Reclamation(28)

I will get used to this, I will get used to this. He waited until his hands stopped shaking to give the sheets back to Caril. “Thank you. You should record my acknowledgment of receipt as soon as we return to our quarters.”

“I will make this my work,” she said. Caril took her place beside him and they left the receiving hall for the corridor to the lifts. Winema followed without a sound.

The Grand Errand was of much newer construction than the Hundredth Core. The support girders and network fibers were hidden by sheaths of crystalline optical matter rather than panels of plastics or ceramics. Although the optical matter was much more flexible than the traditional solids and it had a certain dignity, being one of the private technologies, Basq thought that the solids had a special grandeur. Nothing could be changed aboard the older ships without planning and cooperation. Here, a single technician tapped a pattern to clear a spot in the wall. Under her hand, a square of grey-white wall turned orange and cleared to reveal a web of yellowish fibers. A few meters away from her, a man wearing the grey-and-tan armbands of the support services section pressed a holo-sheet and flat keypad in the wall and began tapping whatever information flowed through the fibers in that particular section. Doubtless they all had orders and contracts to fulfill, but it was all so … solitary and so easy. Almost improperly so. Even the Imperialists could make changes. The public parks had their treaties written across the walls. A swift gesture with his hand had wiped them clear, but the fact that they had been there at all left a bitter sensation in his mind. Basq wondered if he might apply to move himself and Caril to the Hundredth Core to be closer to the Advisory Committee. It was worth considering.

The lift to their residence section was nearly full. Like all the ships, the Grand Errand kept its living quarters in its heart, where they could best be sheltered from accidents and everyday occurrences, like the hard radiation that never stopped bombarding the ship. The crowd parted respectfully to make room for Basq and his entourage. Caril tapped the code for their home level on the wall. Her fingerprints were her authorization and the lift added their destination to the list displayed about the translucent doors as they closed.

“Ambassador Basq?”

Basq turned and looked up slightly. A thin man with a greying, braided beard and a red-and-gold badge that marked him as administrative support for communications stood beside him.

“The word of your new assignment has been spreading across the decks. May I congratulate you, sir? Your work brings a good memory for the Grand Errand.”

Basq inclined his head. The man was obviously a status seeker, but there was no reason not to be polite, especially with Winema watching. “Thank you. I only hope my future work will do the same.” He glanced over at Caril, who stood a little in front of the man. She nodded. She would note the man’s badge code before they reached their home level. He might be willing to do them a favor or two if he thought it would add to his own status to be seen to help an Ambassador assigned to the Reclamation. Such people were worth collecting.

The lift let them out in their home level park. The park was not a crude recreation of a planetside grove. Outsiders might need such areas to overcome psychological difficulties caused by long periods in enclosed habitats, or simply to compensate for things they missed. Without the Home Ground to model from, the Vitae shunned such affectations. The park was a place where individual expression and creativity could be practiced publicly. They passed a trio of young women in purple-and-black student robes intently discussing the positioning of figures in the choreo-poem that filled the main display stage. Basq also noticed that two of the free-access terminals showed new titles on their displays. Maybe he and Caril would have time to attend a discussion. It might give them a chance to talk about their work out from under the gaze of the Witness. Then he winced. The wall behind the choreo-poem had been covered with a carefully printed text lecture. Above the tidy print, the linked circles of the Imperialists had been drawn with equal care.

Basq’s jaw tightened. When his promotions had granted him access to greater space for personal work, he had requested a residence adjoining a park. If one knew how to read the events recorded in the parks, one could make advantageous predictions about the ship or encampments. Which was, of course, the best reason of all for their existence. They were forums for legitimate arguments as well as pressure valves. In the parks, dissidents could vent their anger before it built up to truly dangerous levels.

But that reasoning had its drawbacks. It meant the most determined and intelligent dissidents kept their activities far away from the parks. Jahidh’s thoughts had never appeared there. Basq had watched for them.