that by some standards a non-stinky Pirk could be considered an abomination?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not serious.”
“Deadly serious,” I assured her. “After all, we don’t really know how the Modhri sees things. What would be a triple-A-rated blessing for everyone else in the galaxy might be complete anathema to him.” I shrugged. “And our Pirk did seem to be watching Tweedledee and Braithewick pretty closely back at Terra Station.”
“You’re reaching,” she said. But her stony expression had softened into something merely annoyed. Annoyed, and thoughtful.
I thought about pressing the point again about the torchyacht rental, decided against it. Ultimately, the decision on who paid for that would rest with Bayta’s recommendation. If the Modhri was as involved with Rebekah Beach as I suspected he was, there would be no question that this was a legitimate use of Spider and Chahwyn funds. If he wasn’t, this might actually end up being a nice relaxing trip for a change.
Like I really believed that .
Chapter Five
The trip to the inner system and New Tigris proper took five days. Bayta and I spent most of that time eating, sleeping, watching dit rec dramas and comedies from the torchyacht’s limited selection, and going round and round on the topic of the Modhri and this Abomination he seemed so eager to wipe off the face of the universe.
We didn’t reach any firm conclusions, or even any tentative ones. But we came up with a whole laundry list of options, none of them very pleasant, about what the Modhri might actually be up to.
Which meant that by the time New Tigris Control called us with landing instructions we were about as paranoid as it was possible for two Humans to be.
But that was all right. In this business, too much paranoia might annoy people. Too little could get you killed.
The spaceport was a couple of kilometers north of Imani City. It was a pretty casual affair, as landing areas went, little more than delineated rectangles on a reinforced concrete slab. I put us down on our assigned spot, noting as I did so that there were two other rental torchyachts squatting in various places across the field. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who’d decided not to share the regular torchferry run with even a deodorized Pirk.
The Customs procedures were a quick and painless formality, partly because we weren’t bringing any luggage off our torchyacht for the moment, and partly because New Tigris needed all the visitors it could get and wasn’t about to scare them off with annoying bureaucratic procedures. The official did, however, make a point of carefully scrutinizing my Hardin Industries carry permit before allowing me past his counter with my Glock.
There were two autocabs waiting outside the terminal. We grabbed one, gave it an intersection that my map said was at the edge of Zumurrud District, and headed south.
Imani City, once we were actually traveling its streets, was a pleasant surprise.
I’d seen pictures of the place, of course, and had studied maps of the city and surrounding regions during our torchyacht flight. But most of the reports I’d read had focused on New Tigris’s dead-end status. Yet another of Earth’s ill-conceived and badly managed colonies, the hand-wringing stories went, that would probably be a drain on the public treasury until the heat-death of the universe.
But someone had apparently forgotten to pass on all that depressing news to the colonists themselves. In the city’s center, as well as in most of the neighborhood districts we passed through, the people looked for the most part to be cheerful, optimistic, and showing the kind of energy and dogged determination Human pioneers have always displayed.
I also saw that the private sector had responded to the UN’s arm-twisting in spades. Along with their probable cash donations, I spotted the logos of at least five major corporations on various buildings along the way. Small operations,
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not serious.”
“Deadly serious,” I assured her. “After all, we don’t really know how the Modhri sees things. What would be a triple-A-rated blessing for everyone else in the galaxy might be complete anathema to him.” I shrugged. “And our Pirk did seem to be watching Tweedledee and Braithewick pretty closely back at Terra Station.”
“You’re reaching,” she said. But her stony expression had softened into something merely annoyed. Annoyed, and thoughtful.
I thought about pressing the point again about the torchyacht rental, decided against it. Ultimately, the decision on who paid for that would rest with Bayta’s recommendation. If the Modhri was as involved with Rebekah Beach as I suspected he was, there would be no question that this was a legitimate use of Spider and Chahwyn funds. If he wasn’t, this might actually end up being a nice relaxing trip for a change.
Like I really believed that .
Chapter Five
The trip to the inner system and New Tigris proper took five days. Bayta and I spent most of that time eating, sleeping, watching dit rec dramas and comedies from the torchyacht’s limited selection, and going round and round on the topic of the Modhri and this Abomination he seemed so eager to wipe off the face of the universe.
We didn’t reach any firm conclusions, or even any tentative ones. But we came up with a whole laundry list of options, none of them very pleasant, about what the Modhri might actually be up to.
Which meant that by the time New Tigris Control called us with landing instructions we were about as paranoid as it was possible for two Humans to be.
But that was all right. In this business, too much paranoia might annoy people. Too little could get you killed.
The spaceport was a couple of kilometers north of Imani City. It was a pretty casual affair, as landing areas went, little more than delineated rectangles on a reinforced concrete slab. I put us down on our assigned spot, noting as I did so that there were two other rental torchyachts squatting in various places across the field. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who’d decided not to share the regular torchferry run with even a deodorized Pirk.
The Customs procedures were a quick and painless formality, partly because we weren’t bringing any luggage off our torchyacht for the moment, and partly because New Tigris needed all the visitors it could get and wasn’t about to scare them off with annoying bureaucratic procedures. The official did, however, make a point of carefully scrutinizing my Hardin Industries carry permit before allowing me past his counter with my Glock.
There were two autocabs waiting outside the terminal. We grabbed one, gave it an intersection that my map said was at the edge of Zumurrud District, and headed south.
Imani City, once we were actually traveling its streets, was a pleasant surprise.
I’d seen pictures of the place, of course, and had studied maps of the city and surrounding regions during our torchyacht flight. But most of the reports I’d read had focused on New Tigris’s dead-end status. Yet another of Earth’s ill-conceived and badly managed colonies, the hand-wringing stories went, that would probably be a drain on the public treasury until the heat-death of the universe.
But someone had apparently forgotten to pass on all that depressing news to the colonists themselves. In the city’s center, as well as in most of the neighborhood districts we passed through, the people looked for the most part to be cheerful, optimistic, and showing the kind of energy and dogged determination Human pioneers have always displayed.
I also saw that the private sector had responded to the UN’s arm-twisting in spades. Along with their probable cash donations, I spotted the logos of at least five major corporations on various buildings along the way. Small operations,
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