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Authors: Melissa Scott
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water wall to wall."
Tatian nodded, already
relieved of the worst of his worries. The backups and other records
were stored in watertight cases that stood a quarter of a meter off
the stone floor: there would be no real damage from this flooding. "I
thought Reiss was in Irenfot for the races."
"He was,"
Derebought said, and shrugged. "But I guess they got a bad storm,
and it washed out the track. So when he showed up here, I figured I'd
put him to work." She looked down at her desktop. "Did you get
the permits straightened out?"
"I think so." He
reached for the secretary cube that stood inside the doorway and ran
his hand over the input strip to trigger the output nodes. Images
blossomed in the air before his eyes, mixed icons and text, nothing
of immediate importance, and the failing connection surged again,
sending a wave of cold down his arm. "Have you heard anything about
Norssco moving into any of our areas?"
Derebought shook her
head. "Not a thing. Why?"
"Tillis Carlon was in
Wiidfare's office when I got there. I thought maybe someone was
sending a message."
"I wouldn't have
thought so," Derebought said, and shrugged. "Then again, maybe
Wiidfare's dabbling in trade again."
"Oh, he's doing
that." Tatian reached for the keypad, used it to move to the next
screen of messages, not wanting to risk his implanted control pad.
"Reiss is downstairs?"
"Yes. Are you all
right?"
Tatian lifted his sore
arm. "The damn connection's getting worse. I'm going to have to
get it looked at."
Derebought nodded. "Good
luck finding someone."
"Yeah. Ask Reiss to
stick his head in my office when he gets through in the cellar, would
you?"
"Sure."
"And I bought this on
the way in," Tatian said, and pulled out the uncleaned pod. "It's
hungry-jack, dried whole. Have you ever heard of preparing it that
way?"
Derebought frowned. "I
don't think I've ever seen it dried like that. I've seen it
whole when it was fresh, but I always thought you had to clean it
before you could use it. We always did in my mesnie ,
anyway." She held up her cupped hands. Tatian tossed it across to
her, and she turned back into her office. Tatian followed, leaned
against the door frame. Derebought set the hairy pod on her desk,
pulling her maglamp down over it, and peered down through the lens.
"Interesting, though."
"Run a full analysis
on it, covering and all," Tatian said. "See if anything turns
up."
Derebought mumbled
agreement, already probing the web of cords with a blunt glass rod,
and Tatian sighed, recognizing her absorption. He flicked a toggle on
the secretary, setting the sys-tem to forward calls to his desk. "I'll
be in my office," he said, and pushed open the door.
The desk woke at his
approach, sensing his presence, and Tatian flinched as the
recognition pulse tingled through his skin. The desktop lit,
producing half a dozen working screens scattered through the clear
surface, and Tatian scanned them as he sat down. Most were old
business, and none was urgent; he reached for the shadowscreen,
splaying his hand across its virtual surface to fit his fingers to
the current control configuration. He flicked a "button"--a
literal hot spot, a bump of warmth under his finger--and a new
screen appeared, offering access to Bonemarche's communications
system. It was primitive by comparison to the systems current on most
of the Concord Worlds--even now, a hundred years after contact had
been reestablished with the rest of human-settled space, most
indigenes who lived outside the urban areas didn't have access to
the planetary net; it had only been last year that all the mesnie s
had gotten a terminal--but it was at least adequate for
communications within Bonemarche itself. He ran his fingers over the
shadowscreen's shifting spaces, summoning contact codes for Norssco
and then for Tillis Carlon. That matter needed to be settled now:
Carlon needed to be disabused of the notion that he could poach on
NAPD's territories.
A panel slid aside on
the wall,
Tatian nodded, already
relieved of the worst of his worries. The backups and other records
were stored in watertight cases that stood a quarter of a meter off
the stone floor: there would be no real damage from this flooding. "I
thought Reiss was in Irenfot for the races."
"He was,"
Derebought said, and shrugged. "But I guess they got a bad storm,
and it washed out the track. So when he showed up here, I figured I'd
put him to work." She looked down at her desktop. "Did you get
the permits straightened out?"
"I think so." He
reached for the secretary cube that stood inside the doorway and ran
his hand over the input strip to trigger the output nodes. Images
blossomed in the air before his eyes, mixed icons and text, nothing
of immediate importance, and the failing connection surged again,
sending a wave of cold down his arm. "Have you heard anything about
Norssco moving into any of our areas?"
Derebought shook her
head. "Not a thing. Why?"
"Tillis Carlon was in
Wiidfare's office when I got there. I thought maybe someone was
sending a message."
"I wouldn't have
thought so," Derebought said, and shrugged. "Then again, maybe
Wiidfare's dabbling in trade again."
"Oh, he's doing
that." Tatian reached for the keypad, used it to move to the next
screen of messages, not wanting to risk his implanted control pad.
"Reiss is downstairs?"
"Yes. Are you all
right?"
Tatian lifted his sore
arm. "The damn connection's getting worse. I'm going to have to
get it looked at."
Derebought nodded. "Good
luck finding someone."
"Yeah. Ask Reiss to
stick his head in my office when he gets through in the cellar, would
you?"
"Sure."
"And I bought this on
the way in," Tatian said, and pulled out the uncleaned pod. "It's
hungry-jack, dried whole. Have you ever heard of preparing it that
way?"
Derebought frowned. "I
don't think I've ever seen it dried like that. I've seen it
whole when it was fresh, but I always thought you had to clean it
before you could use it. We always did in my mesnie ,
anyway." She held up her cupped hands. Tatian tossed it across to
her, and she turned back into her office. Tatian followed, leaned
against the door frame. Derebought set the hairy pod on her desk,
pulling her maglamp down over it, and peered down through the lens.
"Interesting, though."
"Run a full analysis
on it, covering and all," Tatian said. "See if anything turns
up."
Derebought mumbled
agreement, already probing the web of cords with a blunt glass rod,
and Tatian sighed, recognizing her absorption. He flicked a toggle on
the secretary, setting the sys-tem to forward calls to his desk. "I'll
be in my office," he said, and pushed open the door.
The desk woke at his
approach, sensing his presence, and Tatian flinched as the
recognition pulse tingled through his skin. The desktop lit,
producing half a dozen working screens scattered through the clear
surface, and Tatian scanned them as he sat down. Most were old
business, and none was urgent; he reached for the shadowscreen,
splaying his hand across its virtual surface to fit his fingers to
the current control configuration. He flicked a "button"--a
literal hot spot, a bump of warmth under his finger--and a new
screen appeared, offering access to Bonemarche's communications
system. It was primitive by comparison to the systems current on most
of the Concord Worlds--even now, a hundred years after contact had
been reestablished with the rest of human-settled space, most
indigenes who lived outside the urban areas didn't have access to
the planetary net; it had only been last year that all the mesnie s
had gotten a terminal--but it was at least adequate for
communications within Bonemarche itself. He ran his fingers over the
shadowscreen's shifting spaces, summoning contact codes for Norssco
and then for Tillis Carlon. That matter needed to be settled now:
Carlon needed to be disabused of the notion that he could poach on
NAPD's territories.
A panel slid aside on
the wall,
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