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
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 another 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.