“Nothing you can detect is wrong,” Teague said. “I assure you—I have been inspecting locally repaired installations since Ser Dunbarger the younger took over, on his express orders, to be certain that the equipment is fully functional, and to interview those who made the repairs, and see if they meet our standards for maintenance. If they do, then ISC will certify your system and your personnel, and you have the choice of performing all maintenance locally, or continuing to retain ISC to perform both routine and emergency maintenance for you.”
Grace managed not to let her brows rise. This was not the same Teague who had lounged around her house, draping himself over the furniture as if his skeleton were only loosely strung together.
“Well… if the Rector agrees…”
Grace lifted her hands. “I tried to talk him out of it, but we are still bound by our original contract with ISC—they have the right to inspect their equipment at any time. And he says he thinks something is lagging our system somewhere—possibly something we did in the repair, or connected to the original damage.”
Teague held up one hand. “In forty-seven percent of the inspections I’ve made, whoever first damaged the ansibles also damaged the repeater satellites, thus causing dropouts and slower transmission rates. Rector Vatta tells me that you have experienced intermittent slowdowns and at least two dropouts related to specific repeaters since your repair.”
“That’s true, but—”
“Then it’s imperative that all those repeaters be inspected, and—if necessary—repaired properly. This inspection incurs no charge; it falls under paragraph seventeen, line twelve of the original contract.”
“How long will it take?” And, with a glance at the slim black case, “How much equipment will you need?”
“A matter of days,” Teague said. “I requested Rector Vatta to arrange for that Vatta courier to transport me, when she said your own insystem ships were substantially slower.” He gave a prim smile. “ISC prefers that I not spend more time in one system than I must, as there are many yet to inspect. Use of private transportation is preferable in many situations; no insult is intended.”
“The Vatta courier Ser Teague arrived on, Morningstar, has been refueled and is ready to take him where he needs to go,” Grace said.
“And will you also transport him to his next system?” That with an edge of sarcasm.
“That is a matter that Ser Teague will discuss with Vatta’s CEO, I expect,” Grace said. “As far as I’m concerned, Slotter Key’s obligation is satisfied by ensuring Ser Teague’s work here is expedited insystem.”
Teague gave her a stern look; Grace glared back. Her chief of communications would interpret that wrongly, she was sure, just as she intended.
“And I expect a report, Ser Teague, of every change you make in settings, and an explanation of why it was necessary. If you expect Slotter Key to take over its own maintenance—”
“As I said, Rector Vatta, there is a choice. ISC is prepared to resume all maintenance functions—”
“As inefficiently as you did before?” the communications chief said.
“That was an act of war,” Teague replied. “For which, in our original contract, ISC is relieved of responsibility for the duration. We cannot guarantee service in such event. But in the amended contract, which I will discuss with your head of state, customers are freed to make their own repairs. Manuals are available; I have a copy with me, and will provide it when the new contract is signed. We can also provide training, at a fixed cost, should it be desired.”
“Which isn’t our concern,” Grace said to her staff, in a tone that conveyed she thought it should be. “That’s for the legislature and President. Though I’ve no doubt we’ll see a copy of the manual, as ansible service is a matter of security.” She turned back to Teague. “The Morningstar crew is ready; your transportation is waiting downstairs, Ser Teague.”
He bowed slightly and left her office.
Grace looked at her desk. “Time to get to work,” she said to the others. “I have plenty to do, and if you don’t, I’ll share.” They left, murmuring excuses. Grace touched her desk, transforming the apparent empty slab of wood into a screen full of tabs. But instead of touching one, she simply stared at it. Ky was intelligent, resourceful, determined—but Grace knew well that the planet had weapons Ky had never faced. Gravity. Cold. Time. Even given Rafe’s certainty that she had survived so far, how much longer could she? And what about the others, those who were her responsibility as well?
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Where’s your friend?” Daran Vatta asked as Teague came through Morningstar’s docking tube.
“With Rector Vatta,” Teague said. “Or rather, in her house. I’ve got his instructions.”
“And I’ve got hers,” Captain Vatta said.
Teague nodded. “Captain.”
“Call me Ginny, now we’re on the same mission. How’s your transform coming?”
“I’m in the part where I’m making up for lost awake time. It feels like my bones are moving inside the soft tissue.”
The captain wiggled her shoulders. “I wouldn’t like that. You want the big ansible first?”
“Yes—Rafe says we should start with that.”
“Strap in, then. We’re going to use the hot button.”
Slotter Key had only one ansible platform, carrying both a general communications and a financial ansible. Teague had easily absorbed Rafe’s information about what might need to be done—or look like it had been done—and after a series of hard-G shoves, he suited up and checked everything Rafe had told him to check. The automatic system that had reported to ISC when it was turned on had then reduced capacity by 5 percent; Teague had the code to bring it back up to 100 percent and keep it there.
Then another transit back to low orbit around the planet, moving from one repeater satellite to another. These were much smaller, though larger than Slotter Key’s own weather and communications satellites, all painted bright white with the ISC logo typical of ISC installations.
When they had matched orbit with the first of five, Teague suited up, hooked in his tether, and went out the courier’s air lock, monitored by Daran. He laid one of the patches Rafe had given him against the maintenance hatch of the repeater and peeled it away carefully, stowing it in the pouch Rafe had labeled EVIDENCE 1, then recorded that repeater’s serial number in video. He tucked the pouch in a carry bag and opened the hatch. Rafe had said the software to make the repeater refuse to accept calls to, or incoming from, a segment of the planet’s surface would have to be plugged into the repeater’s control panel, not uploaded from below.
He looked the panel over carefully. This—and this—and all those—were normal, standard ISC installation. But that, plugged into a jack on the lower right, was not. He used his suitphone to call Rafe; the signal bounced to the repeater in a better position to relay the call to Grace Vatta’s house.
“Found it,” he said, when Rafe answered. “Take it out now?”
“Run Analytics 27a-14,” Rafe said. “The big one?”
“What you thought. Slowed down, but the code worked; it’s at a hundred percent now.” Teague used the control panel keypad to enter the code for that Analytics string. Rafe, he knew, could now access the same data he was getting. He waited for Rafe’s response.
“It’s going to trigger something if you pull it or fry it,” Rafe said finally. “You can’t—I couldn’t, unless I took the thing inside and took it apart very carefully—keep it from signaling. But you can restore function. Pull it.”