- Prologue

before and had been told it was the best tea in the universe . . . from someone who'd lived on the planet where it was grown.

She could use something right now, all things considered, because she'd fudged her figures slightly and the recalculations were showing that she'd need a really good run-in from Jump if she was to make the schedule. That the Toss was equal to it, she had no doubt, having already developed a deep respect for the abilities and heart of her vessel. That the pilot was equal—

'Well,' she said, 'you'll just have to be.'

She laughed, and wondered if this was why Tranza had taken up singing: to avoid talking to himself.

Theory is that any single Jump is physiologically neutral. Practice said that a single Jump was physiologically neutral. Timing was everything, after all, and there needed, for some reason, to be some time between the end of one Jump and the start of the next else . . . else the body was not entirely recovered from the experience. Time being measured in heartbeats or orbits or—

Third Jump ended, and Arin's Toss was real again, really here, really able to be seen. Theo checked the prefed coordinates, the destination coordinates, caught the gross arrival coords, compared them, corrected them, checked herself twice, had the Toss check itself. Satisfied, she pressed the go-button, throwing her ship into the fourth Jump—and reached for some tea.

Jump glare faded and she'd recalled the rules: she arrived with shields up and all channels open, and with the understanding that purple44 specified a night landing and she checked local time, throwing herself into the First Seat with a will and watching the time count down toward dawn someplace she'd never been.

Coming in at close to two gravity acceleration was tiring, but not as bad as missing the deadline.

There were things to see though, and she took feeds from the planet, mighty Liad itself.

Of ships, there were many she'd never seen before: mining ships, and Clutch asteroids and Juntavas ships openly advertising their affiliation. There were Scout ships and there the silhouette, so long studied: Dutiful Passage!

Other than having no second, the landing sequence was routine; she made contact with planetary control, agreed to drop shields within the planetary defense net, caught her time signals, dropped the ship down, down through nightside to a well-lit landing zone, only to be directed to the darkest corner of the port.

She didn't witness the pallet transfer except by camera: there a remote vehicle of some kind, there a lift working, there the transfer and acknowledgement.

The feeds were on the while, and when she was done, Arin's Toss was quiet. Tea would be good. Breakfast . . . she'd lost track, inside the Jumps, of meals, but she wasn't hungry, really—or tired. She did make tea, and tapped up the news feed for the headlines.

Korval Mystery Move on Tap was the first. Delm Korval Talks to Pilots and Clan, Ignores the World, another. Liad Abandoned, claimed a third.

She tapped that one, scanning the story rapidly.

It turned out that the headline was a little misleading—a lot misleading. Clan Korval had been given a deadline to leave Liad with all its possessions. It seemed that agents of the clan had blown a hole in Solcintra City, which the ruling body—the Council of Clans—had taken badly. Theo could see their point. She paused the scroll.

She'd heard stories about the Tree-and-Dragon, which was how spacers had referred to Clan Korval. They were . . . unpredictable, and, while admired, it was generally agreed that the best course included a wide margin given to Korval. She'd never heard that they were . . . antisocial. But—a hole in the planet? She started the scroll going again.

At the hearing, Delm Korval hadn't bothered to deny or explain the action of the clan, with the result that the Council had acted as they had, to protect the homeworld, and Korval was to leave Liad no later than—

Theo leaned forward and slapped up the local date and time.

Tomorrow.

Her stomach clenched.

'Now, Theo,' she said, drinking what was left of her tea. 'Or never.'

She stood, hesitated, thought of Win Ton, asleep inside the med unit that was only keeping him, barely, alive.

She thought of Kamele, she thought of Father, and she thought of a ship, self-aware and unsocialized, that was out there, somewhere, looking for her.

'Korval is ships,' she said.

She went to the galley and made herself another cup of tea. Then, with dawn giving way to day, Theo Waitley called a taxi.

Forty-Two

Day 201

Standard Year 1393

Solcintra

Liad

There was a guard on the front door of the house—Jelaza Kazone was its name, according to the taxi driver—a plump man with a greying ginger mustache and speculative taffy-colored eyes. He wore a Jump pilot's jacket nearly as battered as her own, and a pellet gun openly on his belt.

'And you are?' he asked in plain Terran, sounding only curious.

'Theo Waitley,' she answered.

He tipped his head. 'Are you, indeed? And your purpose here, Theo Waitley?'

'I need to see the Delm of Korval,' she said.

'As does half the planet. Alas, Korval is just a trifle busy at the moment—moving house, you know. You have seen the news feeds?'