The disappointed girls left, gathering up their gunrigs and taking the shotguns with them. Gretchen frowned at Hummingbird.
He responded to their exit by pulling a flat packet out of his vest pocket. Unfolded, the package proved to be another, far more modern, scrambler.
“A something, Crow? You must have more than that? Something won’t get you anything here…”
Hummingbird nodded slightly. He felt more at ease now, to Gretchen, as though the two girls had been a particularly hostile audience. And maybe they are…
“There was a Survey mission. Telemetry was received.”
“And-”
“There seems to be a multiple singularity within the region.”
“Black holes inside a dust cloud? Shouldn’t the particles have been drawn into the…”
“It’s artificial. The whole arrangement has to be.” Hummingbird’s expression-though it had not appreciably changed-seemed pinched to her. His voice dropped even lower. “Something is holding the clouds at bay… and there’s a weapon that snuffed out three ships in as many breaths.”
Gretchen felt a flush of heat on her hands and the back of her neck. “How old?”
“You need ask, given the scale of the artifact?”
“Well, yes, Crow, I do need ask. Are you asking me to look at a First or Second Sun creation that’ll fry my brain and that of all of my troublesome friends and relatives in a millisecond? Or something young enough it could actually be studied?”
A ghostly smile flitted across Hummingbird’s face. “Old enough. Old enough to launch an Imperial task force. Under Mirror command.”
Under the table, Gretchen clenched and unclenched her fist. So. A race. And the Hummingbird is not in the thick of it yet. “When are you leaving?”
Hummingbird grimaced. “When you come with me. What we find… will be beyond my capacity to evaluate properly.”
She considered her palms, and the glassy scars and nicks lining her fingers.
“Huh. Well, when five hundred thousand quills are verified in my mother’s Riksbank account, then I’d be happy to go with you. And that will be in advance, if you please.”
She felt his inward sigh of relief as a knot uncoiling. In the same moment, she felt a sharp pinch between her shoulder blades. Just the sort of feeling you got in the alpenstand when crossing the trail of a kilikat.
Ay, she realized, sweating suddenly, that was an easy catch for him. Goddamnit! We need that money, though. No, they need it. Gretchen turned her head, relieved to see the girls and Malakar crouched in front of the 3 -v, arguing about the loading capacities of the latest mine crawlers. I don’t need anything anymore.
Much later, when Gretchen had sent out the last piece of reporting for her “paying work,” she stood up from the scarred kitchen table and turned off the dimming solar lamp.
“ Hoooo, now.” The familiar alien voice spoke softly out of the shadows. “This old one does not trust this ‘friend’ of yours.”
Gretchen nodded ruefully. The scrape and rustle of the Jehanan’s long furred coat filled the doorway to the main hall. “You shouldn’t. He is not a nice man.” She moved to pass by, but Malakar placed a long, broad-fingered hand on her shoulder. Though old and hunched, the alien still outweighed Anderssen by twenty or thirty kilos.
“It stinks of disease and death.” The triply lidded eyes blinked slowly, revealing deep-set irises tucked into a bony integument. “Broken shells and ash-”
SHINEDO
Winter clung tight to the city. Icy fogs daily filled the darkened streets, driving most inhabitants to hearth and bed. This day the prostitutes were asleep, the bartender dozing. Listless, Hadeishi sat on the stage in the empty tea house, plinking away at a mournful tune. He was regretting the lack of even a few quills to purchase sheet music. How am I supposed to entertain, when The traditional cloth curtain at the front of the main room parted with the slight shimmer of an environment field, allowing in a gust of chill air and a sleek-haired woman dressed in a conservative pale blue winter suit over a black sweater, pants, and high boots.
“ Konnichi-wa,” she said, drawing a 3-v card from inside her jacket. The woman held up the tiny pasteboard, which flickered to life when pressed between her thumb and forefinger. After an instant of intense scrutiny- comparing his own face to the picture-she nodded in satisfaction.
“Hadeishi- tzin? A pleasure to meet you.”
Hadeishi laid aside his instrument and returned the bow.
She tapped a modest pendant hanging at her neck, which generated a full-featured holo in the air before him. A duplicate of the woman’s face appeared, surrounded by blocks of text and a variety of commercial mon. In more refined circles, his comp would have exchanged greetings and security protocols with hers, verifying her identity. Here he was satisfied her amber-hued eyes matched tone and color from life to holocast.
“I am Bela Imwa, representing the Rusman Corporation. We provide crews for the major shipping concerns and liner companies. I understand you are Listed as an engineer’s mate?”
Hadeishi found himself nodding. Not for long years, woman “There is a ship-”
Hadeishi was nonplussed. His mind raced, trying to frame some response, but the woman continued, blithely unaware of the abrupt struggle between pride and raw greed that seized hold of his tongue and held him helpless.
“A small ship, which has need of a junior engineer. If you are not already contracted here”-Imwa indicated the bar, the sleeping prostitutes, and the spiderwebbed curtains with a wave of her fine-boned hand-“then we may fulfill our obligation by arranging your service.”
I’ve not served in Engineering since I was a cadet. My course seemed so promising then. Hadeishi realized he was gaping at her, while she waited patiently for his response. He resisted the urge to explain what he was doing playing samisen in a house of pleasure. Now it seems I cannot even rate as an officer on some tramp steamer.
“When-when does she lift?” He croaked out at last.
The Javan smiled prettily and drew a crisp-edged packet from the inner pocket of her jacket. “As soon as there are hands to fire the reactors.”
“I will consider it,” he said, and with another bow the young woman left.
Hadeishi scanned the papers to see if they were some kind of joke; then he sat down on the edge of the small, dark stage and read through them carefully. Now he regretted parting with his Fleet surplus comp and comm. Both would have made verifying the recruiting company and everything else about Miss Imwa and this… this ship… far easier.
I will have to go see this scow for myself, he thought, amused.
Then he realized just how tightly he was holding the papers, and how fast his heart was beating.
Despite the poor weather-morning rains had turned to sleet and then a nasty, treacly slush in the streets- Mitsuharu found himself loitering across the cargo road from liftpad ninety-two later that afternoon. The bulk of the ship was visible behind a tattered razorwire fence and a series of tar-shingled warehouses held together by broadsheet advertisements.
Small, was his first thought, looking up the sixty-meter-high shape. Cramped inside… but lean. Those atmospheric drive fairings look a little big for this class of barge.
It felt strange, to be standing groundside, sizing up the tiny starship. He felt crippled, without the constant ebb and flow of data on the threatwell, the reassuring chatter of his bridge crew in his earbug. I’m the crew! he realized, and perversely the thought heartened him. Even as Musashi was always alone, yet never lacking
