‘Not having to know about or go to Tarekuma is a profound incentive to back the Parthenon.’ He rubbed at his face as though trying to scrub the alcohol out of his skin. ‘It’s . . . a shit-hole, is what it is.’
‘Back Before,’ Kris filled in, ‘there were plans for a big colony there. It was going to be a grand terraforming venture. Rocky planet, bad chemistry, but they had all the time and money in the world, didn’t they. And what the place did have was location. Seven Throughways meet at Tarekuma. Then the Architects happened, and then the war. Whole lot of refugees ended up in Tarekuma, because it was so easy to reach. What didn’t end up there was money or terraforming kit. People came there from everywhere. Aliens too. Gangs, warlords, cults . . . They got the vertical cities running, bought atmosphere modifiers, kept out most of the bad wildlife. Even now, Hugh’s got only the loosest grasp over what goes on down there.’
‘Way I hear it, that’s how they like it,’ Olli put in sourly. ‘Gives Hugh a place to bend their own laws, gives their spies a place to meet other spies – all sort of shadowy ballsack stuff.’
Kittering chittered, his screens responding to a query Kris had raised. She read off the information:
‘There are maybe a hundred major players on Tarekuma and any number of off-world cartels and syndicates who’ve got fingers in the pie. The Broken Harvest are some kind of criminal enterprise from out of the Hegemony,’ Kris reported.
‘Wouldn’t have thought their perfect paradise-empire would have gangsters,’ Idris said mildly.
‘I don’t pretend to understand it myself,’ Kris replied, ‘but the Essiel have a strange attitude towards outlaws and crime. They hate it and openly fight lawbreakers, and yet it’s also a recognized part of their system somehow. So, yes, the Broken Harvest are some mob out of the Hegemony. But if they’re on Tarekuma, they obviously stray beyond its borders.’
‘So why,’ Rollo demanded ponderously, ‘do they want my ship?’
‘Maybe we were just unlucky,’ said Olli. ‘Surely they want the Oumaru, not the Vulture? Plenty of people would pay to control that evidence, either hide it or shove it up a flagpole.’ Olli eyed Solace. ‘You fuckers, for instance?’
The Partheni met the accusation without a frown. ‘Honestly, not our style.’
‘Harvest’ll have a sale lined up for the Oumaru, or maybe they’ll auction it. But the Vulture . . . I mean, it’s a decent ship, but it’s not the prize. Maybe we could even buy it back off them, cut a deal – work for the mob to secure it?’
Idris looked from one to the other, seeing how Olli’s suggestion sat. Not well, but not beyond anyone’s personal morality, was his conclusion. During his years with the Vulture they’d never worked for criminals directly. But you might have only had to go one step down the chain to find dirty money. On the other hand, working for the Broken Harvest meant clasping wrists with Barney and Medvig’s killers – not something to be done lightly.
The same dilemma had probably played out in Rollo’s head, for he said, ‘We could go there . . . See if they haven’t already sold or scrapped her. Work passage over to Tarekuma and see how things lie. And if there’s a chance for revenge . . .’ His face went hard at that thought. He could be a vengeful man. Dangerous waters, Idris knew. Am I getting cold feet? Icy cold. But he couldn’t abandon his crewmates.
‘Kit,’ said Rollo at last. ‘Hunt down berths Tarekuma-ways, as passengers or crew, whatever it takes.’ He looked round at them. ‘Anyone wants out, then get out, no hard feelings. For I am in a mood to do some truly stupid things.’
Solace coughed slightly. ‘Idris?’
He looked at her warily, and for a long two seconds she just met his gaze. Then she asked, ‘How long does it take, to get from here to Tarekuma on the Throughways?’
Kit crabwised over, presenting a reckoner on one arm-screen and highlighting the most useful routes.
‘Bear with me,’ Idris said, checking the displays. And then: ‘Can’t get it down to under three days, by any route.’
‘And if you were to pilot us from here yourself, off piste?’
‘Off . . .? You mean deep void?’ He hadn’t realized the Partheni had their own term. ‘Somewhere between nineteen and twenty-three ship hours.’ Meaning the hours old Earth had used.
Rollo grunted. ‘You think we can charter something?’ He sounded dubious and Kittering was already cautioning about expense.