Nights Dawn (№1) - Reality Dysfunction — Emergence

Terrestrial honeysuckle and ivy were popular creepers for covering the stonework, while hanging baskets provided cheerful dabs of colour to most porches. Roofs were always steep to withstand the heavy snow, and grey slate tiles alternated with jet-black solar panels in pleasing geometric patterns. Wood was burnt to provide warmth and sometimes for cooking, which produced a forest of chimneys thrusting out of the gable ends, topped by red clay pots with elaborate crowns. Every building, be it private, civic, or commercial, was individual, possessing the kind of character impossible on worlds where mass-production facilities were commonplace. Wide streets were all cobbled, with tall cast-iron street lights spaced along them. It was only after a while she realized that as there were no mechanoids or servitors each of the little granite cubes must have been laid by human hand—the time and effort that must have entailed! There were trees lining each pavement, mainly Norfolk’s pine-analogues, with some geneered terrestrial evergreens for variety. Traffic was comprised entirely of bicycles, trike scooters (very few, and mostly with adolescent riders), horses, and horse-drawn cabs and carts. She had seen power vans, but only on the roads around the outskirts, and those were farm vehicles.

After they had cleared Customs (altogether more rigorous than Passport Control) they’d found the horse-drawn taxi coaches waiting by the aerodrome’s tower. Syrinx had grinned, and Tula had let out an exasperated groan. But the one they used was well sprung, proving a reasonably smooth trip into town. Following Andrew Unwin’s advice, they had rented some rooms at the Wheatsheaf, a coaching house on the side of one of the rivers which the town was built around.

Once they had unpacked and eaten a light lunch in the courtyard, Syrinx and Ruben had taken another coach to Penn Street, the precious coolbox on the floor by their feet.

Ruben watched the traffic and pedestrians parading past with a contented feeling. Starship crews strolling about were easy to spot: their clothes of synthetic fabric were curiously bland in comparison to the locals’ attire. Bostonians in summer favoured bright colours and raffish styles; this year multicoloured waistcoats were in vogue among the young men, while the girls wore crinkled cheesecloth skirts with bold circular patterns (hems always below their knees, he noted sadly). It was like stepping back into pre-spaceflight history, though he suspected no historical period on Earth was ever as clean as this.

“Penn Street, guv’nor,” the driver cried as the horse turned into a road parallel to the River Gwash. It was the commercial sector of the city, with wharves lining the river, and a lengthy rank of prodigious warehouses standing behind them. Here for the first time they encountered powered lorries. A railway marshalling yard was visible at the other end of the dusty road.

Ruben looked down the long row of warehouses and busy yards and offices, only too well aware of Syrinx’s gaze hot on his neck. Mordant thoughts started pressing against his mind. Drayton’s Import wasn’t in Penn Street, it was Penn Street. The name was on signs across every building.

“Where to now, guv’nor?” the driver asked.

“Head Office,” Ruben replied. The last time he’d been here, Drayton’s Import had consisted of a single office in a rented warehouse.

Head Office turned out to be a building in the middle of the street, on the waterfront side, sandwiched between two warehouses. Its arched windows were all iron rimmed, and a large, brightly polished brass plaque was set in the wall next to the double doors. The cab pulled to a halt in front of its curving stone stairs.

“Looks like old Dominic Kavanagh is doing all right for himself,” Ruben said as they climbed out. He handed the driver a guinea, with a sixpenny piece for a tip.

Syrinx’s stare could have cut diamond.

“Old Dominic, one of the best. Boy, did we have some times together, he knows every pub in town.” Ruben wondered who his bravado was intended to reassure.

“Exactly how long ago was this?” Syrinx asked as they walked into reception.

“About fifteen or twenty years,” Ruben offered. He was sure that was it, although he had a horrible feeling that Dominic had been the same age as himself. That’s the trouble with crewing a voidhawk, he thought, every day the same, and all of them squashed together. How am I supposed to know the exact date?

The reception hall had a black and white marble floor, and a wide staircase leading up the rear wall. A young woman sat behind a desk ten yards inside the door, a uniformed concierge standing beside her.

“I’d like to see Dominic Kavanagh,” Ruben told her blithely. “Just tell him Ruben’s back in town.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I don’t think we have a Kavanagh of that name working here.”

“But he owns Drayton’s Import,” Ruben said forlornly.

“Kenneth Kavanagh owns this establishment, sir.”

“Oh.”

“Can we see him?” Syrinx asked. “I have flown all the way from Earth.”

The woman took in Syrinx’s blue ship-tunic with its silver star. “Your business, Captain?”

“As everyone else, I’m looking for a cargo.”

“I’ll ask if Mr Kenneth is in.” The woman picked up a pearl handset.

Eight minutes later they were being ushered into Kenneth Kavanagh’s office on the top floor. Half of one wall was an arched window giving a view out over the river. Broad barges were gliding over the smooth black water, as sedate as swans.

Kenneth Kavanagh was in his late thirties, a broad-shouldered man wearing a neat charcoal-grey suit, white shirt, and a red silk tie. His raven-black hair was glossed straight back from his forehead.

Syrinx almost paid him no attention at all. There was another man in the room, in his mid-twenties, with a flat, square-jawed face, and a mop of pale copper hair combed into a rough parting. He had the kind of build Syrinx associated with sportsmen, or (more likely on this world) outdoor labourers. His suit was made from some shiny grey-green material. The jacket’s left arm was flat, pinned neatly to his side. Syrinx had never seen anyone with a limb missing before.

You’re staring,ruben warned her as he shook hands with kenneth Kavanagh.

Syrinx felt the blood warm her ears. But what’s wrong with him?

Nothing. They don’t allow clone vats on this planet.

That’s absurd. It forces him to go through life crippled, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Medical technology is where the big arguments rage about what they should and shouldn’t permit. And wholesale cloning is pretty advanced.

Syrinx recovered and extended her hand to Kenneth Kavanagh. He said hello, then introduced the other man as: “My cousin Gideon.”

They shook hands, Syrinx trying to avoid eye contact. The young man had such a defeated air it threatened to drag her down into whatever private misery he was in.

“Gideon is my aide,” Kenneth said. “He’s learning the business from the bottom upwards.”

“It seems the best thing,” Gideon Kavanagh said in a quiet voice. “I can hardly manage the family estate now. That requires a great deal of physical involvement.”

“What happened?” Ruben asked.

“I fell from my horse. Bad luck, really. Falling is part of horse riding. This time I landed awkwardly, took a fence railing through my shoulder.”

Syrinx gave him an ineffectual grimace of sympathy, unsure what to say. Oenone was in her mind, its presence alone immensely supportive.

Kenneth Kavanagh indicated the chairs in front of his pale wooden desk. “It’s certainly a pleasure to have you here, Captain.”

“I think you’ve said that to a few captains this week,” she told him wryly as she sat down.

“Yes, a few,” Kenneth Kavanagh admitted. “But a first-time captain is always welcome here. Some of my fellow exporters take a blasй approach about our planet’s product, and say there will always be a demand. I think a little warmth in the relationship never comes amiss, especially as it is just the one product upon which our entire economy is so dependent. I’d hate to see anyone discouraged from returning.”

“Am I going to have cause to be discouraged?”

He spread his hands. “We can always find the odd case or two. What exactly is your starship’s capacity?”

“Oenone can manage seven hundred tonnes.”

“Then I’m afraid that a little bit of disappointment is going to be inevitable.”

“Old Dominic always kept some cases back for a decent trade,” Ruben said. “And we certainly have a trade in mind.”

“You knew Dominic Kavanagh?” Kenneth asked with a note of interest.

“I certainly did. Your father?”

“My late grandfather.”

Ruben’s shoulders sank back into his seat. “Hoh, boy, he was such a lovely old rogue.”

“Alas, his wisdom is sorely missed by all of us.”

“Did he go from natural causes?”

“Yes. Twenty-five years ago.”

“Twenty-five . . .” Ruben appeared to lose himself in reverie.

I’m sorry,syrinx told him.

Twenty-five years. That means I must have been here at least thirty-five years ago, probably more. Bugger, but there’s no fool like an old fool.

“You mentioned a trade,” Kenneth said.

Syrinx patted the coolbox on the floor by her chair. “The best Atlantis has to offer.”

“Ah, a wise choice. I can always sell Atlantean delicacies; my own family alone will eat half of them. Do you have an inventory?”

She handed over a sheaf of hard copy. There was no desktop processor block, she noticed, although there was a keyboard and a small holoscreen.

Kenneth read down the list, his eyebrows raised in appreciation. “Excellent, I see you have brought some orangesole, that’s one of my personal favourites.”

“You’re in luck, there are five fillets in this coolbox. You can see if they’re up to standard.”

“I’m sure they are.”

“None the less, I’d like you to accept the contents as my gift for your hospitality.”

“That’s really most kind, Syrinx.” He started touch-typing on the keyboard, looking directly at the holoscreen. She was sure her fingers couldn’t move at such a speed.

“Happily, my family has interests in several roseyards on Kesteven,” Kenneth said. “As you know, we can’t officially sell any Norfolk Tears until midsummer when the new crop is in; however, there is an informal allocation system operating amongst ourselves which I can make use of. And I see my cousin Abel has several cases unclaimed, he owns the Eaglethorpe estate in the south of Kesteven. They produce a very reasonable bouquet in that district. Regrettably, I can’t offer you a full hold, but I think possibly we can provide you with six hundred cases of bottled Tears, which works out at just under two hundred tonnes.”

“That sounds quite satisfactory,” Syrinx said.

“Jolly good. So, that just leaves us with the nitty-gritty of working out a price.”

Andrew Unwin loaded Quinn Dexter’s passport flek into his processor block, and the unit immediately went dead. He rapped on it with his knuckles, but nothing happened. The three men from the spaceplane were watching him keenly. Andrew knew his cheeks would be bright scarlet. He didn’t like to think what his father would say. Passport Officer was an important job.

“Thank you, sir.” Andrew meekly handed the unread flek back to Quinn Dexter, who took it without comment. Mel was still barking, from a distance, hiding behind the front wheel of his bike. The dog hadn’t stopped since the group trotted down the spaceplane’s airlock stairs.

And the day had been going so well until the spaceplane from the Lady Macbeth landed.

“Is that it?” Joshua asked, his voice raised above the barking.

“Yes, thank you, Captain, sir. Welcome to Norfolk. I hope you find a cargo.”

Joshua grinned, and beckoned him over. The two of them walked away from Quinn Dexter and Ashly Hanson who waited at the foot of the stairs, the dog scampering after them.

“Good of you to deal with us so promptly,” Joshua said. “I can see the aerodrome’s busy.”

“It’s my job, Captain, sir.”

Joshua took a bundle of leftover Lalonde francs from his ship-suit pocket, and slipped three out. “I appreciate it.” The plastic notes were pressed into the boy’s hand. A smile returned to his face.

“Now tell me,” Joshua said in a low tone. “Someone who can be trusted with passport duty must know what goes on around here, where the bodies are buried, am I right?”

Andrew Unwin nodded, too nervous to speak. What bodies?

“I hear there are some pretty important families on Norfolk, do you know which is the most influential here on Kesteven?”

“That would be the Kavanaghs, Captain, sir. There’s dozens and dozens of them, real gentry; they own farms and houses and businesses all over the island.”

“Do they have any roseyards?”

“Yes, there’s several of their estates which bottle their own Tears.”

“Great. Now, the big question: do you know who handles their offworld sales for them?”

“Yes, Captain, sir,” he said proudly. That wad of crisp notes was still in the captain’s hand, he did his best not to stare at it. “You want Kenneth Kavanagh for that. If anyone can find you a cargo, he can.”

Ten notes were counted off. “Where can I find him?”

“Drayton’s Import company, in Penn Street.”

Joshua handed over the notes.

Andrew folded them with practised alacrity, and shoved them in his shorts pocket. After he’d ridden twenty yards from the spaceplane his processor block let out a quiet bleep. It was fully functional again. He gave it a bewildered look, then shrugged and rode off towards the spaceplane that was just landing.

Judging by the receptionist’s initial attitude, Joshua guessed he wasn’t the first starship captain to come knocking at Drayton’s Import this week. But he managed to catch her eye as she held the pearl handset to her ear, and earned a demure smile.

“Mr Kavanagh will see you now, Captain Calvert,” she said.

“That’s very kind of you to press my case.”

“Not at all.”

“I wonder if you could recommend a decent restaurant for tonight. My associate and I haven’t eaten for hours, we’re looking forward to a meal. Somewhere you use, perhaps?”

She straightened her back self-consciously, and her voice slid up a social stratum. “I sometimes visit the Metropole,” she said airily.

“Then I’m sure it must be delightful.”

Ashly raised his eyes heavenwards in silent appeal.

It was another quarter of an hour before they were shown into Kenneth Kavanagh’s office. Joshua didn’t shirk from eye contact with Gideon when Kenneth introduced them. He got the distinct impression the amputee victim was suppressing extreme nervousness, his face was held too rigidly, as if he was afraid of showing emotions. Then he realized that Kenneth was watching his own reaction. Something about the situation wasn’t quite right.

Kenneth offered them seats in front of the desk as Gideon explained how he’d lost his arm. The restriction on medical cloning was a stiff one, Joshua thought, although he could appreciate the reasoning. Once the line was drawn, Norfolk had to stick to it. They wanted a stable pastoral culture. If you opened the doors to one medical technology, where did you stop? He was glad he didn’t have to decide.

“Is this your first visit to Norfolk, Captain?” Kenneth asked.

“Yes. I only started flying last year.”

“Is that so? Well, I always like to welcome first-time captains. I believe it’s important to build up personal contacts.”

“That sounds like a good policy.”

“Exporting Norfolk Tears is our lifeblood, alienating starship captains is not a wise option.”

“I’m hoping I won’t be alienated.”

“And so do I. I try not to send anyone away empty handed, although you must understand there is a high level of demand, and I do have long-established customers to whom I owe a certain loyalty. And most of them have been here a week or more already. I have to say, you have left it somewhat late. What sort of cargo size were you thinking of?”

“Lady Mac can boost a thousand tonnes without too much trouble.”

“Captain Calvert, there are some of my oldest customers who don’t get that many cases.”

“I have a trade proposition for you, a part exchange.”

“Well, a trade is always helpful; although Norfolk’s import laws are rather strict. I couldn’t countenance breaking, or even bending them. I have the family reputation to consider.”

“I understand perfectly,” Joshua said.

“Jolly good. What is it you’ve brought?”

“Wood.”

Kenneth Kavanagh gave him a stupefied stare, then burst out laughing. Even Gideon’s sombre expression perked up.

“Wood? Are you serious?” Kenneth asked. “Your starship hold is full of wood?”

“A thousand tonnes.” Joshua turned the seal of the shoulder-bag and pulled out the black wedge of mayope he’d brought. He had chosen it specially in the lumberyard back on Lalonde. It was a standard slice, twenty-five centimetres long, but the bark was still attached, and more importantly, there was a small twig with a few shrivelled leaves. He dropped it on the middle of the desk, making a solid thud.

Kenneth stopped laughing and leaned forward. “Good Lord.” He tapped it with a fingernail, then gave it a harder knock with his knuckles.

Without speaking, Joshua handed over a stainless steel chisel.

Kenneth applied the sharp blade to the wood. “I can’t even scratch it.”

“You normally need a fission blade to cut mayope. But it can be cut with the mechanical power saws you have on Norfolk,” Joshua said. “Though it’s a brute of a job. As you can imagine, once it’s cut into shape it’s incredibly hard wearing. I expect your artisans could come up with a few interesting applications if they put their minds to it.”

Kenneth picked the wedge up in one hand to test the weight, pulling thoughtfully on his lower lip with the other. “Mayope, you call it?”

“That’s right, it comes from a planet called Lalonde. Which is tropical; in other words it won’t grow here on Norfolk. Not without extensive geneering, anyway.” He looked at Gideon who was standing behind Kenneth’s chair. The man showed a certain admiration for the wood, but he wasn’t particularly involved, not like his senior cousin. Surely an aide should at least ask one question? But then he hadn’t said a word since they had been introduced. Why was he present? Joshua instinctively knew the reason was important. If the Kavanaghs were as eminent as they appeared, even an injured one wouldn’t be wasting time standing about in an office doing nothing.

He thought of Ione again. “Trust yourself when it comes to people,” she’d said.

“Have you been to any other importer with this?” Kenneth asked cautiously.

“I only arrived today. Naturally, I came to a Kavanagh first.”

“That’s most courteous of you to honour my family in such a fashion, Captain. And I’d very much like to return the gesture. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. As you know, roseyards aren’t legally allowed to sell their produce before the new crop comes in, but fortunately my family does have an unofficial allocation system. Let me see what I can find for you.” He put the mayope down and began typing.

Joshua met Gideon’s gaze levelly. “Did you lead a very physically active life before your accident?”

“Yes, we of the gentry do tend to enjoy our sports. There is little to do in Kesteven during the winter months, so we have an extensive range of events to amuse us. My fall was a sorry blow.”

“So office life doesn’t really suit you?”

“It’s the best occupation given my circumstances, I felt.”

Kenneth had stopped typing.

“You know, you wouldn’t be nearly so restricted in free fall,” Joshua said. “There are many people with medical problems who lead very full lives on starships and industrial stations.”

“Is that so?” Gideon asked tonelessly.

“Yes. Perhaps you’d care to consider it? I have a vacancy on board Lady Macbeth at the moment. Nothing technical, but it’s decent work. You could try it for a Norfolk year, see if it’s more agreeable to you than office work. If not, I’ll bring you back when I return for another cargo of Tears next summer. The pay is reasonable, and I provide insurance for all my crew.” Joshua looked straight at Kenneth. “Which includes complete medical cover.”

“That is extraordinarily generous of you, Captain,” Gideon said. “I’d like to accept those terms. I’ll try shipboard life for a year.”

“Welcome aboard.”

Kenneth resumed typing, then studied the holoscreen display. “You’re in luck, Captain Calvert. I believe I can supply you with three thousand cases of Norfolk Tears, which comes to approximately one thousand tonnes. My cousin Grant Kavanagh has some extensive rosegroves in his Cricklade estate, and he hasn’t yet placed all the cases. That district produces an absolutely first-rate bouquet.”

“Wonderful,” Joshua said.

“I’m sure cousin Grant will want to meet such an important client,” Kenneth said. “On behalf of the family, I extend an invitation to you and Mr Hanson to stay at Cricklade for the midsummer harvest. You can see our famous Tears being collected.”

The light from Duchess was just making its presence felt as Joshua and Ashly walked out of the Drayton’s Import office. Norfolk’s short period of darkness was giving way to the light of the red dwarf. Walls and cobbles were acquiring a pinkish shading.

“You did it!” Ashly whooped.

“Yeah, I did,” Joshua said.

“A thousand tonnes, I’ve never heard of anyone getting that much before. You are the sneakiest, most underhand, deviously corrupt little bugger I have met in all my centuries.” He flung an arm round Joshua’s neck and dragged him towards the main street. “God damn, but we’re going to be rich. Medical insurance, by God! Joshua you are beautiful!”

“We’ll put Gideon in zero-tau till we reach Tranquillity. It shouldn’t take a clinic more than eight months to clone a new arm for him. He can enjoy himself with Dominique’s party set for the rest of the time after that. I’ll have a word with her.”

“How’s he going to explain away a new arm when he gets back?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. Magic clockwork, I expect. This world is backward enough to believe it.”

Laughing, the two of them waved for a taxi coach.

When Duchess had risen well above the horizon, sending her bold scarlet rays to discolour the city, Joshua settled himself on a stool in the Wheatsheaf’s wharfside bar and ordered a local brandy. The view outside the window was fascinating, casting everything in tones of red. Some colours were almost invisible. A regular train of barges sailed down the willow-lined river, helmsmen standing by the big tillers at the rear.

It was wonderful to watch, the whole city was a giant tourist fantasy pageant. But some of the inhabitants must lead incredibly dull lives, doing the same thing day after day.

“We worked out how you did it eventually,” a female voice said in his ear.

Joshua turned, putting his eyes level with a delightful swelling at the front of a blue satin ship-tunic. “Captain Syrinx, this is a pleasure. Can I get you a drink? This brandy is more than passable, I can recommend it, or perhaps you’d like a wine?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“No, I’ll drink anything.”

“I don’t know how you can sleep at night. Antimatter kills people, you know. It’s not a game, it’s not funny.”

“A beer, maybe?”

“Good day, Captain Calvert.” Syrinx started to walk past.

Joshua caught her arm. “If you don’t join me for a drink, how can you brag about working it out? And incidentally demonstrate how superior you Edenists all are to us poor mud-chewing primitives. Or maybe you don’t want to hear my counter-argument. After all, you’ve convinced yourself I’m guilty of something. I don’t even know what that is yet. Nobody ever had the decency to tell me what you thought I was carrying. Have Edenists left justice behind as well as the rest of our poor flawed Adamist customs?”

Syrinx’s mouth dropped open. The man was intolerable! How did he twist phrases like that? It was almost as if she was in the wrong. “I never said you were a mud-chewing primitive,” she hissed. “That’s not what we think at all.”

Joshua’s eyes slid pointedly to one side. Syrinx realized everyone in the bar was staring at them.

Are you all right?Oenone asked anxiously, picking up on the flustered thoughts in her skull.

I’m fine. It’s this bloody Calvert man again.

Oh, is Joshua there?

“Joshua?” She winced. She’d been so surprised at Oenone ’s use of his first name it had slipped out.

“You remembered,” Joshua said warmly.

“I . . .”

“Have a stool, what are you drinking?”

Furious and embarrassed, Syrinx sat on a barstool. At least it would stop everyone from looking. “I’ll try a wine.”

He signalled the barmaid for drinks. “You’re not wearing your naval stripe.”

“No. Our duty tour finished a few weeks back.”

“So you’re an honest trader now?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got yourself a cargo?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Hey, that’s great news, well done. These Norfolk merchants are tough buggers to crack. I got the Lady Mac stocked up, too.” He collected the drinks, and touched his glass to hers. “Have dinner with me tonight, we can celebrate together.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you have a previous engagement?”

“Well . . .” she couldn’t bring herself to lie outright, that would make her no better than him. “I was just on my way to bed. It’s been a long day with some tough negotiations. But thanks for the invitation. Another time.”

“That’s a real shame,” he said. “Looks like you’ve condemned me to a terminally dull evening, then. There’s only my pilot down here, and he’s too old for my kind of fun-seeking. I’m waiting for him now. We seem to have lost our paying passenger. Not that I’m complaining, he wasn’t the party type. Apparently there’s a good restaurant in town called the Metropole, we were going to check it out. It’s our one night in town, we’ve been invited to an estate for the midsummer itself. So, tough negotiations, eh? How many cases did you get?”

“You were a decoy,” Syrinx said, jumping at the chance to get a word in.

“I’m sorry?”

“You were smuggling antimatter-confinement coils into the Puerto de Santa Maria system.”

“Not me.”

“We were trailing you all the way from Idria, we’d got you in our sensors every kilometre. That’s what we couldn’t understand. It was a direct flight. The confinement coils were on board when you left, and they were gone when you arrived. At the time we assumed you hadn’t rendezvoused with anybody, because we never detected them. But then you didn’t know we were there, did you?”

Joshua drank some of his brandy, his eyes never leaving her over the rim of the glass. “No, you were in full stealth mode, remember?”

“So was your friend.”

“What friend?”

“You took a long time to manoeuvre into each jump coordinate. I’ve never seen anyone so clumsy before.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

“No, but nobody’s that imperfect either.” She took a sip of the wine. Oh, he was a canny one, this Joshua Calvert; she could see why she’d been fooled before. “What I think happened was this. You had your friend waiting a light-month outside the New California system, in full stealth mode, at a very precise coordinate. When you left Idria you jumped to within a few thousand kilometres of him. It would be difficult, but you could do that. With the nodes the Lady Macbeth is equipped with, and your own astrogration skill, that sort of accuracy is possible. And who would suspect? Nobody is that accurate jumping out of a system; it’s when you come insystem you need precision to jump into the correct emergence zones.”

“Go on, this is riveting stuff.”

She took another sip. “Once you jumped outsystem, you shoved the illegal coils out of the cargo hold, and jumped away again. We couldn’t detect that sort of dump of inert mass, not by using passive sensors at the distance we were operating from. Then as soon as Oenone and Nephele jumped in pursuit, your friend moved in and picked them up. So while you were taking an age to get to Puerto de Santa Maria, and keeping us occupied tracking you, he was racing on ahead. The coils were already there by the time we arrived.”

“Brilliant.” Joshua tossed down the last of his brandy and called the barmaid over. “That would work, wouldn’t it?”

“It did work.”

“No, not really. You see, your hypothesis is based on one assumption. Tragically false.”

Syrinx picked up the second glass of wine. “What’s that?”

“That I’m an ace astrogrator.”

“I think you are.”

“Right, so on a normal commercial run I would use this alleged skill of mine to shave hours off the journey time, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“So I would have used this skill to get here, to Norfolk, wouldn’t I? I mean, I brought a cargo to trade, I’m not going to waste time, money, and fuel getting it here, now am I?”

“No.”

“Right, so first of all ask the captain on the good ship Pestravka when and where I emerged in the Norfolk system. Then you can go and check my departure time from Lalonde, and work out how long it took me. Tell me after that if you think I’m a good astrogrator.” He gave her an annoying toothsome smile.

Thanks to Oenone , she was instantly aware of Lalonde’s spacial location; how long it ought to take an Adamist starship of Lady Macbeth ’s class and performance to make the trip. “How long did it take you?” she asked in resignation.