entered.
He recognized her as Harlaan’s niece, although she was a white-blonde, so unlike her grizzled uncle. “Eylana…I’d like to order a side of lamb and a half score of fowl to be sent to the canal weather station on twoday, along with an assortment of whatever greenery and vegetables are the freshest.”
“Yes, Lord Maertyn.” While it was clear from her initial glance that Eylana hadn’t immediately recognized him, she was bright enough to deduce his identity from the order and destination, as well as his maroon and silver-gray travelsuit. “Would you like anything else?”
Maertyn considered, then nodded politely. “The same order two weeks from next twoday.”
“For the two, sir, it will be one hundred thirty-seven, including the delivery charge.”
“That will be satisfactory. Thank you.” Maertyn pressed his personal credpass against the old-style recorder. A faint chime sounded.
“Thank you, sir. We do appreciate your patronage.”
“You’re more than welcome.” He smiled politely, but warmly, before turning and leaving the victualary.
The street was nearly empty, as always, except for a steamcart headed eastward in the direction of the methane extraction works, and the associated power-generation facility. He strode across the broad expanse of composite, once necessary to handle a long-vanished rush of vehicles, to the wide sidewalk on the south side and then through the entry archway and down the ramp toward the single platform under the station, carpeted in what amounted to a form of hard-surfaced, and slow-growing, self-repairing, deep gray lichen. From the top of the ramp he could see that the left-hand side of the platform was vacant, while the three linked shimmering sleek gray cylindrical cars on the right awaited passengers.
For all that he knew Maarlyna was far safer at the canal station with Shaenya and Svorak, and the nearby Reserve guards, than in the capital, he still worried about leaving her for so long—and the fact that once he was in Caelaarn, even more unforeseen circumstances were likely to arise and delay his return. Yet he couldn’t have ignored the summons of Minister Hlaansk, pretext as it mostly likely was, not when he needed the additional equipment to have even a chance of discovering anything meaningful about the canal.
Just short of the entry kiosk and the gates that blocked unpaid entry to the trains, on the side of the platform awaiting the late-afternoon inbound train, Maertyn saw a figure in a scarlet singlesuit. He couldn’t recall when he’d seen brilliant scarlet as the sole color of apparel. The wearer looked to be a woman with short-cropped hair, either silver or white-blond, and an angular face that still appeared close to androgynous. Was she an ice-sport who’d crossed the canal to tempt some unfortunate from the dwindling population of Daelmar?
He shook his head. Despite the lore, the Unity had proven long ago that there were no ice-sports, rumors and reports to the contrary. Yet the unfounded rumors persisted.
Still…his eyes lingered on her slim figure, with only the hint of curves, just enough to suggest femininity.
In her hands was a metallic rectangle that caught light from some source he could not see…or generated its own. Her head lifted from the metallic gleam, and her eyes focused on him. For the briefest moment, her eyes seemed to linger on him before she turned and retreated back into the shadows to the north of the ramp and kiosk.
What was that about? It was almost as though he were the ice-sport…or the oddity, rather than the lord of a distinguished, if financially diminished, line.
Maertyn hurried to the kiosk and swiped his credpass through the beam beside the gate.
“Car two, third compartment,” the kiosk announced as the deep green gate-bars recessed.
He quickly stepped through, but he couldn’t help looking back to make certain that the gate had closed behind him. There was no sign of the woman—or
He recognized her as Harlaan’s niece, although she was a white-blonde, so unlike her grizzled uncle. “Eylana…I’d like to order a side of lamb and a half score of fowl to be sent to the canal weather station on twoday, along with an assortment of whatever greenery and vegetables are the freshest.”
“Yes, Lord Maertyn.” While it was clear from her initial glance that Eylana hadn’t immediately recognized him, she was bright enough to deduce his identity from the order and destination, as well as his maroon and silver-gray travelsuit. “Would you like anything else?”
Maertyn considered, then nodded politely. “The same order two weeks from next twoday.”
“For the two, sir, it will be one hundred thirty-seven, including the delivery charge.”
“That will be satisfactory. Thank you.” Maertyn pressed his personal credpass against the old-style recorder. A faint chime sounded.
“Thank you, sir. We do appreciate your patronage.”
“You’re more than welcome.” He smiled politely, but warmly, before turning and leaving the victualary.
The street was nearly empty, as always, except for a steamcart headed eastward in the direction of the methane extraction works, and the associated power-generation facility. He strode across the broad expanse of composite, once necessary to handle a long-vanished rush of vehicles, to the wide sidewalk on the south side and then through the entry archway and down the ramp toward the single platform under the station, carpeted in what amounted to a form of hard-surfaced, and slow-growing, self-repairing, deep gray lichen. From the top of the ramp he could see that the left-hand side of the platform was vacant, while the three linked shimmering sleek gray cylindrical cars on the right awaited passengers.
For all that he knew Maarlyna was far safer at the canal station with Shaenya and Svorak, and the nearby Reserve guards, than in the capital, he still worried about leaving her for so long—and the fact that once he was in Caelaarn, even more unforeseen circumstances were likely to arise and delay his return. Yet he couldn’t have ignored the summons of Minister Hlaansk, pretext as it mostly likely was, not when he needed the additional equipment to have even a chance of discovering anything meaningful about the canal.
Just short of the entry kiosk and the gates that blocked unpaid entry to the trains, on the side of the platform awaiting the late-afternoon inbound train, Maertyn saw a figure in a scarlet singlesuit. He couldn’t recall when he’d seen brilliant scarlet as the sole color of apparel. The wearer looked to be a woman with short-cropped hair, either silver or white-blond, and an angular face that still appeared close to androgynous. Was she an ice-sport who’d crossed the canal to tempt some unfortunate from the dwindling population of Daelmar?
He shook his head. Despite the lore, the Unity had proven long ago that there were no ice-sports, rumors and reports to the contrary. Yet the unfounded rumors persisted.
Still…his eyes lingered on her slim figure, with only the hint of curves, just enough to suggest femininity.
In her hands was a metallic rectangle that caught light from some source he could not see…or generated its own. Her head lifted from the metallic gleam, and her eyes focused on him. For the briefest moment, her eyes seemed to linger on him before she turned and retreated back into the shadows to the north of the ramp and kiosk.
What was that about? It was almost as though he were the ice-sport…or the oddity, rather than the lord of a distinguished, if financially diminished, line.
Maertyn hurried to the kiosk and swiped his credpass through the beam beside the gate.
“Car two, third compartment,” the kiosk announced as the deep green gate-bars recessed.
He quickly stepped through, but he couldn’t help looking back to make certain that the gate had closed behind him. There was no sign of the woman—or
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