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CHAPTER TEN

Adya was happily snuggled up with Zee, her head on his chest, feeling him gently breathing. He was completely asleep, but she was just relaxed and content.

However, one can stay that way only so long. After about five minutes she activated her comm implant again and checked for messages. There was one, from Janitha Velicham: “Pulu’s ready to meet you this afternoon. Be at Midayi at three, alone. Oh, and I’m not gonna play go-between for you two anymore.”

It was already half past two. Adya slowly lifted her head from Zee’s chest and disengaged herself from him without disturbing his sleep. She didn’t have time to print out anything special so she just pulled on the same set of dark blue tights she’d been wearing when he contacted her just before lunch.

She crept out of the room, making sure the door shut quietly, then vaulted down to the courtyard below and sprinted for the bubble tube, signaling ahead to call one for herself. It popped up just as she reached the tube, so Adya tumbled in and told it to take her to Viranmar Plaza in Svarnam, as quickly as possible. As it slid down the tube to the sea bottom she did remember to leave a message for Zee, promising to return as soon as she could.

The bubble seemed to travel with maddening slowness, but it did get her to the plaza at four minutes to three. She had just enough time to bound over to Midayi and request a private tea room. “I’m expecting a guest,” she said to the tea master, a little breathlessly. “We’ll ask for tea when we’re ready.”

The teishu nodded politely and led Adya to a small room paneled with real wood, with handmade rugs on the floor. The side opposite the door opened into a pocket garden where moss grew thick on natural stones.

Adya thanked the teishu and seated herself. She stared at the little garden and made herself relax. Some of her muscles were sore, and that reminded her of her afternoon with Zee, and she smiled a little to herself.

At a couple of minutes after three the door slid open and Pulu Visap came in. She looked terrible, Adya thought. Part of it was her outfit—an elaborate silver-mesh bodysuit with crystals wherever the fibers crossed, and virtual tags to let everyone who saw Pulu know that it was a limited-edition design by Cassytha. Whoever that was. On someone like Kavita, or even Entum, the flashiness of the outfit would have looked playful and fun. But Pulu was small, worried, almost furtive. The showy garment only emphasized that.

Her long hair braid was gone—she had shaved her scalp in the default style for Miranda. The sight made Adya feel sorry for her. Pulu had obviously put a lot of work into having meter-long hair, and cutting it off wasn’t the kind of decision one made easily.

When the door slid shut behind her, Pulu remained standing, keeping her eyes on Adya.

“Shall I ask the teishu to provide a pot?” asked Adya.

Pulu only shook her head. “You’re Kavita’s sister, right?” she asked after a long pause.

Adya restrained a sigh. “I am Adya Elso. Kavita is my celebrated sibling. Please, relax and rest.” She gestured at the rug.

“Look, I’m sorry I ever got mixed up in Sixty Families stuff. Can you call them off?”

“Call who off?” She realized that Pulu’s furtive, worried look was real fear. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

That just made Pulu look even more like a trapped animal. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m sorry, really I am. I just want it all to stop.”

Adya made her skin a warm olive color. “I swear to you I know nothing of your troubles, and I will aid you if I am able. Please, tell me what is wrong.”

“It’s the Kavitalings,” said Pulu. “Her chongs. I made a little dig at your sister. Once. Ever since then they won’t leave me alone. Nasty messages, snubs at parties, and then you started hunting me in the infosphere.”

“I know nothing of Kavita’s foolish fans.”

“They’re everywhere. I don’t dare go to the Security Service. Last time I tried to talk to someone there I could see one of your sister’s ‘rising energy’ animations on the wall.”

“What did you say? It must have been marvelous mockery to madden her minions.”

“All I said was that with her putting on the Constructors’ Jubilee, anyone with any sense would stay home.”

“Not a very invidious insult. I would say the same.”

“Exactly! It was just a dumb little dig. But now the Kavitalings are ruining my life! And most of the other channels are piling on as well. They all want to suck up to her because she has such a big audience.”

“I don’t know if there is anything I can do. Should I ask my sister to call off her fans?” As she spoke, Adya wondered if Kavita knew about the influence attacks. But no, she thought, Kavita had asked her to find out. If she already knew who was responsible, she wouldn’t have needed to get Adya’s help. She put the thought aside, to consider later.

“Maybe that would help. They do whatever she tells them.” For a moment Pulu looked hopeful, and her skin became more green.

“I never thought of Kavita as a leader before,” said Adya. “I will ask her. But—that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Pulu’s face took on a suspicious look again and she reddened. “What do you want?”

“You did some anonymous attacks on my family’s seafood business. I want to know who hired you, and why.”

“I didn’t—” Pulu began, and then stopped when she saw Adya’s expression. “All right, I did those. How did you find out?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Adya replied, and waited.

Pulu blinked a couple of times before answering. “I was only doing work for hire! And the party thing was just a little bonus. Show the client I can work in multiple media. It’s not personal, honest! I used to follow your sister myself.”

“Who hired you? That’s all I need to know.”

“That’s confidential.”

“I can ask Kavita to turn the heat up just as easily as I can get her to cool things off. She won’t know you were involved with the rumor campaign—unless I tell her.”

“Okay, okay! I guess it doesn’t matter much. Just keep my name out of it, all right? Promise?”

Adya nodded.

“It’s an offworlder called Qi Tian. I’m not sure where he’s from. Lots of gigajoules to throw around. He’s been making friends in the Sixty Families, very quietly. That’s all I know, really! He paid me to do a black meme attack on the Elso seafood business. I did the job and got the gigs, and he hasn’t contacted me since.”

“No idea why he wanted to harm my family?”

Pulu shrugged. “Politics, business, who knows?” She glared at Adya, getting a bit red again. “I’m just a hireling. Not at your level. Not one of the Families.” She smiled bitterly and leaned forward. “Do you know why people join the Polyarchists? Or just leave Miranda? It’s because of the Sixty Families. How smug you all are. Like you’re the only people on Miranda who matter. The rest of us might as well be bots.”

“Do you really want to go back to the Theocracy? Or the Cetacean Republic?”

“See?” said Pulu, getting very red. “You can’t even imagine an alternative! If your little inbred clique isn’t running everything then it has to be something bad!”

Adya kept her color under control, but didn’t know what to say. Finally she just shook her head a little. “I’ve been to six other worlds with different governments. They all have their flaws. I’m not saying the Families are perfect, but the system we have here works. People are free to do what they like, the Families don’t tax anyone but themselves, we’re at peace and prosperous—”

“And everyone who’s not in the Sixty Families has to put up with you! Acting like you’re better than us. Ignoring us. Patronizing us and congratulating yourselves for it. It may sound like nothing, but that bothers people. Maybe more than you know. Sometimes peace and prosperity aren’t enough.”

Listening to Pulu reminded Adya of how little she actually knew about Miranda. She knew facts and figures, history and architecture, foodstuffs and fashions—but just about every person she knew on her own native world was one of the Sixty Families. The other sixty million biologicals were just extras on the stage, without speaking parts.

Just then the teishu tapped politely at the door. “Are the ladies ready for tea?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” said Adya. “I think we both could use something,” she said to Pulu.

When the tea master came in and began going through the old soothing ritual of kettle, pot, tea, spices, and cream, Adya found herself watching him. He must have been her father’s age, at least. His face showed few lines, but his beard and eyebrows were naturally gray. The teishu’s hands moved with graceful efficiency, doing tasks they must have done thousands of times, maybe tens of thousands.

What did he think of her, Adya wondered. Or her family? Or the whole Sixty Families? Did he care? Did he make jokes about his patrician customers when they were out of earshot? Or was he proud that they came to his teahouse? She realized with a little shock that there was no way she could ask him. He knew who she was, and his answer would be shaped by that. A single remark by Kavita could cost him most of his customers. A single vote by her father on the Committee might change his business environment. The Elso family might be bankrupt in the realm of numbers, but for now they still had power. The teishu never would. Did that bother him? She couldn’t know, and that bothered Adya.

He passed her the first cup, and she waited until Pulu had her own before sipping. Of course it was excellent—this was Midayi, after all. The teishu set down a plate of chilled rasgulla between the two guests, then stood. Adya thanked him and waited until he left the room with his kettle and chabako.

“May I ask you something?” she said to Pulu, shifting into the formal style again. “You’re visibly vexed so I want you to be totally truthful. Reveal the reality to me—do most Mirandans support the Sixty Families? If something swept the oligarchy into oblivion, would citizens celebrate?”

Pulu took a drink of her own tea and thought before answering. “I’m not sure. I doubt most of them would care one way or the other. They don’t have any power right now. So they don’t lose anything if someone else takes over. Maybe they’d get a little more, or at least hope for it. That’s what the Polyarchists offer. With them in charge, people could dream of getting rich and buying a ministry, even if they never actually do it. That matters.”

“And some set would acquire advantage if the Families fell.”

“Sure. Whoever takes over. The Polyarchists think they’ll be the ones.” Pulu shook her head. “I wouldn’t bet on them in the long run.”

“Oh?”

“Most of them aren’t rich enough. Ministries are expensive. A few might buy in. Most would still be on the outside. Only without the excuse of the Sixty Families keeping them out.”

“Your friend Janitha seems to like the idea of letting anyone with enough gigajoules bid on ministries. Is she rich enough?”

“Probably. Or she will be in a few more years. She’s like a petawatt laser. The others? Maybe they’d be happy to dream about it. More likely they would all switch to some other movement. Something promising treats for everyone.” Pulu drained her teacup and stood. “I’d better get home now. Talk to your sister, please. Call off her chongs. I told you everything I know.”

“I will do it directly,” said Adya. As Pulu left the room she opened a link to Kavita. To her considerable surprise she got a privacy response: Kavita was unavailable and would reply later. Surprising because her sister had always been willing to link with Adya no matter what she was doing. One of the most uncomfortable moments in Adya’s life had been when she had been linked up to Kavita, talking about something she couldn’t recall, only to be interrupted by an orgasmic scream courtesy of Kavita’s current lover.

It seemed like the wrong time of day for Kavita to be sleeping. What did she actually consider worthy of privacy? Adya shrugged. She finished her own tea slowly, along with the remaining rasgulla on the plate.

When there was no reason to linger in the empty room over empty plates, Adya finally left the teashop and strolled around Viranmar Plaza. It was still too early for the evening crowd, so when Kavita finally contacted her Adya simply sat down where she was and answered.

Kav had kept the background dark so Adya had no idea where she was. She wasn’t in her manic streaming persona, which was a relief.

“Sorry, beautiful. I was busy with something. What’s up?”

“Do you know a hired gun influencer named Pulu Visap?”

“I don’t know her, but I know of her. Her average audience is three percent of mine. It’s not hard to see why, either—most of the time she’s just talking about stuff. I do things, full sensory. Everybody likes that.”

“Well, she gave me some information but asked for a favor in return. Apparently she said something a little unkind about you and some of your fans have been retaliating. She’s practically a fugitive now. Could you shut that down?”

A second’s delay suggested her sister was searching the universe of Kavita fandom for Pulu’s remark. “Oh, I see. Yes, some of my friends have been a little heavy-handed. There’s a lot riding on the Constructors’ Jubilee, and I don’t want anything to spoil it. I guess some of the Kavitalings went too far.”

“She definitely isn’t going to do anything like that again.”

“She’d better not,” said Kavita, sounding very much like their mother in a bad mood. “Don’t worry, I’ll pass the word. Some of my friends don’t know when to just keep quiet about things. So: What have you found out? Who’s behind the financial attacks?”

“I think I know, but I want to make sure. I want to understand what’s going on so I can figure out how to stop it.”

“Listen, Addie: I know you’ve had adventures all over the Solar System but I still worry about you. Promise me you won’t do anything without talking to me first?”

Adya was used to her parents acting as though she were still a child, but it was a little irritating for her twenty-four-hours younger sister to take that tone with her. Still, it was nice to see Kavita thinking about anyone but herself, so Adya smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

“Thanks. Oh, I almost forgot—my system spotted you in the audience for the speedboard race. I’m honored that my little entertainment was worth your time.”

“It was remarkable,” said Adya. “I didn’t know you did boarding.”

“I took it up last year. It’s fun. You can look in the archive for my early lessons.”

“Just a year and you’re outracing professionals? You must have been practicing for hours every day!”

Kavita laughed at that. “Well, I guess you can thank twenty generations of Elsos for investing in good genomes, plus all the tinkering Mother and Daddy paid for while we were in our shikyus.”

“I’ve got all that and I couldn’t have won that race.”

Kavita turned a deep green. “Yeah . . . keep in mind that this wasn’t an official League event, just a ‘demonstration’ for my stream.”

“You’re saying Yuki and Suman weren’t going all out?”

“You read the release: The events in my stream are ‘curated experiences.’”

“It was all staged?” Adya must have let herself turn a little orange because Kavita laughed again.

“I wouldn’t say that. If I had gone off the track, I really would have hit the surface at two hundred kilometers an hour. The board’s emergency thruster might have been able to save me, or it might not. People do get killed speedboarding. But as long as I didn’t wipe out or go off the track, well, the outcome of the race was pretty much a given.”

Adya tried not to feel shocked. Of course it was entertainment, of course Kavita had to give her fans a good show, of course there was a disclaimer when one joined the stream. But . . . for Adya, true things mattered. Scientific truths, historical truths, personal truths. She would never have entered a rigged contest because it would never have occurred to her to rig one.

“Oops. I’ve got to go now. Don’t forget!” said Kavita. The link abruptly ended.

Adya’s attention returned to the plaza around her. She stood and turned decisively toward the nearest bubble tube. If she hurried, she might get back to the Iris Room before Zee woke up.


When Daslakh returned to the Elso mansion the house network told it that Zee was in the Water Salon, and Adya was off-site somewhere. It found Zee floating motionless in the pool, held in place by jets of water about five Kelvins hotter than his body temperature.

Daslakh stayed back from the edge of the pool, out of range of stray droplets of hot salt water. “You look relaxed.”

“I asked the house if there was any place I could take a hot soak. This is nice.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself so much. You biologicals act so pleased when your ridiculous bodies are actually doing what they’re supposed to do without hurting.”

“Another experience you’ll never have,” said Zee, which annoyed Daslakh because it was true.

Just then the house informed them that Adya had returned.

“I hope she didn’t rush off in the middle of your passionate reunion,” said Daslakh.

“I was asleep. What have you been doing?”

“Oh, the usual, accomplishing the impossible, talking to unfindable people, getting into places nobody else can—and finding out some very interesting things about our boy Qi Tian. Things that big octopus will definitely want to know.”

“Good! Maybe . . .” Zee stopped as Adya came in. She peeled off her own tights and dove into the water, surfacing next to Zee and giving him a kiss. Daslakh timed it: 17.4 seconds.

Adya had been pink all over when she came in, and the hot water (and kissing Zee) made her even pinker. “I’m sorry I had to leave, but I think I’ve finally got a clue to whoever’s behind my family’s money problems.”

“And Daslakh’s gotten us a step closer to finding the Oort payload,” said Zee. “It seems like everything’s going the right way today.”

Adya looked over at Daslakh, then back at Zee. “It’s silly to keep secrets from each other. I just found out that the person who paid for the memetic attacks on our seafood business is an offworlder named Qi Tian. Your turn.”

Zee turned to look at Adya in surprise, got salt water in his nose, spluttered a bit, and finally stood up in the pool while Adya continued floating serenely at the level of his waist. “Qi Tian’s the person we were trying to find out about! I even asked your father what he knows, out at the Cryoglyphs.”

Adya shifted from pink to pale blue. “What does Qi Tian have to do with Great-Gran’s payload?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. There’s a cephalopod named Dai Chichi who had the rights to it for a while, and he wanted information in exchange for telling us who he sold it to. Info about Qi Tian. Apparently there’s some kind of deal involving the surface tract around the Cryoglyphs, and Dai Chichi wants to get a piece of it.”

“Dai Chichi? He’s dangerous! You should stay away from him.”

“Your sister doesn’t think so,” put in Daslakh.

“She’s . . . not a good role model.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” said Zee. “Besides, we’re getting close. As soon as Daslakh and I can find out who Dai Chichi sold the rights to the Oort payload to, we can try to get it back, or at least a share. You’ll see—it’s all going to turn out all right.”

“I wish I could think so.”

“Do you trust me?” asked Zee, looking directly into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, shifting to a brown almost matching Zee’s own skin.

“Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

She surged out of the water and hugged him, but after just a moment she stiffened and took a step back. “Bother. My father wants to talk to me, in person.”

“I can wait,” said Zee.

I can’t,” she said, but with a sigh she got out of the water and began to scrape herself dry.


Achan Elso was in the kitchen, hand cutting rice noodles. “Ah, Adya. Put these with the others.” He draped some cut noodles over her hands. She obediently put them on the drying rack. Evidently her father had been at work for a while: there were enough noodles to feed a dozen people already.

“Are we having guests?”

“Mm? I doubt it. Kavita and Vidhi might show up. I caught a bonito this morning, and I’m going to grill it, with a big pan of sauteed noodles and a salad of cucumbers and mint.”

The two of them worked in silence for a few minutes as he finished cutting up the sheet of dough and Adya tried to find space on the rack for the ridiculous quantity of noodles.

Her father cleared his throat and made himself deep blue. “Adya, your mother informs me that you slipped away from the Nikunnus’s party before she could proclaim your pairing with Entum. Now Dipa demands a decision.”

“I just need a little more time, Baba.”

“Time for what? You were always one for rapid reasoning and definite decisions.”

“I’m trying to find the deviser of our difficulties.”

“That is information of little import. The meat of the matter is your marriage.”

“No,” said Adya.

Achan reddened. “Do your duty.”

She shook her head.

“Adya, Jothi Rayador’s going to call upon me in a little while. The purchase of positions approaches, the day before the Jubilee. With Nikunnu resources at my back I can make a bid. Without—I must allow another to take my Ministry, my Commodoreship, and my Magistracy. For the first time in eighteen centuries no Elso will sit on the Coordinating Committee.”

“Father, I think the money problems are a deliberate attack. Someone is doing this to us on purpose. I think an offworlder is behind it. The whole thing has something to do with the land around the Cryoglyphs. But I need more time!”

“Time is one thing I cannot give you. Rayador’s involved in that scheme up to his scalp. He will do nothing to help. The only way out of this mess is for you to make Entum your mate. They are willing, even after your bashful behavior.”

“I don’t love Entum, I love Zee.”

“My dear, these youthful infatuations are no substitute for a solid marriage alliance and a permanent neural bond. Look at your mother and myself: She has her flaws, and I certainly have no few, but we love each other as much as we did the day we were married. We cannot do otherwise. That is what I want for you. Once you are properly bonded, Entum’s amorous affairs will be no more than a peculiar pastime, and they will see your own shortcomings as sweet—just as I do.”

“I love Zee,” she repeated, a little angrily.

“We should be the masters of our emotions, not slaves to every biochemical fluctuation of our brain tissue. Think about your future! With Zee, you can expect a decade or two of affection, gradually diminishing and curdling to indifference and dislike. Some disagreement will fester, or the two of you will grow in different directions, until you have nothing in common but memories of a happier time. Being bonded prevents that, and it gives you a tremendous asset: the knowledge that someone is entirely loyal to you.”

Just then the door opened and Jothi Rayador came in. The most powerful man in Miranda looked a bit hesitant and embarrassed. He was taller and thinner than Achan, but had the same sharp nose and hooded eyes. His beard was longer, and was made of short iridescent feathers instead of hair. “If you’re busy I can come back,” he said.

“My daughter and I are cutting dough. Will you join us for the meal I’m making?”

“I must decline dinner. Elso, you know why I am here.”

“I do. At the next auction of tasks for the Coordinating Committee I won’t be able to afford even the meagerest Ministry. Our coalition will lose its majority.”

“I’m glad you understand how important this is, Elso. Some of the other coalition members are willing to forward you the funds to purchase a Ministry. We were thinking you might manage well at Culture. Very much in tune with your talents, I’m sure you agree.”

“Who would take over at Preservation?” Adya’s father asked with surprising abruptness.

“Karshakan,” said Rayador, almost apologetically.

“Unthinkable! She has no more appreciation of history than a mech! She denies the very significance of the Cryoglyphs—dismisses them as so much graffiti!”

“That is why the others want her at Preservation, Elso. She won’t stand in the way of progress. Your insistence on a five-kilometer radius around that site interferes with some important development projects.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Rayador,” Adya cut in before her father could explode. He turned brick red but remained silent as she continued. “Could you explain exactly what this development project is supposed to do? The Cryoglyph tract is so remote I can’t understand what value it would have.”

Jothi smiled at her as if she were six. “I’m not privy to the details of the deal. The interested individuals insist on secrecy. But they assure me that it will not only add to their own assets but help Miranda recover from the ravages of recession.”

“But how?”

Her father had mastered himself—at least, his color was down to a light purple. “Jothi, I am prepared to serve at Preservation, and Preservation alone. Your choice is clear: Let me keep the Cryoglyphs or see your coalition collapse.”

“Elso, please. The others won’t put up any gigajoules if you stay at Preservation. A couple of them have hinted that they might switch coalitions if you stay.”

“Then you should put aside political practicality and restrict yourself to what is right, Rayador. Think of Navikan Rayador, who broke the last brigades of the Theocracy on the streets of Ksetram. Ask yourself what your ancestor would have done.”

“The Hundred Captains wouldn’t have given a pinch of dust for some marks in the ice, Elso. Kallan Elso would have broken them into cubes to chill his drink, and you know it. We need the same spirit. The past is dead. Record it, archive it, and move on to the future!”

Adya spoke before her father could say something irreversible. “Mr. Rayador—does the name Qi Tian mean anything to you?”

He was too skilled a politician to show anything but polite interest in her question. “I think I’ve met him a time or two. Excellent taste in brandy. Doesn’t like publicity. Came up here from Juren, not much of a data trail before that. His funds are real, though. He’s been investing in various ventures, making friends. If you weren’t so attached to some scratches in the ice, Elso, I’d suggest trying to snag him for your daughter. Definitely a better catch than that overspiced Nikunnu child.”

“Isn’t it a little, well, worrisome that an outsider is buying so much influence on the Committee?” Adya persisted.

Rayador chuckled. “I don’t have time to give you a course in practical political science, my dear. Suffice to say that wealth and power are like the poles of a magnet. Each draws the other. We on the Committee have power, so Qi Tian gives us wealth in the hope of getting what he wants. Turn it around: He has wealth, so we use our power to extract some of it from him.”

“Isn’t that what the oligarchy is supposed to prevent? The Sixty Families are already wealthy, so they cannot be bribed.”

“It’s not bribery. It’s . . . a little extra motivation. If enough members of the Committee wanted to support the development project your father is so opposed to, it would happen even without offworld gigajoules. Remember the old Epic Theater, Elso?”

“Two thousand years old and the Committee refused to give it protected status.”

“The hand-carved seats and the chandeliers were sold off, the rest broken down to elements. All because old Girish wanted space for a centrifuge. Never did complete it, either. I’m not being cruel here, Elso. You simply have to face facts: If the Families want to preserve the past, they do it personally. Buy what you want to keep. Nobody’s bought the Cryoglyphs because nobody cares about them except you and a few cranks. Point is, this Qi Tian’s not really making anybody do anything they would otherwise oppose. Just nudging things along.”

“If vulgar profit is all anyone cares about, why not hand the Committee over to the Polyarchists?” asked Adya’s father. “We of the Families have a duty to maintain standards, to—”

“Achan, I know you believe that, and in a way I envy you for it. But the hard reality is that our ancestors wanted wealth and power, got it by force, and set up a system to keep it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more sordid political realities to deal with. Enjoy your ideals and abstractions.”

Rayador stopped at the door and looked back, his anger gone. “I’ll see you at the Constructor’s Jubilee, Elso? Everybody’s looking forward to it.”

“I will attend, as is traditional, to hand over my positions to whoever paid for them. I expect I shall take my leave early after that.”


Pelagia piloted her maintenance drone through the interior of Taishi Habitat Three. The signal lag was short enough that she felt as if she had been embodied in the little bot. Its six limbs and four senses were hers. Like most orca cyborgs, her echolocation sense had been mapped to a wide-spectrum sensor array, so she barely used the bot’s directional eyes. Instead she synthesized everything into a single three-dimensional image of the world around her.

The hab—like hundreds of millions of others circling the Sun or the remaining planets—was a big cylinder ten kilometers across and fifty long, spinning on its axis every two minutes to simulate Earth surface gravity. Other cylinders in the Taishi complex copied the gravity of Mars or Luna, but even though humanity had spread through the whole system millennia ago, by sheer stubborn path-dependent tradition the standard was still Earth.

Pelagia didn’t really like gravity at all. In atmosphere flying she enjoyed the complex balancing game of lift, weight, speed, and drag; but otherwise gravity was just a huge bother. The drone trotted along tirelessly at ten klicks an hour, but that still felt like an agonizing crawl when compared with the fifteen hundred square kilometers of surface inside the hab. Riding the public trams could get her around quicker, but it always felt a little demeaning to have to ride on something—just as Pelagia preferred to get around using her own drives rather than use a laser to push her between worlds.

Leiting’s paranoid insistence on operational security meant that members of its mercenary force didn’t get any leave time inside Taishi’s habitat cylinders. For fun they could visit various virtual paradises running on secure processors under Leiting’s control.

However, a couple of the gorillas had been bitching about being sent to act as security details for a couple of face-to-face meetings between fragments of Leiting and some unnamed biological in a luxury resort in Habitat Three, back before Pelagia had joined the mercenary force. The gorillas hadn’t named the place, but they had mentioned sports involving sub-Baseline equines (“I can think of easier ways to kill yourself,” said one gorilla), nightly concerts by live musicians (“Could be fun”) and a grove of legacy fruit trees (“I could spend a week there just breathing,” said the oldest gorilla, and the others clapped in agreement).

All that pointed to the Taishi Serai, which boasted all those features plus restaurants, designer psychoactives, and a fully stocked lake for cetaceans and cephalopods. If she hadn’t been in a 600-ton cybership body, Pelagia might have considered dropping a few thousand gigs on a visit. But somehow she didn’t think a remote bot would really let her savor the full experience.

She steered the bot right into the main entrance, a long drive made of multicolored blocks. Each block played a different note when stepped on, and they were arranged so that anyone coming in was met with a rising fanfare, while departures got a sad dying fall.

Naturally, digital intelligences met her before any biologicals. She had a cover story prepared—not a great one, but enough to get past initial questions from sub-Baseline minds. “I’m a spaceship and I’m planning to operate on a regular ferry run among the moons and Equatorial habs around Uranus. I’m checking the place out so I can give a personal recommendation to my passengers about places to stay in Taishi.”

The main building of the resort was a low, rambling structure made of ceramics and carbon composites, painstakingly crafted to look like weathered stone and wood, with moss and vines growing over the surface. The front door led into a big hall decorated with artifacts from the Serai’s long history, dating back to the construction of the hab cylinder a millennium earlier.

Evidently one of the lesser minds kicked her response up the chain of command, because after about five minutes a corvid soared through the room and landed in front of Pelagia’s bot. “Good afternoon, I welcome you to this, the famous Taishi Serai grand resort. The bots tell me you come here just to look and judge. To that I say I hope you see all features here are far the finest in great Taishi hab. Please let me show you ’round.”

“That sounds great,” said Pelagia. “I always like a physical tour.”

“My time is all my own this afternoon, so come and see this wonder of Taishi. My name is Armathir, and you would be?”

“Gladiator.” She was sure that data would now be flowing to and from Armathir, looking for ships with that name. “I do high-speed passenger transport and some security work.”

“Why do you hide behind a stolen name? I see that there are two ships now in dock which proudly bear the name Gladiator. Yet neither one is made for work like that which you describe. For one is but a simple pleasure yacht, the other is a mighty cargo tug.”

“Sorry. I’m under a nondisclosure agreement as part of my financing arrangement. Once I start work I can let you know who I really am.”

That seemed to satisfy the bird, and the two of them set out. The tour was exhaustive, and Armathir obviously had his spiel down cold. Pelagia did her best to break through the script, tossing out jokes and oddball questions just to keep Armathir off balance.

“How much do those horses weigh?” “Are guests allowed to feed the musicians?” “Does it ever snow here?” “What’s the biggest thing the chefs have ever cooked?”

Once she had gotten Armathir into an actual conversation about the place, including a little gossip about some of the famous guests, Pelagia began to slip in the questions she really wanted answered.

“I met some gorillas who work in security. They were here a couple of months ago and didn’t sound like they enjoyed it much. If someone staying here has private guards, do they get the same perks as other guests? I may have some paranoid passengers, so this could be important.”

“I well recall those mighty apes who came to guard a mech who did not need a guard if my own eyes did not deceive me then. For it was clearly built for deadly fights. But for their master all the apes could well have spent their time in savoring the charms of Taishi Serai’s many rare delights.”

“Leiting, right? I’m guessing that’s who the mech was. It’s kind of a jerk.”

“I never speak an ill word of a guest, but I will not dispute that which you said.”

They reached the workspace where guests could try various physical art forms, dabbing paint onto panels by hand, or shaping matter with tools. Pelagia didn’t press the point, and let Armathir show her images of happy guests holding artifacts they had created.

But on the final leg of the tour, as they passed through the fruit orchard, she posed the question she had come all that way to ask. “Who was Leiting meeting with, anyway? It can’t have been another mech.”

“You cannot think that I would tell a name,” said Armathir, perching on a low branch and peering at a cluster of peaches and bananas growing together.

“No point—it was probably false anyway. A human, I assume? Everything you’ve shown me seems designed for them.”

“That is the type this place was made to please. I see no reason to deny the fact.” The bird fluttered ahead to the back of a bench.

“Any idea where they were from?” Pelagia asked as her bot caught up and bounded onto the seat of the bench.

“I do not think—” the bird began, but Pelagia’s bot raised itself on three legs and leaned close, speaking very softly.

“It’s very important.”

“The Serai has a reputation to maintain, and I cannot give data out.”

“Look, I need to know who Leiting met with. I’m not leaving until I find out.”

“If this long tour was just a thin excuse for getting me alone to ask about a guest, though I am sworn to never tell, then I must ask you now to go away.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I will call security and our swift bots will come to drag you from the grounds, and if you try resisting they will wreck this mere sub-Baseline bot and send the scrap back to where your true hull lies docked—assuming that you even are a ship.”

Pelagia’s patience was never great, and the bird’s attitude finally went a millimeter beyond its limit. Two of the bot’s six limbs shot out, extending slender smart-matter fingers to grip Armathir gently but firmly in an unbreakable cage. “If you’re going to shoot up this drone I’ve got nothing to lose. Now talk or I’ll hurt you very badly. I want to know who Leiting met with here. Everything you know. Quickly! Nobody can blame you for telling me under duress.” The fingers enveloping Armathir squeezed, not quite hard enough to break the bird’s hollow bones.

“All right, all right! If your desire to know is strong enough to call forth threats of harm, then I will tell you all you wish to hear. The human Leiting met with here was male, a man of proud Miranda is my guess. For like so many folk from there his skin was made to change its hue to show his mood. The only name he gave was ‘Mister One.’ Of what they said I do not know a thing.”

“Anything else?”

“Why yes, I do know one more thing I wish to tell, though it is something you will not desire to hear, I think. I called the guards and they approach us now with freedom full to employ deadly force against all threats. I see them now and so I say, goodbye.”

Pelagia didn’t have time to think of a clever retort, as a couple of micromissiles with shaped-charge warheads hit her bot and blew the contents of its outer shell to molten slag.

Back at her docking port on Multipurpose Bay 453, she told the little comm relays her drone had planted to melt themselves. The drone itself was a public-domain template which Pelagia had printed herself, with no way to trace it back to her. The loss of the mass was regrettable, but worth it. She was safe.

She was just posting an anonymous hostile review of the Taishi Serai to the habitat’s public network when her external sensors spotted an object moving rapidly across the surface of Multipurpose Bay 453: a little ten-centimeter bot with three flexible legs. Just as it jumped across open space toward her hull, Leiting contacted her.

“Unit Pelagia, you have disobeyed orders and attempted to violate operational security protocols.”

“When?” she asked, just to gain some time. The arrival of the little bot couldn’t be coincidence, and she doubted Leiting was generously trying to replace the drone she’d lost. Pelagia kicked her main powerplant into emergency crash-start mode, and sent all her maintenance drones swarming onto the hull.

“During the period ending nineteen minutes ago. Leiting is invoking the penalty clause in your contract. You hereby forfeit all pay, and you will remain at this location under strict silence until the completion of the first phase of the mission. There is a compliance device on your hull. Any attempt to communicate or depart will result in both legal and physical action.”

The little bot skittered madly across her outer surface, at the center of a rapidly contracting oval of maintenance drones. It stopped just aft of where Pelagia’s orca brain floated in its armored tank, where a gram of antimatter could send a lance of plasma through most of Pelagia’s vital data, matter, and energy conduits.

She didn’t bother doing anything to the “compliance device” itself. Instead her drones sliced into her own hull along the edges of an armor segment, while Pelagia herself blared brute-force electromagnetic countermeasures to obscure what was happening, and flooded the compartment under the device with her stockpile of fresh water.

“That isn’t in the contract,” she said to Leiting via the hard link at the docking connector.

“Cease attempting to violate the terms. This is your final warning.”

Leiting waited exactly one second before detonating the device.


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Framed