"That's nonsense," Hummingbird said, startled. "The calpulli schools are — "
"Free? Maybe on Anбhuac they are, maybe for the sons and daughters of landowners, surely for the nobility — and you are a noble, aren't you? But on New Aberdeen, there aren't those kinds of luxuries, not for landless tenants. Not for Swedish immigrants. Not for my children."
The judge said nothing, settling back on his heels. Gretchen felt the pressure in her chest ease a little and she put her head between her knees.
"How did you get an education?" The anger was gone from the nauallis's voice. Gretchen didn't look up.
"My grandmother's father was a Royal Navy commander in the Last War." Anderssen wanted to lie down and close her eyes, but managed to resist. "He was killed in action off Titan and his service pension passed to her. When my grandparents fled Anбhuac during the Conquest, she put the pension money — which wasn't much, but something — in a Nisei bank. When I was old enough to enter a school and I needed tutors and up-to-date software and living expenses, she broke it out. Sixty years of interest can make a little pile fairly big — but all that was gone by the time I finished university."
There was a hissing sound again and Gretchen realized the nauallis had a habit of biting on the tip of his oxygen tube when he was thinking.
"The Imperial academies are free — " Hummingbird started to say.
"— if you can gain admittance. How many students do you think apply every year? There are millions of applicants, millions. I'm sure your relatives back on Anбhuac think the system is fair, but they're landowners and inside the Seven Clans. They're not exiles on a backwoods hellhole like Aberdeen, saddled with a crushing tax burden to subsidize the landed colonists and treated like dirt by the so-victorious planetary government."
Silence again. Gretchen saw night had advanced to the peaks lining the eastern edge of the basin. The wind — thankfully — seemed to be dying down.
"So you've come for money." Hummingbird sounded suspicious. "No you haven't! If you were really only interested in the cylinder and your 'fair' compensation, you'd be sitting up on the ship, filing suits in district court at Ctesiphon by t-relay!"
Gretchen nodded, her bleak mood lifting fractionally. "So true."
"Then why?"
She sighed, forcing herself to her feet. Her left leg was starting to fall asleep. "Because I want you to give me the cylinder back without all that legal fuss. And you desperately need my help and I can't say I've ever let someone carry a load too heavy for them without offering a hand." The angle of the nauallis's head shifted questioningly. "You're not getting back upstairs without me and my Midge, Hummingbird-tzin, and unless you do you can't remand the cylinder into my possession without us all spending years mired in the Cihuacoatl's court of appeals."
"I see. I am sure Chu-sa Hadeishi would find your lack of confidence disheartening."
"Ah-huh." Gretchen walked, creaking a little, to the cargo stowage of the Gagarin. "You're aware of the altitude limits of these aircraft?"
"Yes," Hummingbird replied, following her. "But they don't matter. A shuttle from the Cornuelle will retrieve me from the observatory camp when they return from their hunt."
"How long will that take, do you suppose?" Gretchen popped the latches and began unloading a pressure tent and her cook kit. "A couple weeks? A month?"
"I'm a patient man," Hummingbird replied, taking the bundle from her. "I've waited longer for retrieval before."
Gretchen looked the nauallis up and down with a wry expression. "I'm sure you have a lot to think about. Do you know how long these z-suits will last down here? Down here with this dust eating away at them every minute of every hour? I don't suppose you talked to Sinclair before loading up your gear?"
"The xenobiologist? No…"
Gretchen fished around behind the seat of the ultralight and pulled out a bulky object which looked for all the world like an old-fashioned hair dryer. "Got one of these?"
Hummingbird shook his head. "What is it?"
"It's worth an extra six, seven days in this acid bath. This thing uses a magnetic field to strip the microfauna living in the dust from your suit — or other equipment — if they haven't managed to burrow in yet."
Hummingbird became entirely still and Gretchen's nose wrinkled up at an undefinable, but unmistakable impression of the nauallis listening. After a moment, he stirred, then knelt down and ran his fingers through the pea-sand underfoot.
"Try an ultraviolet band on your goggles," she suggested. "They'll shine momentarily when you disturb the surface."
Hummingbird straightened up, shaking dust from his gloves. "How many days do we have?"
"Safely? About two weeks. Pushing our luck and assuming the buildings at the observatory camp are still intact when we get there, maybe twenty days."
The judge stared up at the darkening sky. "And the Cornuelle?"
"You can call them if you'd like. I'm sure the honorable captain will give you an estimate of when he hopes to return."
Hummingbird said nothing.
"I thought so." Gretchen marked out a rectangle with her boot, then dumped the tent bundle at one end. "You're serious about removing the traces of our expedition, aren't you? Well, you're going to need me, my Midge and the extra supplies I brought if you want to succeed."
"Will I?" The judge sounded irritated. "You have no idea what I intend to do."
"Doesn't matter," she said, unsealing the bag. With long-experienced fingers she flipped the rolled mat out onto the sand. At the motion, the tent stiffened and snapped into a long, broad rectangle. "I'll do my best to keep you alive so you can do…whatever you're going to do. Then, when we're back at the observatory camp, I'll make sure we get picked up before our suits erode and we wind up like Doc Russovsky."
"I don't need your help," Hummingbird started to say.
"Hummingbird-tzin, you are being stone-headed." Gretchen tried to glower, but gave up. She was too tired. "You cannot remove all evidence of human presence here if you remain." She paused a beat. "You are human, aren't you?"
The Cornuelle
Deep in shipnight, Hadeishi surrendered to futility and opened his eyes. The cabin was dark, only furtively lit by the soft glow of a chrono panel beside his desk. In the dim green light, shelves of books and papers loomed enormous against the walls. Hadeishi threw back the coverlet and swung out of bed. Sleep had eluded him, weary mind filled with a constant stream of images — phantoms of the day's events, wild imaginings of what would come, a nightmare of being dragged before a court of inquiry — and he felt worse than when he'd gone to bed.
"A fine hell awaits Hummingbird and Anderssen for inflicting this upon me," Mitsuharu grumbled as he found a robe. Silk and velvet slid across wiry, muscled shoulders and he glared at the comp. Late in third watch, he saw. Four o'clock. "What a wretched hour to be awake."
His stomach grumbled, making the captain think of tea and hot soup. Breakfast was still hours away, but the act of waking had convinced his body it was time to eat. Shuffling his feet into a pair of shipshoes, Hadeishi tucked long, loose hair behind his ears and went out, kimono cinched tight. Shipsnight always felt cold, though environmental maintained a constant temperature at all times and the corridors were brightly illuminated.
He was not surprised, however, to find Sho-sa Kosho in the tiny rectangular space of the officer's informal mess. Hadeishi was amused to see the young woman was dressed informally — no jacket, the collar of her duty uniform unsealed, the sleeves of an oatmeal-colored shirt rolled back. The exec was removing a cup from the automat as he shuffled into the room.