Текст книги "Destroyer "

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“She was caught on the planet, on the mainland, which has been in some measure fortunate. She traveled as far as Mogari-nai and went from there by boat to the island. She has no knowledge, as far as Ogun-aiji has been able to ascertain, regarding the outcome of affairs at Mogari-nai. She was in transit when the Kadigidi forces reached it, and has never reestablished contact with the aiji or his party. She does contact certain resistance forces in the field, but these, regrettably, have diminished or gone into hiding in recent days.”

Not utterly a point of despair, that last. If Tabini had relied on the conviction the ship would return two years from its launch date, and had gone to ground to await that return, his forces would very logically have melted into the earth, to rise again only when he recalled them.

But the opposition would be hunting them in the meanwhile, and hunting them harder than ever now that any telescope on earth could testify that the ship was back.

“Doubtless,” Bren said, “the whole world knows we have returned, nandiin.”

“One has no doubt,” Ilisidi said, and set down her teacup. “Well. And this one shuttle we do have? Is it ready?”

“It is in excellent condition. But there is no landing site safe on the mainland, aiji-ma.”

“The island, then.”

“It may have its own hazards,” Geigi said. “There are large, armed boats out.”

“But we at least approach the island over the western sea, not over the mainland,” Bren said.

“This fuel.” Ilisidi waggled her fingers, as over one of those inconsiderable inconveniences her subordinates might solve.

“There is fuel,” Geigi said. “The shuttle is ready. The crews here have stayed in training, particularly as your return date arrived.”

“Then we shall lose no time,” Ilisidi said.

Were any of them surprised, either at Geigi’s efficiency, the pilots’ dedication, or Ilisidi’s decision? No. Not in the least.

“We shall take the shuttle down,” Ilisidi said, “nand’ paidhi. Immediately. See to it.”

“Jase,” Bren said, on the line to station central via pocket com, while he walked, “the dowager wants to go down on the shuttle. Immediately, she says.”

“Not surprised,” Jase said. “Ogun wants you in his office, meanwhile, politely speaking. Senior captain’s coming aboard for the conference.”

He wasn’t surprised by that, either.

“One hour,” he said. “Can we do that?”

“Ten minutes,” Jase said. “Faster we move, the better. All right.”

He hadn’t even gotten to his own apartment door yet. Banichi and Jago, beside him, had heard it. They all changed course, went over to the lift and punched in new directions. His staff welcome would have to wait. If it ever happened.

Events seemed to blur past, accelerating. He was by no means sure they were doing the right things.

“It would be well,” Banichi said, pushing the lift call button, “if we did hasten this, Bren-ji. Events will surely turn on our arrival, and the conspirators will know by now that the ship is here.”

“One has that idea,” he said. “But, nadiin-ji, we will need to clear our landing with the authorities on Mospheira, we shall need to keep it as quiet as possible, and we have lost Mogari-nai.”

“They are communicating,” Jago said, “by a new installation at Jackson, nandi. So we are told.”

The lift arrived. They stepped in. Pieces had shifted. He could not rely on things being exactly as he had left them, not in any small particular, not after two years, not after general upheaval.

“Can Tano establish contact with Shawn Tyers?” he asked. “I need to talk to him.”

“One will attempt it,” Jago said, and did exactly that, on her pocket com, while the lift set into motion, taking them toward a meeting in the operational center of the station. She spoke with Tano, and waited, and by the time the lift had reached its destination:

“The Presidenta of Mospheira, nandi,” Jago said, and handed him her pocket com, with not even the need to push a button.

“Shawn?”

“Bren?” It was surreal to hear Shawn’s voice, after such incredible distances and events. “Did you do it?”

“We did it, no question.” His own voice wanted to shake, from sheer pent-up tension. He wouldn’t let it. “A lot more to discuss when we have a moment, but right now I’m asking if you can get me urgent landing clearance if we can get down there?”

“No question we can, and I advise it be soon and fast,” Shawn said. “The mainland won’t be an option for your landing, not while this regime is in power. There’s a sort of a navy now. And the more advance warning, the worse and the riskier.”

“Understood.” Two deep breaths as he walked the corridor toward Admin, between Banichi and Jago. “We’ve only just docked. Listen, we’re in good shape, mostly. There is something to worry about out there in space, way deep and far, but I’ll let you work that out with the captains. I’m about to debrief with Ogun… I trust you’re talking to Ogun, no problems.”

“No problems at all in that regard,” Shawn said.

“I’ve got to sign off. I’ll be there in short order, if we’re lucky.”

“Got it,” Shawn said. Former boss in the State Department. Ally, in what had become the only team left standing. “I’ll clear your way in all senses. You’ll have clear air space and a place for you and your party, all honors. Count on it.”

“Thanks,” he said. And to Banichi and Jago, handing back the phone—as if they couldn’t follow most that he said in Mosphei’. “He advises we move quickly, and promises us clearance to land and a place to stay. He gave no hint of trouble on the island, but seems anxious for us to hasten our moves. He says the opposition has ships.”

“Which may attempt to interfere in the landing, nandi,” Banichi said. “We agree.”

They reached the guarded door, and the guards on duty—one of them Jase’s man, Kaplan—wasted no time letting all of them in.

Jase was inside, standing with Jules Ogun, of Phoenix, who’d stayed in command of the station and maintained liaison with Shawn and Tabini while they were off in deep space.

“Good to see you,” Ogun said, leaning across the table corner with a solid handshake—certainly more warmth than when they’d parted. “Damned good to see you in one piece, sir.”

“I understand we have a problem downstairs,” Bren said directly, “and I hear we have a shuttle in reasonable readiness, and I have the dowager’s request to launch and Tyers’ clearance to land at Jackson, if we can get it fueled.”

“It is fueled, or will be within the next two hours. We started that process when you turned up in system. Crew’s kept up their sims throughout. We’re not altogether cut off from the planet, but this shuttle is our one chance, Mr. Cameron. Damned hard to replace. But no other use for it now but to get you down there.”

“The dowager and the heir are our best chance to stabilize the government. They’re absolutely irreplaceable. And I’m going with them.” He saw the frowns. “I have to be there. They’ll need me.”

“Dangerous,” Jase said. “Damned dangerous, Bren, your going down there. You’re the outsider. You’re in particular danger.”

“I wish we had another choice,” he said. He’d come in prepared to argue up one side and down the other for his position, but no one argued, beyond Ogun’s remark, such ready agreement he wished someone would argue, interpose objections that might make him think of critical omissions in his ideas.

But, point of fact, they had two choices—launch an information war from orbit, with the broadcast and cable in the hands of the new regime, and a lot of bloodshed likely—or get themselves down there as their supporters would expect, had almost certainly expected for months. People would commit their lives to the latter expectation, might already have swung into operations that would fail without them. In the atevi way of thinking, leaders had to show up, in person, take the risks, lay down the law, make the moves so there was no doubt of their commitment.

And the longer they waited, even by hours, the more time the opposition had to arrange something in response.

“A seat, Mr. Cameron.” Ogun sat down, and Jase did, and as they settled, the door opened and Sabin came in, her coat steaming with cold and frost, straight from the core and the airlock.

Ogun rose, extended a hand to her, gave her the vacant seat next to him—senior, these two, captains under senior captain Stani Ramirez so long as Ramirez lived, and privy to far and away more than they’d ever admitted to the crew at large or to anyone else until the proof came running up on them at Reunion. Now they all knew—or hoped they knew—what Ramirez had done to the human species, poking about in alien territory, keeping a potentially hostile alien contact secret even from his own crew… until it swept down and half destroyed Reunion Station. Candor had not been an attribute of the Pilots’ Guild, not even the benevolent part of it that managed Phoenix and sat guard over the station here. Not, possibly, to this hour.

“Brilliant job,” Ogun said to them.

“Adequate,” Sabin said. “We’re alive. We’ve got the ringleaders of our problems in close lockup aboard ship and plan to keep them that way indefinitely, under the circumstances. We’re going to be dribbling population aboard the station, asking resident crew to sponsor the Reunioners and keep close tabs on them, no demands at all from our Mospheiran cousins onstation. They have no reason to love these people.”

“Anything that slows a headlong rush to realize how short supply is, here.”

“How short is it?”

“We’ve had serious tank problems and cycling hasn’t quite kept up with the nutrient balance. We could use resupply. We could use it very urgently, or we absolutely go back on basics and short rations at that. We haven’t got some of the critical supplies when we do get the new tanks in operation, and we’re even, just among the few of us, worried about the long-range stability of the station air systems. But your people are telling me there’s a big cash-in of biomass as the ship is in for overhaul.”

The spider plants. The myriad spider plants, Bren thought. Bales of them. Not to mention the recycling of ship’s waste for all those people. Could they possibly have that much bound up in them, that they could make a dent in station requirements?

But the ship had been nutrient rich for a long time. They’d carried an abundant supply, and they hadn’t offloaded any of it. They’d taken on a good extra load from Reunion Station itself on the return flight, emergency supplies to expand their capacity to serve thousands of passengers. Was that enough?

“Meanwhile,” Ogun was saying, “Mr. Cameron’s got a landing lined up with Mospheira. I take it, Mr. Cameron, you have a plan.”

No, he wanted to say, in all honesty. But it wasn’t that black and white. “We need more information than we have, sir, more than we likely can get from here. Lord Geigi knows what happened on the mainland, but he’s not in possession of enough details to give us a sure list of who to trust. So we have to go down, and go fast, before loyalties shift.”

“What did happen down there, Mr. Cameron?‘’ Sabin asked.

“In fact it looks like a long-range double cross, in the case of the scoundrel who’s launched this attack on Tabini-aiji: he played the ally, he played the innocent relative caught in the last uprising, sided with Tabini, and with us, and all the while he was holding out to let Tabini beat his relatives. Then he got power over his own house, which set him up to make a try at overthrowing Tabini-aiji in the next round. Classic politics. But he’ll rest uneasily now that we’re back. And he’ll be desperate for information, which he can’t get too easily since he himself closed us off from the uplink station. That’s why we want to move fast and continually change the data. They surely know you have one remaining shuttle that’s still capable of getting us down there. They have to have formed some plan to go into action the moment Phoenix comes back, as we have, and in case that shuttle tries to land. That plan has to include neutralizing the dowager and the heir, it could mean getting boats in position to try to bring the shuttle down, which I hope is technically unlikely, and slow-moving. And our plan, quite plainly has to center on establishing a countermovement, finding out where they are, and killing them.”

“So should you risk the dowager?” Ogun asked.

“If there’s to be any hope of dealing with this, she has to be there. The heir has to be there. Her loyalists—and they’re more than I can trace at the moment—won’t understand her sitting safe on the ship or keeping the boy safe and asking them to go die for her cause while she protects herself with human allies. It’s not the atevi way. They’ll show up when she shows up in their circumstances, at equal risk. And they’d never respect the heir if he were held up here in safety.”

“You’re that sure they’ll rally.”

“If they don’t, for that, they never would. And I believe they will, so long as they’re alive and have resources. They’ll be there.”

“It’s the best chance for our situation,” Sabin said. “If you can reestablish relations with the atevi government—stabilize their situation—maybe get a new government installed, one that’s pro-space—get supply moving up here. Do you have a plan?”

Back to that nasty question. “As you say, captain. We stabilize the situation for starters. Vindicate Tabini-aiji. Vindicate him, even if he’s dead. It’ll make a difference in the shade and shape of any government that follows him. Beyond that—I can’t guarantee the outcome.”

“The boy?” Sabin asked. “The heir? Or the dowager?”

“Cajeiri might succeed. He’s Ragi, like his father. With the dowager as regent. Although the hasdrawad, their house of lords, has refused her claim before—frankly they were afraid of her in those days, because she was too closely tied to the eastern provinces. That perception of her had somewhat changed in recent years… but I don’t know where her province has taken its stand in this current situation. So I don’t know which the hasdrawad would choose—a regency, with Ilisidi behind the scenes, or a strong government, with Ilisidi in power, with Cajeiri still as heir-apparent.”

“Still, all our eggs in one basket, taking them down there. I know, I know, everything’s what she decides. But if he were up here, with Lord Geigi… ”

“Geigi’s Maschi, ruling an Edi population.” And at Sabin’s unenlightened stare: “He’s not Ragi. We absolutely can’t afford the perception of the boy under any influence but his own family’s. We can’t have him viewed as a puppet for Lord Geigi, or, God forbid, for human rule.”

“God,” Sabin muttered. “All right. All right. We go with it.”

“Best we can do is work fast,” he said. “If we get down in one piece, we’ll still have to reconstitute the maintenance facilities for the shuttles and locate all the personnel, who may be in hiding—or worse. At very worst, we’ll have the pilots and the shuttle we bring down. We’ll have one good window to get down, and—forgive me for expressing opinions in operational matters—we should use an approach over the sea to the west, where I trust there’s not going to be atevi presence armed with missiles.”

“Agreed,” Ogun said. “And that is what we planned. The course is laid in. You say we’re assured of the runway at Jackson.”

Sabin tapped a stylus on the table and frowned. “As it happens,” Sabin said, “your Lord Geigi’s called up the shuttle crew all on his own, and the dowager’s already shifting baggage and personnel aboard, while we sit here. We know you’ve contacted Mospheira. We assume you have landing clearance.”

Could he claim he was surprised, either at the blinding rapidity of events or by the fact humans knew everything Geigi did? “Then I’m asking your support,” he said. “The station’s technical support for the operation. And for whatever follows. We may need to call on you, maybe even for a limited strike from orbit. It’s nothing I want to think of, but it could become necessary.”

“You’ll have it,” Sabin said. Ogun, for his part, nodded. Of Jase, there was no doubt at all.

“Well, then I’d better go catch my shuttle,” he said, with this time a glance at Jase, who’d not said a word—who gave him a direct and worried look now as he stood up to leave, as the senior captains rose. To them all, Bren gave a little bow, the atevi courtesy. But he paused for a second look at Jase, who edged around the table to intercept him—didn’t say a thing, just looked at him, and he looked at Jase, the one of the captains who’d go down to the planet with him in a heartbeat.

But Jase couldn’t do that. He’d gone back to space, accepted duty aboard Phoenix, and severed himself from Tabini’s court. Jase couldn’t be half the help to him on the planet that he could be up here serving as bridge and go-between.

“You know the things they need to know,” Bren said. “Translate for me. Make them understand.”

“I can do that.”

“If anything should happen—”

“I’ll work closely with Lord Geigi, in that event,” Jase said, with no silly demur that nothing would possibly happen. “And with Yolanda.”

Discounting all the history in that relationship.

He embraced Jase, patted him on the shoulder. They’d been through everything together. It was harder to part now than ever before.

“You’re not even going to get a night in your own bed,” Jase said.

“Luxuries go by the board, I’m afraid. I’ll send up tea and fruit candy and canisters of all sorts of things, first I get the shuttles flying.”

“Waiting with bated breath,” Jase said. “Good luck. Good luck, Bren.”

Neither language seemed apt to what he wanted to say at the moment. And there was nothing either of them could do but part company and go out their separate doors.

He left with Banichi and Jago, Jago going first outside the door, Banichi behind him, the old, carefully measured steps that were by now completely automatic. The human guards outside, knowing them, were unruffled by their ways.

“So we are boarding?” he asked them as they walked on.

“Imminently,” Banichi said.

“Your staff is prepared,” Jago said, “and Tano and Algini request to come down with us. So do Bindanda and Narani.”

He thought about it a pace or two along the hallway. About Tano and Algini he had no question: those two were, like Banichi, like Jago, like Cenedi and Ilisidi’s other bodyguards, members of the Assassins’ Guild, partners, in sets, like most others.

But Narani and Bindanda, though members of that Guild, too, were no longer young. They were well suited to the warfare of the court, but not to running hard.

“What would you advise, nadiin-ji?”

“Tano and Algini would be helpful to us,” Banichi said. “Narani and Bindanda would be extremely valuable to Jase-aiji.”

“And they will not thank us for saying so,” said Jago, “but our venture onto the continent will be no holiday in the country, Bren-ji. If we could leave you on the Island, and plead a Filing on Murini and his supporters without you, we would.”

The legalities of the situation came home to him. One did not simply decide to attack an atevi of any high rank. “We should File Intent on him, shouldn’t we?”

“If one can manage to get a signed letter to the mainland,” Banichi said dryly. “We shall certainly attend the matter, Bren-ji. You only need fix your signature and seal to the document.”

“My seal.” It was on his finger. He hadn’t used it in two years, except to sign notes back and forth with the dowager. Dinner invitations. Now it could request a man’s life.

“One believes the dowager and Cenedi will be well before us in any Filing, nonetheless.”

“We do need to send a letter.” The ordinary details of atevi life flooded back into memory, the rules, the procedures. “But if we’re asking a hearing, do we not automatically have protection in reaching the Guild?” If one Filed Intent, meaning an official filing of intent to assassinate, for personal or public reasons, another individual, the paper must go before the Assassins’ Guild to be debated—a proceeding much like a court of law, with arguments pro and con largely coming from other members of that Guild, members in service to various houses, as well as those at large. Not infrequently it entailed an appearance before the Guild Assembly, separately, by the principals in the dispute. He recalled a provision for protection for persons summoned, or for persons attempting to File, that they could not be struck down on Guild grounds.

But that prohibition certainly left a lot of the continent under no such protection.

“Certain people may not observe the niceties, Bren-ji,” Jago said. “The Guild president is dead, so Lord Geigi’s people say. One doubts that assassination was easily accomplished, or without repercussions.”

“Which points up,” Banichi said, “that when rival aijiin are attempting to influence the Guild, nothing is reliable.”

Appalling. The Guild, the one impartial power, in disarray.

“But Guild membership cannot be happy with the assassination.”

“They will not be, Bren-ji,” Jago said, “but there we are: there is no authority. The Guild is taking a position of neutrality in the dispute.”

If the Assassins’ Guild, offended and notoriously independent-minded, would possibly accept an Intent to remove Murini from life as well as office, it would be an incalculable advantage to the aiji-dowager in her claim on the leadership. Certain Guild members would still defend Murini, in such a case, of course—but only those in his personal man’chi, or such as might be morally persuaded to do so. Murini’s personal record of double-crosses would not inspire altruists to back him. But the dowager’s eastern origins would mean the same debate as had turned the hasdrawad against her, in the last debate of the succession, and the heir, though Ragi, was a child. The Guild was leaderless, the aishidi’tat was broken, and if it could not reassemble itself and make a reasonable appeal to the Guild, the Guild was not going to lash about in pointless violence that would set no legitimate leader in power—such as they had, with Murini, they had, until something strong enough to challenge Murini rose up. It was why atevi wars had become, historically, very few, once there was a unified Assassins’ Guild.

“The dowager’s return in itself will prompt debate in Guild Council,” Banichi said, “and we shall certainly catch their notice, once we can reach the mainland. We shall get a Filing to the Guild. But bear in mind that Murini—I do not call him Murini-aiji—will certainly File against you, in particular, since it is hardly kabiu to file on a child.”

Sobering, but not surprising, and not the first time he’d been Filed on. One never liked to contemplate the resources a wealthy lord could bring to bear… money which could hire certain individuals of that Guild, if they were willing to be hired. An aiji had the whole state treasury, if he could justify the budget to the hasdrawad, and who knew how many pro-Tabini legislators were going to dare show up to resist Murini’s demands for funds?

The Guild as a whole might not budge and might be leader-less, but individuals might incline to back Murini.

“Well, we shall do the best we can,” Bren said.

“Shall we advise Tano and Algini then to join us?”

“Absolutely. Tell them pack and board. I must go home first, however. I should do Narani and Bindanda at least the courtesy of a personal refusal of their offer.”

“There might be time for tea,” Banichi said. “It would surely please them.”

They reached the section his apartment shared with Lord Geigi and the aiji-dowager—he walked up to his own door, and met Narani behind it, and formal welcome in his own foyer, with simple fresh flowers—that atevi amenity aboard station had not yet gone to recycling, and such a move would have been strongly resisted—in a heart-pleasingly suitable arrangement on the little table. He saw all the small touches of Narani’s excellent taste and sensitivity to nuance, and found the whole staff had lined up as best they could manage in the little space they had.

He thanked each and every one of his people, headed by Narani, those who had voyaged with him: Bindanda, Jeladi, and Asicho; and those who had not, who had kept station here—notably Tano and Algini, whose appearance was brief, that pair doubtless already having gotten the word from Banichi or Jago that they were going with him.

“I hope I have time to sit in such splendid comfort for a moment,” he said, “Rani-ji. And, Rani-ji, I must speak with you and with Bindanda, and explain myself. Will you take tea with me?”

They knew, only by that, that he was not going to agree to their going, and he detected sorrow on those two faces, the only blight on the moment.

But Narani glossed over his pain with an offer of a more comfortable coat for the voyage. He shed the coat he was wearing in favor of that one, then established himself in his favorite room, the library, where more flowers met him, if only three precious blooms.

There he waited.

Narani and Bindanda arrived with the tea service, and solemnly poured a cup for him, then for themselves. He said, “Sit with me, if you will, nadiin-ji.”

They were uncomfortable as his guests, these two, who had been house staff all their careers, and who were exceedingly proud of it. But they had voyaged with him, and they had grown far less formal on the voyage. They settled deeply into the chairs, waiting to be told officially that, no, they were not going.

“I honor you extremely,” he said. “And you know that I must refuse an offer which touches my deepest sentiments. I value your expertise and your wisdom, and in all honesty, nadiin-ji, I rely very much on you here, to advise Jase-aiji, to assist Lord Geigi if anything should at all happen to us in our attempt—”

“Never say so, nandi!” Narani said.

“As I shall not allow to happen, of course. But I shall need persons of level good sense to serve in this household and mediate between persons of high rank and foreign behavior, perhaps under trying conditions in situations needing decisive and wise action. That much I must have. I entrust my good name and the proper working of this house to you and to Bindanda, with the utmost confidence both will be as safe as it ever would be if I were here, and that you will never hesitate to speak for me to Lord Geigi and to Jase-aiji.”

Both heads bowed, in the sober earnestness of his charge to them.

So they drank tea, and savored this taste of home, knowing that he was going to board the shuttle, and that he hoped to see them again.

Knowing the risks in the landing still set a cold lump of fear in his stomach, which even the tea and the companionship did not quite disperse.

But they finished, not too hastily, and made their courtesies, his staff far more aware of the exigencies of the schedule than he was. He had put on his comfortable coat for the descent and they added a warm if graceless outer coat for the transit to the shuttle—a transit that had never quite approached routine.

They also gave Tano and Algini two considerable packets, their initial meals aboard, since the shuttle crew was usually too busy to attend the passengers until they were considerably out along their course. Other baggage, their clothes and gear for after landing, was already en route to the shuttle.

With that, in what seemed, by atevi standards, blinding haste, they were out the door, as well organized as staff could manage for them—himself and Banichi and Jago, with Tano and Algini, now, the missing members of his bodyguard—Tano as cheerful as if they were headed for holiday, which was Tano’s way, and Algini his sober, mostly silent self.

The timing of their exit was no accident, nor in any way left to chance, in the curious backstairs communication among the houses here resident. The dowager’s staff turned out just behind them, so they realized when they were most of the way through the lift routings. Banichi advised him, and, bag and baggage, they waited until Ilisidi, with Cajeiri, and attended by Cenedi and his men, had arrived at the core lift, Geigi’s staff attending with still more baggage, providing assistance, not that Geigi himself was going.

From that point on they made one party as they traveled upward to the core, a lift-passage in which gravity increasingly left them and the air grew increasingly burning-cold and dry. Their hand-baggage would come adrift if nudged—but no one nudged it. Eight-year-old Cajeiri stayed as grimly fixed to the handhold as he had been on the way down into the station, staring into space, occasionally casting glances at his elders, or darting a suspicious look at some particularly loud clang or thump. He took his cues from his great-grandmother, however, and refused to flinch.

It was a wretched birthday, and Bren earnestly wished there was some cheer to offer a boy who had been, in one day, advised his parents’ survival was in doubt and that he must leave his agemates and companions, perhaps forever, embarking on a voyage that scared the hell out of sensible, experienced crew.

Being a boy of eight years, however, Cajeiri seemed to have run entirely out of questions and objections. At such an age, thwarted and upset at every turn, he clung grimly to the safety bar, sunk in his own thoughts, without breadth enough to his horizons to give him an adult-sized hope or fear to work on. Adults had done this, he might be thinking. Adults would fix it. Adults had better fix it, if they knew what was good for them.

This adult just hoped the shuttle got down onto the planet in one piece, for starters.

“We have our course laid,” Ilisidi said, breath frosting in the bitter cold of the car, “and we trust the Presidenta will attend the other details in our rapid departure, nandi.”

“Supportive, aiji-ma,” Bren said. “Entirely supportive, I have no doubt of that. We will doubtless have lodging as long as we wish near the landing strip. I have left the transportation arrangements for crossing the straits until after we are down—for security in communications, aiji-ma.”

“Likely wise,” Ilisidi said, and about then the lift stopped, requiring all aboard to resist inertia. The door gasped open, making a puff of ice crystals in floodlit dark. The burning dry cold of the dark core itself hit the lungs like a knife, making conversation, even coherent movement of muscles, a difficult, conscious effort.