“Assertion: The daystar-light vacuum dwellers cannot come out,” said one of the squid, hovering near the highest point in the palace dome. “Assertion: They are in squishbodies. Speculation-interrogative: They came in haste and were unable to preadapt to reasonable pressure? Discursive-assertion: This one has seen such ’scaphes before, the capsule is grown around the passengers before flight, and dissolved to free them after they return to near vacuum.”
“Who are they asking for?” I asked.
“Assertion: They seek Krina Alizond-114.”
“Hmm.” I stared at the ’scaphe. Assuming it was Rudi in there, I was probably safe. Probably. There were no outside manipulators to grab me, no sign of explosives or other nasty surprises. Who else could it be? Well, Her Majesty Medea of Argos might have followed me, but as an aquamorph herself she could doubtless have applied the same depth-adaptation packs—she wouldn’t need the hardshell capsule. The Church: Well perhaps, but how would they have found us? And why? With Cybelle awake again and doubtless asking penetrating questions about Deacon Dennett’s reign of mismanagement in her absence, I wasn’t expecting trouble from that direction for a while. Which left Sondra. Who, to the best of my knowledge, had not yet arrived in-system, and whose presence was more likely to be heralded by nuclear depth charges than polite negotiators. “I’ll go and talk to them.”
“Krina—” Ana paused. “If that’s not Rudi, we can stop them from leaving, but we can’t protect you if you get close.”
“Yes, but who else are you expecting, so soon?”
And with that, I swam out through a gap in the filigree of shell enclosing the People’s Palace and shimmied my way up toward the passenger sphere. I paused thirty meters away, facing it.
“Hello!” I called. “If that’s Rudi, you will tell me what task you paid me to carry out aboard your ship.”
The illuminated segment on the hull turned slowly toward me. Shadowy forms moved behind it, then an enormous eye and the top of a familiar-looking muzzle filled it. “Krina.” The voice was familiar, accounting for the frequency shift. “You hid it in plain sight! You are a very naughty accountant.”
“What did I hide?” I asked.
“You were to tell me about banking scandals, and you did! Only you spun it. Confess: You were looking for Ivar Trask-1 for some reason, were you not? Did you find him?”
It was Rudi. “I, personally, did not find him.” I smiled. Hopefully he’d be able to discern my expression through the poor-quality retina he was using. “What do you think I was up to?”
“I think you and your sibs have been playing an underhand game with your patron.” Rudi grinned, baring his teeth hungrily. “Finding stalled transactions and repatriating them, that is part of the job of a banker, is it not? And you found a big one, awaiting the countersignature of a local bank administrator to collect. Your sib Ana was tasked with the search, and she has evidently been successful. You, meanwhile, were the courier, bringing the smuggled instrument here. I infer that because of the secrecy surrounding your activities there is something questionable about the money in question—a taint adhering to it. And I infer from your stalker’s existence that your patron is angry with you and wants her property back. Am I reasoning along the right lines?”
I made a snap decision, over in a moment: “You are partially correct. It appears that my lineage mater, Sondra Alizond-1, was engaged in a conspiracy to launder money through Trask’s office. Someone—possibly a rival within their conspiracy—did away with Trask prematurely. With his soul lost, the final transfer could not be completed, until now. As so much time has elapsed, and nobody with a lawful claim to the money will be able to come forward, my sisters and I have claimed it as treasure trove, and our claim has been notarized by the bank of the United People’s Shoal of the Tethys North Temperate Deeps. You’re too late to activate whatever intricate shell game you were considering.”
“Your paranoia is misplaced.” Rudi paused. “I suspect you have all your bases covered. And I presume you found your missing sister alive? In which case, I suppose I should be saying good-bye and—”
“Wait!” It was my turn to pause. “Rudi. Before you write this journey off as an expensive waste of time and reaction mass, can I interest you in a business proposition?”
“Maybe. What do you have in mind?”
“I’d like to buy an insurance policy.”
“What kind of insurance do you have in mind?” He sounded distantly amused.
“The biggest, most expensive kind.” I stared at the image of his eye, looking against the camera inside the hull. “How much does it cost to hire a privateer?”
I—Krina Alizond-114—am not accustomed to the trappings of great wealth. I recognize that by the standards of many people I am a creature of privilege and power—but privilege and power are relative, and while ownership of a single slow dollar might place one among the lower ranks of the wealthy, ownership of many millions of them is something else again.
While I was busy following Ana’s trail down into the ink-dark realm of the squid-people, the arrivals hall at Taj Beacon was playing host to a remarkable procession of incomers.
And here we see the gap between the well-off and the truly rich. For such as myself, interstellar travel is expensive—the cost of a transmission is the hoarded earnings of a handful of years—and we travel light, buying what services we need upon arrival. But Sondra traveled embedded in a retinue dedicated to her safety and comfort: prevetted, prebriefed in her specific requirements, and motivated by the promise of a substantial bonus upon her safe return.
First to arrive were Sondra’s personal safety detaiclass="underline" four bodyguards and two security analysts. They, downloaded into regular bodies in the arrivals hall. As soon as they revived, however, it was upgrade time: They carefully supervised the medical contractors they hired while they installed radiation and vacuum-hardening mods, weaponized reflexes, better electrosense and hearing and eyes. Newly upgraded, the bodyguards then checked each other for signs of tampering: Then, while the next wave began to install in new bodies, they conducted a preliminary threat analysis on the beacon station, identifying factions and criminal parties who might pose a hazard to their charge.
The first body out of the arrivals hall after the security vanguard was a personal concierge, traveling with an expense account fat enough to require the bodyguards’ attendance. His tasks were preassigned: find the most suitable available residence, arrange a lease on it, then turn the security analysts loose. There was more to this than dormitory facilities for the retinue and a suite for the owner. Not for Sondra a humble worker’s pod in a service district! Sondra required secure office space from which to establish and coordinate a support operation that would extend her reach across the entire star system. She required palatial facilities in which to entertain the movers and shakers and diplomats and owners of Taj Beacon and outlying territories. She required accommodation for the senior executives within her retinue, and space for the local agents her people were preparing to hire. For although bodies in various stages of download and assembly were beginning to fill, then to overflow the beacon station’s interstellar arrivals hall, this was but the faintest outline of the organization under construction.
Sondra was, dare I say it, the de facto head of state of New California. I will freely concede that she was not the head of state in name: But presidencies or crowns require the wearer of the office to attend interminable and tedious committee meetings, state banquets, conferences, and public hearings. It was many centuries since Sondra had last taken any joy from such pomp and ceremony, the repetitive affirmation of majesty and authority: So she had long since withdrawn from direct governance, save of the SystemBank of New California itself, of which she remained Chancellor-in-Perpetuity. Since that time a succession of presidents had left their mark (or at least their portrait) in what had once been her palace. They generally ruled wisely: which is to say that they consulted Sondra’s office, and Sondra always gave her approval for the policies they proposed to follow, for no initiatives were ever set before her that had not been anxiously scrutinized for any hint that they might offend such an august person whose net worth, by some estimates, exceeded that of the state itself.