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  “But nothing’s seen on flyovers?”

  “Haven’t been any sightings reported,” MacRobert said, with a little emphasis on the last word. “The map’s hand-drawn, you can see that. There’s no proper legend, no real provenance. My source said she first saw it years ago, when she was an undergraduate volunteer and they were sorting very old materials into the newly built annex. She remembered a few handwritten pages as well, but those were separated from the map and she’s looking for them in a different archive.”

  “But we know the age?”

  “Not precisely, not without testing the paper and ink. Personally, I think it was one of the early explorers, three or four hundred years ago, someone unofficial. In a boat of some kind. I can’t imagine an aviator marking the shoals and reefs—here, you see, and there. And these faint lines could be courses charted.”

  Grace sighed. “I don’t see how whatever it is could be of use to Ky now, when nothing’s shown up since, not even from space.”

  “Ah. Well. That’s the other thing. I suspect whatever’s there is from the first surveys five-hundred-something years ago…or earlier, from whoever terraformed the place. We had only one minimal space station, one weathersat, and one comsat at first—standard for a new colony—and only one shuttle. Colony was dropped off with a load of equipment, and the transport company’s big ship went off somewhere else.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Grace said.

  “First couple of hundred years were spent growing a population big enough to support technological development. We did have visits from traders but limited ability to get into space, even up to the station. Your family came later. By the time we put our own first satellites up, everyone knew Miksland was a barren waste, good for nothing, and satellite scans didn’t bother with it.”

  Grace frowned. “But, Mac—that doesn’t make sense. You wouldn’t do that; I wouldn’t. For one thing, it’s a security risk—a platform someone could use—”

  “Exactly.” He nodded. “And I think someone did use it, and reinforced the belief that Miksland wasn’t worth looking at. It’s got nasty rough seas all around it, frozen—at least the poleward half—more than half the year.”

  “Is that where the attack on us came from?”

  “I don’t know. The evidence I’ve seen—and you’ve seen—is that the attack on Corleigh came from that island off to the east, the one with the dead volcano. Miksland—” He shrugged. “I think if Ky made it there in a raft with some others—and it’s possible that she could have—then it’s possible she could find and shelter in that thing that looks like it could be a mine shaft. If it’s been used recently, there might even be supplies in it.”

  “If it’s been used recently, whoever’s been using it might come back and kill her,” Grace said.

  “Yes, but she’s not easy to kill.”

  “I can order satellite surveys now, though, can’t I?”

  “You can, but if someone’s still using it and wants their secret kept, they’ll be watching for new surveillance. They’ll interpret your interest as the possibility that she’s there.”

  “What we need is a really good sneak,” Grace said.

  “With no connection to either of us—we’re too well known—and no connection to the whole planet if possible.”

  “I can think of someone, but it would take too long to get him here. Rafe.”

  “Unless he’s on the way,” MacRobert said. “From what I saw of him on Cascadia, he will be.” He gave Grace a sly look. “He’s bound to know she’s missing. News media have been all over the story.”

  Grace snorted. “He knows. Stella told him to stay away, from the first day.”

  “That won’t stop him if he wants to come. It’s not Stella he’s interested in. If he goes commercial, it’ll take him forty days or more; if he takes an ISC courier direct, half that.”

  “He’s security-conscious—if he does come, he won’t take an ISC ship. And he’ll probably be in disguise.”

  “If he has the sense he should have, he’ll get word to you,” MacRobert said. “Maybe through Stella.”

  “She’s left—or soon will. She didn’t tell me which ship she was taking. She’ll contact me when she’s back on Cascadia. Depends on which ship, how long that will be.”

  “Then we wait and hope,” MacRobert said. “Ky’s near Miksland; she could be on it. She’s smart, tough, and she won’t give up. Neither should we.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CASCADIA STATION

  DAY 28

  Rafe Dunbarger arrived at Cascadia’s main station from Nexus in one of his fake personas, using different temporary DNA mods. He had his tools, his weapons, and the skills that came to him as easily as ever. And he had Teague, one of Gary’s men who—as Gary put it—could use a vacation for a good six months to a year, but was reliable in any situation Rafe might fall into.

  Teague had traveled separately, in the character of a spacer hoping to sign on with Vatta, Ltd., and Rafe, in business class, did not see him during the voyage.

  “ ’Scuse me, sir,” he heard and turned from the tagger dispenser to see Teague’s long, bony face arranged in an expression of slightly worried confusion.

  “Yes?” Rafe said. His Cascadian accent made that word plummy and arrogant.

  “Edvard Simeon Teague, sir, citizen of Nexus Two. I was wondering, sir, if you knew how to find a business address here?” Teague’s accent was pure backcountry Nexus II.

  “This machine,” Rafe said. “It dispenses direction tags that will ensure you reach your proper destination. Do you require assistance in using it? It would be my pleasure. Hilarion Bancroft, of Mountain Home.”

  “I wanna get to those Vatta people, Ser Bancroft,” Teague said. “Maybe getta ship? Gotta Class Two license.”

  “Vatta Transport, you mean?” Rafe asked. “As it happens, Ser Teague, that is where I am going. I want to book passage to Slotter Key, and I am informed that no other line has frequent service.”

  “They take passengers?”

  “I am informed they do, but a limited number per trip as they primarily ship freight.”

  “May I come with you, then?”

  “Certainly.” Rafe inclined his head and gave the hand wave of a polite Cascadian, then led the way in obedience to the tagger directions.

  Pertinent parts of this conversation had been prearranged as confirmation of identity. As they made their way through the curious architecture of Cascadia Station toward the branch where Vatta, Ltd., now had its Cascadian headquarters, Rafe wondered if he would have any trouble with whoever ran the office while Stella was on Slotter Key. Rumor in the business news had it that Vatta might well abandon the Cascadian base except as a local office to service Vatta ships on that route, once more headquartered at Slotter Key. And would Stella still be in charge here, or would another, more local, Vatta take her place?

  In his last conversation with Stella, the year before, they had not discussed Vatta’s future plans, only a new order for shipboard ansibles that Rafe wanted for ISC’s remaining fleet. At that time she had expanded Vatta’s offices on Cascadia Station, clearly not anticipating a move back to Slotter Key. And yet she had gone there, and stayed there long enough to spark rumors of a move. Rafe knew how unreliable those could be.

  But at least her being there meant his appearing in the Vatta booking office in disguise should not cause any problems. Her subordinates would know him only by his use-name. And Stella would not have the opportunity to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, running off to Slotter Key. He wasn’t ready to answer that question for anyone, least of all himself.

  The Vatta insignia, displayed boldly on the entrance to the correct branch, stood proud above the other two labels for that branch. VT Communications Technologies, he knew, was the name of a spin-off from Vatta proper, the outcome of young Toby Vatta’s genius while he was Stella’s ward. Stella had been adamant that Rafe not offer Toby a job. The near end of the branch had anot
her firm, Brindisi Logistic Solutions, and a cluster of service outlets—cafés, a pharmacy, a grocery—and then the wall color changed to Vatta colors: blue below, cream above, with a red stripe between them.

  Vatta Passenger Services was across the corridor from Vatta Freight Services. Beside each entrance, a schedule of arrivals and departures, with openings marked in red. The freight schedule, Rafe noted, had no red openings on either the Vatta ship in dock or the next to arrive. The passenger schedule, however, had several openings. One required a change of ship at Allray; the other, two changes of ship, at New Balestra and then at Variance.

  “Allray’s the quicker route,” Teague commented.

  “I would have to stay in persona,” Rafe said after a quick look up and down the corridor, empty at the moment. Teague shot him a glance. “I left Allray in a bit of a hurry a few years back.” Being shot at, in fact, with Stella and Toby. He had liked Allray and his quiet life there, easiest of his years as a remittance man.

  “Will they question your preferring the longer route?” Teague lounged against the wall.

  “A moment.” Rafe accessed the station database. If he switched personas to a scholar doing research, if he could find relevant listings…Ky had regaled him with more military history than he’d really wanted to know. Ah: if he’d had an interest in military history, a museum on New Balestra held the only remaining complete set of Paruts and Ghoneh’s Early Colonial Wars of the First-Millennium Expansion from Varkan. A university library on Slotter Key had an almost-complete printing of a different edition (missing volumes 23 and 28). It would have to do.

  “Scholarly research,” he said to Teague. “Military history of first-millennium colonial wars.”

  “So you’re a professor?”

  “I’m a chameleon,” Rafe said. “As Gary probably told you.”

  “That wasn’t exactly the term he used,” Teague said.

  “That does not surprise me,” Rafe said in his prissiest voice. “Was it unprintable snake or unprintable idiot?”

  “Both,” Teague said, with the first hint of humor Rafe had heard from him. Rafe led the way inside the Passenger Services office.

  —

  At the desk Rafe handed over his identification papers to a clerk, who called up the arrival data and nodded. “You’ve just arrived from Nexus Two—your final destination is Slotter Key—but, Ser Bancroft, I see you’ve chosen a route that is less direct.”

  “Ah, let me explain.” Rafe put on the enthusiasm of an amateur scholar. “There is, as you see, a twenty-eight-hour delay in New Balestra, and so I will have time to visit the Decan Museum. Did you know they have the only known complete set of Paruts and Ghoneh’s Early Colonial Wars of the First-Millennium Expansion from Varkan? Every single volume, complete—it’s the fourth edition, too. On Nexus there is only half the volumes, and I shouldn’t even say volumes, because they’re apparently printouts that a historian made for personal use at least a century ago. Now, Slotter Key has all but two volumes of the second edition, in the Arvene University library’s special collection—”

  “You’re a historian, Ser Bancroft?”

  “Oh, no,” Rafe said. “Or only in a small way. I spend my vacations, though, pursuing my historical interests. If one visits these smaller museums and archives personally, one is often able to obtain access to materials by ansible later.”

  The clerk had lost interest, and was looking at the booking screen on his desk. “Well, Ser Bancroft, we have a single compartment, Class A, or a double, Class B. Vatta, as you may know, is primarily a merchant shipping company; our passenger accommodations are graded three-star by Travelers Express, but I will tell you frankly they are not the equal of luxury passenger liners. You can order in supplementary items, including food.” The clerk nodded to the display facing Rafe; it filled with lists of add-on luxuries. He had just marked “Menu Upgrade 2” (all beverages included) and “Bedding Upgrade 1” (more pillows) when a stir by the entrance caught the clerk’s attention.

  “Sera Vatta! Welcome back!” The clerk jumped up and bowed.

  Rafe turned his face a little away, like a polite customer who would not stare at everyone who came in. Sera Vatta wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be still on Slotter Key. There was no way she could get from Slotter Key to Cascadia in the time it had taken him to come from Nexus—

  She was now at Rafe’s shoulder, speaking to the clerk. “Good day, Hani. I’m glad to be home, indeed. Staff meeting at 1430.” Stella’s voice, no doubt about it. She turned to Rafe; he thought he saw just the flicker of recognition in her eyes before she spoke. “Ser…” She glanced down at the information on the screen, “Ser Bancroft. I hope Hani is taking good care of your reservation. Perhaps you will take tea with me when it is complete.”

  “He is being most helpful,” Rafe said, in his plummiest voice, hoping against hope that she had not seen through his disguise. She had, of course, seen the destination. “Very kind. I do not know if there would be time, Sera, to accept your kind invitation—”

  “But Ser Bancroft,” Hani said. “Allow me to introduce you. This is Sera Vatta, our CEO. And the ship on which you have reservations does not depart until tomorrow; there is ample time.”

  He was sunk. Cascadian manners demanded he accept her invitation. And there was no way he could sit and chat politely over tea with Stella, even if she had not yet recognized him, without that recognition coming.

  “My pardons, Sera Vatta,” he said, holding on to his persona with full attention. “It was not my intent to be discourteous, only—”

  “No offense has been taken, Ser Bancroft,” she said. The glint in her eye was now obvious, but no shadow of it touched her face or her voice. “I wished only to assure you that although passenger service is not our main mode of operation, we do care greatly about the comfort and safety of those who choose to travel with us. And is this your associate, Ser…um…”

  “Teague,” Teague said.

  “My research assistant,” Rafe said. “On my vacations, I do research in history—early colonial military history, to be precise.”

  “How interesting,” Stella said, in a tone that conveyed nothing but polite concern for a guest’s welfare. “Perhaps Ser Teague can complete your reservations while you and I have tea. Hani, should any difficulty arise, please just forward it to my desk.” To Rafe she said, “Our passenger reservations, unlike our freight reservations, are fully refundable in case some circumstance requires your presence elsewhere.”

  “Thank you, Sera Vatta,” Rafe said. He was doomed. He was not going to get on that ship without Stella knowing everything about his intent. “Ser Teague,” he said, “do feel free to choose upgrades to menu and conveniences, if you wish.”

  “To what limit, Ser Bancroft?”

  This was ridiculous, this was becoming a farce. Why couldn’t Stella have shown up an hour later? For that matter, why hadn’t Stella stayed on Slotter Key? “Don’t go overboard, Ser Teague,” he said, hoping his frustration at the whole situation sounded like the fussy, pedantic businessman-cum-scholar he was pretending to be. Teague’s bland dip of the head in response was the last straw. He turned to Stella.

  “Sera Vatta, I am at your service.”

  “Just this way,” she said. All across the broad front office of Vatta, Ltd., her employees stood, bowed, spoke to her, and Stella greeted them all by name before she led him through an opening into an office occupied by three assistants at desks, and then through a closed door into her own. She waved him to a seat, sat down herself, touched her desk, and said “Tea and pastries, please, Gillian.” Then she looked at Rafe, opened a drawer in the credenza behind her, took out a security cylinder, and placed it on the desk between them.

  “Is this satisfactory, Ser Bancroft?”

  He leaned a bit to see the blinking light on one end of the cylinder. “Yes, Sera Vatta, more than satisfactory. One is grateful for your kindness.”

  “I am curious,” she said. “From the l
ittle I’ve seen of your route, on the screen display out there, you seem to consider…um…Slotter Key as your ultimate destination, but you are not taking a direct route there. Research at intermediate points?”

  “Yes, Sera.” He launched into the explanation he’d given the clerk until the tea and pastries arrived and the person pushing the cart had left the room.

  Stella dropped her slightly bored expression. “Rafe, what do you think you can accomplish by going to Slotter Key?”

  “Finding Ky and saving her life,” he said.

  “You can’t,” she said. “She’s dead. Shuttle went down in the ocean—a very cold ocean—with winter coming on. It’s twenty-eight days now. No communications at all. No transponders, no radio, no skullphone linkage, nothing.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “You have to—we had to—accept it. I know you loved her—”

  “Love. Present tense. And she’s not dead. We have a—a link, a bond. I would know if she was dead.”

  “That’s wishful thinking, Rafe. Emotional thinking. But it’s no use.”

  “I will not believe that until I find her dead body myself,” Rafe said. “I don’t just hope she’s alive. I know she’s alive.”

  Stella’s expression changed. “How?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “If you want me to believe you, you must tell me. Otherwise I’m going to find ways to delay you, keep you away from Slotter Key—the last thing Aunt Grace and my mother need right now is a lovesick loose cannon crashing into their lives.”

  “It’s not illegal to travel to Slotter Key,” Rafe said. “You can’t really stop me, even if you keep me off Vatta ships. You can only delay me, and that delay, Stella, could mean Ky’s death. Why didn’t you want me to come as soon as you heard?”

  She ticked off items on her fingers. “Lovesick. Loose cannon. Fully occupied in running ISC, which is what you should be doing right now. Rogue at a level above—no, below—loose cannon. Totally untrained for locating or rescuing someone adrift in a lifeboat on a cold ocean—”