory he remotely knew ,

and everything was suddenly going sideways—

But the ship called. He froze, his world suddenly snapping into focus. If the ship called, he didn’ t know how to stay. He didn’ t have a questio n

what was right or wrong, smar t or not. He knew one thing and one thing

only: he didn’ t belong on Pell, or Venture or any other station. Not if he had

a choice. And if he truly did have a choice, damned if he wasn’ t in on whatever

this was. Being left behind again ...

watching Finity and all her promises

leave them stranded at station, was just not an option. With new purpose, he started packing his living-on-station clothes,

rolled them all back into a fairly wrinkle-free bundle. He made a reckless

try at the new coat, Jen’s gift, which wasn’ t designed for the kind of

packing he knew. “Give me that,” Jen said. Jen took it and folded it. Same with the new

pants. She stowed them both, neatly. “Thanks,” he said, embarrassed. “Here,” Jen said, and handed him his duf fle. Section xvii Book II

“Maindark,” Emilio said, sinki ng into his chair. “God, you come in at

maindark, you do business in maindark. What in hell’s going on?

Something to do with that special clearance you requested?

Something

about the Garden, for God’ s sake?”

“Short version,” JR said, “that special exhibit put us on the track of

something big. At least it could be. That’ s what we have to find out. Basically , we have, thanks to your local record keeping, a whole lot of

numbers that don’t add up involving the only two ships that haven’ t signed

on to the Allianc e. Earth imports that, by all the numbers , and according to

our Monahan guests, didn’ t come through Alpha.”

Emilio held up a hand to stop him. “Give me a moment.” Emilio swung his chair around, reached into the

cabinet, extracte d the Scotch and three glasses, onto the bare desktop. “One

finger or two?”

“Make it light for me. I’m in ops. You’ll want two.”

Emilio gave him a worried look that shifted to Fletch, standing silently

beside the door, then uncorked the bottle and poured...

two glasses. He

shoved the lesser glass to mid-desk, and JR half-rose and took it, settling

back with it warming in his hands. “So,” Emilio said. “Come again?”

“Nothing’ s proven, mind you. Yet. We think those two are trafficking

recent imports from Earth via some route that doesn’ t involve Alpha.”

“You’re bloody kidding.”

“I wish I were. We’ve no reason to believe they’ve indep endently

discovered an FTL route to Sol, but something out there has Sol contact

somehow. We suspect we’ve got at very least a pusher base that’s been

operating for years, and trying to hide the fact. Remembering what they

were doing at Alpha, recruiti ng and training Enforcers and building

personnel transport, it’ s forming a picture we don’ t like.”

“A pusher base wher e?”

“That’ s what we hope to find out, and why we’re leaving as soon as we

get everyone back on board. We’re guessing the Galileo Reach. But here’ s

what we know: our Monahan guests found F-class items in local shops that

they’ve never seen or heard of at Alpha, one of which contain s copyright

info that dates manufactur e to twenty-one years ago, max, which precludes

some stationer selling off their warehoused hoard. Then there are your

mega-trees. The seller , Come Lately , claims they were grown from seeds

found on Bryant’ s. Not an impossibility , but where grown and when

purchased and from whom was pointedly left off the paperwork. They took

the payment, converted it to Venture chits, only ten thousand of which they

spent locally. Those F-class sales were also chip transactions rather than

station credit. Venture chits are used everywhere in the Hinde r Stars. But

very little of that chit windfall shows up on Alpha or Bryant’ s or even

Venture. Neither is there any sign of the ten thousand breakfast meals they

bought here. Wholesale. That’ s what you call a long-term supply , for a

single ship.”

“No question I remember the trees. It was a minor hassle. The ship

demanded some insane amount. Committee said no deal. The Garden

fought to keep them. It got to the court system. The Garden got their trees,

and we ended up paying the ship—bar gained down, I guarantee. —A

pusher route wher e?”

“Possibly Thule. More likely Olympus. We think there’ s a safe FTL

route from Thule. We don’ t know. We’re going hunting.”

“God. How did you figure—?”

“The pattern of Come Lately ’s movements and her intersec tion with

commodities’ rise and fall, the fact that she shouldn’ t be able to make it

from Venture to Pell...

but does. A cash buy of ship parts at Venture some

twenty years ago that never made it to another station, parts that could

account for our two ships being able to visit here. The questio n of where

those upgrades might have been done. The question of where other apparent

purchases ended up...

Maybe she spends a lot of time at Glory , from

which Finity has no records as yet. But that’s no great attraction. Maybe

that’s where she got her suspec ted upgrade, but Glory’ s not the place for

that. If she trades a lot at Glory , she’d have to go via Bryant’ s, where she’s

rare, even by the commodities ticks. Same story with Miriam B. Known at

Alpha and Bryant’ s, but mostl y Venture, and sometimes here. Slippery. Very. Two ships with that pattern, that buy electronics and manufacturing

machinery at Venture, and trade Scotch by multiple cases on a schedule

never intersecti ng any pusher at Alpha. —Yes, we’re suspicious. And

disturbed enough to risk the ship going after the truth.”

Emilio’ s expres sion had grown more and more guarded. All the way

over to troubled. “On the trail of a pusher route we don’t know about.” He

looked up. “Y ou’re sure it couldn’ t have come in at Alpha.”

“The last two Alpha pushers were exclusively moving stuff for Rights of

Man. Practically no station goods.”

“So Alpha’ s said.”

“And our Monahans concur. They say even F-class from the pusher

crews was cherry-picked by Cruz, the head of the Rights project. Caused

quite a controversy , to say the least.”

“And yet we have this relative abundance of Sol goods floating around

the market, not to mention the total food sales for the Hinder Stars. There

are reasons I always thought Abrezio was exaggerating his problem. —

Thule, you say. You think some of those food sales are headed there?”

“Maybe. Maybe Olympus. Thule’ s an easy jump from Venture, and from

there, at least by the numbers, a relatively easy in and out of Olympus. Olympus is not easy to or from Venture direct.”

“Those records you wanted...” Emilio rubbed his forehead. “They

gave you all this?”

“Only when combined with similar from here to Alpha. Just a matter of

putting a lot of dissimilar but intimately related pieces together. Looking at

who’ s moving where, and the commercial data, it’s been there. Just not a

puzzle that mattered to anybody—until we began looking for a specific

ship’ s movemen ts over decades.” Time, JR decided, to up the ante. “Point

is, there’ s no reason Sol couldn’ t build more pushers, couldn’ t use them to

set up a base nearer to Pell than Alpha, and man it with loyal EC

personnel.”

“A base nearer Pell. To do what?” Emilio asked sharply— not that

Emilio, always suspicious of the EC, would be short of ideas, none of them

pleasant. “I think we got a taste of that at Alpha. It’s a good bet they want to

reclaim what they feel they lost. I suspect we’re dealing with a goal that

predates even FTL, but which FTL certainly brought to a head. The Galileo

Reach is a string of hard-luck operations, from the EC’s point of view. The

mutiny at Venture, the theft of the Pell core—Galileo blowing, Thule being

ignored by the pushers...

then Cyteen and FTL happened, and when FTL

ships realized Groombridge Point at Olympus was a disaster waiting to

happen, putting Olympus out of business...

Basically , once Pell opened

up, nothing ever went right for Olympus and Thule.”

“The Olympus situation affecte d all of us,” Emilio said. “Companies

ferried their people and operati ons to Venture, which couldn’ t handle the

numbers, and so eventually to Pell. Several of our major companies had

their start on Olympus. Protoco rp set up at Venture. FTL certainly tipped

our power structure. We still had an office here, but quit listening to them

altogether. It didn’ t take FTL for the Beyond to collectivel y boot Sol

interests back to the Hinder Stars. —So now you think they’re coming to

take it all back?

” Emilio looked a bit in shock, and JR couldn’ t blame him. He’d had time to get past the initial realization. Emilio hadn’ t. “At the moment ,” JR said, “if we’re right, all they have on this side is

two FTL Family ships servicing them. Old ships, purportedly with ancient

nav and engines, which shouldn’ t be able to make the run to Pell

economically , but are doing that, which leads one to suspect those systems

aren’ t as old as our records show. That power upgrade and unique Earth

goods, luxury goods, and some odd food purchases explains what Come

Lately is getting out of it, but one has to wonder what they’re giving the EC

in excha nge. Somehow , one suspects pusher -loads from Earth are supplying

this hypothetical station with all its physical needs—if 10,000 VC in

breakfast buns and some flour is all the freight she’ s hauling.”

“Except information,” Emilio said. “Money in, information out. Bribes. God help me, I’m going to have every negotiable chit in this station marked

and tracked!”

“A little late now , if our suspicions are correct.”

“Who knows how long this has been going on?

For all we know , they’re

at somepl ace like Thule building a fleet of FTL ships, filling them with

Enforcers, arming them with who knows what kind of weapons to blow a

hatch and board the station whether we like it or not!” Emilio took a

swallow of the Scotch and stared at something infinite, and not, by his

expression, pleasant. Then at JR. “Please tell me this is some move of your

Alliance to panic us shore-dwellers. I’ve signed your damn agreement. You

really don’ t need a sales pitch.”

“I swear to you it’s possible. We hadn’ t put it together , either. Now we

have.”

“Those two over in the EC office.” Emilio’ s lip lifted in a snarl. “If

they’ve known about this, and kept it silent, playing some game with us

while feeding information...

damned if I won’ t have them locked up until

we have an answer out of them.”

“I doubt they’ll admit to anythi ng. Only way to know is to go see for

ourselves...

and hope to God that it’ s not Beta they’ve been reviving.”

“They wouldn’ t dare. Not even the EC could be that downright stupid.”

“Never underestimate the EC,” JR said grimly. “But we don’t think so. We’ve found the Earth product s here at Pell, and Beta to Pell would take

them all the way through the Hinder Stars. Our money is on something

closer to Pell.”

“Lovely.”

“We suspect Thule or Olympus. We’re heading down the Reac h to find

out if we’re right. Whatever ’s going on, you need to know. Stationmasters

clear to Alpha need to know exactly what’ s going on.”

Emilio drew a deep, shaky breath, leaned back, staring into his glass

until he regained control, then said slowly , “You scare them, you know.”

“Scare them?

Me?

The Merchanter ’s Alliance?

That can’t be a factor. Earth doesn’ t even know about it yet.”

“Not you, personally. Finity. I know what I’d be thinking, if I were

sitting inside Sol Station, in a system with infinite wealth, and got those

plans and specs for Finity dropped in my lap.”

“What?

That we’re going to one-hop from Alpha to crash their party and

raid the cof fers?

We can’ t do that. Finity’ s good, but she’ s not that good.”

“Isn’ t she?” Emilio raised his eyebrows skeptically. “We built her and in

all this time, I’ve still never seen her true specs. Keep those close, you do. You and John Reilly , both.”

“Even if we could top 6 lights, which we can’t, have you any idea the

havoc we’d pull in with us, running that hot?

First V-dump at Sol, we’d be

sprayed with our own gravitational shrapnel.”

“You might know that. You might even believe it. Not sure I do, and I’m

damned certain the EC CEOs don’t know or believe it. For them , interstellar

trade is a habit, not a way of life. The stations slipping out of their control

was a loss of face, not a financial blow.”

“Oh, I’m sure they noticed.”

“Historically , the stations were sources of information, not wealth. The

fact they’ve started making money , and lots of it, and none of that wealth to

this day is making its way back to the EC coffers has their shorts in a

majorly painful bunch, but doesn’ t affect their bottom line that much. For

generations they’ve hidden behind that pusher -time barrier , able to pretend

to their constituents that they were in charge of it all. Pell, Cyteen...

how

real are they to the population of Earth?

Who knows what bullshit the EC

has passed on to their own population about us?

Hell, you’ve seen those

crazy vids they send out in the name of entertainment. It’s possible they

started...

whatever you believe they’re doing, the day they got the news of

Olympus’ shutdown; but I have this inevitable thought that whatever those

plans are, they went into high gear when they saw those blueprints for

Finity. When did you last look at the production notes the EC stole?

Those

who designed her sincerely believed she could do Alpha-to-Earth.”

“She can’ t.”

“But that’s what the EC has to go on, and that means their generational

buffer is gone. The unnamed threat from the traitorous stars could be on

their real-time doorstep.” Emilio’ s face hardened. “So...

what now?”

“No choice, really. We’ve got to find those ships, and we’ve got to find

where they’re based. We’re set to rendezvous with Little Bear at Venture,

and if our ships haven’ t run across the ghosts yet, we’ll head to Thule and,

if we don’ t find anything there, on to Olympus. We’ve got to know.”

“And you’re going to take your ship, and your people, and tell this EC

station...

if it exists...

we’ve twigged to their secret, that FTL is coming

to Sol via Alpha, and, oh, by the way, if you want to join the system, you’re

welcome, but here are the rules.”

“That’ s one outcome.”

“And if they don’ t want to play by those rules?”

“Clause thirteen of the agreement you signed. If Allian ce merchant trade

is in any wise restrained or denied at a station, signatory stations will

support the Merchanter Allianc e in settling the dispute, such support to

include finance and logistics, diplomatic efforts, and if necessary , embar go

of the non-compliant station.”

“Meaning that if...

let’s assume Olympus...

doesn’ t play nice, you’ll

cut of f trade they aren’ t currently admitting to.”

“First we talk to them.”

“How?

If you’re right, Come Lately and Miriam B are running goods,

and, one assumes, carrying information to them already.”

“We’ll meet the ships, hear them out, give them the option to join. If

they join, by the terms of the agreement, they cease trading with the EC

until the station signs the agree ment. If no one signs, no other station will

do business with the ships as long as they’re doing business with Olympus,

effectively freezing them, trees or no trees.”

Emilio heaved a breath. “About all we can do, until we know. So...

is

this after hours visit just a ‘for the record,’ or is there somethi ng else you

want from me?”

“One more favor.”

“What favor?”

“That load of foodstuf fs, medicines, and technical items you authorized,

to be parceled out to Bryant’ s, Alpha, and Glory , of which I’ve only loaded

a fraction. I’ve bought the goods, but I need them to be transported and I

haven’ t time to work out the details. Can you make that happen?

We’ll

offload most of it. We’re fueling full up. You can use the Alliance

agreement, explain the situation to whatever extent you feel necessary.”

“Arrange a shipment at whose expense?”

“Here’ s where it gets tight. Sir.”

“I thought so.”

“You know we’ve used our own account hard. Very hard. We’ve hoped

to make that back once things level out, but that return to normal keeps

slipping away from us. We’re not looking for repayment for what we’ve

already outlaid, just some help, here—in the stations’ interest.”

“Credit.”

“We need that supply to get to Alpha.”

“To prop up the station that’ s due to become the EC’ s gateway.”

“Only if you want this plan to succeed. Only if you want that gateway to

be a viable, happy buffer between you and the EC. And only supposing

Galway makes it through and those jump-points test out. If it does, it could

actually help in negotiations if the EC finds a string of healthy small

stations to do business with on the FTL route—and Pell, of course. Proper

business. Not business backed by a clandestine build of a mega-ship

military transpor t, which right now is not going to be finding any military to

transport. By now, the Alpha young folk should have gone back to regular

work in anticipa tion of goods arriving from up the line. It’s the hope of the

stationmaster to do repairs and rebuilding, to meet whatever Galway brings

back with a healthy , potentially profitable, situation. If they look good to the

EC, the EC may listen to them. The EC has never , historically , wanted

complicated answers.”

“Like a clandestine pusher -route?

What do we suppose they’re doing?”

“Here’ s where our arrangement comes in. We go have a look. We may

take a close look. We may let them know we know. We may even talk to

them. Depends. But our Alliance depends on a principle, too, which is that

cargo moves on Alliance ships to Alliance stations, who may not deal with

non-Alliance ships except on humanitarian grounds.”

“That’ s a hard push, Captain. A provocation.”

“It’s the essence of what we must have from them, with Alpha the only

possible excepti on. And I doubt the EC at Olympus, if our guess is right,

has carte blanche to make war or peace. They’ll have to consult. At

lightspeed. Which is a two decade round trip for them, and then some. In

the meanwhile, if the gods of space smile on us, Galway has been there and

given them a way to get to Alpha and join the FTL universe by that route,

and that means we’ll have a higher authority on tap, and them wanting the

wealth that’s out here. Which we can offer enough of to tempt any board of

directors. What we know of Earth and Sol—it has too many pieces ever to

agree, but pieces of it can agree, particularly if they get goods as a result.”

“If it works, you’ll be a hero. That base, if it exists, would put EC FTL

ships uncomfortably close to Pell. Your Alliance could prove itself. However , if the EC takes exception, if that truly is a military base...

you

could be in trouble, Captain. Very big trouble.”

“It’s a risk we need to take, but obviously , we will be careful. In the

meantime, we’v e spent deep into our reserve, to your benefit. And this EC

operation, if we’re right, is near enough to Pell and Venture to involve you

both, should anything go amiss—so consider it to your benefit.”

“It’s the amiss part that worries me.”

“Whatever can go wrong is short-term out here, and it’ll take Earth a

decade to hear it. Whatever might go wrong, we have more time than they

do, and time is options.”

“You just sent a messenger to Cyteen-space. He hasn’ t left yet.”

“Not with this informa tion, sir. And he won’ t get it. Last thing we need

is years for misinformation to proliferate based on a rumor. All he has is

what we got on the last trip: the signatures on the Alliance contract, the

jump-points to Sol and what happened aboard Galway. This pending

operation is a chance for Pell-sp ace and the Hinder Stars to settle this illicit

trade situation on their own, before Cyteen even hears there’ s a problem—a

problem they assuredly won’ t like. Cyteen involvement can only complicate

negotiations with Sol. Cyteen’ s existence, however, gives you leverage with

the EC once it does come in.”

“You warned Cyteen about Galway. On an imminen tly departing ship. That’ s going to spread its own rumors.”

“That I did, sir. It would have been bad faith not to. But just remember ,

when I deal with the Alliance on Cyteen-side, I’m not speaking to the

Carnaths and the Emorys. I’m speaking to Dublin, to John Reilly ,

merchanter , with merchanter interests, and with the ear of the Carnaths and

the Emorys when he needs it. As I have yours. Things will get explained out

there, directly , and one of the things I will definitely have to account for

eventually is not sending Dublin word about this possible pusher -route. The

simple answer is, we simply don’t yet know , and we’re trying to find out. We will be messaging John Reilly as soon as we have solid information , but

I hope to be able to tell him that our newborn Alliance settled the problem

with Pell’ s full and ener getic cooperation.”

“You owe us, Captain, you owe us for your ship-build, our support

against the EC, and your freedom to do what you damn well please!”

“Mutual, sir. We’ve organized the Alliance on your own theory , that

makes merchanters the third power in the Beyond, so stations can maintain

a glorious isolation, with us as the go-betweens. I’m tellin g you, the

Alliance is officially telling you that, if I’m right, we’ve got a problem

shaping up at the aforenamed stars and we’re headed out there to address

that problem and isolate it, while they take the necessary twenty-plus years

to talk to Sol authority and get an answer. Let’s get this operation settled

before Galway gets back to Alpha with whatever shakes out from that.”

“JR,” Emilio said. “Level, here. If you don’t level with me, at this

ungodly hour, in this situation...

I need to know specifically what you’re

going to do about an EC operation if you find it.”

“Frankly , I don’t know there’ s anything I can do but shine a light on it

and tell them that if Alpha’ s about to become an FTL port for Sol—as it

may—then a new pusher -port close to Pell is not entirely a waste. There are

items Sol could inject into the system that only pushers could conveniently

deliver , if that’s what they want. But Galway may not have gotten through. The jump-points could be foul. We may not have Sol coming in here FTL

after all. And if that’s the case, then we still have twenty years to figure this

out, and maybe to conv ert Rights of Man into an honest merchanter with a

Family crew. It’s all to work out. But I need your backing...

and your

trust. I will try very hard to calm the situation, not inflame it.”

Emilio gave a heavy sigh. “I’ve got a council to convince.”

JR drew a breat h and gave his final, most potent, argument. “Tell them

this: if they are at Olympus, if they have modern, purpose-built

FTLers...

there’ s a direct-to-Pell route they can use.”

Emilio just stared at him. “It’s there. It exists. We’ve had the points, but the converts couldn’t do

it. By the numbe rs, it’s pretty hellish. But it’s there. Finity could manage it. Anything less...

depends on how desperate they are.”

He let that sink in. Then:

“So, my old friend, you get on your council and let’s solve this before

Cyteen comes back with questions. I’ve got to get out of here before some

research intern says the wrong thing, and someone else asks a question. What gets asked after we leave can’ t get ahead of us. Do we have backing?”

“Damn you, JR.”

“All you like.”

“Hell,” Emilio muttered, then: “Go. Get out of here. I’ll transfer it as a

loan. If you survive, if the outcome’ s good, I’ll forgive it, good of the

station. If it isn’t, I may have to hang you and Finity out on a long, long

tether. I can’ t be drawn into this. Pell can’ t be. Understand?”

“No question,” JR said, drank his Scotch, rose, and set the glass on

Emilio’ s desk. “Thanks, old friend. Wish us luck.”

Section i Book III: Venture

Reality r e-shaped itself. Two faint voices, one soft, one a little uneasy , a little unstable: Bella and

the Beast. Old, familiar friends. Why had he never hear d them befor e?

Section ii Book III

Dark gave way to blurry vision. JR blinked, fought to clear his eyes and see the schematics. There were

lights, green and steady for Helm , Nav, and Longscan, well hyped up out of

trank and responding. Com and Engee were green but blinking. Scan was

steady yellow , but soon to follow. Lines moved. Nav tracks conver ged. Period of black. Second V-dump. Heart raced. Space-time smoothed out. They were in. But not in the ordinary way. Finity wasn’ t hauling on this

run, little more than fuel and ship’ s stores. Ship’ s chrono said they were

dead on estimate—Kate didn’ t miss—and they were tracking exactly where

they’d intended to be, in Ventur e’s zenith jump range, six minu tes light out

from the station. It would be six realtime minutes before Com heard direct

communication from Venture Station, but they were meeting station’ s

ongoing datastream. Their syste m maps were filling in and longscan was

starting to project current positions. “We look good,” JR said to those awake to hear him. “Is Com up?”

“Com’ s working,” Com 1.1 said, and cleared his throat. “Scan?”

“Getting a position,” Scan said. “Yes!

Little Bear is here, coordinates

lit. Helm.”

“She’ s standing of f midway to the station,” Helm said. “Projecting as stationary ,” Longscan said, meaning relative to the

station and Finity’ s incoming vector. “Com, hail Little Bear ,” JR said. “Hailing now,” Com said, and their signal went out, saying Finity ,

Finity , Finity. Station hadn’t yet ID’ed Finity on its own map, would mark

their incoming position in about two minutes and posit a likely course for

them. It would take another six minutes for Finity to see Venture’ s version

of the system map with their position and trend added to it. “Standing by for V-dump,” Helm 1.1 said. “Park with Little Bear in

two?”

“Com, advise Little Bear, advise station. We’re dumping V to matc h

Little Bear ’s position. Helm, that’ s a go for one of two.”

Section iii Book III

V-dump blurred vision, felt like weight, then weightlessness. Not-here and

here again. Ross blinked rapidly , fighting for vision, keyed again, confident

but not being a fool. His stomach objected. The universe tilted, righted itself

again—it was the inner ear that didn’ t like what it was getting, but that

happened, and hype helped. Ross squeezed to get more juice, and felt

warmth shooting through his arm. He wasn’ t dead-on course this time. He saw Kate’ s line, and Bucklin’ s,

and his line was out, too conservative, off by three. He’d never dreamed of

coming in this close, this hot and dumping V this fast. Power. Finity was

power incarnate, at the moment, and in a hurry as she’d not been before. Meanwhile, the map reformed itself. The system’ s data now began to

populate the screen. They were within a.04 second lag of the position they

wanted, which was sitting just outside the inbound jump range , inertia fast

narrowing the local scale, and he’d just been lessoned in the extreme finesse

a ship of Finity’ s power could apply. Finity’ s power and Kate Neihart’ s skill. His line matched Ty and Jim. He’d thought he could shave it fine. He had. But not as fine as Kate. They would pose no danger to Little Bear—no problem there. Both

Venture’ s suns, Bella and the Beast, were astern. Ross couldn’ t swear he’d

ever really felt a star, before Tau Ceti, but it was as if, now his gut knew

what to expect, he’d always felt it here: two faint voices, one soft, one a

little uneasy , a little unstable, both a little startled at Finity’ s unusual

shockwave. Venture anchored around a piece of Bella’ s realm, an ill-formed

lump of a planetoid called Austen. It outgassed, but couldn’ t hold an

atmosphere. The Beast, Krueger 60 B, had a temper. He had a decided

distrust of it in the wake of that shockwave, but it felt quiet. Mentally drifting. But Nav’ s job was essentially done, just down now to

being aware and watching as the system map that Venture output actively

refined itself and showed Finity and Little Bear in their curre nt and

projected relationship. “Well done,” Kate said to her crew. No praise was due the trainee,

however. Ross felt that. He hadn’t earned it this time. He wanted to talk to

Kate when the chance arose, he wanted a walk-through of the whole

process, and likely she would oblige, Kate being the generous soul she was. But right now his mind had to be on their options. Finity , with one V-

dump yet to go, was still carrying considerable way, and, as the system

numbers refined the schematic, Little Bear was now reading as carrying a

little stationward momentum in a slightly different vector. Little Bear ought

not to be lying where she was, right at the edge of the entry zone, unless she

was just arrived —which was possible, but a hell of a coincidence if that

was the case. Except it wasn’ t coincidence, at least not the fact she was here. According to the brief they’d all gotten, Little Bear had agreed to wait for

them at Venture with the most current information from Alpha, waiting for

the go-ahead from Senior Capta in to return to their regular routes. Maybe

she’d finished her business with Venture and was sitting out here to avoid

racking up dock charges, eager to get back to those routes the minute her

business with Finity was done. And maybe—hi s ears buzzed as his heart raced—maybe they had news

from Alpha. News they didn’ t want to give dockside. He willed that heart rate down with mediocre success. All he really

knew was that Little Bear was back from a crazy-fast run to Alpha—

carrying a repair component desperately needed back at Alpha—along a

direct Venture-to-Alpha route he’d never imagined...

until Kate had set

her trainees to calcing it for Finity. Practice, she’d said, but one thing was

certain: plugging in Galway number s would leave her drifting, unable to

come down. He knew. He’d tried it in sims. On the other hand, Little Bear, hoping to meet Finity here, might be

carrying mail from the rest of the Monahans, a hello, how are you, the way

he and the rest of the Galways with Finity had left messages at Bryant’ s. Still...

and his heart sped up again...

enough station-time had elapsed

that there was a possibility of it—time enough that, if everything had gone

at max speed, Galway could have come back to Alpha. That would not be

good news. Not good at all. Niall had promised to take all the time he

possibly could, hoping to give the Alliance time to stabilize Alpha...

but

Alpha’ s stationmaster having already transmitted the coordinates for the

jump-points on the light-speed Stream meant Galway had no more than six

years to make the trip. Niall’ s plan was to get ahead of that information front, to time the route

not as slow as light-speed, but not as fast as Galway could do it, using the

need to carefully map those two points as a legitimate delay , hoping to give

Finity plenty of time to get to Pell and seal the Alliance before Sol got into

the act...

and giving them time to sort Alpha out. Which they had done

before they left. But if Galway had already returned...

If that had happ ened—everything had gone wrong. Fallan would never

surrender the coordinates. Fallan could destroy Galway. Just change a

decimal. Nav 1 could do that. And Fallan would, if Fallan was the only one

aboard with the numbers and if they couldn’ t regain control from the EC. But if—worst case scenario—th e EC had won the battle for control, and

if they had the numbers before they ever boarded, and if somehow those

sim-trained newbies who had caused The Rights of Man to abort her first

jump had managed to navigate those unproven jump-points and arrive at

Sol—

If all that had happened, then, running as fast and hard as Galway could,

the EC could be back at Alpha right now , in control of Alpha and Galway. If all that had happened, and Little Bear was waiting here to warn them...

Couldn’ t happen. Couldn’ t happen. Of all possibilities—no. Fallan

wouldn’ t buckle. No matter what. And that EC crew couldn’ t navigate. Either way, Ross just wished he’d gone with them, with Niall and Fallan

and all the rest of the First-sh ift crew. As he’d tried to do. One more

Monahan might have made a dif ference. “Go to V-dump,” the captain said, General Hail that came over their

earpieces. “Second V-dump. Pr epare to execute.”

Ross punched the final variables into his calc...

“V-dump in thirty seconds,” Helm said. “Twenty-nine.”...

and sent it to the Nav comp, and braced himself for another jolt. They were all tired, hell, they were a mess, after that fast turnaround at

Pell, but for this entry , given they were not planning a statio n approach,

they had a whole new proble m. First-shift Nav needed to be mentally

adjusted to ensure a safe rende zvous with Little Bear. They did not get a

lengthy period to rest. Reality was about to adjust itself. He needed to be

sharp, coming out. Countdown ticked to a zero. Ross kept his eyes on the screen and

concentrated on the numbers as they arrived. They were—Ross ran the

math determine dly in his head—going down hard, really hard. The

schematic kept redrawing itself in a mad overlay. They were, to a nicety , where they expected to be. Close approach to another ship. Nav was not going to get a shift-change

until that was plotted. Section iv Book III

Little Bear was a blip on scan, a distant blackness against the star-studded

black on visual. JR, having showered, having taken down several nutrient

packs and with his stomach moderately settled, watched from his bridge-

side office, sipping a cup of coffee and ticking through Venture ’s output on

trade and local news. Their own arrival had gone on Venture’ s boards with

the footnote, in transit, not expected to dock. That would probably upset some people expecting shipments. That first

message was Com 1 doing her job on entry. But he had personally sent a second and more reassuring message:

Shipments anticipated to arrive on Finity’ s End have been consigned to

other ships at Pell and are expected to be in transit to Venture at this

moment. Finity’ s End has arrived at Ventur e for a brief confer ence on

Alliance business and will be departing shortly after. Beyond that, he intended to let Com do the official talking, and not to

answer inevitable questions. Their time here was measure d in hours, mostly

the finesses necessary to get Finity and Little Bear in proximity for face to

face contact, because seeing Xiao Min was sometimes very necessary in

dealing with Xiao Min. A narrow zone was marked in red between Little Bear ’s position and

their own, not that station traffic routinely extended that far, but it was there

for the record: a ship was oblige d to report when in operation and show its

path, and Little Bear had duly report ed itself as outbound but delayed. On

Venture’ s displa y, number three display on the row across the wall, Finity ’s

location and Little Bear’s were two red dots in a yellow box, indicating that

they were traffic not threateni ng each other but moving as a unit and

declaring that nobody should invade that space. Stability was not precisely true: there was relative motion; but it was

small enough for a pod to hand le, and a pod was indeed already in transit,

had been launched even before Finity’ s official invitatio n had gone out. Min

was wasting no time. Little Bear had been in dock, had fueled and offloaded cargo. Venture’ s

records showed that. Venture had all the content of Little Bear ’s black box,

and that would have included news of Galway had Galway arrived back at

Alpha, but there were other things that could have gone wrong , things that

might not have made it into the record. By those same records, Little Bear

had ferried the vital parts for Firenze to Alpha as needed, and had come

back here, giving Pell as her next registered port, and beyond that, via

Mariner Station, a return to Cyteen space and her own business. If Min was

intending to leave them here, one certainly couldn’ t blame him. That had,

after all, been the plan when they’d parted company at Alpha. So JR waited. First-shift had gone off to shower , eat, and rest, in

whatever order. Second-shift had come on, meaning if they were working

with Little Bear or the pod in transit, Madison was watching over the

technicals, but Min would expect to deal directly with the Senior Captain. A glance at the uppermost screen said Little Bear ’s pod was three

quarters of its way across a gap that Finity and Little Bear were lazily

closing at 14.2 meters a minute, but would miss each other entirely by

982.51 meters—not counting the broad expanse of Finity’ s as-yet unfolded

vanes. It was one of those ‘take a visual’ moments, when junior-juniors

were going to be crowding the video center to see it magnified to the max

on the big scree n. He’d been one of those junior -juniors himself once. He

could still remember his first time in the center , seeing Pell, seeing other

ships, in the crazy patchwork of sunlight and dark. He could have that feed here in his office, but while the ships passed

each other at their closest, he hoped to be in productive conference with

Min—not necessarily guaranteed, but he had, he hoped, managed a certain

understanding of Min, of the Xiaos in general. He trusted Min to a degree

he would not have predicted at first meeting. And the Xiaos were inclined

to take to a task with dedication. Finding Little Bear camped out here,

waiting for them, which could have dragged into ten, twenty days of sitting

—

But hadn ’t. That was beyond expectation. Finity was here well ahead of

schedule, without the promised cargo. So Min knew something was up on

Finity ’s side. And Finity exec could think the same abou t Little Bear, who

appeared not at the moment anxious to hold discussions on Venture

dockside. The Xiaos were not the easies t to deal with, of merchanter Families. They either saw something as in their interest, or they did not, and there

were times the language gap got in the way—but they were staunch allies if

your purpose agreed with theirs. Little Bear’s ship-s peak was absolutely

impenetrable by outsiders, Min had a crew that obeyed him with a prideful

snap-to that made people nervous, and, shortly put, Xiao Min left station-

folk a little glad he wasn’ t staying but not overall sorry he’d been there. The Xiaos operated more on the Cyteen side of space than on Pell’s—it

was likely the Reillys of Dublin who had talked them into joinin g Finity on

the run to the Hinder Stars—an d their presence had made a very important

point, that Cyteen merchanters were fully committed partners in this

alliance they were forming. By the time they left Alpha, JR had been very

glad to have the Xiaos in the company. Nervy?

Extremely. Nervy , self-contained, and touchy in the matter of

their own independence—apt to do any damn thing, Madison had said of

them. Apt to do any damn thing, indeed. Min himself had probably been

behind the incident that had blown up the situation at Alpha. Chair reclined. A cat-nap, interm ittent with a glance at the screens. He

hazarded a nutrient bar and when that stayed down, a second. Another cup

of cof fee. JR put in a call to Madison. And Fletch. And fastened the final few buttons on his dress uniform. His smallest. The one made for him when he officially took his position as Senior

Captain...

and it was still somewhat loose. One more run, then damned if

the Family wasn’ t getting three weeks dockside at Pell. The pod reached them, braked, accelerated slightly , and linked on with

little fuss. It was zero- G back there. There was the mate-up to be made, gear to

shed. It all took time. The snatches of nap hadn’ t helped that much. Their

visitors were going to be sharpe r. It was not the way to go into conference

with the Xiaos. JR ordered the galley into action, and a choice of coffee or

tea in the conference room. Black coffee. Bitter and black. With sugar on the side. He didn’ t like it,

but there were times it helped. Tea. Min’ s preference. The good stuf f. Files. Datasticks. He had made several copies. Best that more than one

ship carry them. Thump from the airlock, up from the core. “A visitor has come aboar d,” Finity’ s voice said, and JR headed for the

conference room. Section v Book III

Xiao Min arrived, small man, steel-spring bearing, smartly-uniformed as if

it were a station -offices outing; and with him, cousin and brother-captain,

Xiao Ma, not a small man in any dimension. There were courtesies, needful

under the circumstances, the hot tea definitely welcome, considering the

outer -frame chill. JR, with Madison and Fletch on either side, took coffee—loaded in

sugar—and waited patiently. He, along with Madison and Fletch, was

markedly young er than the two Xiao captains. Finity’ s new systems had

caused a genera tional shakeup unique to her crew , and respect for age, part

of every Family crew , was carrie d to an extreme in the Xiaos. While he was

the unqu estioned leader in this Alliance operation, JR nonetheless waited

until a flicker of Min’ s eye indicated he was ready to proceed. “Any word on Galway ’s return ?” JR asked, by way of opening. Min took a sip, unadulterated, at his own pace. “No.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“And Konstantin?” Min asked. “Has signed.”

Min nodded slightly. “I am glad to hear that.”

Two major issues down. “Glory?” JR asked. “Has signed,” Min said. “Good. Nomad and Mumtaz?”

“Likely on their way here,” Min said. “They will ply the Venture to

Bryant’ s route for the next while, and Santiago and Qarib will run Bryant ’s

to Alpha and Glory.”

“How goes the repatriation of the Rights crew?”

“Nearly comple te. Those unwilling few have been isolated in a secured

area along with Hewitt. Their only contact with each other is through

monitored vid. Rights is being maintained by Alpha engineering. They’re

going through records looking for possible mechanical reasons for the

failed jump. Monahan engineer s are involved. They’ve sent a file to their

seniors aboard your ship. Test results, specs, everything they have, sent with

Abrezio’ s blessing. Give Connor something to keep him out of trouble , they

said.”

That was interesting. If Abrezio could get that ship operational, the

entire station would have additional bargaining power. It would be a hell of

a step up for Galway crew, would it not?

But the Monahans had a ship, and

due to be a famous one, if it made it—would the Monahans want to

surrender that?

As for Rights, given those files, Finity systems techs might

be able to figure it out in much shorter order , but he wasn ’t about to

dispense that information by com to a station the EC could potentially lay

hands on, and not about to leave Finity crew stranded there for whatever

time it took, for a ship that might have other problems. Besides, Rights could sit, so far as he was concerned, a monument to EC

mismanagement, until all her problems were resolved. “No sign of Come Lately or Miriam B?”

“Not there. But Miriam B did show at Alpha while we were en route. They left no word with Stationmaster Abrezio about signing, although the

stationmaster did bring the matter up with her captain. Noncommittal, was

his word. By her registered route, she went to Bryant’ s from there, and from

Bryant’ s to Venture.”

“She is not on the record here,” JR said. “No,” Min said. “She is not, nor has she been, according to local

records, within the span of our mission. Neither have they seen Come

Lately. Nor has Glory. We have that from Mumtaz and Nomad.”

“Do you have the records?” JR asked. “Such as they are?”

“We have them.” Ma’s deep voice reverberated off the walls. He patted

his jacket, then took out two datasticks and laid them on the table, and a

third, from a different pocket, set slightly apart. “The trade records as well

as the docking records, for Bryant’ s, for Alpha, for Glory , as complete and

as curren t as Mumtaz had them. The third is personal, for your guests, from

the Mon ahan Family, including the files on Rights. We met with them, in

courtesy. They appeared to be doing well and they are resolute and

optimistic.”

“Thank you,” JR said, putting the Monahans’ letters in his left pocket,

handing the other sticks to Fletch, who immediately disappea red out the

door, taking them to Rennie, who was waiting anxiously. “Profound thanks,

from our Monahans. For our part, we have the records from Pell, up to date,

and reaching back three decades.” He took out his own set of datasticks and

laid those on the table. Ma’s hand engulfed them and slipped them into a

pocket. It was a fair guess—but not a certainty—that they would go to

Cyteen’ s databan ks. Min’ s points of honor were at times obscure and finely

delineated, but he had asked for the data current at Pell. “You arrived early ,” Min said. “And without promised car go.”

“The cargo is on its way. At Pell, we received information on our

missing ships that required us to leave immediately.”

“So...

you continue to bleed money for this mission.”

“I believ e it to be necessary. I have backing from Pell. I hope, when you

have the facts, you’ll agree with me.”

“We are listening.”

“Regarding those files I just gave you,” JR said, “it’s best we all have

this set of records, to disperse it wherever it needs to go. In addition to the

official records from Pell, it contains certain files in which our own analysts

have extracted information, calculations, and speculations regarding the

totality of what we’ve learned.”

“Speculations from Pell?

Regarding those two ships?”

“Investigations from Finity regarding Come Lately. Pell was not aware

of a problem. The Hinder Stars have shared official station data with Pell,

but trade records in the Hinder Stars do not record anything but cargo

officers’ statements for ships outside the black box reckoning—including

those two very little ships; and of course pushers. This means neither

Hinder Stars nor Pell ask enough questions when it comes to docking our

two problems who aren’ t on the box.”

Min blinked, as much surprise as he was likely to show. “Our targets

have been trading at Pell?”

JR nodd ed. “Notably Come Lately , dealing in a lot of cash, in the form

of Venture chits.”

“A far run for that ship.” A blank-faced pause then: “Has she been to

Pell since we left?”

“No. And calculating the numbers indicates either very slow transits, or

unlogged side trips. Slow transi ts would not get them to Pell, and we have

reason to suspect their systems are more modern than they’ve let on.”

“How would they do that?”

“It would take a station to do those modifications. Or somethin g like it. They haven’ t gone beyond Pell. Unless there’ s a back door to Cyteen space

no one’ s told us about.”

Min drew in a long breath as if he would say something, and picked up

his tea cup instead. JR waited while Min looked at something not present. Min was not saying everything. And JR waited in the half-hope Min had another answer , one that Cyteen

might solve. But he didn’ t want to spill everything he knew at once, didn’ t

want to unwittingly taint Min’ s reasoning with their own conc lusions, and

didn’ t want to dissuade Min from a suggestion of his own. Trust the man

wholly?

On some things. There was relief even in knowing Min was not

dismissing the problem or head ing for Pell and beyond. Another very keen

mind, another set of opinions, a view from clear across the Pell-Cyteen

universe, might show up possibilities they’d overlooked. And one hoped the meeting continued Min’ s support. The upcoming

action was not something JR wanted to undertake alone, and there were no

ships Pellside as agile as Little Bear. “Side trips,” Min said. “Thule?”

“Thule or Olympus, or both. We thought at first—running supply. I am

less convinced of that. The supply is minor.”

“Information, then.”

“Information. Possibly movement of persons. We’ve been trying to piece

together their movement and trade from those fluctuations. —The details

and reports are all on the sticks.”

“So,” Min said. “Side trips to mothballed stations. What are we dealing

with?”

“Pushers.”

That—neither Min nor Ma might have expected. “Olympus is a nasty hole for FTL,” Min said. “Salvage there ended after

several near disasters. Early converteds, back then. Maybe easier for newer

ships.”

“Maybe. The trouble is going Venture direct. Thule to Olympus vector is

safe—we think.”

“Olympus poses no hazard to a pusher ,” Ma observed slowly , “and the

very fact that Olympus is inconve nient for FTL would be of value to an

operation bent on secrecy.”

Thule had never been much. But, as Mum had said, Olympus had been

the biggest thing going, in the days of the Great Circle trade, when pushers

alone had connected the star-stations. But Olympus proved a problem for

FTLers. And a coronal mass ejection from EV Lacertae took out Galileo,

Olympus’ next-o ver star station. Bryant’ s trade shifted immediately to the

Venture-Pell route, an immense boost to Pell, impoverishing Thule, the first

star in what had been the Galileo Reach, and creating chaos in the Great

Circle. Thule and Olympus were mothballed over loud EC protests, and

Bryant’ s-Venture-Pell, a longer jump for FTLers, became the route not all

could take—ef fectively defining the Hinder Stars and the Beyond. “Olympus does seem increasing ly the better answer for a covert pusher -

fed operation,” JR said. “And that sort of operation could explain a lot. The

EC has been investing heavily in The Rights of Man, while simultaneously

starving out Alpha’ s people and the merchanters that serve them. They’ve

created poverty and desperatio n, when all they really needed to do was

build another pusher for the type of goods that have kept Alpha and the rest

of the Hinder Stars viable for centuries. It’ s as if they wanted Alpha to fail.”

Madison said, “If our two ghosts have been deliberately seeding the

Beyond with Earth luxury to stop the rumors of deprivation in the Hinder

Stars, it would serve to hasten that failure. The Hinder Stars have had to

depend on Pell just for food, let alone everything else that makes life worth

living.”

JR nodded. “That obsession with Rights never has made sense...

until

this. It’s not saying that EC actions have to make sense to us—they never

have. But sacrif icing a station increasingly out of their control, to create a

massive personnel carrier filled with troops farmed from the station, a ship

that could then be moved to a different, completely loyal, well-equipped

station several jumps closer to Pell, combined with a ship with the capacity

to scare hell out of every struggling station in the Hinder Stars...

that

makes a scary lot of sense. The expense of such a dual operation is mind-

boggling, but they have huge population, effectively infinite resources. They’re possess ive, greedy...

and Cyteen scares hell out of them, to be

honest, friends. Particularly if they think the megaships are capable of

making the Alpha-Sol jump, which Cruz, the EC flunky in question,

definitely believ ed and we are not about to try. The whole of Sol system is

constantly bomb arded with the notion that Cyteen is building an army of

clones to take control of the home planet.”

“Ridiculous,” Min said. “All the Emorys really want from Sol is coffee,

artwork, and booze.”

“Sorry to say, a Cyteen invasion has been the number one trope in Sol’s

action and suspense vids for two generations,” Madison said. “We laugh at

it, but— it’s dangerous. And up close, with FTL from Sol an increasing

possibility—it’ s damned dangerous. We’re worried. We’ve happened across

something—we can’ t leave unexplained.”

Min pushed back from the table a little, frowning. Ma sat motionless,

massive hands laced on the tabletop: according to Madison’ s notes on Little

Bear , Ma was a master calligrapher and watercolor painter. JR let the silence run. Had, he hoped, said enough to convince them. Min was much more a Cyteener than a near-sider. Cyteen was fully

capable of slamming down an embar go and concentrating on its own

colonies, letting the EC do as it pleased with all of the old Circle trade. As

Min pointed out, there was nothing on this end of space they actually

needed. But a paranoid, FTL-capable EC on Pell’s doorstep was not something

even Cyteen dared ignore. He hoped Min would see that. “What is Pell’s part in this new operation?” Min asked, in that tone that

said “this operation” had already gone long and cost his ship heavily. JR said, “Pell is funding us to go take a look at the situation and see

where these questionable goods might be coming from. That’ s all.”

“We took a look at Alpha. And now, if those points prove out, Sol will be

on us in at most ten years, whic h we may have accelerated. We have yet to

advise Cyteen.”

“Word of what we know from Alpha has gone to Cyteen. I was able to

make contact with the Quens. But nothing about these newest suspicions. We may have something going on a lot closer to Pell than Alpha. Something

Cyteen will also want to know about.”

“Something onto which you wish to shine a light. To open talks.”

“Finity will go in at Thule and at Olympus and shine that light. If we

have a pusher operation going on in either system, it will be fairly evident. What I want from you, my respe cted friend and ally, is for you to follow us

in, and stay safely out of reach. I seek advice. A wise head on whatever

problem we find out there. And if things do go wrong, I want you—fully

funded, mind, by Pell—to get out of there without engaging the problem

and warn Emilio Konstantin. Then go on and get word to Cyteen, whatever

it is we’ve stirre d up—with the hope that if we can expose it, we can get

ahead of it and get Cyteen and Pell to talk to it. We’re runnin g with max

fuel, no cargo. Drop whatever cargo you’ve got, with Alliance orders for it

to be carried on to Pell via the ships that are bringing our cargo in from Pell. Pell is paying for it. Come after us. Observe. And then get out of there in

good order. Tell Konstantin and the Carnaths to work it out.”

“Are you going in if you find something?”

“If we find something, yes. I do have questions for them. And an

invitation to talk about it and sign the agreement.”

“Of course they will sign. Just like the EC pirates at Alpha jumped at the

chance.”

“Of course they won’ t. Which may trigger an embar go, regarding their

operations, but who knows if that threat will carry any weight with the

station, assuming they’re getting all they need on a direct line from Earth. One suspects their main interest in Pell would lie in information. But again,

it’s talk. If they’ ll talk, we can reason. If they won’ t—we will find that out,

and wisp out on them fairly quickly , with more than enough to convince

everyone that the Sol threat is far beyond one wildcat pirate named Cruz

and the vague possibility that Sol is about to break out. You, meanwhile,

will be well away , so the EC will be quite sure they’re no longer secret,

which means either the local stationmaster has to make a unilateral

decision...

or wait years for orders from Sol.”

“If they’re there,” Min said. “Your arguments are assuming a great

deal.”

“And I may be wrong, which will cost Finity , but not Little Bear , that

much I promise you. A fast departure is all I’m asking of you.”

“Except staying with this operation another year.”

“For which you will be compensated. By Pell.”

God, he hoped that was true. Min heaved a heavy sigh. And another. “You know Grandfather will

make the decision.”

“I know. We understand. Respects to Grandfather Jun. We have our

alliance. We have done everythi ng we set out to do. There is no disgrace in

stopping now. But we also have Alpha and our experience to advise us we

need to know if Sol is already moving. I’m very sure you want to know and

so will Cyteen.”

Min lifted brows. “Y ou are the devil, JR. We are merchants.”

“And you want to know.” JR allowed a hint of a smile to show. “Bottom

line, Captain, you like to gamble. You also like to stir pots. This may be a

discovery that will save us. Or it may be nothing. But...

in the end, would

it not be a shame to be outmaneuvered by the EC, after all we have done?”

“The devil, I say.” Min took up his cup again, frowning. “It woul d be an advantage to the Xiao Family ,” JR said, “bey ond the

personal satisfaction, of course. The mission we undertook, securing

agreement to our Alliance from every ship on Pell-side, lacks two ships. But

I’m very remiss not to have said immediately—I received word from

Estelle that agreement among the Beyonder merchanters is a hundred

percent. And Pell has signed.”

“Signed. Physically.”

“Signed, as I witnessed. Estelle says that Cyteen will sign if Pell will. So

our Alliance is real, pending the first arrival of word at Cyteen, and the

Cyteen stationmasters setting their signature on it, which will happen with

the full knowledge of the situation at Alpha. A credit and an honor for our

ships, individually , for the Xiao Family , the Druvs, the Patels, and us

Neiharts. Merch anters in particular will hold us in good favor. But less so,

less so, if we lose every thing we have gained by failing to make one last run

—”

“We are Xiao Xióng Zuò,” Min cut in harshly. “Little is our name, but

Little Bear is not an endlessly patient bear, brother captain. We have used

up our capital. We are ready to return to our own affairs. Now Pell, finding

Sol much closer than when we began this, is running scared. —Is this your

idea?

Or Konstantin’ s?

Are we being used?”

“I went to him with the inform ation and request for aid. He’d already

signed and was compelled to acknowledge this matter falls within the scope

of mutua l benef it. I asked for aid with getting the cargo to Venture. I hoped

at very least for a very long term loan. He offered to forgive the loan, if this

pans out.”

“Which means, if it’ s nothing, all this cost falls on Finity.”

He nodded. Min’ s eyes narrow ed, but he didn’ t pursue that. The fact

Finity was willing to take that risk was probably the most powerful

argument JR could make for how real they believed the threat to be. On the other hand, Finity going bankrupt was not something Pell wanted

either , and Emilio would not let that happen. In the end, it was to

everyone’ s advantage to find the truth. “Is that all he’s offering?” Min asked. “Sol’ s looming arrival affects him

far more than us.”

“I would argue that what affects one part affects the whole, which is the

essence of the Alliance agreement, but in point of fact, I have nothing in

writing, and there was no time to bargain specifics. We needed to get ahead

of the informati on wave, the rumor of the questions we’d been asking at

Pell. We didn’ t want to scare off our ghosts. But Emilio is sensitive to the

problem. Grateful that we’re taking this on. That will translate to

substantive gratitude. Favor -points from Pell is not a minor advantage for

the future.”

Down went the cup toward the table, but very gently placed at the last

moment. Min looked up from under his brows. “Younger brother , you credit

this slow wit with so much imagination. May we beg specifics before this

becomes more entangled?”

“Emilio Konstantin has gone out on a long tether in signing our

documents, but as of our departu re, he had yet to convince his council even

of that, let alone the associated cost of funding this mission. However , that

signature is binding. By contract, Pell will be henceforth a safe port for an

Alliance ship. By the agreement, Pell will give us fuel and repairs on

promise of repayment from the Alliance. A safe port should one ever be

needed—in uncertain times. A Cyteen-based Family can call on the

Konstantins of Pell and expect to be heard on a matter of polic y and trade,

and since our agreement is reciprocal, he may call on us. As part of an

Alliance decision, he is obligated to help with the costs.”

“This much has been a part of the agreement since we signed it. Specifically , in this case. We invest time, money , and risk. What does Pell

offer?”

“Compensation,” JR said. “And a united opposition to EC demands on

us, in a season in which the EC will be far weaker to make demands than it

will be if we let it run unchecked.”

“Sound arguments. However , you made this arrangement with Pell. Unilaterally decided to act on this information you got at Pell. Three ships

are needed to make decisions for the Alliance. Where are your three ships,

younger brother?”

“At this point, Finity and Galway and Pell are in agreement.”

“The contract is for three ships. Three Families.”

“And every station has signed as a partner. Interests are intertwined

more than we anticipated when we wrote that document. At the time, we

believed only trade was at issue. If Sol plans to turn their ships into

personnel carrie rs, into some sort of policing force, the stakes have

changed. Our power lies in keeping the issues economic. Whic h means, in

part, laying to rest fears over phantom invasions. Once Sol enters into the

FTL time frame, once their representatives experience what we’ve created

out here real time, we stand a chance of convincing them of seeing the

value in joining us. That’ s always been the plan. But we might just be

meeting the problem a bit soon er than anticipated. We will undertake this

run on our own if we have to, or maybe ask one of the Pell merchanters

coming in with our cargo to back us, but I had rather have you for the third

ship. I had rather have the power of Little Bear. I had rather have your

experience and steadiness. I had rather have the participation of a Cyteen-

based merchanter , should we encounter an active EC operation, to have it

clear to them that this is not the doing of one station or one ship. Sol needs

to see from the beginning that we are organized, and that we will trade, but

we will not be ordered.”

Another of those silences then: “And if Pell is part of the decision to

make this ventu re, Pell is autom atically involved in paying for it, and since

we are the ones risking ships and lives, they can foot the bill for the

operational costs.”

“Something like.”

A low chuckle. “Clever , younger brother. But I suggest you get that

officially added to the contract.”

JR dipped his head in acknowledgment of the mixed compliment. He

only hoped he was clever enough to convince Emilio of that obligation. “And should the EC arrive with shiploads of luxury goods?

Can you

guarantee Pell will not succumb?”

“Not if we all stand by the contr act. Mutual cooperation is what makes it

all work. If Pell will not, then Viking and Mariner will not. Alpha, as the

waypoint, may be forced to compromise, but if she gets support from us,

she compromise s from a position of strength, from the ability to tell the EC

to go to hell.”

“And if the EC arrives with ships full of Enforcers?”

“Considering what happened at Alpha, what they were trying to pull

with The Rights of Man, I would hope all the stations have begun fortifying

their masts and docking stations against such a move. If we have any such

EC operation underway , particularly something aimed at Pell, that would

not be a good development for the Beyond—including Cyteen. Cyteen will

be very grateful to be advised by the Xiao Family as to what happened at

Alpha, what is the source of Earth goods at Pell, and what Pell’s attitude is

now regarding the EC.”

Min spoke to Ma for a moment in Little Bear’s ship-speak, in which JR

only caught the words captain, ships, and Olympus. Ma nodded soberly. “We will present the question to Grandfather ,” Min said, and added:

“We will recommend your ar gument.”

“It’s all I can ask. The Xiao Family is the best backup I could ask for.”

“Will you dock here?”

“No. We will be straight on for Thule, then to Olympus. We can do it

and get back here easily: the most massive thing we’re carrying is fuel. We

have current charts we will most gladly share.”

Min gave a nod of agreement. “W e are most grateful.”

“Can I offer you hospitality?

A drink stronger than tea, if you will,

before you brave the cold?”

“A bottle for Grandfather ,” Min said, “and a drink for the two of us. Our

ship is lessening the gap as we speak, but it is, indeed, cold and dark out

there. Grandfather may order our most precious and vulnerable ashore at

Venture if he approves this. In that case, five days delay. Be advised. We

stand empty of all but fuel, expe cting some redefinition of plans; and I shall

remind Grandfather no ship can keep up with Finity’ s End, so we should not

be laggard. We assume the bill for our run will be paid.”

“Konstantin will definitely honor that,” JR said. “As for us, we will be

heading out, with about time to have two decent meals. We will maintain

current heading until you reach Little Bear safely , then reorient and do a

hard burn. We would be very grateful for a message, either yes or no. We

have been running hard, and need real sleep and real food before another

jump. Two days. We need tell Venture nothing else of our business, except

that Pell has signed, and we will send that news to the stationmaster. In

either case, the Neiharts, the Monahans, and I’m sure the Konstantins of

Pell send deepest respect to the Xiao Family , and especially to Grandfather ,

of course.”

Min bowed. Ma did. “And you,” Min spoke past him to Madison. “Make certain your Senior

Captain follows his own orders. Skeletons do not negotiate well.”

Madison threw him a glance. “I’ll do that.”

Section vi Book III

They shared a round of drinks before Fletch returned to escort Min and Ma

back to their pod. Not one, but—Madison’ s order— six bottles of Scotch

arrived in a pressure-sealed container , and there was a secon d round of

bows. “What are the odds?” Madison asked when they’d gone. “On Grandfather Jun agreeing?” JR said. “Grandfather will weigh the

risks and benefits...

but I think Min believes they’ll be there.”

“Lonely if they aren’ t,” Madison said. “Damned lonely if they aren’ t.”

“We can only hope it’s lonely out there,” JR said, and: “It would be

really nice, if there is anything, that it’s all new, but I don’t hold out much

hope on that score. Pell’s trees aren’ t from just yesterday , and Come

Lately ’s ghost upgrade came ten years before that. We see Sol goods

trickling into Pell on other ships for the last twenty years that we assume

came from Come Lately , but those good s could have been coming for two

hundred years, for all we know , just masked by the legitimate Alpha cargo. But wherever they’ve been getting their suspect cargo, it’s been at least a

couple of decad es. If they’re telling the truth about mystery seeds found at

Bryant’ s...

I guess seeds can live a lengthy while. But there’ s sniffers and

bioscans and hell to pay if you transport biologicals, with the EC doing

shipboard inspections at Alpha and Bryant’ s. So how’d they get the trees

aboard?

And, if the EC is the source, and granted them some kind of special

dispensation at Alpha...

they still had to get past Pell customs. The amount

of trouble you could get into carrying actual recent Earth biologicals could

break a ship. I mean, if we’re right about where they got them, they were

only lucky Pell wanted those trees badly enough to accept whatever story

they gave.”

“One wonders who they dealt with. I mean, the trees are a completely

separate problem , but I’d love to know what ships actually traded with them

at Venture to create the constant trickle into Pell.”

“At this point, I don’t really care,” JR said, stifling a groan as he

stretched his shoulders up and around. “I doubt any Pell ship even

questioned provenance, just took it for legitimate F-class and counted

themselves lucky. But you know what’ s shadier than the trade?

The fact that

Come Lately didn’ t spend that mega-profit on its own supposedly decrepit

systems, there at Pell. Why not take advantage of the best engees this side

of Cyteen?

Why trust them to EC engees?”

“Because they didn’ t want the modern black box.”

“Obviously. And damned if they didn’ t get away with it for at least two

decades.”

“Possible they did their own upgrades,” Madison said. “No knowing

how capable an EC set-up there might be—wherever it is.”

“If the Stream’ s still operational from Olympus or Thule,” JR said, out

of that thought. “It’s possible the station’ s just being used as a message and

cargo drop. It’s possible, granted the reactor ’s still keeping the systems up. Maybe our ghosts are just using the station’ s Stream capability to get

messages out. Slow as it is. Maybe those Sol goods are just salvage.”

“Copyright.”

“Oh. Of course.” He drew a deep breath. “God, I’m tired.”

“Can’ t imagine why,” Madison said. “I’m pretty sure if it’s what we

think it’s not just a drop point. A pusher -load’ s a fearsome lot of stuff. One

damned load could bring far more stuff than all the F-class we tracked in

Pell in the last twenty years. I think how one pusher -load, prior to the Rights

build hijacking them, and as infrequent as they are at Alpha, supplied every

Hinder Star station, not to mention clear to Pell and beyond, with a burst of

luxury goods we don’t see for another number of years. And that was in

addition to the basic upkeep items for the entire Hinder Stars operation. Leads you to wonder—”

“Even if most of its load is going into reviving Olympus or

Thule...

cases of Scotch and coffee would pay a lot of a small ship’ s bills. And as bribes—very ef fective.”

There was a hollow, distant sound, as the ring let their guests and escort

out into the frame, on their freefall way toward Little Bear ’s pod. “God.” Madison stretched. “You...

go. Eat. Sleep. Min’ s right, can’t

have you fading in the stretch , and you’ve been running yourself hard. Kate’ s going to call Nav and Helm together to plot our course with as many

variables as she can come up with. She wants numbers to cover every

contingency. She also wants us both there for conference. Awake.”

“I’m going to ask you take this next leg,” JR said. “And I want First-

shift to be next-up when we get to Thule. I want a look at it. I want

Research to have a look, and get all the data they can. But I’m not expecting

to linger there.”

Section vii Book III

Ross waited. They all waited, a knot of Monahans gathered near the drink

dispensary in the post-jump lounge. Ian and the twins were there, First-

shift. Patrick had come in, with Aidan, Netha, Connor , and Nolan, no

questions asked beyond an initial shrug from one and the other of them. They sat. They waited. They’d long since had enough of the juice and

started on the coffee. Food was available in the cafeteria, but no one made a

move to go after it. The ship was moving, if slightly , and under ship’ s rules

there was no alcohol to fortify their nerves, much as they could have wished

it, stupid as it would be under the circumstances. No word. Nothing. They talked about the recent jump, talked about their

arrival, speculated on their next course. Whether Little Bear had brought

anything that would divert Finity from Thule. Venture was where they all

might have left Finity. And wouldn’ t. They’d decided that, all together , back

at Pell. Whatev er was happening that involved the EC expanding out of

Alpha, the Monahans would be part of it. Now there was word on the screen that the Xiaos were leaving,

conference done. A few minutes more, and non-ops, juniors, and off-shift

Neiharts were happening by the cleanup room to ask if there was news. “No,” was the general answer , and being Neiharts, and their accessible

knot of anxiety being all Mona hans, the questioners, even the juniors, left

without discussion. Someone came back with a plateful of sandwiches. The

Monahans all just stared at it. Waiting. Suddenly , Ian stood up, staring at the door, and they all glanced around

and, as one, stood up as Captai n Mum came in, official and businesslike,

and ordinarily in her sleep cycle at this hour. Very quietly , Jen appeared

behind her and stood silently by the entry. “Little Bear ’s report from Alpha,” Mum said. “No sign of Galway yet.”

“Thank God,” Patrick said, as all of them breathed. “So something’ s gone on,” Maire said. “Likely ,” Ian said, “but.”

But was the other possibility , that the point of mass hadn’ t been enough

to pull Galway in, or that the gravitational point they thought existed was a

multibody rockpile, almost as bad. “Likewise,” Mum said, “Stationmaster Abrezio has retained control of

Alpha Station, the station as a whole has concentrated on reactivating its

industry as supply begins to improve. Employment is improving. Locals in

training as Enforcers are being shifted to station defense or moved to repair

and refurbishment of mothballed businesses and industry.”

“Isn’ t the worst news,” Aidan said. “Isn’ t the worst at all.”

That summed it up. “Senior captain sends word,” Mum said, “regarding Little Bear. They

met with the Monahans and found them well and optimistic. Their words. There is a datastick with letters from them.”

That brought silent excitement, desperate excitement. But Mum was not

through, and the next news was its own kind of dire. “From here, you know

where we’re headed, and it could be a nothing—or it could be major. And if

it’s a nothing, we’ll get you back to Alpha ourselves—there’ s business we

could do. But if it’s something —we’ll choose a course based on what we

find, and it may take us straight back to Pell. We fully expect, at this point,

that Little Bear is going to follow us to Olympus as backup; we have

appreciated the hell out of the help you’ve given us, but we will gratefully

bid you farewell here if that’s your choice. I hear you want to stay with us

and find out what you largely turned up for us. But this is the decision

point. No long wait here for a way to Alpha. So if all or any of you have

second thoughts about getting involved in chasing this willy-wisp into that

much uncertain ty, we can still take the time to set you ashore here. Galway ’s done far and away enough in this business. We’d thank you and

see you of f.”

“No, ma’am,” Ross said, quick as breathing. He didn’ t want to read any

letters before declaring. Others all said the same, a respectful no. They’d settled that on the

runout from Pell. They’d hoped there would be letters when they met Little

Bear. And evidently there were, and they’d share those and probab ly cry

tears. But if Andrew Bloody Cruz or his spiritual clone had another part of

an operation going on...

bloody hell, they had to know , that was it. “No, ma’am,” the lot of them repeated, quietly. Solemnly. Mum nodded. “So, well. The Neiharts will be glad of your company. Since we’re not diverting to pod range, we’re going to be entering another

takehold in about forty-five minutes. It’ll be a long one. Best go where you

want to be for a while. We’ll be doing a series of burns making time toward

jump, and having no traffic ahead of us, we won’ t linger once we get there. We’ll be having two good meals in the interval, given time for the galley to

put it together. That will come one hour after start of Third-shif t, whenever

that falls. Second-shift will do the long burn. First will take over at Thule. Stock up on extra jump packets. We don’t know what we’re getting into at

Thule, but we’ll probably just skate it. Questions?”

There was a general shaking of heads. “Thank you, Captain,” Ian said, and with a nod, Mum left. Jen didn’ t. Jen stood by the door a moment, then came in quietly , as

businesslike in her way as Mum. She held a datastick out to Ian. “From your Family ,” she said. “Security comp scanned it and copied it

to all your handhelds, and you can send it where you like, but I thought you

might want to keep the stick itself.”

“Thank you, Jen,” Ian said, for them all. She waited a moment, wanting , Ross was sure, a signal from him. He

shook his head; she dipped her chin and left, as quietly as she’d come. He ought to go find her and talk. But there was, in fact, the matter of

Family , and a decision. She’d understand that, when he got a chance to

explain. “Last chance, cousins,” Ian said loudly , and reached for a sandwich. “You can still change your minds. You heard it. Rides to Alpha from here,

no question.”

“And never know if those bastards are up to something up at Olympus?”

Maire said, and snagged her own sandwich. “Hell if!”

Ross looked at that stick Ian had laid on the table, next to the plate of

sandwiches. Thought of those waiting at Alpha who had sent it. Thought of

all they’d experienced, while the rest of their Family waited, living like

stationers—with maybe only that prospect ahead of them. But no, dammit. Senior Captain had promised. Galway would be back,

one way or another. Always presupposing Finity made it back from this

highly questionable mission to authorize that replacement ship. He really didn’ t much want that sandwich. He didn’ t even want a letter

from Peg and his cousins. Except...

he did. So much it hurt. “Well,” Siobhan said, around her own bite. “We’ve got time. We get this

settled, whateve r else is going on, and Finity will see us right. No question

they will. Whatever mess things are at Alpha, we stay with Finity and Finity

will sort it out. Personally , I’m not leaving this ship until she takes us all the

way back to Galway.”

“I’ll tell you what else,” Aidan said. “I’m pissed. I’m seriously pissed at

Come Lately and Miriam B. No matter what, they’re playing some kind of

game that’s making them freakin’ rich. If they’ve been living high off Pell

trade that should , by rights, be supporting all of us and all of the First Stars,

while we’ve all been struggling to stay afloat with shit-all to trade...

hell...

I want an explanation or I want a piece of them.”

“I want to know,” Ross said. He took a plain sandwich, trying to

convince his stomach it was a good idea. “I want to know exactly what

they’re up to. For Niall and Fallan and all those making the run to Sol. For

our cousins. Hell, for the Alpha folk, Rosie and the rest. We own a part of

this. Damn right we’ve contributed. I want—”

“All Helm, all Nav,” the general address said, “meet in Bridge 2 eight

hours after the takehold. Eat. Sleep and be ready for a long session. We will

be reviewing data and running sims on multiple courses to and through the

Galileo Reach.”

All Helm , all Nav, Ross thought, exchanging a glance with Ian. They’d

not done that before. And the Galileo Reach. Words he thought he’d never hear in orders. Thule. Olympus. And a little research station that had met a spectacular end. Captain Mum was wearing a piece of that station, a little lump of green

glass, a gift from Fallan, who’d gotten it from someone who’d been there in

the aftermath of the disaster , looking for survivors, back in convert days,

before modern FTLers. Star-cooked, that piece of glass. Lost lives. Lost

dreams. Lost, the way a whole arm of what had been the First Stars had

been lost. So now, urgently , they were being called to do a work-up on the course,

drawing recent data from Ventur e in passing, but the next destination would

be a new star, at least new in the sense Finity had no recent data. It was

nothing near what Fallan had done, doing the calc on a wisp of a theoretical

jump-point, but it was still a serious business, going off the edge of recent

charts, depending on light-bound astronomy. Two stars’ relative motion, and

only a statistical hope of a clear entry , in a system where there might be no

robot sweepers or designated safe zones. And he and Ian were included, or

they would have said seated Helm and seated Nav. It was a dead serious

thing, and a courtesy to them. He cast a glance at Ian’s sober face, and

figured Ian was thinking about it, too. Interesting session. It was bound to be. He looked forward to it and

dreaded it. But Ian dismissed the meeting, there being a takehold immin ent, and

they exited the room and straggled down-ring toward the lift. Jen was waiting for him at section-end. She tipped her head in question,

and he linked arms with her before moving toward the lift, welcoming her

presence and support. It was easy to get the shivers in the drafts of the main

corridor , post-ju mp and still wobbly, and with the prospect of doing it all

again. Second-s hift was going to have that honor , after they all, under

Kate’ s guidance, figured out the old route to Thule, which, in the way of

stars, was not quite where Thul e used to be, by a number whic h in human

terms stacked up rather huge. Fallan, he was going to add to the record—he had it halfway composed

in his head— Fallan, they’r e giving me one hell of an education on this run. Not what I expected. Nothing new to you, for damn sure nothing to what

you’r e doing...

Headed down the old Galileo Reach on this one. Going to see sights

you’ve seen, be wher e you’ve been. It’ s an adventur e, isn’ t it?

“Ross?” Jen said. “Y ou all right?”

The lift between levels had come, and Jen was holding it. That was how

fogged he was. For a moment he saw Fallan, as he had been at Galway ’s e-

hatch, telling him to go. Hurry. He saw the black, and the red light of Barnard’ s, that was Alph a on the

human list of stars. The beginn ing-place. The start of everything. Where

they’d lost touch with Galway and split up the Family. Black. “Ross,” Jen said again. He was just that shaky. He’d been that afraid, sitting in that side room,

waiting for a report from the captains’ conference, that Galway might have

lost the battle and that Little Bear brought definitive news of it. He’d sat

there with Ian and Siobhan and the others, holding it together. “Ross!” A third time and sharply , calling him back. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. I’m fine. Lot on what passes for my mind right

now.”

Jen hugged his arm tightly. “Can’ t say I know ,” she said, “but we’re

going. For all of them. We’re going to find out what’ s what.”

Find out what’ s what. The thoughts came flooding through. We can’t leave Finity here. If

Galway ’s met trouble with the EC, wher e else do we find allies for the lot of

us, but wher e we ar e?

Got to stay. Got to know. “Ross?” Jen knew he was tripping. He pulled himself back, made himself steady. “Yeah,” he said. “Find out

what’ s what. For sure.”

Section viii Book III

End-of-shift and Jen didn’ t stay for the takehold. She neede d to talk to

Fletcher , which meant she had to get topside again before the warning

sounded. Ross didn’ t question, just quick-hugged her, closed his door, and

collapsed onto his bunk with his handheld. He anchored the webbing in

case he fell asleep, and viewed the messages...

a group message from the

lot of them, which, God knew where they’d found that picture of all of

them; and one picture on the strip, and one in Rosie’ s, all happy , all

enjoying thems elves, all swearing they were fine and not wanting for

anything. Alpha was taking care of them...

well it should. It was for Alpha

that Galway was in trouble. But at least it was happening, and bills were

paid, and the Family was staying in their usual hotel for layovers. Then

there were the messages each of them had—messages from everyone, even

the kids, by the look of it, and there would be time to go through those in

order. He searched his messages—looking for one from Aunt Peg. And he found it. She looked, well, like Peg, a little smartened up for the

vid, but Peg. “Think in’ of you all often, Ross. Hoping you’r e seeing the

sights and enjoying the trip. We’re all in good shape, best of care, all that. They’ve been taking car e of us, first rate. “So, Ross me lad, you just relax and enjoy your ride. Stationma ster and

his wife have been grand to us—in person, no less. And so we’re now well

past the worst case return date. That’ s the bright spot. We’re sincer ely

hopin’ not to hear anything for at least another couple of years and we’re

refusin’ to worry until it’ s been six. “It’s beyond strange, sittin’ still for so long, but we’re all findin’ new

ways to spend time. Jill’s taken up fencin’, can you believe it?

I’m in a

gamin’ team and Padriac’ s takin’ courses. Meanwhile we’ve been studyin’

Pell and Mariner , for when our precious Galway gets all shiny an’ so will

we. Just the options we’re seeing are blowin’ our minds. Did you know

there’s a hotel with a lifesize elephant?

“Anyway , me dear, darlin’ boy, I know you. You’re all worried you can’t

be nine places at once and takin’ care of everyone, but you can’t. You just

concentrate on what you’r e doing, have fun with that pretty little lassie, Jen

—get her pregnant, if she’s a mind to!

I’d like to boast a grandniece or

nephew on the great Finity’ s End...

and come back to us even smarter

than you wer e. “Love you, my dear boy ,

“Aunt Peg.”

God, he missed her, Ross thought, and brushed the damp from his eyes. He missed them all, but Peg, next to Fallan, was the one he most wanted to

share this adventure with. He could be there. He could go there, from here. It wasn’ t too late. But he knew there wasn’ t a one of the nine aboard that was going to take

that option. Section ix Book III

“Got a minute?” Jen found Fletcher alone in the security office, last chance

to talk with him before jump. He gestured to the chair beside him, and she settled gingerly into it. “Problem?” he asked. “Worried about Ross,” she said. “I’ve been doing my best, but I don’t

think it’ s working.”

“Heroic efforts, indeed,” he said, straight-faced. “I’m surprised the lad

can still walk. We’re all just a bit jealous.”

But after a lifetime under his tutelage—and discipline—she knew what

lay behind that face, and it wasn’ t humor. He was listening. “He says he’s going with us. They all do. I think...

I think he’s going

with them. They have their reasons. I’m not sure of his. Seriously. I’m not

saying it well. I’m not sure he’s not going with me. And that worrie s me. I

think...

I’m not sure he should go. Not sure he should sit the boards with

so much else on his mind. —I’m worried where he goes in jump. And why. It sounds crazy when I say it. But—”

His brow tightened. “He’ s still having nightmares from that EVA?

Pretty

traumatic. That was a nasty concussion he operated past.”

“I don’t think that’s all of it. Mostly from what he doesn’ t say...

I think

the nightmare behind the nightm are is being forced off his ship—Fallan and

his senior captain and the rest of his shift going without him. He thinks he

should be with them. That he ran, somehow , even though he knows

someone had to carry the message. And even though he doesn’ t say much,

this feeling the stars thing has had him pretty spooked—like he’s marked, in

some way.”

“Kate mentioned that. He’s not unique, but it’s a gift. Makes him a top

navigator. Thought he understood that.”

“I think it’s putting him in a corner. Or maybe just one stress too many. As for staying with Finity ...

I think that’s maybe linked to his being forced

to leave Galway. He won’ t go twice out that airlock, so to speak. Won’t

leave the ship or the mission. I’m not sure he had a choice about staying

with us, and conversely , I’m not sure they did, because of him. This feeling

the stars thing has marked him for them, too. How they regard him—maybe

that hasn’t chan ged, but he has this added status, now, and it’s a damn

circle. —Is that crazy of me?

Maybe. I’m not sure I’m explaining it right. But I’m worried.”

“He hasn’ t been to medical about it.”

Which meant Fletcher was tracking such things. She shook her head. He looked at her a moment, thoughtfully sipping an off-duty beer. “Well,

I’m not altogether surprised. Nav handles the interface between real- and

hyperspace. Most stressful job on the ship, if you want my opinion. Considering the rest he’ s been through...”

“So I’m not crazy.”

“Not about this. —Paradoxically , we can’t throw him into a pod and

shove him off. Well, we could, but it might well do more harm than good. And would it be fair to put the lot of them ashore, given what we’re still

chasing?

The answers they wouldn’ t have for years if at all?

If he doesn’ t

want medical to help him sort it out, we can’t force him. Do you think he’s

unfit?

There’ s that question.”

“No.” That came before she thought. Then: “Kate oversees him, doesn’ t

she?

She’d know best, wouldn’ t she?

God, Fletcher , I don’t want to screw

things up for him. I just—”

“—worry about the lad?”

“Where we’re going now, it’s not in his direction. Nothing they signed

on for.”

“Tell me this,” Fletcher asked. “Do you want to go with him?

You could. Your privilege, sorry as we’d all be to have you go. Are you thinking you

could lure him of f, and the rest of them follow?”

“No.” Shaky no, but it was true, even after she thought about it. “Do you want to go?”

There it was, the question that had haunted her subconscious since he’d

been dropped, bloodied and more than half-dead, in her lap. Deep breath. Major try at a rational answer , because going wasn’ t just flit-here, flit-there. Leaving was—f orever , as ships moved. And dealing with that put a knot in

her throat. “No. I don’t—I couldn’ t. Now , especially. Scary as this is. Finity

needs me. I need her. I need the Family.”

Fletcher ’s hand pressed her shoulder , and her whole self steadied. “So

does he, Jen, and he hasn’ t got a ship to anchor him at the moment...

just

Family in trouble and scattered across light years. Don’ t you think that’s

rather dominating his thinking?

This is the ship his family can reach, a ship

from which they had a chance to do something proactive before there’ s

another round of hell at his home port. The Galways were the first to spot

the problem, have been participant with us in working through the evidence. They also have other issues, back at Alpha, which involve sitting and

waiting. They have a legitimate choice now, and I frankly think his

hindbrain is in better order than you think it is. You’re worried about

influencing his decision. I don’t think you can do that. You wouldn’ t take a

pod with him—and he won’ t take one with you. You’re not why he’s

staying. And you know that. Figured it correctly. What you can’t be is

responsible for his choices. Understand?

He has a lot of other reasons. Not

the same as yours. But definite reasons. Does that make sense to you?”

Took a moment. Damn it, the room was watery. She tried not to blink,

and one eye spilled anyway. A traitor track coursed down her cheek and she

refused to wipe it. “Does,” she said. “Shipboard relationships,” Fletcher said. “Damned hard, Jen. Give him

room. Give yourself room. Your instinct’ s right. He’s going with us for his

reasons. You have your own. What we all need, more than anything else, is

answers. With luck, we’re going to get them.”

“Got it,” she said. The knot in her throat wouldn’ t untangle. It’s not your

fault, was what Fletcher was saying. And the answer to that question that

haunted her own sleep—she wouldn’ t leave. She was fairly sure of that,

now. She could leave—she wouldn’ t. Leave his kin?

He wouldn ’t. Clear as

an oncoming rock. She was alread y embarrassed by the track on her face. She refused to wipe it, rising to leave. “Knew it. Knew I knew it. Thanks

for the listen.”

Section x Book III

Jump prep. JR shed clothes, tossed them in the laundry bag, and sealed it. God, he felt as if he’d just come out of the last jump...

which was fairly

well the truth. He had eaten...

in fact it seemed every time he turned

around someone had shoved something into his hands and stared at him

until it disappea red. But sleep...

well, he’d gone horizontal once. Did that

count?

JR swallowed the dregs of his coffee, the last of it for a realspace couple

of months, rinsed it in the sink and shut the cleaned cup in the fragiles-

locker. It was an heirloom, a treasure that said Ann’s Cup, Dam mit. Great-

gran’ s. From old Gaia. He didn’ t risk it on the bridge. Stupid, to take a stimulant before trank. But he had since his teens. Wasn’t going to reform at this late date. He sat down, pulled the connection tubes from the bunkside dispenser

into comfortable reach, pulled off the seal, and inserted into the soft-gel

patch at his elbow , a negligible sting. Seated crew and trainees all had the

special rigs in quarters, on the same system as the bridge, because the shift

had to come up on cue, and accelerate recovery if there was a problem. He lay down. There were—Services had already set them out—abundant

nutrient packs, in the slotted shelf right under the dispenser unit alongside

his bunk. Where they always were. Even a jump-fogged brain could find

them. If anyth ing went wrong. If Madison needed him—a short move down

the executive corridor. If anything surprised them...

God, he thought, as his eyes drifted shut, he hoped there were no

surprises. Hoped if they found anything it was a half-assed operation, a

couple of marginal merchant ers and an EC operation trying to set

up...

doing the work, creating a living space. That might take some time. Salvage had had decades to work before the EC tied everything up in court. Word was the junkers had stripped Thule of most everything worth having,

right down to the radioactives and the exotics—those first, actually, with a

couple of armed standof fs as the junkers fought it out with illicit lethals and

machetes—then moved on to Olympus. Long in the past, those days. A few

Venture-registry merchanters had gotten their start in that quasi-legal trade. But they wouldn’ t know until they saw and they had to see. Had to be

sure. He hoped it all went smoothly , and they would be back here in short

and good order with a much better idea what sort of problem might be out

there. Min would catch them up either at Thule or at Olympus, wherever they

stopped...

a final confirmatio n had come through only a few hours ago,

with a caveat from Grandfather Jun: the Xiao Family was going to confront

the ghost ships with fraud. The Scotch was not as old as the label claimed. It was, so Grand father insisted, much too dark. They’d tested the bottle and

label and found traces of another label. This, Grandfather Jun insisted, was

not acceptable merchanter behavior. Grandfather Jun was, so Min declared, extremely good at finding

personal reasons for cooperation. Nor had the color stopped him from

drinking it. Whatever it took. It was worth a smile. JR was just relieved that

whatever they found, it would not be on Finity alone to get the news back to

the Alliance...

if they needed to make a fast run to Alpha to advise them

there was a problem. And problems upon problems...

Jen had talked to Fletch, who’d come

to him with her worry that Ross Monahan was on a survivor ’s guilt trip, and

wouldn’ t talk to medical about it. Insisted he was all right, but she was

afraid it would affect his perfo rmance on the bridge, maybe affect him

permanently. Jen was now all upset and possibly , Fletch reported, the

relationship was entering its final phase even if Ross stayed. Ross’ s choice,

certainly. He’d be welcome on Finity —so would any of the Galways. But it

certainly was a hell of a time for that relationship to go critical , for Ross’ s

sake. Ross’ s board wasn’ t live. That made his input no threat to Finity. Equally important, however , was that Finity avoid hurting him. He had grit. He was a hero by any standard, but he didn’ t try to trade on it. So far, his perfo rmance had impressed them all. Inconsistent, but that

was to be expected: Finity was an entirely different kind of ship than his

Galway. What Fletch reported had to be factored in; but Kate, bless her,

with a master Navigator ’s sense , had promised to handle whatever glitched

in him...

and thus far , that had been near zero. A subtle vibration reached into his gut: the vanes powering up, prepping

for jump—the shortest jump in the whole of space. In the black behind his

eyelids, he saw the system, saw the star, the station, the line the ship was

taking. Their heading wasn’ t where ordinary traffic went, not where JR or

Finity had ever gone—a vector toward a patch of dark and a moody red

dwarf that no ships came from and no ships went to, these days. Or—no ships should come from or go to, these days...

And beyond that, Olympus, which historically had it in for FTLs. Groombridge 34 was a highly volatile binary , but it was in a quiet phase—

at least as observed from Venture. Which meant five years ago. Up close,

you got newer news. They wouldn’ t truly know what they were up against

until they dropped into the system. They’d kept contact with Venture Station minimal. They’d picked up the

observational reports on all the local stars, everything within ten lights, then

told Venture Station just All well aboar d. Thanks, V entur e. Their heading going out would raise curious questions among Venture

technicians who observed their course, but it would take a wasteful lot of

time and ef fort to pretend to go other than where they were going. As for hypothetical curious techs...

if they hadn’ t asked yet why two

ships, neither of them ordinary at Venture and one of them extraordinary

anywhere past Pell—were back again and gone again, without stopping at

Venture for so much as a drink, their curiosity was bone dead. And if Come Lately and Miriam B and every stationer this side of Pell

didn’ t know Finity was on the hunt for them, they were deaf to rumor , since

first Finity and now every other ship had asked after them up and down the

line. The Venture stationmaster , her staff, most of the residents, and certainly

every ship at dock, knew what Finity and Little Bear were actively

promoting, having signed the Alliance document. They also knew that

Finity had returned early and without the promised cargo for stations further

down the line. And if Finity had rendezvoused with Little Bear, and not even come into

dock, Venture could well guess it was because Little Bear had told them

something significant. Little Bear had just come in from Alpha. If Nomad

and Mumtaz , as part of Finity’ s mission , had gone to Glory (Little Bear’s

black box would have fed Venture that information) then maybe those two

were back at Alpha or Bryant’ s...

but why in hell was Finity now chasing

off to Thule?

Thule?

Nobody went to Thule. Or nobody bent on trade would go to Thule. That was the talk likeliest to circulate among the three ships in dock at

Venture the moment Finity’ s departu re heading hit the docks. Everybody

this side of Pell knew by now what had become of Alpha’ s megaship, and

where Galway had gone. Was there more trouble at Alpha?

Had Galway returned?

Was Pell taking action?

But why Thule?

There were boun d to be whisper s: until there was a result from Galway ’s

mission, every station and every ship was going to have ears up for every

rumor that came in. But setting the rumor mill in operation was better than

docking, losing days, and having questions flung at them from station

offices and random people in bars. They were prepped for jump, now. They were in count, and building V

steadily for the button-push that would bring the jump engines live and

form the bubble. Youngers were all snug abed, babies in the Loft were

secure. First-, Third-, and Fourth-shifts were snug in their bunks. Madison was in char ge. JR tried to turn it all loose. He wanted to turn it all over to Madison, and

generally he was good at doing exactly that. But it wasn’ t the typical run in any sense. He asked himself to this

minute whether he should have left all the youngers and a group of minders

at Pell, where they would assure dly be safe, whatever happened. But they’d

never forgive him and it would have outlined their departure in glowing

neon, as far as rumors went. Difficult questions had been starting to

circulate on Pell when they were there, awareness that something

significant had happened at Alpha, and by now, the hold on the data feed

would be over and the news would have broken even on citizen level, first

that there was an Alpha ship headed for Sol, and second, that Finity’ s End

had come from Alpha and was headed that direction again. By now it was likely clear to everybody at Venture that there was an

agreement being circulated and mostly signed—an agreement declaring a

new order , agreement of Pell and other stations to merchanter sovereignty

in opposition to the EC and its rules—and that Alpha, awash in EC

business, had just sent a merchanter to bring Sol and the EC in, even as

Alpha and all the Hinder Stars were signing with the Alliance, to which

even Cyteen was agreeing to agree. So what in hell, people would be asking now at Pell and all along that

string of stars, what in merry hell was going on back at Alpha with Sol and

shipbuilding and all?

And what was the EC going to do?

People were always nervous whenever Alpha came into question—

nervous because Alpha was the only remaining contact-point for Sol, and

anxious because Alpha sat next to Proxima Centari, Beta, the lost station,

the one the mere mention of which could force a spacer to leave their bar of

choice and come in again for a retry at manners. Beta. The vanis hed colony. The impossible-to-solve mystery. And of all the worries everybody had about the future, the one that

everyone shared was the fear that Sol, unable to find any other way,

stupidly ignorin g the threat, might build itself a megahaul FTLe r and try to

one-hop it the significantly shorter distance to Beta Station. Sol could technically do that. Sol had the knowledge, it had the design,

stolen though it was, and it had the resources. Sol could afford to waste

ships, waste crews trying that route—its resources were immen se. Nobody

on this side of space could ever forget that. Konstantin could reassure Pell

that Alpha would eventually be able to handle its own problems now, but

did even Alpha believe it?

“Stations report.” Madison’ s voice, over general address. They were

starting the countdown. Same start, same words, every voyage. JR and Madison and John had

been kids together. They had grown up in the routines. Youngers learned

them now, kids who would inherit their posts. He saw, eyes shut, the

readouts, the boards, heard the exchanges of the sections talking to sections. Madison would hear from the Section officers, from the Loft, first, and the

Care unit; then from the officers in charge of zones, and the nether deck, in

a set order , down to the junior -junior monitors, reporting all accounted for

in their sections, all doors secure, all locked things locked and nothing

rattling loose. “Any exceptions?” Madiso n asked, not a routine question. “Juniors, this

is life-an d-death serious. Does anybody have an exception?

No punishment

for a yes, hell to pay for a lie.”

Meaning: was there anybody for any reason not in his officially listed

place?

God, should he have left the non-essentials and part of the Family ashore

at Pell?

Gone on this voyage with two shifts, not four?

But no merchanter ever opted for that. Never taught fear to the

youngers, either. Except Galway had made that choice , put its Family ashore with far, far

more reason than any ship had ever had in all the history of FTL. No, he’d done right. Making a commotion about their voyage and

raising questions at Pell and Venture was not the way to deal with their

problem. Get in, observe, get out, running only a little more risk than Little

Bear had agreed to. Pell and Venture would want to ask questions when

they got back, but, if they found anything, it still was not going to blow up

quickly. Even if they had to advise Venture and Pell, behind closed doors, that

they were both sitting next to a very big problem. Slow problem. But big. FTL linking them to Sol was not going to do anything on a massive scale—

yet. They entered pre-jump burn. The bunk compensated. It was time to

trank down. JR pulled the tab, clenched his fist slowly , several times,

sending the juice into his system. Do it right, Madison, he thought. Wake us early. I want to see this place. Thule. Mum r emembers it. Mum. Fallan Monahan. And a fading number of Hinde r Stars

merchanters. Not all that much even in its day. A waystop on the route to Olym pus, but

the need for it’ s gone, gone when Galileo blew , and Olympus faded. Com was saying something familiar. The pre-jump warning, he thought. But trank was taking hold, faster than usual, deep and dark. Section i Book IV: THULE

A small star. Old. Tired. Startled out of its torpor by the monster so rudely

invading its isolation...

“Wake up,” the automated voice said. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. First-shift to the bridge. W ake up. W ake up. W ake...”

“I hear you,” Ross muttered, and closed his fist, hard, repeatedly , feeling

that dislocation of mind and acceleration of his heartbeat that attended the

wake-up. Eyes were blurred. Mouth was foul. “Status.”

“System arrival. Status normal. T ime is...”

“Cancel, cancel , cancel.” He drew breaths, assuring himself he was in

his bunk, not on the bridge. Contractions of his fist pumped more of the

wake-up juice into his system, but no more hype than the machine would

give him at max. He couldn’ t hurry the juice in a status-normal condition:

the system wouldn’ t let him. He was sunnyside up in his bunk and trying to

move, could move. Rotation was coming up fast, but he shouldn’ t

disconnect from the machine. He took in all the machine had to give at its

set rate, and slow ly managed to sit up without disconnecting until it beeped

done. Then he could disconnect, strip, and grab the towel pack, shortcut

substitute for a shower , sopping wet, warm as blood, and quick-dry. Are we alone here?

he desperately wanted to know , but the system

couldn’ t tell him that and the bridge was busy. He tossed the wet towel into

the midst of the bedclothes, per custom on Finity , and not his problem. He

staggered two steps to the loo, dealt with that necessity , and worked his face

into some sensitivity...

beard didn’ t grow much in jump. It could wait. Everything could wait, because it wasn’ t a case of next-sh ift moving

routinely into place at a routine station. Everything here was chancy , First-

shift was prepp ing to go up, but Second-shift on a cautioned entry was

tasked with having the ship movement-capable before they turned the

boards over. First-shift would be on a hold until Second called them. The wobbles cut in, nature’ s own reminder that humans weren’ t built for

what humans had chosen to do. He ripped the tab off a room-temperature

nutrient pack and gulped it down as fast as experience told him he could get

away with, meanwhile hearing others on the deck stirring, little echoes and

plumbing operating elsewhere in the section. The nutrient hit bottom. Or his stomach did. It was all right, all right: he

wasn’ t going to heave it. He needed water. He got that, ice cold, from the

dispenser , and slugged it back—

Instant regret as the chill caused spasms. He held on to the counter-top,

because that was stable, clamping his mouth shut and repeatedly

swallowing to reverse the heaves. Stupid, rookie move. Never put cold in a post-jump stomach. Are we alone out there?

Come on, bridge, give us a clue...

“We are in arrival at Thule,” came Madison’ s voice finally , calm and

clear over the general address. “We are two hours light from Thule Station

and picking up nothing but a ping. We’ll be carrying V into the next shift to

see if anything reacts to our entry , so redlight caution remains in effect for

all but First-shift and Second. We are now ready for shift change. First-shift

to the bridge at your convenience. We’ll be getting up optics in the

meanwhile.”

Good, Ross thought. So far, good, granted his stomach would accept

another nutrient pack. He wasn’ t thirsty. That was a bad sign. Usually it was

nerves. Novice nerves. He wasn’ t going to give way to that, damned if he

was. He went after more water. Room temp. Sipped determinedly , and when

that was gone, opened the second pack. It went down easier than the first. And, yes, wanted more water. Good. Something was nagging at his senses, like a forgotten mission or a

promise unkept, something that wanted to be remembered, and dimly , then,

very dimly, he knew it was the star talking, a muted, self-absorbed kind of

presence. A little star with his own name—he had used to think he was

named after the Ross stars, but he wasn’ t. When he was a child he had

thought that. Being a child, he’d taken a good deal of the universe

personally , before he knew it wasn’ t that way. Before he’d known suns came in white and yellow as well as red. Before he’d known about flare stars and other treacherous creatures. Before he’d taken up with Fallan, and heard Fallan’ s stories. Fallan, who had seen Ross 248 in operation. One of your old ports-of-call, Fallan, back in pusher days. He wasn ’t going to throw up. He held it. He was broken out in a cold

sweat, and chilling in the breeze from the vent, but he had blinked his

vision clear. Pushing hype too high too fast, was what. The body was kicking back. And that faint subskin prickle, that was Ross 248 talking to him. He was

fairly sure that was it. Not his fear. The star—that star, combined with the

wobbles, just felt like fear. He could shake it. Once he figured it, he could

zero it out. Background noise. Not significant. Bring up the other sounds

instead, the air in the vent, the occasional thump of Ian, next door, in the

same process of rushed wake-up. He wet his hands at the sink, swiped his hair back, then shook his

jumpsuit out of the elastic that held it and climbed into it, quick and simple

tabs, needing only a sweep of the hand to seal the closures—then a feel of

the breast pocke t to know , yes, his keycard was in there, where he’d put it,

knowing he was going to be dim as a rock during wake-up. He had two more nutrient packets in the right leg pouch, had his ID—

that never left him, and he was hearing doors working in the corridor. He

handed his way to his own door, a matter of five steps, and out, into clean,

cold air , grey panels, and the intermittent glow of guide lights. Ian was just exiting his quarters, on the same timetable. Siobhan and

Maire were ahead of them, getting onto the conveyor lift. They went up one

after the other and Ross took the step onto the plate, arriving topside at its

deliberate pace, and stepping off, conscious of unsteadiness in his gait and

doing his best to walk straight. He was still a little light-headed, still putting

a hand out to the wall just for reference as he walked. Takeholds were

always in sight, but forget that, he said to himself: at their speed there was

no avoidance, just deflection. A vector change now wasn ’t remotely

possible. And First-shift was going to take charge under these conditions, a

projectile hurtling through the system at a scary percent of C. Didn’ t do this hellride in any inhabited system, no, no, no. Except at

Alpha. It struck him he’d seen exactly the same at Alpha. He’d been in

Rosie’ s Bar, watching the vid as Finity scared hell out of the station. Damn

them, he’d thought then, while everybody on Alpha had sat there helpless,

imagining everything from a malfunctioning ship to an arrival of God-

knew-what out of unmentionable Beta Station, something alien and lethal. He hadn ’t been on the other side of JR’s mindset back then. Hadn’ t

remotely imagined that JR had been keeping Finity’ s speed for far more

than impressing the locals in the bar. JR had been reading the system all the way, deciding when and whether

to approach the station. JR had been finding out where Rights of Man was, damned sure that was

the case. Calculating where she was and, most importantly , what she was

capable of. And determining whether Little Bear, Nomad, and Mumtaz were in dock

as they were promised to be. All those things. They were doing the same thing now, proceeding near exit velocity ,

using the sun’s mass to actually increase their velocity , while Ross 248, as

red as Alpha’ s sun and complaining steadily in that low, prickly whisper ,

was hauling hard at them, bending their course as it bent space itself. He

was sure of it without seeing the course plot. On the bridge, Nav 2.1 , Tuck

—Tucker Neiha rt—was monitor ing that curve, while Science was keeping a

close eye on the sun. The curve—he’d been in the conference when they’d set course—was

not uncommon for skimming jump-points, but it was a move he’d never

seen run this close, and never with a live star. He had it in his head, what

they were doing , what they inten ded—a power and an accelerated mass that

could do this fool thing, tug on a star and use a star’s distortion of space this

way, but his gut objected mightily. He was anxious to take his seat. He

made it to the bridge, back among the stations: Tuck, at Nav 2.1 , and on

back. “Early ,” Nav 2.3 said. “Good.”

“Yessir, thanks. ” He passed 2.4 carefully , and displaced Nav 2.5 , a

honey-skinned, spiral-curled kid of about fifteen if she was that. “Pat,” he

recalled as the girl edged out of her place, as wobbly as he was. “Thanks,

Two-five. Good job. We’re in one piece.”

“Yeah,” Pat said, heaving a deep and shuddery breath. “Yeah, all yours,

1.5.

Sir. Scary bit!”

Pat stuffed two drink-packs into her jacket and eased out, white-

knuckling the takeholds, as if that could help much. Ross eased into the

body-warm seat, let it shape around him, watching the screens the while. He

saw the curve, saw the projection. They were letting the star carry them

where they want ed to go, around the bend of space, and that line, that white

line, which was Tuck Neihart’ s plot, was going to deliver them to the

vicinity of the station, but nearer the star itself than the station and its

planetoid anchor. Bucklin came in, displaced Nav 2.2.

Jim and Ty arrived. Ross adjusted

his head set, fussed with the volume, then pulled out a drink pack and took

that down in slow sips while Finity hurtled on her trajectory. Kate arrived, gave them a: “W ell, we made it.”

Ian had settled in at Helm 1.5 and Caplin, Helm 2.1 , had given way to

Jim B. The bulk of First-shift was in, transitions all through the rows, as

exhausted Second-shift found their way to the lounge and a deserved rest. Time to concentrate now. They weren’ t called on to do anything. The

course-plot was in front of them, and they were where they were supposed

to be. The regio n near the sun was not guaranteed to be junk-fr ee, but they

were still playing the odds of relative size and the system ecliptic, not a

highly populated ecliptic at that, and one they were going to stay out of

until they came to a lower V. Last-arrived at their posts, Science came up—a post Finity had, and

maybe other ships in the Beyond had, with all sorts of equipment and

sensors regular ships didn’ t have—just stations did. And if ever there was a

time aboard Finity when Ross was personally glad to see that section lit up

and multiple people in those seats over beyond Scan, this was it. They were

probably getting stuff from scan and longscan just for starters, looking for

whatever was out there. JR came in—a bit dark around the eyes, but walking arrow straight—

displaced Madis on with a quick exchange not on general com, and settled

into place, invisible now to Nav 1.5 , in the back rows, who ought not to

have his eyes of f his screen. Nav’ s job was to watch that screen, on which Ross 248 was an actual

presence, with their trajectory distinctly bending. Nav’ s job was to

constantly track the options, should Helm decide to change that course. They were lucky: the star-station, or what was left of it, was going to be in

view as they passed. Needing to dump V now, Ross kept thinking. Any time now, Captain, sir,

we would be very happy to dump V. If we go much further we are going to

be down on that slope. This is going to be too damn close, sir....

Kate was talking directly with Science 1.1 , who for this operation was

Antonia, that was the name, Antonia, and with Pete, Science 2.1 , who had

stayed past shift. Ross supposed they’d be Doctor this and that on

stationside—there was gray hair enough. He’d met them in common mess,

in the run-ins along their route, friendly enough, and curious about him and

Ian, but tending to their own company , and using way too many words of

three and more syllables for him to follow. Right now he wanted all the three-syllable words to add up to

observations and plain orders from the Senior Captain telling Helm and Nav

to get them a little breathing room before they drifted the hell down. Their

shielding was just fine, he was sure of that, but, damn , he was not

comfortable. The sun was whispering now, just whispering, but red suns

were unpredictable, and for his money , it was a lot better to be spotted by

some lurker , with all the political mess that would entail, than to be just a

little too snuggly with a muttering, unstable star. “Presence negat ive,” Science said: Ross was fairly sure that was Pete

reporting, physics, Ross remembered. “No trace of passage here within our

recept zone. No output from the station. Their reactor ’s still live, but that’s

expected. We’re getting hellish interference from the sun. Are we good on

that closer look?”

“We have it,” Senior Captain said, to Ross’ s relief. “Good enough. Helm, your call.”

There was no hesitation. “Nav ,” Helm 1 said, “Engineering, stand by for

jump when we hit this point on the far side. We’ll be taking it down to 83%.

Say when ready.”

Dumping V. All right. “Ready ,” the answer came, and Ross keyed in the code he’d been

composing, wanting only a handful of variables that came with the 83%.

His course flashed on the screen along with four others, five lines lying so

close together the colors mer ged, all in agreement. First dump. Down, then, bubble half-forme d, still deformed by the sun’s steady

push, overcoming its inward pull. Vision blurred. The deck and console,

crew and all, wavered in vision, until that pit of the stomach drop settled

smooth as silk. Sensors reacted, reestimated reality , and showed them out,

considerably out, comfortably out, from their prior position. Still traveling

scary fast, but nothing to intercept or intersect—if they were lucky. “Optics on the station,” Senior Captain said. “Center screen.” He

received an acknowledgment from Scan 1, recorded image coming up. Took a moment. In peripheral vision, the central screen, which had been

displaying their course schemat ic, showed a hazy grey and orange object

and kept focusing in and in, extreme magnification. It was hard not to look. “We are stable for the moment ,” Senior Captain said. “First and third

seats may have a look.”

That continued a moment. Then : “Second, fourth and trainee seats, take

a look.”

Ross looked up, and sucked in his breath. It filled the large screen, a

toroid, touched by a ruddy sun, red-stained grey surfaces pasted on absolute

black, where no sun touched. It still rotated, but barely , gravity-anchored to

a sun-bl asted rock of a planeto id, partly in view. There were still green

lights here and there, not as many as should have been, and a panel, a panel

as lar ge as a car go runner , hung ajar , trailing hose like entrails. “Eyes down,” Senior Captain said, meaning back to business, prepared

to take action. “Bit of a mess,” Helm 1 commented. “Hell of a mess.”

Neglect. The bots that should automatically do the external

housekeeping were lost, or at least not functioning. The visible mast had

taken serious damage. “There’ s an automated output,” Com 1 said, “but it’s just an ID, Thule

Station, and a request for ID. I gave it, but it’ s not had time to respond.”

“Surprise if it did,” Senior Captain said. “Scan?”

“Not picking up anything,” Scan 1 said. “A few small objects, attracted

in or shed from the station, not sure which.”

“Science?”

“No temperature anomaly , no output, nothing within range.”

“We’ll continue,” Senior Captai n said. “Save the scans and vid. I don’t

say we won’ t be back here, or someone will. It’s a wreck, it’s not going to

maintain forever , but it’s a convenient point of mass. We’ve talked about

sites for a suppl y dump, for us, for whoever. Could be, for the future, and I

want those records. Nav, lay a new line for Olympus, and Helm, stand

ready.”

Section ii Book IV

Thule was grey, and aged, and...

spooky...

as any place Jen had seen. The images that came out to Security revealed wreckage from some impact

nothing had stopped. Ships all departed. Bots likely damaged, decayed, or

just strayed of f into irrelevance. Fletcher had called everybody into Ops 2 for this one: Parton, Twofer ,

aides Paul and Josh, Lewes and Marcy D, who mostly handled the minders’

issues. And her. She’d debriefe d with just Fletcher and debriefed twice at

Pell with the team, but it was her first time being called to entry duty with

the team, and there was a seat for her at the end of the console, beside grey-

haired Marcy D. It wasn’ t a good time to say a thing, just to absorb what

she saw, and to sip the nutrien t stuff—she wished she hadn’ t opted for

strawberry: she’d had the real thing, and this wasn’ t. Not near. Her stomach

was upset. Her brain full of what she was seeing, a place where people had

lived, and kids had been born and grown old and died, generations of them,

back when pushers ruled and the Circle Trade was still anchored at Alpha. It was somethin g to see it abandoned and decayed like this, shedding

bits and parts. And that large, gaping hole...

some monster sunbound rock

had done that since the shutdown. “We’re going to be through here in quick order ,” Fletcher said, by way

of openi ng. “We’ve seen what there is to see, nothing active, or if it is, it’s

deep-hidden and we don’t have the resources or time to go stirring it up. Only thing we know for certain is, the station is not currently habitable.”

“Any sign of a pusher just parked in the dark here?” Marcy D asked. “Not so far, but damned hard to spot in shutdown. Whole lot of room to

search, but no track showing. Maybe worth a return look and a bot setup,

but barring some indication around Thule station itself, we’ll be moving on

to Olympus—ta king a good scan of the station, in the process. Senior

Captain’ s been talking about sites where we could stockpile supply, and for

the Hinder Stars, this is a definite possibility.”

“Damn near at Bryant’ s door, too,” Paul said. “Which is good,

supposing we ever have trouble at Alpha.”

“Supposing we had trouble anywhere this side of Pell,” Fletcher said. “Thule’ s in easy reach from Venture, nice place to sit and wait, pick up

supply and trade in the cold. If you’re clear of the junk field.”

That possibility of safe refueling and dark ports for the Merchanters’

Alliance took a sudden scary bump toward reality. Fletcher was right: Thule

would be ideal, as close to Venture as it was. “But we might not have that option,” Fletcher said, “if the station

becomes active.”

“Active?” Twofer asked. “Olympus died because its Venture-side exit’s a death trap, and lack of

traffic down the Reach took this place down as well. But if Olympus,

somehow , is alive again and willing to become part of the system, using

Thule as the route, as a safe vector for entry into Olympus—it could see a

fair amount of traf fic again.”

“Unless they try to open UV Ceti again,” Paul said with a grimace. “Positionally , that would be Earth’ s best gateway to Pell itself.”

UV Ceti. Definitely scary. “Nobody in their right mind,” Parton said. “The EC did it once,” Fletcher said. “Big set-up, special shielding.”

Slight shrug. “Nobody ever accused them of being in their right minds. The

end was fast, at least.”

“Still nasty ,” Jen said. “Very.”

“Just hope Sol uses sense when they get FTL,” Josh said, “and that a

boycott never even has to happ en. No matter which direction they come

from. UV Ceti. Groombridge 34.” That was Olympus. “Either one as a

bridge to Venture and Pell—is not going to be that convenient. Or safe. Alpha’ s far from Venture. But it doesn’ t have near the problems.”

“Hoping that route proves out. Hoping Galway makes it,” Lewes said. “Honestly.”

“Hoping they do,” Jen added in a low tone. “Know you do,” Marcy D said. “Know you do, Jenniebug.”

“We all do,” Fletcher said. “Lewes is right. No matter what we find out

here, we want that Sol supply line and all its politics to route aboveboard

through Alpha— and far away from Pell. I mean, we think of those jump-

points out of Alpha as bad news , but look at the good side of it. If they do

route through Alpha, it leaves the Hinder Stars a role in the future. We’re

thinking of the safety of Galway , yes, but also the future of the Hinder

Stars, and if that route works, the EC gets a slower , saner entry into the

Beyond. We really don’t want to be negotiating with the EC on two fronts at

the same time, one at FTL speed, the other decades behind reality. The fact

Galway hasn’ t returned to Alpha yet doesn’t really tell us anything other

than that either Cruz and some novice navigator managed to take control

and Galway is now subatom ic particles—o r that the Monahans won and

Cruz and crew took a cold dark walk. The one thing we know that didn’ t

happen is that some novice EC navigator got them through three messy ,

unknown jumps. So the best thing we can do for the Galways, and all the

Hinder Stars, is to find out what these two ghost ships have been up to, and

try to get whatever -is-going-on at least partially dealt with before a Sol-

based FTL shows up at Alpha.”

As much as four years just to get to Sol, Jen said to herself. That was

how long the Monahans had hoped to give them. Galway just needed to

prove the coordinates sent out on the Stream and needed to tell their version

of event s to the EC before whatever Cruz might have fed into the Stream,

six years in lightspeed transit, muddied the truth in Sol System. A three-hop

series of jumps, taken conserva tively , could account for the better part of

one year station-time. Thoroughly mapping the jump-points could add as

much time as Galway dared take. Once they got to Sol, negotiations with

the EC were also bound to take a while. Five years total wasn’ t out of

reasonable possibility. They’d for sure like to have it all sewn up by the

time Alpha’ s lightspeed message got there. And getting back again, shorter by reason of having the map they’d

made: that woul d go fast, if Captain Niall and Nav 1 Fallan were in charge. Finity ’s own course was turning out to be jump after jump, taking up that

time in gulps. Getting to Alpha had been...

crazy. Meeting Ross, and all

the associated chaos at Alpha had been a bewildering series of changes in

her life. Ross’ s presence on Finity and the anticipa tion of showing him Pell

had ener gized them both on the hellbent trip back to Pell...

Then, just as they were ready to relax and enjoy themselves and their

still-new relatio nship...

the Garden, the trees, and the discoveries in the

gift shop had happened. Suddenly everything had shifted, radically , and set

them on an accelerating new course toward suspicions and unknowns and

the very real possibility that stopping the EC operation at Alpha wasn’ t

enough. Multipl e questions loomed, all on the far side of space. Thule. The

EC....

Olympus and its notorious jump-point. Ross wasn’ t the only one who had nightmares this trip. “Suppose the station tanks are anything like intact?” Paul was saying,

and Jen, with a mental kick, forced her attention back to the screen. “The place has taken a beating, but if the pile’s still going, possibly

interior bots are still maintaining , and the sectors may have sealed. If we’ve

got the bones of the place still sound, it wouldn’ t take that much to set up a

depot here, and some of the trash becomes a resource. Set bot miners at it. Let them work it.”

“A fuel dump and a message drop’ s dead easy,” Josh said. “Whatever

the condition of its guts.”

“Meeting in the dark. Direct trading,” Lewes said. “As if that’s never

been done in the short history of the Beyond.”

“One step at a time,” Fletcher said, and keyed up a rapid series of shots

from the cameras, showing the entry ports, closeups of the accumulated

small fragments, one after the other, and at the site of the wors t damage, a

gaping wound in the ring, probably penetrating clear to the personnel

spaces. A strand of conduit still connected a massive panel that had come

free in that area. “That one looks like it blew from inside,” Jen said. She’d done her own

research on Thule’ s structure, read everything she could find about the trade

that had used to be there. And the outdated systems. “Maybe it was left

pressurized.”

“Possible, that,” Josh said. “Or maybe a salvage operation that didn’ t

give a damn about anything other than grabbing whatever they could get. I

looked it up. There was a company formed on Bryant’ s and another on

Venture to salvage the station. Word was they’d already started when the

EC’s order arrived—fifteen station years late—for the stations to be

mothballed instead—and then the operations got stalled in the courts. Court

ruled the compa nies didn’ t have a legal claim. There was a considerable to-

do about EC influence on the judges, then Pell got into the act. Apparently

it dragged on in lawsuits and threats of lawsuits, seconded by a court on

Bryant’ s—it was a mess. The companies folded, the EC won, and there it

sits.”

“Unless our ghost ships have been looting it,” Fletcher said. “Don’ t you think they’d clean up the access points first?” Paul asked. “Those metal bits floating all over would be hazardous...

and damned if

they’d find any of that high quality Sol merch here. This is all a waste.”

A waste , Jen thought. What a sad term for a sad, dust-spattered wreck. It

hung in the red light of its sun, its masts still blinking come-ahe ad lights to

the unan swering void, three of the four lights at the cardinal points of its

ring, and debris following it around. Spooky sight, a station so badly used,

half-stripped, violated and left. Its slow rotation was mesmerizing, another

loose set of panels trailing what seemed to be ducting of some sort—a

wound that would only get worse, with the exposure of inner parts that

never were rated for deep cold and UV. People had lived here once. Had called it home. Those people were long

gone, now. Their descendants had become citizens of Venture, mostly. So

could it revive as a supply dump, serve the Alliance?

Maybe the supply

Uncle talked about leaving here could be gravitationally associated with the

station, maybe even fixed to the mast. But then—if it became any kind of

mapped waystop and traffic began coming through here, who knew?

Ships

might do a bit of profitable scavenging along the way, particularly for

higher value stuff that might be left inside. It would be hell to police a free-

for-all prospecting site. An honor system wasn’ t likely to hold. Mostly , now, passing rapidly by them, Thule was a point of mass, its red

sun itself a jump-point, a gravitational foothold in political games she’d

never imagined. Thule, Galileo, and Olympus. All EC property in the old days. All

bypassed by an FTL universe. Never much more than a fuel stop. As for

Galileo, the terminal station on this reach, it had gotten a station because

some science types pushed for it, assuring everybody there wasn’ t a present

threat and of course there would be warning signs. Galileo’ s star, EV Lacertae, had flared off with a really spectacular UV

flare, taking the station with it—the source for Mum’ s pretty piece of glass. The EC would be complete fools to go back there, that was the general

consensus. Scary place. She had no interest in cruising past Galileo, and she hoped

no one suggested it as a follow-up, even if Olympus looked like this. “Cousins and friends.” That was Uncle James Robert, Senior Captain,

on the horn. “We’ve had a physically hard run getting this far. For what we

can tell, we’re unobserved here, but we are not comfortable in that

assumption. We’re going to continue as we bear with no V-dump through

this watch and the next, which will be Fourth-shift, mark that. Repeat: next

watch will be Fourth-shift. Third-shift will take us into jump in very short

order, and First-shift will again be next up on arrival at Olym pus. That is

the current schedule. Sleep, relax. If you feel any abnormal effects of our

schedule, report it to Medical. That is a firm order. Our entry at Olympus

Point may give us a few days to rest and recover , but a medical crisis will

not help us if we have other issues there, as we could, cousins, so do not

have one. “Matt is going to order us up one good feed befor e jump, and our

schedule will let us get at least four hours natural sleep, so drop by mess

and take it as you can. It’ll be buffet-style, starting in one hour fifteen

minutes. Jump is scheduled for 2330 hours, which may be delayed, but don’t

count on it. “Olympus arrival will be, we hope, to a quiet star, but we cannot

guarantee that. The Xiaos are going to join us there, if that word hasn’ t

gotten to your shift. We will have backup. But we can’t take safety for

granted, includ ing the fact that finding nothing here heightens the

likelihood of finding something there. Be prepared for anything, including a

rough entry or a quick jump out. I don’t plan either , but the best we can do

is see to our health and the ship’s order right now, assuring that we arrive

at Olympus fit to perform. “Junior -juniors, no hijinks on this next one, either. This is life and death

serious. Get yourselves wher e you’re assigned to be, restock your kits, and

report to your section chiefs once you’r e ready to shut the door on your

cabins. I will personally interview anyo ne who wants to be the exception

and you will explain to me at length why you thought you were the

exception. Have that clear. Olympus Point is a rough entry under any

circumstances. I will not be in a for giving mood. “All aboar d, eat and sleep as a matter of duty , get your jump kit in or der,

and keep in mind we may have to leave Olympus itself on an emer gency

basis. Think ahead, restock, don’t leave anything to chance, report any

situation that could become a problem, and let’s do this in good order, all of

us.”

Captain-sir meant it, Jen had no question about that. It was not time for

anybody to flout the rules or be where he or she wasn’ t assigned to be,

which included double-bunking. She and Ross had a little time. It was a

good idea to take food at the earliest possible, and give the gut a chance to

process it before time got all weird with the body. “You heard it,” Fletcher said. “Senior Captain’ s got us on the clock,

now. Josh, take the feed, talk to Science, and get us whatever might

possibly be useful. History , observations, readouts, everything in one

package, file under Thule. ”

“Got it,” Josh said. “Everybod y hit the buffet. I’ll pass this to Mark

when he comes in, and we won’t see each other again until Olympus,

barring something bleeping up in the interval.”

That was it for their shift. They were free. Or she was. Lewes was

staying on with Josh; and Marcy and Dave would take their handof f as

Fourth-shift took over. Security wasn’ t always active during approach, but

they weren’ t exactly approaching, either. They were reconnoitering, taking

notes and collec ting data—in this case, getting the best shots they could in

case they had to cut and run. Science was doing a work-up, and Scan was,

all in the theory they might even have their own use for the place , if things

with the EC went way sideways. Which everyone hoped they didn’ t, and nobody counted on. She gathered herself up, pocket ed her handheld, still linked to SecOps,

and headed off to do things that needed doing, arranging her quarters being

one of them. Food, nutrient packs, and whatever jump-juice Medical was

handing out on this one. When she was still woozy from the last jump. She threw herse lf down on her bunk and stared at the ceiling, worried

about Ross and that battered station in equal turns, and wonder ing whether

she should go to him or leave him alone. Damn, when had their rather magical relationship gotten so damned

delicate?

If she were honest with herself, she wished on some level she’d never

taken the Galways into the Garden tour , that they’d never found what they’d

found in that gift shop. If they hadn’ t, if they’d all just let go of the Miriam

B and Come Lately puzzle, they’d have just settled down to supplying

Alpha and havin g more free time on Pell, and they wouldn’ t be here asking

questions and running risks no merchanter should ever have to run. They

wouldn’ t be involved, and things might have just worked themse lves out the

way stations and ships always solved things—messily. Over time. And they might, if worst speculations proved true, have EC enforcers on

Pell’s doorstep within the decade. No, it was good to have found it out. She

was glad she reported it. Proud she’d recognized the necessity. But, damn,

she hope d they all survived. The image of the gutted station was going to

haunt her a good long while. As for the Galw ays...

she realized now they’d taken a wound that

hadn’ t near healed. She began to understand, on a visceral level, why the

Galways had chosen to stick with Finity. You said “EC” and “underhanded

dealing” and they couldn’ t unhear it. She couldn’t have gotten Ross to turn

down a ride back to Alpha, back to his family , but he and all his cousins had

done exactly that, not for Finity , but for another go at whatever had the

stamp of the EC in the Hinder Stars. The EC had threatened their Family ,

and they just couldn’ t turn their backs on it, not a one of them. Could she have?

She couldn’ t even imagine the situation. She did know she couldn’ t leave Finity , any more than he would ever

have his mind free of Galway. That was reality...

for a merc hanter. She

wasn’ t sure she’d ever truly understood that, until now. It was pre-jump jitters. She didn’ t want to be here, doubted, really, that

anyone on the ship wanted to be here. The whole operation Finity was

involved in began to look huge and enveloping. She wanted to say to hell

with all the Hinder Stars. Let the EC have them. She wanted Ross and she

wanted him and all of them, the whole Monahan Family , safe at Pell. Safe

and together and with her—which wasn’ t going to happen. Damn it. Galway had seriously screwed things up, making the deal with Alpha. But she understood why they had. She also understood that Pell couldn’ t do

what Finity was doing. Some ship had to do it, had to go physically and find

out what was happening at Olym pus, and they were the best and the ablest

Pell had...

same as Galway was Alpha’ s best. But—damn. Just damn. Ross would be going back to Alpha after all this. But would he be

happy?

His family were aging there. His shift-mates were aging at still

another rate on Galway. Lives once in sync had more and more trouble

matching up and finding connections intact. It was one reason people

needed to be with their own. Uncle-sir had warned her. He had told her she

could end up sorry. Uncle hadn’ t warned her that Finity herself wasn’ t veering back to

normal. That they were still involved with the Galways, that the Galways

were veering off into this— whatever it was, in these lonely , wrecked places

—she hadn’t seen that ahead. But it was. It was one thing for Finity : they

were defending their territory and they had to do it, part of that deal they’d

always had with Pell. But this EC business had grabbed hold of Ross and all the Galways in a

very personal way , edge of a gravity well that just didn’ t let them go. Go back , she should have said, much more forcefully , at Venture. Go,

goodbye, have a nice life, remember me, get off our deck and go home. We’ll send you word. We’ll keep our promises...

But it wasn’ t the promises that kept them aboard. It might have been that

on the way to Pell, but not now. They were hunting the other half of what

the EC had been doing. They were in it. Same as Finity was...

but not. They were part of this, in a way she wasn’ t. She’d ignored every warning Uncle Jim had given her. She’d gotten

herself involved with a Hinder Stars man, one of the left-behinds, that had

never had a reason to be in her world. She, dammit, loved him. But he

wasn’ t looking to her, now, not for reasons. Feelings hadn’ t changed, at

least she didn’ t think so, but motivations had. It was answers that the

Monahans were chasing. And even if they found nothing at Olympus, and

left the chase and simply went back to Venture, to go on as before...

It wouldn’ t be as before. They’d gotten into this gravity well, spiraling

into it, her and Ross. She loved him. She needed to stop loving him. She was scare d as hell

for him. And for herself. And for all of them. Because Finity was caught in

that same well. Stupid mistake to have gone this far. Stupid mistake to have committed

so much—to someone whose life was stuck in that nightm are he kept

having—drifting freefall between ships. With the damn EC wrapped around

his heart, squeezing it, insulating it from life itself. How did I get so tangled in this?

Why isn’t it simple?

Why can’t it be

simple?

Why can’ t I even talk to him?

Learn from it, Uncle had said when she’d broken her arm, stupid reach

after a lever she couldn’ t hold. What’ s it worth, otherwise?

I’d like it not to hurt, she’d said, then, ten years old. She’d learned that much, at least. She really would like it not to hurt. Section iii Book IV

The ship ran. And ran. And ran that course that carried them away from the

star and the station—a closer brush with both, in Ross’ s estimation, than he

liked, but that was what Senior Captain wanted, and it was where Helm had

them, shielded, vanes folded, and traveling like the proverbial bat. It was

Nav’ s job to set up for Third-shift, running the exit sim and running it, a

mundane operation attending a course that skated the rim of sanity. Kate

was sure of their course. Buckl in was sure of it. Ty and Jim wore worried

expressions and Ross just tried not to imagine failure. They tested the calculations in the computer ’s reality. It was Third-shift

that got to verify and tell Helm they were accurately aimed at Groombridge

34, which was the second stomach-wrenching prospect. Time had a perverse way of standing still when the brain kept spinning

through possibil ities and checks and doubts, and it was a challen ge to focus

and focus and focus and not scatter. It was sim and sim and sim in an

increasingly textured model, and Kate allowed no distractions in the

process. If they failed the button-push by seconds, they’d blow the schedule

by days and do a tamer exit, but doing it the way Senior Captain intended

was their job, mad as it was. Do you know , sir?

Do you feel it yourself?

You’re a damned fool if

you’r e doing this blind. I can feel it. I think it’ s right. But I’m not sur e. God, I don’ t like wher e we’r e going. Are you sur e, sir?

Y ou can’ t like it, either. “That’ s it,” Kate said. Wound-t ight nerves and an upset stom ach said

there was a resolution, eighth time same result. Sweat was running down

Ross’ s neck despite the chill normal in ops. God, let us go...

let us just go. Let us do this...

But their calc was prep. Third-s hift got to re-run it. Not the top of Nav. Not Kate. Kate’ s calc would be hours back. But truth was truth and physics was physics unless their destination

itself wobbled. And it had no external reason to wobble. It was the best they

could do. “We will go with it,” Senior Captain said. “Thank you, First-shift. Take

care of yourselves, now. You’ll have a full shift plus half an hour to prepare

for jump.”

Shower was not quite the first thing on Ross’ s mind, but it was close. He

locked down his board, unclipped, and levered himself up and out. He wasn’t the only one to head straight through to the showers. Ian came

behind him, tossed him a cold pack of juice. And breathing in a deluge of

hot fog, while sucking down an icy tart limeade, was a fair head-clearer. He

was shaking. Muscles twitched without his willing them. They’d make it, he told himse lf. They’d done things with this ship

they’d never contemplate with Galway. Kate didn’ t miss. Bucklin didn’t. And Senior Captain wasn’ t going to pop this ship into the sun. They were

waiting for a solid fix on Groombridge 34, as of about four hours ago. It

should be turning up in anothe r fifty-odd minutes, Third-shift’ s problem,

Third-shift’ s turn to sweat. The graphic kept playing behind his eyes

whenever he shut them and soaked up the mist. Going to be all right. We did it right....

Third-shift is going to take our

numbers and their fix and it’ s going to match or we’ll abort...

“Anybody scared?” Ian asked. “Honestly ,” Ross asked. “Hell, yeah. But we signed on, didn’ t we?

We

can’t head back to Alpha not knowing what’ s what, can we?”

“Hell, no,” Ian said. “Owen would ask us, so what’ s going on that had

both Finity and Pell spooked?

And we’d have to say, ‘Damn-it-all, Cap’n,

sir, sounded kinda scary so we just decided we didn’ t need to know.’

Wouldn’ t we?” The last he said in Galway ’s ship-s peak, a waft of home and

all they knew. Not shutting the Finitys out. Just thinking of Family , and

people, and home, and being there. “Damn straight,” Ross said. “Can you imagine telling the cousins we’ve

had a nice trip to the golden elephant and all, and a lovely walk in the trees,

but no, sorry , we don’t know a thing. —As Fallan would say, if those

benighted bastar ds think they’re puttin’ one over on us, they’ve got another

think comin’.”

Ian grinned at him. “And that’ s the truth.”

He held up a thumb, leaned back against the shower wall and let the

water hammer an overheated brain. He shut his eyes, and saw the star

burning in memory. Surely it was memory. He felt it, felt it continually ,

grumbling along , surly creature that it was. Underestimated. Little humans

in little ships left their debris here. But it wasn’ t eternal. It was push-pull

between gravity and the tides that washed out from the star, a short-term

contest, as humans reckoned time...

“Ross?” A hand touched his bare shoulder. He opened his eyes under the

battering of water. “Asleep, man?” Ian asked. “Y ou all right?”

“Yeah,” he said. What else was he to say?

Nav 3 had the calc now. Confirm or reject. Not his job. They could all die. They could all end up in his namesake’ s

belly. At the end, his line had deviated from Kate’ s the width of the line itself. They all had been that close. If they were wrong, they were dead wrong together. Section iv Book IV

The jump to Olympus was a tricky bit of navigation, and Ross 248, Thule,

was not a stable object in terms of output. Came time, and Third Captain,

John, was in charge. JR, in the sanctity of his office, had alrea dy changed

into his heat-managing blues, pockets stuffed with requisite items and

console amply supplied with juice packs. Now it was the sheer worried

boredom of waiting for the move—a steady , wish-I-were-doing-it anxiety ,

because it was not a routine maneuver John was handling. But the close pass saved an immense amount of time and fuel. It was a

maneuver they had done uncounted times in sim and four times in reality. Just...

John hadn’ t done the reality part. Nor had Mum. But sooner or

later John had to, if the universe kept going in increasingly unpleasant

patterns, and if the future kept handing them responsibility for questions

like this. Finity’ s End was a merchanter , and she counted her change, she

conserved her resources, and she outbid her competition. That was who the

Family was and all they had ever wanted to be, since shiptime had divorced

itself from Earthtime and stationtime alike. But here they were again, doing

what had to be done, because without the power and the speed Finity had, it

didn’ t get done, and the Family , even with Pell’s backing, didn’t have the

resources to take endless time about it—or the inclination to ignore the

threat and hope for benevolence from the EC. They’d taken a Family vote at the outset of their leaving regul ar trade. They hadn’ t taken one since. The drive to get the job done had become all

one thing, chasing down those last two marginal ships in the great dark of

the Hind er Stars, with one simple focus, until those ships had become a

puzzle unto themselves, and until the Alpha stationmaster had made a

dreadful gamble and played hob with everyone’ s plans. To ease the tensi on between Cyteen and Pell, merchanters had long been

playing go-between and keepin g supply up, but with all that was coming

down on them, the role of negotiators and deal-makers had acquired a this-

decade urgency and needed some teeth. Cyteen insisted on Emilio’ s

signature: if he’d sign, they would; if Pell and Cyteen agreed, other stations

would comply. Everything they’ d done and won so far insisted on Emilio’ s

signature, and Emilio and this whole end of human space had an accelerated

problem...

because Sol might not stay in its bottle. Finity had gotten sucked into Emilio’ s problem, which led to Alpha’ s

problem, and now bid fair to become everybody’ s problem. The Beyond

hadn’ t had time or physical togetherness enough to plan. They just did as

they could. Time someone found out the EC’s intentions. Not just

merchanter business, but what had plainly become, collectively ,

everybody’ s business. The situation on the monitor ticked away. Finity followed the course

they’d planned. JR half expected John to call before pushing the button. But

what could John ask him?

If he saw anything amiss he’d call John. He

didn’ t. John could conclude he saw nothing. The line was where it needed

to be and Olympus was steadily moving into the box. Olympus. Which was to say—Groombridge 34, a binary like Venture’ s

Bella and the Beast, only less friendly , as one came in from Venture. Thule-

origin was inherently a much safer approach than launching out of another

binary—one of several factors that had killed Olympus as a station. A

binary star had its tricks in a jump, bad enough when your charts were

fresh. They’d been renewing their own information on Thule’ s red sun as

they went, and were steadily updating what they could gather about the

binary ahead of them, several light years up the observational timeline from

Venture...

you always updated; but the information gap on Groombridge

34 was deep and wide by reason of years of neglect—and it was a complex

system, not only two stars, but planets and planetoids involved. Double

reason to be conservative, which John always was, and ask Third-shift to

handle the jump. John had made a face at the request, and John had hesitated, but that

wasn’ t John ducking responsibility , that was John thinking through the

problems involv ed and asking himself whether he was up to it. When John

thirty minutes later said yes, that was a considered yes. There was Beth, Nav 3.1 , back ing that, a senior Navigator who wasn’ t

the Family’ s most scintillating conversationalist: Beth didn’ t talk much, but

a lot of Nav weirdness went on in that curly grey head. Garry , Helm 3.1 ,

was dead calm no matter what was going on, absolutely business-only , and

fast enou gh to decide when he needed to. No questions, there, either. Garry

might have stood for a captaincy , if he’d had the inclination. He didn’ t want

it. Wanted what he did, and did it well. Every shift needed an anchor , and

the way Kate anchored First-shift, Garry was that personality on Third,

stolid and outspoken. John had confidence in him. And Garry had

confidence in John. The one hour warning sounded. Madison came in, likewise in work

blues, and sat down at the adjacent console. They’d ridden out together as

kids, aboard old Gaia , in her convert days. “You talk to John?”

“He’ s checking everything, driving the watch bat-crazy. You know

John.”

“Yeah. Nothing’ s coming loose on his shift. Count on that.”

“Saw Mum leaving as I came in. She’s heading down, no problems. Says she’s going to sleep in unless she’s needed. Checked with Tommy.”

That was the chief medic. “All clear on drug pickups. Nobody’ s waiting til

the last minute on this one.”

“Good for that,” JR said. “Nervous on this one,” Madison said. “I won’ t say not.”

“Got to go in,” JR said. “W e committed Min.”

“Second thoughts?”

JR hesitated. With two individua ls alive he’d give the true answer: Mum

and Madison. “Plenty. But we’re in this.”

“So’s Pell,” Madison said, which was true. “We’re not alone on this

one.”

“There’ s that. But damn little they can do for us if Olympus is fully

staffed and not interested in being found. Maybe they’ve been preparing for

their cover to be blown. Maybe they’ve got a few mass-drivers ready to aim

at unwanted visitors.”

“So we take a few readings and get the hell out.”

“Doesn’ t get us many answers.”

“If they fire at us, especially unprovoked, we have all the answers we

really need.”

“Hate to put the cousins through one more no-rest jump. Not to mention

the baby. We can park us out of reach.”

“We’ll survive. Just concentrate on your job. We’ll concentrate on

making it happen. That’ s our job.”

They sat in companionable silence, watching the screen where JR had

the images of Thule displayed. Sad little place, Thule. It had been a little

station even in its heyday. Most ly it had been a science post, supplied by a

couple of tiny ships that had died with the shutdown of Thule, one of the

small but tragic stories of little Families that had tried their best with barely

capable FTLs, and had the luck run against them. The Lily-Y oungs had

settled down on Venture, JR had learned that. They had had a particularly

close call. The Jacksons had found berths on the Viking cargo-pusher

Mistr ess Mary , and mer ged with the Buellers. The lives and names reeled past, the ones they had come across when

they started out with their list of spacer Families, the converts, and then the

purpose-builts; the whole of the Alpha Reach, the Hinder Stars, the way the

Beyond saw them; the First Stars, as the people who lived out there wanted

them to be called...

It was Pell that had kept the Hinder Stars alive, though the Hinder Stars

might insist it was Earth. In fact it was Pell’s rivalry with Cyteen that had

played into that situation. So long as the Hinder Stars were viable in the

least, Pell had kept them going, or kept Venture going, and Venture had kept

the ones down the line alive— barely , which possibly caused the EC to

decide it had an excuse to devote all its pusher -loads to The Rights of Man. Cause and effect: it was all speculation where the EC was concerned. He

knew Emilio. Understood Emilio in most ways. He didn’ t know the faceless

EC at all, could only speculate based on their choices. Either way, the old

status quo was changing. “Five minutes warning,” Com said. “Time,” Madison said. “Time,” JR agreed. He opened the console beside his seat, saw the green

light blinking, indicating the system was ready. The office systems always

were, both seats. He applied the patch to his inner elbow and half reclined

his seat. Madison did the same. The only captain opting for a sleep-through

on this jump was Mum. Minutes ticked down. Neither of them spoke. “We are one minute and counting,” Lanie said: Com 3.1.

“One minute

and coun ting. Is there any problem anywher e?

Speak now or don’t. All coms

are open.”

Memories of being a kid. Of pranks played, and you caught merry hell

next time if the victim figured you out. Or if it got the attention of the

seniors. Innocent times, aboard Gaia, in her day. “Thirty ,” came from Com. “Twenty-nine...”

Stomach was upset. All the feeds had cut in with the patch. The chemicals were flowing. Senses would go soon. Fear would go fairly soon. Doubt. That would go, too. His leadership. His decisions, ultimately , that had put the Family here. They’d run hard, this far, hard enough to impact their senior -seniors, and

the baby. And he worried. Mum and Vickie monitored each other—no

junior aide for them, thank you. They could take it. So they assured him this

time. The senior -seniors damned sure didn’ t want to ride it out in Medical,

with the baby. Fear wasn’t leaving soon enough, dammit. It was his job to worry—

about them, about the rest of the Neiharts, who hadn’ t exactly signed on for

this, but if not Finity ...

who?

Drug haze came on. “Five,” Com 3 said. “Four...”

“Clear for jump,” John said. “Nav?”

“Center of the window ,” Nav said. “Go for jump.”

“Helm,” John said. “Execute.”

Section i Book V: FOUCAULT

Raging storm. Nuclear hell shedding heat and light, arcing power and

prominences...

Two stars objecting mightily to their intrusion. Two stars pushing back...

har d. One path, only one safe passage. Oh, my God, was the dim first thought, and Ross moved his arm. It

floated uselessly over in zero- G and the patch stung. “We are in arrival. First-shift to the bridge. First-shift to the bridge. Put

it together and move it, cousins and crewmates. We are in arrival at

Groombridge Point and we have immediate indications we are not alone

here.”

Third Captain’ s voice overlay lines of code flashing behind his eyelids. He was in quarters, not on the bridge. No controls to reach. “We are at the system barycenter ,” the same voice said. John Neihart. “We are still remote from Groombridge A. But move it, people. Do move it. We need more brains on this one. Shift-3 will not dump V. Shift-1 will make

that decision.”

No!

A voice inside him screamed. Don’ t wait!

Do not fucking wait!

“Yeah,” Ross said aloud, in case anybody was receiving. His voice

croaked. He cleared his throat. “Ross Monahan, awake and moving.”

Or trying to move. It was like a dream where you tried to move and your

arms wouldn’ t work. Worst time he’d ever had waking from trank. And still that desperate voice vibrated in his head. Damn it. He had to get to the bridge. Their heading was not optimal. He

worked his fingers, used a thum b to punch the release on the belts holding

him to the cot, got one, but couldn’ t reach the second. The med-tube was

still feeding him wakeup juice, and he had to be careful, moving, not to

jostle that connection. Groombridge A and B. Foucault and Fizeau. Points of mass. The barycenter was the jump-point,

but Foucault was the destination. Fine. Nav had a problem. That vector was his concern. His job was to

wake up his fingers and toes and get his brain online. He needed specific

numbers. Location. For those equations spinning in his head. He was awake enough now to open the first of the nutrient pack s he had

on him, body-warm and disgusting as it was going to be. He pulled the tab

and took it in gulps, salty as sweat. The taste said his electrolytes were of f. V-dump. Hard one. He lay there and breathed a while, not envying

Third-shift Nav at the moment, with a rough entry and a quick dump-down. Thank—

Second one. Hard after the first. Shit, that was scary. Engines scarcely had time to cycle. But it felt better. But it was still wrong. There was still...

pushback. “Sorry , cousins,” that was Senior Captain, on the bridge and now

assuming command. “No time for a warning. A little adjustment there. Welcome to Gr oombridge Hell. Should be inertial for a bit now.”

Ross reached after another packet from the shelf beside him, fumbled

after the tear-strip, hands shaking, cursing the schedule that had him

downside, in his bunk. Damn strip wouldn’ t tear, then did. The nutrient goo

flooded out in globules dancing in the dim light, going to get sticky all over

stuff. He got most of it to his mouth, which activity provided him

something other than the pull of two stars to concentrate on. He swallowed,

and heard the engagement of the ring, deep and distant. Yellow globules

adrift in the air circulation began to react to another force, and now he felt

the suggestion of down, which, with rehydration, was going to have another

effect in a few minutes. He hadn’ t heard the clearance to unbuckle, but the

green light had come on in the overhead, so he ejected the feed-patch for a

fresh one and rearmed the system—that was a thing he did like breathing. In case they had to get the hell away. Which right now, given the second immediate V-dump, given the mad

dash to get here, and the shape they were all in, physically , was an

unsettling thought. Couldn’ t. Wouldn’ t. Shouldn’ t need it...

But—

The larger mass, Foucault, was increasingly unstable. Fizeau wasn’ t

happy , either. Damn...

was that Fizeau’ s Ardaman?

Clear out here?

Wha t

the hell?

Couldn’ t be. Could not possibly be. This feeling stars was twisting his

brain. Wake up. Get to the bridge. Get to the numbers. Those would tell him

what was going on. The globules were sinking now, toward the shelf, the floor , the sheets. He had that peculiar prickle of down beginning to settle his hair, his clothes,

his body. He moved a hand to push a button to free all the latches, nice little

convenience Finity had, when the body was beginning to want relief fairly

desperately. Had there been a ‘clear to move?’ Time slipped on him. Had-h appened

and would-happen married and mer ged and had triplets. Hell. He swung a leg off, still in marginal G, and took a little help from

the bunkside console in getting vertical. His arms could span from there to

the far wall, and he staggered to the little water closet, as Finity so quain tly

named it. Stripping clothes, relieving himself, breaking into the sodden

disinfectant-smelling towel-packs, and rubbing down after a bath in free-

floating electrolyte spillage—that was all autopilot. Getting the coveralls

seam neat was a—oh, hell, fix it later. “We are needing you up here, First-shift cousins, soon as you

can...

move!”

Section ii Book V

“We are picking up electr omag netic presence.” That was the word from

Com 3 on gene ral address, and Jen did a low G run down the corridor ,

moving fast, but not in good order. So sensors had picked up something at

their entry point. Since that jolting double dump, they were in the grip of

Groombridge 34 A, aka Foucault, a planeted system with occasional

significant rocks on their entry path. Optics were being brought to bear. Antennae would deploy. That went without question. Third-shift Science

had only a two-deep senior crew with trainees in all the other seats—but

Antonia, First-s hift, would be hauling herself up to debrief and displace

them all, no question, with her team close behind her. Security was already scheduled to go into immediate function on arrival,

in case of intern al emer gencies from the rough entry , but the call Jen had

flashing on her handheld was no incident call, it was an emer gency

summons to the security office, which had never happened like this. Wobbly and blurry as she was, she made it to the office and inside, grabbed

the nearest seat-back—it was Parton’ s——to check her momentum, then

swung into her own place, hand-over -hand, dropping into her seat at near

normal G. Fletche r had his back to her, eyes glued to readout. It wasn’ t a

time to ask. The info was up. Parton was flashing through inputs at his

console. Jen shoved her earpiece in and keyed into Nav, so as not to badger

Fletcher with questions. It was arrival on plan, course as planned, all the

lines in agreement, corner symbol showing shift-change in progress. It was A, it was Foucault. Nothing wrong with their position or their

course. No crew emer gency. She caught a glance at Fletcher ’s display ,

which had a schematic of Foucault System—including Olympus. “We’ve got a live presence-buoy here,” Parton said. Twofer had arrived,

and took his seat, number three console. Input from the buoy flashed on the

side of Jen’ s screen and she took it. Live didn’ t mean everything was actually up-to-date functional, Jen

thought. Logical to have had a presence detector on the Thule-Olympus

approach. The buoy could be something as old as Olympus and still live,

like the lights at ravaged Thule. They were, however , taking nothing as safe. “We’re also getting noise from Olympus,” Fletcher said. “Active output,

nothing so far that doesn’ t say bot.”

“Zombie bots could still be sweeping the lanes if they wanted to be

helpful,” Twofer muttered. “They’d be too poor and too far for salvage,

maybe still going.”

“Stream buoy might also be functioning,” Fletcher said, “same

condition. Even some parts of station.”

“Optics is working on the visuals,” Parton said. “Have a cup of coffee,” Fletch er said. “Whatever. Fridge is stocked.”

Meaning it was going to be awhile. Go easy. Then Senior Captain’ s voice came over the horn:

“Prepare for V-dump. V-dump. T wo minutes.”

Fletcher frowned at the schematic, which seemed to show them on

course. Shook his head and shrugged. “What we don’ t know...

hang on.”

Section iii Book V

JR strap ped into his seat on the bridge. Shift change had happened in record

time. Those two abrupt V-dumps had them all shaken, and another was

coming up fast. Their bow wave had triggered a crazed feedback from the

Ardaman limit...

unlike anything they’d encountered elsewhere. Foucault...

well, Foucault gave back. With interest. Third-shift had

punted, but refinement, so Helm insisted, was necessary. “Dump in one minute,” Helm said, and Nav’ s lines flashed up on the

screen, not in agreement. “What the hell, 5!” Kate’ s voice snapped over com, unusually wrought,

and as young Monahan stuttere d something: “Fuck!

You’re right!” Kate’s

own line for the V-dump changed. Unprecedented. JR squelched his instinctive objection. Kate wouldn’ t have changed her

input if Kate weren’ t certain. Which didn’ t stop him from clenching the seat arms as the countdown to

dump began. Section iv Book V

“Our heading is now confirmed,” Senior Captain’ s voice said over the

security of fice com. “We’ll be inertial for several hours at least.”

“Well,” Parton said, “that was fun. So...

where were we before we

were so rudely interrupted?”

Jen took a swig of sugar -laden coffee, not her favorite under any other

circumstances, but any other option just turned her stomach. Weird. But at

the moment, she’d consume whatever gave her caf feine and calories. Fletcher ’s body stiffened, then Fletcher said to someone, “Yeah.” And to

them, half turning. “Optics has them.”

Fletcher keyed and several of the screens showed a cluster of fuzzy stars

that lost fuzz at every blink of revision. Is that Olympus?

Jen wondered. Is that it?

It jumpe d neare r. Re-resolved. That was structure. Those were lights. That was definitely Olympus Station. “Well,” Parton said, “somebody left the lights on.”

“Could persist,” Twofer muttered. “But you’d think not that many.”

The image adjusted again, fuzzier but lar ger. It didn’ t look right. Even to a novice. Maybe they were looking down on

its axis. Should be a ring with a top and bottom mast. Like every Hinder Stars

station. It was weird and there was a flare of sunlight either distorting the

view or...

Something very lar ge was attached to it. What in hell?

Jen asked herself. And then it made sense what she was

seeing, what she’d only seen in histories, and in vids. Not just a hard-to-

track merchanter limpeted to Olympus mast. Pusher. That was a pusher -ship in dock. Section v Book V

JR stood next to John on the bridge, as the first optics came clearer and

clearer. John had opted to stay after shift-change. Now Madiso n had come

on com. Consultation. Madison was in his quarters. “Accounts for the EM all on its own.” John’ s voice came through on

exec-com. It was policy , when the captains consulted on the bridge, not to

distract crew with com chatter. “What are the chances we’ve found exactly

what we came her e looking for?”

“Station’ s live,” JR said. “Can’ t imagine that pusher ’s just dead and

abandoned here.” Another , clear er image replaced it. But not clear enough. “What pusher could that be?

Mum, are you seeing this?

Could it have been

abandoned here with the station?

Were there any assigned here not

accounted for?”

“I’m seeing it,” Mum said, likewise from her cabin, with a little sign of

strain in her voice. Then a long breath. “And no. No unaccounteds. That’ s a

pusher , no question, looks like one of the later ones. Hard to tell from this

angle.”

They were certainly looking at something pusher -sized. And properly

attached to Olympus Station’ s A-mast. “Didn’ t come from Pell,” JR said, endeavoring not to jump to the

obvious. “Emilio would have said. Cyteen could have built it, but that

makes even less sense.”

“Trying too har d, JR,” John said. “Beyond a doubt, dir ect fr om Sol.”

“Got to wonder how long that’s been going on,” Madison said. “Could still be left over from when we officially mothballed Olympus,”

John said. “Hell of a spendy thing to just leave out here at shutdown,” Madiso n

said. “Olympus was a hell of a spendy thing to leave out here at shutdown,”

John said. “That’ s no leftover ,” Mum said emphatically. “Get a fix on Sol. Look for

a trail; pushers leave them. And there’s going to be an active Stream and a

receiver to go with that pushe r, seeing it got here. Might even be the

original buoy. Coor dinates shou ld be in records. We don’t want to wander

into it, but dipping in with a probe for a read on it could be useful. Hearing

what they say about us might be inter esting.”

“Very,” JR said. “Nav 1.1.

Get the zenith buoy data from records and

plot us buoy to Olympus Station, current date.”

The acknowledgment came. Easy to figure where the Stream might be

flowing, simply by where the buoy was relative to the station. Easy to rig a

pickup. They hadn’ t done it at Alpha, since they’d intend ed a direct

approach to the station, and didn’t want to engender a fuss if Alpha wanted

to call it spying. But here—

Here?

Whatever was going on at Olympus was hell and away touchier. One was very interested to discover if there was any communication

between that pusher and Sol, maybe even with another pusher on the same

track. “One way and another , in a couple of hours anybody live on that pusher

or on the station is going to know we’re here, but it will be twelve years for

whoever ’s here to get word to Sol once that information hits the Stream. So

we do have time.”

“So,” Mum said, “what’ s the plan, James?”

“Not a lot of choice. We can’t sneak out of here. If they’re not dead or

asleep, they’ll see us, absent or present. Besides, we have to wait for Min to

get here. Can’ t desert him.”

“Hell, no,” Madison said, with a muted laugh. “Left to his own devices,

he’d shake it just to see what falls out, and Grandfather Jun took that

Scotch issue personally , he did.”

“I think fake Scotch is the least of what we’re looking at here,” JR said. “We promised Min we’d handle it. And if we don’t want Min calling the

shots on this situation, we pretty well have to.”

“Question is,” Mum said, “what constitutes handling it. Is this a new

operation, or does it go way back?

What ar e we looking at?”

“New or old, the damn EC is what we’re looking at, is my take,” John

said. “And if we ask for the officer in charge, they’r e going to refer us to

some office on Earth.”

“Up to no good,” Mum said. “Tell you what I’d do...”

She stopped short, and for once, JR wasn’ t certain where she was

headed. “What would that be, Mum?”

“I’d suggest we attach a nice little EMP disrupter to another probe and

zap the Str eam r elay quietly. Let’ s just leave no r ecords her e.”

“God,” JR said. “Madison?

John?”

He didn’ t know whether he felt supported or deserted in the delay in

their responses. It was a major crime Mum suggested, and Mum wasn’ t the

one who usually of fered wild suggestions. She was serious. And the ramifications—blowing the Stream was a, illegal; b,

unprecedented, and c, an act Sol could use to label the Alliance and them

specifically as lawbreakers of a particularly shocking nature. Not that that

charge would carry all that much weight Cyteenside, not even at Venture,

Mariner or Viking, where the EC was not in the least popular. Pell, which

maintained its own Stream, would not take it too badly—but it would send

a massive shiver through the Hinder Stars, where the Stream from Alpha

was a sacred, sacred remnant. Never mind the EC had committed an act of outright piracy against a

merchanter at Alpha...

horrific and illegal. But the Strea m was the

legendary thread that bound the Hinder Stars to humanity. “John?”

“Hell, yes.” Short. Succinct. But then John—their firebrand—was dead

on his feet and burning a little less hot at the moment. “I vote with Mum. Blow the damn thing and tell them listen up, we have news for them.”

“Madison?”

“Anything they send is twelve years out from being heard at Sol.”

Madison’ s answer came slowly. “And any pusher in transit’ s got its own

Stream and is still connected to Sol, plus their star fix, so shutdown of the

Stream would just make them lonely , not stop them. But shutting down

communication as an opening gestur e?

After what happened at Alpha, I

think we need all the favor with locals we can get—even if they’r e EC. Mind, I’m not taking EC sanity for granted. But whatever we do here, we’re

way past business as usual. If things go sour, if the locals aren’ t sane, we

can take out of here and Stream our own message to Sol from Alpha, just a

6 year lag, beating any story they come up with. What disabl ing it could

achieve is upset and delay at this end, and forcing them to think for

themselves, whic h could prove useful. So I think Mum’ s right, but not yet. We send a little device out to the relay. If all goes smoothly , we just send our

little gift into the sun when we leave and never mention it was out there. If

we do run into a Cruz situation and decide there is a need to make the

station focus real suddenly on local business and their choice s, it’s there. They can cry foul, but proving we’re responsible is another matter: EMPs

happen. And by the time they could get it fixed, let alone send a message to

Sol, there’s a good chance that all issues will be settled by whatever falls

out—or doesn’ t—at Alpha.”

So...

two yes to one go-slow and one hell-if-I-know. “Delayed action I can accept,” JR said. “We can send something out

there. Just let it sit. It doesn’ t have to move fast, just get there, unless we

decide to take it out. We can put Little Bear wise to its existence. Min won’ t

argue.”

“Her e’s another , related thought,” Madison’ s voice said. “While we’re

talking about the Stream—what if our two ghost ships have an EC contact

at Alpha, who’s been slipping encrypted reports into the Alpha Stream for

years without being noticed?

This place is at a real long time lag on the

Stream from Sol. But if our ghost ships have been running courier between

Olympus and Alpha, just to use the Alpha Stream, they could cut Olympus’

reporting time in half. And get or ders her e faster.”

“Good point,” JR said. “First chance, we have to give Alpha a heads-up. Abrezio could dig into all the transmission records from, what, a couple of

hundred years?

It would be a nightmare, but not our nightmare, thank God. And maybe Galway will make it all irrelevant.”

“As for them noticing us,” Madison said. “I’d be surprised if they kept

too close a watch on arrivals—but that wavefr ont will get to them in...

2

hours 16.3 minutes. Just saying.”

“We’ll see,” JR said. “That should draw some sign of life, if it exists.”

And to Optics: “Keep fining down the image, Patty. Good as you can get it. See if you can spot any EVAs. Lights are still burning, but they were still

burning at Thule, and it was blown to hell.”

“I do want to see that enhanced image when it comes,” John said, his

voice gone thready. “And their reaction when it comes.” He clearly was

needing to go lie flat, if not call for an assist. “I’ll keep you briefed,” JR said. “Go, John. Now. I’ve got it. Good job,

cuz.”

“Yeah,” was all John managed beyond that. John left, steering a little

amiss, the hype running out fast; but he didn’ t have too long a walk to reach

a bed. “Need me to keep an antenna up?” Mum asked. “I’m able if I’m

needed. Otherwise I’m going to get some r est.”

“Hell, sleep,” JR said. “First-shift will plot us a continually-m odifying

exit course and have it active in the system. You sleep, snack, and stay in

reserve, Mum. We’re going to do that with both you and John. Two of us to

scope this out, two of us ready to get the hell out of here real fast. Which

two of us depends on what hour. Go get a muf fin. Go to bed.”

“Behave yourse lves. Lie quiet and don’t stir things up for Min’s arrival. He’ll be highly exercised when he gets a view of the station. Think how

we’re going to restrain him from kiting out of here hellbent for Cyteen. I’m

dead serious.”

“I know you are. We need a plan. We need it to be underway when he

does arrive, and he’ll have his own take on what his best move is. This is

where there’ s Pellside—and there’s Cyteenside. And Cyteens ide doesn’ t

care all that much what they threaten. Can we work with Min?

Here’ s

where we really find out.”

Section vi Book V

The two stars had settled at last. Ross still couldn’ t believe he’d had the

nerve to key that vector shift, reflecting the tides of disruption he’d felt

from the time he’d come up from trank, the difference being in the

fluctuation. But his timing had been right. Kate had said so. Had changed

her input to match his. Taken the ship in on his calc. Or maybe felt it herself...

once she saw his numbers. Wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wanted to be good at his job. Wasn’t sure he wanted to be that...

far out there when he operated. Tracking reality was hard enoug h for Nav without having to factor his drug-

hyped gut sense into the equation. In his insulated disconnect from reality ,

trusting his board was display-only , he’d input something he’d have been

terrified to do if it were live. And Kate had been right. But he’d been right-er. God. Had he?

They were in. Where they wanted to be. Precisely. He was

still shaking, and very glad of the separation of individual seats when his

first attempts to bring up revised data resulted in five typos...

Forcing his fingers under contro l, he got the proper input on the number

two and three windows. They were inertial at the moment, all positional

changes predictable and easily handled by the computer. He sorted through

the data from their entry , seeking the source of what he’d felt, saw the dance

of Foucault with Fizeau as he’d envisioned it to be, let that data of where

they were and how they were moving settle into brain and bone. Then Kate put up a clip for the whole team and it almost undid his hard

work. Almost. He controlled the shakes and took it in. The Ardaman limits

of the system as a whole were flat out crazy. The output of two cranky stars

and the gravity wells of the three super -planets churned the interplanetary

medium into knots. Fizeau’ s Ardaman had a resonance that reached past the

barycenter , all the way to Foucault’ s. Wildy distorted, it fluxed in a rhythm

he absol utely could not account for, but damn if it didn’t expla in his shakes. Possibly it was still ringing from their entry...

or perhaps their last V-

dump. Foucault, in conjunction with its companion star Fizeau, together as

Groombridge 34, were fully as bad as the reports. Neither was flaring. That

was good. But decidedly uneasy ...

and at odds with what he was feeling

now—but not with what he’d felt several minutes ago. Damn. That couldn’ t be right. A message appeared on his screen from Kate: Good call. Debrief with

me after shift. God, he was going to have to explain himself. He really wanted to get off-duty , get a dose of sugar , get something to

settle his stomach and dim the stars’ voices in his brain...

But he couldn’ t. He had to stay here, and dammit, he could stay here, he could deal with the

voices—

—but the peak of hype right now was hell. On the massive central screen , the hazy image of Olympus Station

began to re-resolve. Olympus Station with a massive lump on A-mast—

what his eyes tried to reconstruct into a classic pusher -shape. Alpha FTLers

didn’ t see pushers but a few times in their lives. He could remember the

last, and there’d been another when he was very, very young, but he was

never sure that he had really seen it. Fallan and Peg had said he had—but it

was like that in his memory , a pic on a screen, a little shimmery. Up close,

aboard station, you’d never see it at all, except as a shadow on the whole

ring. “Damn,” Ty said on the Nav-team channel. “Do you see it?”

“It’s not Atlantis and it’s not Santa Maria,” Ross said. “Us Galways

know where they are.”

“Not a Viking pusher ,” Ty said. “They’r e differ ent. Robotic. Don’t need

a crew ring. This is one of the old ones. Big. God, that’ s big.”

“Can’ t be. All converted now,” Ross said, and felt foolish for having

said that here, amid old Gaia ’s offspring. “All but Polaris,” Jim said, and that left a chill. “Don’ t even suggest it,” Ty said, as if that door needed closing. Fast. Polaris would have been the last pusher to convert, except she’d failed her

next port and never braked. For all anyone knew she was still going, and

would go forever , unalterable, three-quarters of light, and only chance

brushes with gravity to af fect her. No, it wouldn’ t be Polaris. Couldn’ t be. And then he wondered...

why did they all keep fighting the obvious

answer?

This was a new pusher , relatively speaking. Earth origin. Source of

those trees and model ships. Source of a hell of a lot of luxury goods that

should have been paying the bills of half a dozen spacer Families—not just

two. The image refreshed. Again. And anger—all the festering resentment of

the First Stars—focused on that creature. The station and the massive shape of the pusher were top-vi ew, at a

thirty degree angle. Whatever cargo it had brought was not visible, being on

the far side of the mast. There was a, relatively speaking, minuscule crew

compartment, which would be in lockdown at dock, the edge of which was

barely visible beyond the shields. Their view from this angle was nearly all

engine. And there was a little sparkle of what might be utility vehicles, moving

every which way around engin es, like those mechanical glow bugs in the

Garden. “That’ s a new pusher ,” he said, because no one else had. “Curr ent. Got

to be. What I know , if those utilities are messing around the engines, they’re

servicing, which means she’ s offloaded.”

“All right,” Kate said sharply. “Stop gawking and get us some options. One line for Thule, one for Venture, then one line for Pell on the high route. Remember to factor in that wacked-out Ardaman limit. We’re gathering

data on that as fast as we can—permanent featur e or happenstance, we’re

not sur e, but we’ll take it into account.”

Are we leaving?

Ross wondered. By what Senior Captain had said, they

couldn’ t move out before Little Bear arrived. And Pell?

What...

?

The numbers appeared on his screen. A route he hadn’ t known existed. A

completely untested route. Scary , given what they’d discovered here. He

hoped to God they didn’ t have to take it. But Nav 1.5 wasn’ t here to ask questions of Nav 1.1.

Nav 1.5 kept his

mouth shut and keyed up for Thule, on which he had best data, before

tackling that scary route to Pell. Scary , yes. But he’d do it, and damn right

he’d take that wacked-out Ardaman limit into consideration. “We’re going to be sending out a probe to intercept the Stream,” Kate

said some unknown time later. “Engee wants a fix on the path of the local

Stream. Zenith relay buoy: coordinates in records. Calc for post upcoming

V-dump. Coor dinates incoming.”

Numbers appear ed on his screen: Sol’s current position in the galaxy and

the target for the local Stream, an EM signal going between an orbiting

station to a—relatively—station ary zenith buoy to a string of relay buoys all

along the path to Sol. His job was to calc the track of that first leg of the

signal, including the degree of uncertainty regarding the position of the

zenith buoy. Easiest and quickest of Kate’ s assignments, but lowest in

priority. They were sending a probe?

He wondered if the intent was to tap

the beam. A good notion, to his thinking, particularly where it came to

tracking station’ s awareness of Finity , and their reaction to it. Their insertion into the system might have gone unnoticed, lost against

the output of the star—except for that presence-buoy. While it wouldn’ t tell

the station who they were, or even precisely what they were, it would alert

the station to the bow wave they’d created on entry...

which only a fool

would take for anything but an FTLer. He bega n to work the options for optimal departure from the system. Thule first. Skate Foucault more carefully than they had Thule— hell if they

wanted to run risks with that insane Ardaman limit. Use Fouca ult’s gravity

well to accelerate back to jump speed. They could do that. Even after the

upcoming V-dump, they’d still be hours out from Olympus, and nothing

starting from the station would ever catch them. If that was the Senior Captain’ s decision. Either way, by that time Olympus would have to figure they posed a

problem. Olympus would have a lot more to worry about when Little Bear

showed up, two ships being beyond coincidence. So were they waiting for Little Bear?

Were they leaving?

Even as he considered the variables, even as he sent the Thule data to

Kate and his fingers began calling up that scary Pell data on a route he

hadn’ t imagined, one small recess of his mind realized that, going as they

were, they had to drop V to reorient, and they had a ship promised to meet

them, that might already be inbound, in that same narrow safe corridor

they’d encountered on entry. Intersecting tracks was not something that ever had happened, space

being wide and ships, even Finity , being very small. Ships were small. Reentry shock waves were enough to rile a star. And

one or both of this binary were already unstable as hell, after encountering

Finity’ s. And they had another sizable ship due to come in. Their departure would stir up similar chaos...

All of which he needed to consider in plotting those departu res. And

then there were all the variables in this that had nothing to do with the

double star and its intricately warped space, or incoming and outgoing ships

—most having to do with whoever , or whatever AI, was manning that

station. Zero chance of the pusher doing anything to them. Pushers did nothing

in a hurry , especially not from sitting at dock. But that one...

and the

station it was attached to...

certainly wouldn’ t be happy with them being

here, not considering the lengths they’d gone to to remain secret. Had they found what they were looking for?

No question they had, and

it was trouble—trouble, with a new-built pusher , trouble to match Sol’s

power grab at Alpha. Trouble that sat a lot closer to Pell—a single,

complicated jump string from Pell. What he’d never have anticipated—and surely the captains scarcely had

—was a pusher actually in dock. Was this station receiving pushers so often

that their unscheduled visit had just happened to encounter one?

Just how

much under the table trade had those two ships been doing?

Damn them, if Galway had risked everything to give the EC a fair shot

at the modern age, while the EC had been lying to everybody...

sinking

everything into this station...

so that everything Galway had done,

everything they’d risked...

came to nothing...

Just...

damn them!

He made an outrageous mistake. He missed a decimal. He was rattled,

no question, and he corrected it, embarrassed and angry at once. Kate’ s voice sounded in his ears, forgiving and rational. “Are you all

right , 5?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling his face flush hot. “Yes, Nav 1, sorry about that. I’m on it. Head’ s clear now. Just having a little trouble with that pusher.”

“Useful thing, adrenaline,” Kate said. “That’ s why there are four of us. All right. We’ve done the hard stuff. Simple calc now. Give us position on

the Str eam. Light it up, team.”

Ross windowed the Pell data and called up the buoy , shoved the anger

out of his mind and concentrated on the numbers, figurin g the most

probable positio n of the zenith buoy , and the constantly shiftin g vector of

the beam linking it to the station......

and went back to the Pell window. “What ar e you doing, 5?

Get on that buoy.”

“Permission to test alt option for Pell.”

A pause then: “Granted.”

He began working feverishly , fingers trying to keep up with the figures

running through his head. He finished, checked and checked again. “That it?” Kate asked. “I...

yes.”

“Thule first, 5?”

“Yes. That Ardaman will play hob going direct.”

“I agr ee. You think she can still make that next leg in one?”

“It’s long, but...”

“She can. Good job, 5.

First to notice. —Now get on that buoy.”

First to notice. Was that why she’d had them run the numbers so many

times?

Waiting for one of them to see that you could take the safer route to

Thule out of Groombridge, then pick up the high line to Pell, no time lost?

As he ran the numbers a third time, just to be certain:

“Unit in prep,” Engee said. And not all that long afterward, from Senior

Captain:

“Prepare for V-dump.”

So they were not going out again. They were digging in. Waiting for

Little Bear. Nav talked to Helm and numbers flowed. Ross read them and

the lines began to come into his head, like that, while the star whispered to

them and the numbers reeled past. Nav did its job. Lines matched. Helm activated. Ross leaned his head back against the rest and waited

for the universe to spit them halfway out and suck them back in an altered

reference. It was a gut-dropping feeling, a moment of intense disorientation,

while the star’s whisper became a distracting rejection, an angry , fearsome

scream. It was Nav’ s job to get their bearings, as troubled Foucault snatched

them down again. Distance from star established; reference points

established. They had an accurate system map in the computer ’s gut now,

and calculations were nearly instant, so far as that went. First thing was to double check the calculated Stream vector with their

actual position. He tweaked his calc accordingly and waited for Kate to call

for it. They were significantly closer to the station—only 1.59 hours light,

now, and their velocity , relative to the station, was cut by half. They had no

need to slow further. Still movi ng, but tiny, on the scale of the system. It

was possible the flare of their bubble had been spotted...

or would be 1.59

hours from now, if Station had a station’ s normal awareness of its solar

system, but Olympus might or might not be devoting resources to incoming

traffic. Possibly not even setting a robotic watch, if they believed their

operation to be cloaked in absolute secrecy. Olympus and that ship would

hear the presence-buoy’ s alert—eventually , everything arriving in its own

packet of reality , but they might think it one of their own—granted other

FTL ships came here. And it was a distinct probability one or two did that. In any case, whatever the situation, there was damn-all a station or a

pusher or two aged merchanters could do to Finity. The image on vid resolved again, at their new vantage. And looked more

and more like the pushers from memory. Like, but not. Subtle differences. Changes made in a design centu ries old, for a run twice as long as any the

first pushers had ever made. Cook’ s mates, kids, came around to deliver a coffee and roll-ups, one

size fitting all, and actually pretty good. Consume it fast, two bites, no

crumbs; and the cups went back to the kids, who traded them for a water -

pack for the hours to come. The fact that they were feeding them on the bridge, even mode stly, was

an indication that Senior Captai n was feeling more and more confident that

they weren’ t going to bolt out of here on any emer gency basis. They hadn’ t

gotten a look at B-mast yet, to have any idea what other resourc es Olympus

might have. But they had a better angle now. Image kept resolving

periodically , and Optics should have B-mast soon. Captain wanted a contingency exit plotted from various points along

their path, both back to Thule and the far scarier direct-to-Pell route. Both

would get them to Pell via the high route, but with their curre nt vector , a

return to Thule would be complicated, requiring an almost 180 degree

turnaround, while a shift to the direct-to-Pell route would be minimal. All

that was a computer problem, once they set up the initial reckoning. Ross

finished his calc, gratified to see both in line with Kate and Bucklin, Ty and

Jim. And took the chance to glance at the big forward screen, sensing a stir

of some interest at the last image revision. B-mast was slightly visible now, and, when one took into account the

difference in size between Olympus and Alpha, those masts were huge. Twice the length of Alpha’ s. “Shit,” Kate said “Just how many ships are they planning on docking

here?

Suppose that’ s original?

Or a refurbish modification?”

“Good question,” Bucklin said. “And...

speaking of...

what have we

here?”

Another refinement of image showed something docked in the absolute

shadow of the station—black of space itself alternate with the red glare of

Foucault on a once-white metalline skin. The shape that the imagination

could construct of it didn’ t make immediate sense, relative to a station

structure. Another structur e, maybe, that, like the pusher , didn’ t belong to Station. Part of the skin was stained with organics and other substances, evidence of

time and travel. The other , unexposed, was pristine white, or what passed

for it in Foucault’ s reddish light. Senior Captain hadn’ t commented, but he was looking at it. He might be

speaking on another channel. Ross stared at the large screen, trying to

resolve the imperfect image. If there was some sort of operation at Olympus Station, it could be

temporary , concentrating on refueling and resupplying the pusher ,

something operated by pusher crew. The image resolved again. And suddenly made sense, a gridwork, a flat, canted surface, patches of

absolute light and absolute shadow and jumbled angles. It was the retracted top vane assembly of a smallish FTLer...

in dock

on B-mast. Section vii Book V

“Well,” JR said, over the private executive com in his ear, speaking only to

Madison, who stood beside him on the bridge, and to Mum, who was still in

quarters. Wheth er John was receiving or not was a question, but the bridge

and the lounge were definitely receiving. “The pusher actually in dock is a

major surprise. Could be massive coincidence, or they’ve got more than one

supplying the station and they’re a little less rare. But we may also just have

found one of our missing merchanters in the mast shadow. Which answers

some questions and suggests others. Scale is a problem here. Can we get

that matched with a schematic of either of our ghosts?”

“At least we know now it’s an EC operation,” Madison’ s voice said,

barely audible realtime in one ear, clear echo from his earpiece in the other. “There’ s no way a couple of Hinder Stars ships are all that’ s at issue here.”

“As if there was any question,” Mum said. “Considering what they were

up to at Alpha, I think we can safely assume Rights was meant to come here

—if Rights could move. Those monster masts are not that long on the old

schematic, and the old masts wer e handling pushers.”

“Galway may be dealing with Sol even as we speak,” JR said somberly ,

“but Sol won’ t be telling them all the truth, now, will they?

No more than

Galway will want to explain everything to the EC. But Niall Monahan’ s no

fool. He’ll play it cautiously.”

“Whatever ’s going on here,” Mum said, “a push er isn’t exactly state of

the art.”

“Which is not to say Earth tech has sat still all these years,” Madison

said. “Plenty of activity around the pusher , some of which does not look

like of f-loading.”

“Could be mining the pusher ,” Mum said. “Stripping her down for

materials. Can’ t conceive of what they could send back from here, worth her

effort, that woul dn’t have shown on Pell’s reports, and her parts might be

being used in the refurb of the station. They might even be planning to

convert her.”

“She wouldn’ t be competitive as a convert,” Madison said. “Competitive, hell,” Mum said. “These are the people that damn near

starved Alpha building Rights, when they could have sent this pusher there

instead and kept Alpha fed and supplied and loyal. What a convert can haul

is people. Maybe not as fast as Rights , if that egoboo doorstop were

operational, but still, lots of people with lots of guns. More I think about

this whole thing, the less appetizing it gets.”

“They could convert it,” JR said. The possibility made a painful and

scary lot of sense. “Established, proven, somewhat resource-hungry tech

that could manage the Thule route to Venture, and from there to Pell...

if

they didn’t care about profit. This is closer to Pell than Alpha. And if they

take control of Venture, they can cut Alpha, Glory , and Bryant’ s off from

Pell, forcing them back into EC control. You want food, Alpha?

Get on your

knees and beg. Damn them.”

“Reconstructing Sol’s empire,” Madison said. “Maybe we’re surmising

too much, but the connection makes a zigzag sort of sense.”

“Makes sense if you’r e the EC,” John said muzzily , via com. “Excuse

me. I’ve taken a pill. But I’m following you. It’s a hell of a construction. But

it makes sense, in a way Rights alone never did. Risking Rights on a one-

shot jump to Sol never made sense. People-moving does. Challe nging us as

a Pellside power—does. Rights didn’ t need to run for Sol. Damn right Cruz

knew about this ventur e. They wanted to get here. When the chance of that

happening fizzle d, and Galway became his chance at glory , he deserted

Rights and went for Galway without a second thought.”

“Maybe they wanted us watching the Rights build at Alpha, ” Madison

said, “so we wouldn’ t look here. Who ever cared about Come Lately or

Miriam B until we wanted to find them?

Who’d ever come here looking,

until the Monahans raised a question on Alpha trade?

Everybody at Pell and

beyond just assumed what arriv ed from Sol came through Alpha. Nobody

asked.”

“They’r e not going to like us here,” Mum said. “They’r e going to be as

inflexible as the EC always is when it has to make decisions and it takes

them ten, twenty years to consult.”

“We’re here,” JR said. “Their cover is blown, they may be fully aware

they have a problem at Alpha, and that FTL to Sol may be possible and on

its way. Given that FTLer is either Come Lately or Miriam B, there is a

strong chance they know. And they know it’ll take them twenty years to

consult, via the Stream. Intractable isn’t the only possibility. Maybe they’ll

listen to common sense.”

“You’re still considering talking to them,” John said. “I’m not set on any course, yet,” JR said. “We have to wait for Min. We

can’t leave this, unexplained, in his lap. Min’ s thinking is from Cyteen’ s

perspective: it’s important to us to influence that. And Olympus is going to

know we’re here. We could leave them and Min to worry about it together ,

but that’s not friendly to Cyteen, or Min, and we don’t want to give

Olympus that much time to form a plan, where right now I doubt they really

have one that covers more than a junker operation straying over from

Thule.”

“If any has,” Mum said, “they’ve never been heard from again. And

station is sure as hell not going to mistake us for a Hinder Stars FTLer , not

considering the splash we made coming in.”

“Hostile action is definitely a possibility ,” JR said. “But Finity can evade

or withs tand anything they throw at her, at least long enough for us to

accelerate out of here. And there’s a whimsical off chance they might

mistake us for Rights.”

Madison gave him a disquieted look. There was a moment of silence

from Mum and John. “Bottom line, we can’t leave Min here unsupported,” JR said. “We did

give our word.”

“Station is able to signal us, likely able to send someone out to us,”

Madison said, “if the mood takes them. But a second ship arriving in system

is really going to spook them.”

“Likely ,” JR said. “You have a plan?” Mum asked. “I’m inclined to hold at this V for a time. It gives us maneuverability. I’d

like to know what Station’ s saying to Sol right now, but Sol won’t hear it

for another twelve years, so we do have time to think about it. We’ll have

our bug in posit ion, and it’s likely they’ll be telling Sol when Min arrives,

which may be even more interesting.” JR looked at the chrono—elapsed

time from entry , standard time, ship’ s time, and Venture time, as the

regional station most recently active. There was an entirel y mundane

consideration, that of whether they were going to go off Emer gency status

and down two steps to Caution, which would let some fairly useful

housekeeping get done. “Com. Put us over to Channel B.”

“Aye, sir. Channel B,” Com 1.1 said, and JR spoke, hearing his own

voice over the speakers. “Cousins and friends, this is Senior Captain. We’ll

go to a Caution at this point. Olympus will be noticing us soon. We’ll do

one more V-dump in the next watch just because we need to, which will

also make them a little less certain wher e we are. So up and about with due

caution, restock as a priority , and, junior -juniors—” Under a Caution,

junior -juniors were still restrict ed to quarters. “I know you’ve been under

lockdown a long time, but just bear with us a little longer and I’ll be

remembering that when we get back to Pell. There will be a glorious pass to

as many game-hou rs as you can possibly imagine. Your minders will be

looking in on you and taking orders for food. Everybody else, hop to

whatever it is. Com, back to channel A.”

“So,” Madison said, “are you going to talk to them?”

“I’ll put some thought into it. Anybody with any observations is

welcome. I’m going to be think ing on it. I’m not going to pretend we’re

Rights. I don’t think that’s a good idea, politically , and there are bound to be

recognition codes. But I am wondering who they think we are.” He pushed

a slider on the shoulder mic. “Com, all com.”

“Aye, sir.”

“If they hail us as Rights of Man, don’t contradict them. Just pass me the

contact.”

“Aye, sir , understood.”

Section viii Book V

In a Caution, it was just a case of waiting. Notes passed from station to

station, speculation on Olympus and the pusher , and the FTLer on B-mast. JR had his own seat, and stayed there, communicating with various

department heads via coms, particularly with medical, which was a

continuing conc ern...

another reason to delay here a few days, whether or

not it made Olympus happy. The pusher was not a threat. Finity was still

moving rapidly toward the ecliptic and toward Olympus, which used

Foucault’ s largest rocky planet as an anchor. It was a case of waiting—waiting for the station to take some action. Station, not expecting any ship, might not notice the presence -bot signal. But one would think it would still have a bot tending to business, a bot to

notify humans long before this that they had a problem hurtling toward

them. Hard to imagine routine life on a station so desolate. Possibly nobody

was paying attention at all. Granted communication with Alpha or

anywhere else was measured in visits from ships like that FTLer and ships

from Sol like that pusher , the station-keepers might themselves be bots. Possibly notifyin g ships at dock of an intruder was at the bottom of the list

of actions to take. But someone, be it the pusher , or Olympus management, would wake up

and do something. Eventually. The activity of utility craft servicing the

pusher ar gued it was not all bots. More than ninety minutes passed. Then:

“We have signal,” Com said. “We have voice.”

“Put it on,” JR said. It was the standard policy. The bridge had no

secrets. The executive quarte rs had none, when it came to events

immediately affecting ship status. It was the spookiest communication

Finity had ever gotten, but all of them aboard had access if they were

minded to use it. “Visitor ,” Olympus said. “Please state your identity and your

clearance.”

Well, well, JR thought, at least they weren’ t assuming Finity was her