“Thank you.” Van nodded and picked up his gear once more, heading for one of the straight-backed chairs. There he sat down and studied those waiting, one after another, picking out several Argentis, a Kelt trader, a good dozen Scandyans of both genders and varied occupations, and four male Revenant missionaries.
After the Eco-Tech-Revenant War, and the settlement reached only because the Revenants had been visited by another prophet, most of the tech worlds had followed the Eco-Tech Coalition’s example and allowed a handful of Revenant missionaries. Van had his doubts about prophets, either Taran or Revenant, but it didn’t make much sense to express those doubts. He’d heard that the Revs had actually had some success in the Argenti and Keltyr systems. They’d been less successful in the Taran systems.
Finally, he settled back to wait for the boarding call.
Chapter 7
After turning his duffels and shoulder bag over to the shuttle cargo clerk, Van stepped into the windowless passenger cabin of the Valborg shuttle, taking in the center aisle, the two-by-two seating, and the relatively compact couches. Those all indicated a magshuttle, and that Gotland had a relatively strong magnetic field, meaning that it had not been terraformed—or not extensively. He checked his seat number and slipped into the couch in the third row, the one against the wall, fastening his harness and restraints.
Shortly, a junior officer in shimmering whites appeared. He paused, studied the assignments, and finally took the aisle seat beside Van.
As he took in the Revenant lieutenant, Van repressed a smile, then waited for a time.
The Rev officer did not look toward Van.
“They do put us in close together,” Van offered in Old Anglo.
“It happens on magshuttles,” replied the Rev.
“You on planetside leave?” Van asked politely.
“No. Duty.”
Van studied the white uniform, then nodded. “Guard detachment at the embassy? Or are you a courier?”
The Rev frowned. “If you don’t mind…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Van said. “I was only making conversation. I’ve never been planetside here. Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Anything of particular note you’d recommend seeing?”
The Rev forced a smile. “The coastline north of Valborg is spectacular, especially from the crater rim of Haakon. Also, everyone says that the purple surf of Eschen is not to be believed, but I have not seen it.” The Rev paused, then added, “If you will excuse me, ser, I am not much in the mood for conversation.”
Van didn’t push the issue. He’d made enough of a point.
“Please check your harnesses. The shuttle is separating from orbit station at this time.”
The shuttle ride down from orbit station was smooth and uneventful—and quiet.
The Rev officer did not even look at Van, but kept his eyes closed all the way down until the shuttle was down and gliding toward the terminal. Then he flashed a brief smile. “I wish you well in Valborg, ser.”
Before Van could reply, the Rev had turned and was hurrying off the shuttle.
“Please do not forget your baggage.” The voice from the hidden speakers was female. “You will be scanned as you disembark. If there are any questions, you will be met by a port official. At times, the scanners are not as accurate as we would like. At other times, passengers may have misunderstood what is allowed onto Gotland…”
Van reclaimed his baggage, neither hurrying nor dawdling, and left the shuttle. He walked through the disembarkation tube, carrying his gear. After twenty meters, his implants registered scanning activity. He kept walking. He couldn’t imagine that what he carried would be considered a problem. The disembarkation tube opened onto a windowless corridor ten meters wide, but less than ten meters ahead it widened into a space a good twenty meters wide, but only ten deep, fronting the automatic exit gates. The walls were of a blue-tinted marble, without carvings, pillars, or adornment of any kind.
In the last few meters before the corridor widened, a single Scandyan port official stepped forward out of the booth on the left side and beckoned to the stocky and mustached man in front of Van. “Ser, one moment, please.”
“Might I ask why?” inquired the man, who wore a dark blue singlesuit, the kind favored for intersystem travel by both functionaries and the few commercial tech-travelers.
“Disembarkation scanning revealed what might be contraband in your bag, ser. We’d like to check.”
“The only things I have are professional samples, and I declared those at the orbit station.”
“That may be, ser. If they’re on the approved list, you’ll be on your way in a moment.”
“I was told they were.” The stocky man sighed as he offered the shoulder bag.
Neither man looked at Van as the Taran officer slipped to the left and around the pair, and then up to one of the automatic exit gates, which scanned Van, then opened.
Outside, under a covered portico supported by square pillars of the same bluish marble, a line of groundcars waited, each bearing a single silvery triangle on the roof directly above the windscreen. Each one sported a shimmering metallic finish of a different shade. The midday sunlight beyond the portico was so bright that even in the shade of the portico, the groundcars glimmered as though they had been lit from within.
Van stepped forward, behind a lithe woman in a dark gray business singlesuit. She stepped toward the first groundcar, and Van moved to the second, one with a metallic green sheen. A side bin door opened, and Van set the duffels inside, but kept the shoulder bag when he slid into the rear seat.
“Where to, ser?” asked the woman driver, not turning to look at Van.
“The embassy of the Republic of Tara. On Knutt Boulevard.”
“Taran embassy, it is.” The groundcar swept away from the shuttleport.
Within minutes, the vehicle was gliding noiselessly along the guideway downhill from the shuttleport toward Valborg, spread out to the east of the green hills and against the blue bay. The city itself seemed a patchwork of green areas and white stone buildings, except for the
