House of Reeds

to see, even from below – waved jauntily at the vast crowd below. 'We're on the wrong side of the river for anything to be quick…'

'Yes…' Gretchen slowed to a halt, staring up at the muddy copper sky, watching a veritable armada of aerocars speeding past. For an instant, just the time a drop of water took to plunge from the mouth of a faucet into a sink, everything seemed to slow to a halt. The chattering, rustling shapes of the reptilian Jehanan ceased to move. The hot, humid air held suspended, each droplet of moisture falling from the underside of the metal awnings caught in mid-motion.

I've seen this before. A woman in a feather mantle was smiling down at me. What does -

Then everything was moving again and they were swept past the green bus towards another rank of smaller, harder-angled conveyances.

'There!' Parker started pushing through the crowd. 'That one has a sign in Imperial! Mother of God, it's a hotel shuttle bus!'

Gretchen breathed a sigh of relief and followed, leading with her duffel.

High above the flock of aerotaxis, an Imperial troop carrier roared north along the line of the Sobipurй-Parus highway. In the cargo bay, Sergeant Dawd clung to a strap, boots braced against an enormous pile of luggage – the prince's 'personal effects' – buried in green-and-tan cargo webbing. The carrier jerked and shuddered as it swept through pillars of white cloud. The sergeant swayed, wondering how the prince was doing – the boy had managed to sneak a flask of something smelling like industrial solvent aboard. He'll be sorry, Dawdmusedashekeptwatchoverthebaggage.

The hatch to the forward seating compartment cycled open and Master Sergeant Colmuir swung through, shaking his long angular head in dismay. The older man's uniform was liberally stained with yellow-green bile.

'Bit bumpy,' Dawd commented, staring at the overhead. 'Have a bit of a problem with lunch, Master Sergeant?'

'I did nawt.' Colmuir tugged at the webbing over the luggage. He grimaced, stolidly ignoring the long streak of vomit drying on his chest, torso and leg. 'Not all Army officers have the steady stomach God gave me.' The master sergeant gave Dawd a flinty stare. 'An' you'll not repeat such words in any other company, Dawd, not if you value your time in service.'

'I do!' The younger man bowed in apology. 'Just…never mind, Master Sergeant. I'll keep my thoughts to myself.'

'Good.' Colmuir held Dawd's gaze for a moment, then looked down at his jacket and shirt and sighed. 'Ah, the lad is a study of extremes, isn't he? Has the constitution of a mule for a week's carouse with old man pulque and sister mescal – then can't even keep oatmeal down on a bit of rough air. I am derelict in my duty, I am, hiding back here with you and the hat boxes.'

Dawd grinned. 'I'll not put you on report, Master Sergeant.' He paused, looking forward towards the troop compartment where a good thirty Imperial officers of the 416th were packed in like Avalonian salt herring. 'He is an odd one, isn't he? Not what I expected…'

'No…' Colmuir removed his ruined jacket and shirt, revealing a rangy frame matted with bristly black-and-white hair. A faint patchwork of quickheal scars described a lifetime in the Emperor's service. 'I've not been here much longer than you, Sergeant. Only a few weeks. I am given t' understand the previous detail was sacked under acrimonious circumstances.'

'That's very surprising,' Dawd said with a straight face. 'Were you briefed?'

'Nawt a word. Just my assignment papers and a new billet.' Colmuir dug around in his pack and found a fresh shirt. 'Th' prince himself has provided my education. And he is a right educational lad isn't he? Rarely have I seen such a bitter, despondent fellow – particularly one so young. Makes one wonder what made him that way, doesn't it?'

Dawd nodded, his mind fairly boggling at the thought of a young, handsome man – an Imperial prince of the ruling house, no less – grown angry as some crippled old soldier from the bayside pubs. A frown gathered, drawing bushy black eyebrows together. 'Master Sergeant, have you met his brothers, his father or mother?'

Colmuir snorted with laughter. 'You're trying to balance upbringing against bloodstock, are you? I've the same thought, from time to time. I can tell you this – rumor in the guardservice has it that the boy has never even spoken to the Empress, nor she to him. If you read your guard protocol manual again, lad, you'll see there are orders to ensure she and the boy are never in the same location at the same time. If you look closer – an' I have – you'll see the orders came down from 'er side.'

The master sergeant shrugged in response to Dawd's quizzical look.

'Rarely does he see his brothers either – and they are a braw lot, breathing fire every one of them – not a bit like him, d'you see? I have, to balance the scales, seen his father. The Emperor is a proper gentleman, if a bit pinch-faced, an' you can see he cares for the boy.' Colmuir sealed up his shirt and rummaged for a pressed jacket. 'But respects him? Tha' I do not know.'

Dawd's next question was interrupted by a chiming sound. Colmuir threw on the jacket, checked his comm- band, grimaced, and scrambled back through the hatch. The younger man turned his attention back to peering out the window at passing clouds. The edges of a city were now visible through breaks in the thunderstorms, covering the valley floor with a rumpled quilt of flat roofs and isolated skyscrapers.

Rain drummed against a cracked window beside Anderssen's head. Outside, the afternoon downpour was so fierce she could barely make out the shapes of trucks rushing past on an eight-lane raised highway. Inside the bus, she, Parker and Maggie were crammed into a long bench at the very rear of the vehicle. The leather upholstery under her thighs was cracked, discolored and burning hot to the touch. Some kind of multicylinder hydrocarbon engine rattled and wheezed beneath her feet.

'How long until we get into Parus?' Gretchen peered over the pile of duffels between her and Magdalena. The Hesht was folded up, chin resting on her knees, eyes narrowed to angry slits.

'Rrrrr…' Maggie's nose wrinkled up in disgust. The bus smelled old to Gretchen – dry papery sweat, rotting onions, newly washed linoleum – and she was afraid to ask the Hesht what she thought of the odor. 'Too long!'

'How big is this bonus again?' Parker was jammed in on the other side of the Hesht, his legs sticking out into the central aisle. An enormous Jaganite filled the rest of the bench. The creature seemed to be asleep, eye-shields lidded down over milky lenses, clawed hands clasped over an ornamented leather vest covered with hundreds of enameled disks. Supple skin around the long nostrils fluttered with regular breaths, though the pattern sounded dissonant to Anderssen's ear. 'Can we leave here really soon?'

'Not as soon as we'd like. All the Company note said,' she said, leaning closer to the other two and lowering her voice, 'was to get here and apply for a survey permit. After we get to the hotel, and get something to eat, and get some sleep – then we'll worry about getting papers.'

'And transport,' the Hesht rumbled deep in her throat. 'I'm not walking in this heat.'

'My job, I guess.' Parker started tapping his tabac case against one knee, then realized the pack was empty. 'Not much to fly down here. I'll bet the Fleet grounds all air traffic as a 'precaution,' even if we had the money for an aerocar. The brief didn't say anything about a military exercise? Maybe an invasion?'

Gretchen shook her head. As was usually the case with the Company, there was little or no briefing material. Costs money to make a proper survey! Can't have that kind of waste…

'No, but all of this happened so suddenly I wouldn't be surprised if some genius at the home office heard something from someone and decided to take advantage.'

'Of what?' Maggie's eyes slid sideways to glare suspiciously at Anderssen.

'Of us being done with the project on Shimanjin.' Gretchen leaned back against the hot, trembling seat. She was very tired. There was a med-band around her wrist – no Imperial citizen traveled without one – but it was winking amber and red with warnings about local microfauna trying to assault her system with each breath. No wakemeup for me today! 'And nearby – as things go, in stellar distances – and the Fleet arriving for whatever reason. I mean, I'd guess if we have to get a survey permit then they need us to examine some Mother-forsaken wilderness, looking for 'anomalous readings' or something equally helpful.'

Parker frowned, peering over Maggie's furry, night-black shoulder. 'Wait, you mean – for you to just wander around we need a permit? Do we really need that? I mean, Mags here is pretty sly with her surveillance equipment.