We managed a two-room suite, which took some stress off for a couple of days. That stress was replaced with concern over where Randall was or was going. I had nothing to work with, and just had to wait for responses to my inquiries. However, I did insist on and assist with a search of the station, through every compartment and crawlway. It was dusty, greasy, messy work. Silver got dinged up worse than me. She was younger and more nimble, but less experienced.
Most of the station support had clearly not been touched since last overhaul, if then. A couple of areas might have been hiding places, but could have been used by illicit or playful lovers, juveniles of station staff, or both. DNA traces were insufficient to offer more.
We got sandwiches from a kiosk, and were on our way back to the room when I got a call.
“Jelling,” I answered with my standard cover name.
“Sir, I’m Roger Rothdal with the Royal Security Service. I’ve some intel for you.”
“Really. That’s most welcome. What do you have?”
“A detailed search of Randall’s domiciles yielded little, but there are lingering traces on the hypernodes out of there.”
“Go on,” I said.
“His comm received, and replied to two messages with a node tag from Mtali, then a third message that he sent out to Mtali the day before he departed.”
“Fantastic. If you find anything else, please let me know.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“That is very helpful information. Thank you.”
I looked at Silver and said, “And that’s why we had preplanned codes we could throw on any third-party forum. He’s hindered because at some point he has to communicate with a client, and he can’t do face-to-face unless he’s on the same planet.”
“So we’re going to Mtali?”
“Right now,” I said.
I went to inquire personally and discreetly about tickets. My phone chimed again. It was a recorded outsystem message from Naumann.
Regarding your inquiry. Subject attended and graduated Cobra Joe Tactical Training four years ago. Information recent due to investigation.
Cobra Joe was one of the best private contractor schools in space. Well, that was truly succulent. I sent a reply.
Subject should have been IDed via DNA or other methods.
This was something we’d have to keep track of internally. Not just Operatives and Blazers, but any vet seeking training and employment like that. Just so we didn’t get blindsided again.
The Caledonian Space Authority could handle reservations for anything. At the desk sat a very nice middle-aged lady. She looked helpful and slightly bored. No one else was around at this time.
“Good day,” I said. “I need to book priority passage for two to Mtali.”
She feigned dramatic bother. “Well, with all the thousands of people swarming to get there, that could be a problem.” She waved and pointed at her screen and pad, bringing up color-coded options.
“Hopefully, there’s space,” I said.
“There is. It is a somewhat circuitous route. From here to our Jump Point Two on Royal Spaceways, wait two days, through to Alsace via Terra Nova Lines, wait two more days, then to Mtali on a cargo hauler with a spare stateroom for let, and they’ll even transit you to orbit. You’ll have to book landing there. There is some, but I can’t find a schedule.”
“‘Somewhat circuitous,’” I repeated.
“That’s the fastest route I could find. I don’t think you’ll like the price, either.”
“Try me.”
“Twenty-seven thousand, four hundred sixteen pounds and seven pence, assuming joint occupancy.”
That was borderline rape, but it wasn’t my money, so I said, “That’s within my budget,” and handed over a card.
She hid her surprise well, and I could see her trembling in interest as to what I might be doing going to a remote hellhole.
“Thank you very much,” I said, and left her disappointed.
I find it amusing that Caledonia is a UN nation, but insists on issuing its own currency, which of course is pegged to the UN mark. Still, it’s at least a show of independence.
Silver and I bagged up, loaded out, added some supplies available on station at a stiff premium, even with the government’s official discount, and got ready to travel.
Our departure gate was the far side of the station, and I realized the boosted security was going to be a pain. I’d prefer not to flash the Queen’s paperwork around. We wanted to resume anonymity. I had the captain call ahead on our behalf and ensure our traveling names were starred.
We took the perimeter tram around the skin of the station, past a dizzying twist of stars seen through ports, pillars, shops, gates, the lumps and tangles of intrasystem ships and the glare of Caledonia and Ness. I enjoyed the contrast between stark nature and differently stark state-of-the-art tech.