“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.”