If its not too dizzy a ride. The jumps made my feet swell, of all things.
Ekaterin helped her aboard, made sure she felt secure, and started off at a slow walk. I apologize for Uncle Vorthys dragging you all the way out here for me. Im only planning to stay a few more weeks, you see.
Id meant to come anyway, if his case went on much longer. It doesnt seem to be going as quickly as he expected.
No, well no. Ill tell you all the horrible details when we get in. A public concourse was not the venue for discussing it all.
Quite, dear. You look well, if rather Komarran.
Ekaterin glanced down at her dun vest and beige trousers. Ive found Komarran dress to be comfortable, not the least because it lets me blend in.
Someday, Id love to see you dress to stand out.
Not today, though.
No, probably not. Do you plan on traditional mourning garb, when you get home?
Yes, I think it would be a very good idea. It might save save dealing with a lot of things I dont want to deal with just now.
I understand. Despite her jump sickness, Aunt Vorthys stared around with interest at the passing station, and began updating Ekaterin on the lives of her Vorthys cousins.
Her aunt had grandchildren, Ekaterin thought, yet still seemed late-middle-aged rather than old. In the Time of Isolation, a Barrayaran woman would have been old at forty-five, waiting for death-if she made it even that far. In the last century, womens life expectancies had doubled, and might even be headed toward the triple-portion taken for granted by such galactics as the Betans. Had Ekaterins own mothers early death given her a false sense of time, and of timing? I have two lives for my foremothers one. Two lives in which to accomplish her dual goals. If one could stretch them out, instead of piling them atop one another And the arrival of the uterine replicator had changed everything, too, profoundly. Why had she wasted a decade trying to play the game by the old rules? Yet a decade at twenty did not seem quite a straight trade for a decade at ninety. She needed to think this through
Away from the docks and locks area, the crowds thinned to an occasional passer-by. The station did not run so much on a day-and-night rhythm, as on a ships in dock, everybody switch, load and unload like mad because time was money, ships out, quiet falls again pattern which did not necessarily match the Solstice-standard time kept throughout Komarr local-space.
Ekaterin turned up a narrow utility corridor shed discovered earlier which provided a shortcut to the food concourse and her hostel beyond. One of the kiosks baked traditional Barrayaran breads and cannily vented their ovens into the concourse, for advertising; Ekaterin could smell yeast and cardamom and hot brillberry syrup. The combination was redolent of Barrayaran Winterfair, and a wave of homesickness shook her.
Coming down the otherwise-unpeopled corridor toward them along with the aromas was a man, wearing stationer-style dock-worker coveralls. The commercial logo on his left breast read southport transport ltd., done in tilted, speedy-looking letters with little lines shooting off. He carried two large bags crammed with meal-boxes. He stopped short and stared in shock, as did she. It was one of the engineers from Waste Heat Management-Arozzi was his name.
He recognized her at once, too, unfortunately. Madame Vorsoisson! And, more weakly, Imagine meeting you here. He stared around with a frantic, trapped look. Is the Administrator with you?
Ekaterin was just mustering a plan for, Im sorry, I dont believe I know you? followed by dancing around him blankly, walking away without looking back, turning the corner, and dashing madly for the nearest emergency call box. But Arozzi dropped his bags, dug a stunner out of his pocket, and fumbled it right way round before shed made it any further than, Im sorry-
So am I, he said with evident sincerity, and fired.
Ekaterins eyes opened on a cockeyed view of the corridor ceiling. Her whole body felt like pins and needles, and refused to obey her urgent summons to move. Her tongue felt like a wadded-up sock, stuffed in her mouth.
Dont make me stun you, Arozzi was pleading with someone. I will.
I believe you, came Aunt Vorthyss breathless voice, from just behind Ekaterins ear. Ekaterin realized she was now aboard the float pallet, half-sitting up against her aunts chest, her legs hung limply over the rearranged luggage in front of her. The Professoras hand gripped her shoulder. Arozzi, after a desperate look around, set his meal-boxes in her lap, picked up the float pallets lead, and started off down the corridor as fast as the whining, overburdened pallet would follow.
Help, thought Ekaterin. Im being kidnapped by a Komarran terrorist. Her cry, as they turned down another corridor and passed a woman in a food service uniform, came out a low moan. The woman barely glanced at them. Not an unusual sight, this, two very jumpsick transients being towed to their connecting ship, or to a hostel, or maybe to the infirmary. Or the morgue Heavy stun, Ekaterin had been given to understand, knocked people out for hours. This must be light stun. Was this a favor? She could not feel her limbs, but she could feel her heart beating, thudding heavily in her chest as adrenaline struggled uselessly with her unresponsive peripheral nervous system.
More turns, more drops, more levels. Was her map cube still in her pocket? They passed out of passenger-country, into more utilitarian levels devoted to freight and ship repair. At last they turned in at a door labeled southport transport, ltd. in the same logo style as on the coveralls, and authorized personnel only in larger red print. Arozzi led them around a turn, through some more airseal doors, and down a ramp into a large loading bay. It smelled cold, all oil and ozone and a sharp sick scent of plastics. They were at the outermost skin of the station, anyway, whatever direction theyd come. Shed seen the Southport logo before, Ekaterin realized; it was one of those minor, shoestring-budgeted local-space shipping companies that eked out a living in the few interstices left by the big Komarran family firms.
A tall, squarely-built man, also in workers coveralls, trod across the bay toward them, his footsteps echoing. It was Dr. Soudha. Dinner at last, he began, then he caught sight of the float pallet. What the hell? Roz, what is this? Madame Vorsoisson! He stared at her in astonishment. She stared back at him in muzzy loathing.
I ran smack into her when I was coming away from the food concourse, explained Arozzi, grounding the float pallet. I couldnt help it. She recognized me. I couldnt let her run and report, so I stunned her and brought her here.
Roz, you fool! The last thing we need right now is hostages! Shes sure to be missed, and how soon?
I didnt have a choice!
Whos this other lady? He gave the Professora a weirdly polite, harried, how-dyou-do nod.
My name is Helen Vorthys, said the Professora.
Not Lord Auditor Vorthyss wife-?
Yes. Her voice was cold and steady, but as sensation returned Ekaterin could feel the slight tremble in her body.
Soudha swore under his breath.
Ekaterin swallowed, ran her tongue around her mouth, and struggled to sit up. Arozzi rescued his boxes, then belatedly drew his stunner again. A woman, attracted by the raised voices, approached around a stack of equipment. Middle-aged, with frizzy gray-blond hair, she also wore Southport Transport coveralls. Ekaterin recognized Lena Foscol, the accountant.
Ekaterin, husked Aunt Vorthys, who are these people? Do you know them?
Ekaterin said loudly, if a little thickly, Theyre the criminals who stole a huge sum of money from the Terraforming Project and murdered Tien.
Foscol, startled, said What? We did no such thing! He was alive when I left him!