Eleena took a credit bar from Crezia and walked down through the trees into the town. She came back fifteen minutes later carrying a styrene box in which were four tall, sweet caffeits in disposable flasks, hot pastries in waxed paper wraps, a loaf stick and some vacuum-sealed sausage meats.
She'd also bought a mini data-slate loaded with a touring guide of the region. 'I thought it might be useful,' she said.
'Great/ said Crezia. 'Now we can pick the best spots to ski.'
While Eleena had been gone, I had spent considerable time and effort freeing the flier's side hatch. It had been bolted open in military style for the permanent gunner position. With the weapon stowed and a fragile human cargo, I wanted the cabin sealed. It would pull to but the latch wouldn't engage. I tried brute force, but I don't think it had ever been closed in its entire service life.
We ate and drank in silence, and the med-skulls administered sustenance for Medea via the fluid drips.
I watched the sky and the long arc of the road into the town. There wasn't much traffic. A few utility vehicles and mobile dromes, the occasional fast speeder. All tourists heading for the resorts.
While I ate, I scrolled through the guide Eleena had bought.
We left Tiroyere at nine thirty, and spent the rest of the day flying further west, around the shoulders of the Esembo, over the mirrors of the high lakes and on towards the northern resort of Graj. For a long time, I was convinced we were being followed by a small, yellow speeder. I became so concerned that I diverted east, around a tract of mountain pasture and steep forest.
I lost sight of the yellow craft, but about thirty minutes later picked up a black one that shadowed us steadily at a distance of five kilometres. My anxieties returned again.
In the late afternoon, as we flew in towards Graj, the black flier turned south on a route that would take it to the spa resort of Firiol on the southern face of Mons Fulco.
I had been jumping at phantoms.
At Gruj, I landed the speeder in the cover of some pines south-west of the old city wall. I took Crezia's credit bar and walked into the town alone.
Gruj was an old town with a meandering plan like Ravello, but it was far less picturesque. Slot bars and dance parlours occupied the main thoroughfares and there was a busy stream of young, vacationing Gudrunites on every street.
I found the local chambers of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, a tall, black windowed structure on the corner of the main square, and went inside.
A careworn female adept called Nicint debited my credit bar and provided me with access to the Aegis account. I wanted to check if anything had come in during the last day or so.
I was in for a surprise.
There was a communique from Harlon Nayl.
He had survived.
His message was quite long, and written in Glossia. The gist of it was that he had left Messina two weeks earlier, suspecting, for reasons that he didn't go into, that something bad was afoot. That didn't surprise me. Nayl had a nose for trouble. That he, of all my poor, lost agents, had been forewarned of the danger was easy to believe. He was, at the time of sending, just three days shy of Gudrun.
I had the adept send a reply, also in Glossia, telling Nayl to head for the southern capital New Gevae and, once there, to arrange passage off planet. I asked him to confirm and told him I would send again when I was close. Four days was my estimate. Four days and we would be with Nayl at New Gevae and heading off-world.
The snow-trak was essentially a luxury recreational vehicle. A well upholstered cockpit and adjoining cabin housed in a sleek grey hull and carried on a main track power unit with thick forward wheels for steering.
The rental agent was in full flow, singing the machine's praises, when I cut him off.
'I'll take it.'
A sound choice, sir.'
Two weeks' rental. I'm driving to Ontre, and I'll be leaving it there.'
'That's fine, sir. Deliver it to our offices in Ontre. There's a little paperwork to fill out. You have means of identity?'
Crezia's credit bar soaked up the cost of the deposit. I wanted to keep the transaction fairly anonymous.
I used the rental agent's palm reader to rouse another of my slumbering fake identities. Torin Gregori, a vacationing Thracian businessman with ample funds. The dealer seemed satisfied.
The snow-trak was a hefty brute with a surprising kick in its heels. I drove it back out of the town towards the flier, stopping on the way to stock up from a grocery market.
My friends at the flier regarded my approach with caution. I discovered later that Eleena had had her laspistol drawn and ready.
I leaned out of the cab and waved at them. 'Get yourselves aboard. We're switching vehicles/
We left the empty speeder under the trees, and as soon as Medea was safely positioned in the plush, leather-padded cabin, I headed out towards the pass road.
I didn't tell the others about Nayl. I didn't want to get their hopes up.
By nightfall, we were powering up the snow-dusted highway over the pass towards Ontre. Gruj fell away behind us. I thought I saw a small yellow flier approaching the town as we left, but it was too far away to be sure.
We drove through the night, taking turns at the wheel. The weather was clear, and the cockpit vox was tuned to the climate-casts to catch snow advisories.
Crawling up the northern hem of Mons Fulco, we ran through steady squalls of snow, and had to drop speed and use the main lamps. Crezia was driving at that point. She'd lived in the mountains for long enough to know what to do.
I napped in the cabin, resting out on the long bench seat opposite the still sleeping Medea. I dreamed about her again, dreamed about saving her. Jekud Vance was in my dream too, desperate for my help. He screamed, bawling out a spear of sound and psi-pain that woke me.
I blinked over at Medea, but she was still stable. Eleena was asleep nearby.
The cabin rocked and vibrated with road noise and snow ghosts fluttered past the windows.
'Are you all right, Gregor?' Aemos asked.
He was sitting on the bench seat at the back of the cabin, surrounded by data- slates.
'A dream, that's all, Uber. It woke me last night too.'
I paused and sat up. The previous night I had assumed I had been woken by the sounds of Tarl's escape. But now it had happened again. The dream had woken me. Woken me both times. Jekud Vance's terrible death-scream of pain and rage and frustration.
We rumbled into Ontre in mid-afternoon the following afternoon. Heavy snow had slowed us down, and ice caked the copper roofs of the famous resort. But heavy snow had also brought the winter sports crowd into town in great numbers. The place was buzzing with activity, the roads sluggish with vehicles, the skies flecked with arriving speeders.
I drove the snow-trak into the parking lot of the Ontre Transcontinental Station, and found a place. Aemos and I went up to the concourse building where Torin Gregori purchased tickets for three connecting sleep berths. The express was due in an hour we were told.
Just as the mighty Atenate Range creases the centre of Gudran's largest continent, so the Trans-Atenate Express runs like an artery along it. The railway is famously romantic. Most who ride it do so because of the ride, vacationers who would rather travel than arrive. The young flock to centres like
