down-spectrum. First there was nothing, then there was a shimmer, then a form rested in the natural gloom at the end of the great hall.
Vask clenched his jaw, tripping a molar relay, and a microcir-cuit implant started recording what came to his ears. It was nearly as passive a device as an implant could be, powered by a simple bio-electrical relay, recording the sounds captured by Kastlin's own inner ear. Psionicists had a low tolerance for cybersystems, which interfered with their fine-tuned control of mental and physiological processes. Vask hated using even this simple device, but some evils were necessary in order to do his job right. He listened, and let the dumb recorder do its work.
At first the women sat in silence, sipping the Cadanessa, uncertain what to say.
Before the silence could become uncomfortable, Reva forged ahead, deciding to get out one of the things that had been on her mind.
"You take too many risks in your work," she declared bluntly.
Lish raised an eyebrow. Reva felt a twinge of misgiving; that was not the kind of small talk she'd had in mind when coming here. Since there was no angry outburst to stop her, she went on. "You're doing hot drops out on the ocean. If I could figure that out, you can be sure someone else will. Bugs. The Grinds—"
"I bribe the police," Lish interjected.
Reva narrowed her eyes. "No, you don't. You think you do. They'll milk it for what it's worth, then turn you over for extra points to someone with less invested. Maybe Selmun Customs. They must be hopping mad by now. You've been doing this for, what, eight months or so? You're running out of time, Lish."
The Holdout gave her a calculating look. "How do you know all this? About the Grinds? And Customs?"
Reva set down her wineglass. "Look. First, you make these underwater runs after dark, submerged. Harbor Patrol tracks that traffic. Are your smugglers good enough to avoid detection on each run, or are they counting on being faster than Customs?"
Lish shrugged.
"That's what I thought. So on half the runs they slip in undetected. The other half, you can bet someone's put the pieces together."
Lish's brow furrowed in thought. "I'm not the only Holdout on R'debh. Customs must have their hands full with other traffic."
"Don't count on it. You keep your transponders hooked up, don't you?"
"If there's an emergency—"
"—at sea, you want Patrol to be able to help you out. So your movements are traced. It's a two-way deal, you know. You ping the navsat for your location; the navsat knows where you are by your squawk."
The smuggler paled. "Are you certain my ID is recorded? There's so much ground traffic...."
Reva looked at her shrewdly. "You're not used to working dirtside, are you?"
Absently the Holdout shook her head. "Started in shipping."
"And you continue to think that way. That'll get you killed, or locked up."
Lish studied her guest with a thoughtful eye, then refilled their glasses. "Got any other suggestions?" she asked seriously.
Reva shook her head. "Too late for that. You cut a deal with Karuu, that'll keep you safe for a little while. He's connected. But when the fall comes, your cargo will be grabbed by someone else—probably the Dorleoni—while you and your playmates get swept up by the Grinds. Or Internal Security, with the kind of stuff you've been moving."
Lish waved that comment aside. "I'm safe from Security. I've got connections."
The assassin looked skeptical. "I haven't heard of any that'll keep the Bugs off your back. Generally speaking. What makes you think you're so safe?"
Lish chewed her lip and hesitated before speaking. "Do you know of the Shiran Traders?" she finally ventured.
Reva shook her head.
"From the Empire. Sa'adani space, I mean, from before we annexed the Confederacy."
"Ahh...." The meaning of that sank in, and Reva looked at her host as if seeing her for the first time. The Confederacy of Allied Systems was thirty-three subsectors conquered by the Sa'adani Empire
Vask clenched his jaw, tripping a molar relay, and a microcir-cuit implant started recording what came to his ears. It was nearly as passive a device as an implant could be, powered by a simple bio-electrical relay, recording the sounds captured by Kastlin's own inner ear. Psionicists had a low tolerance for cybersystems, which interfered with their fine-tuned control of mental and physiological processes. Vask hated using even this simple device, but some evils were necessary in order to do his job right. He listened, and let the dumb recorder do its work.
At first the women sat in silence, sipping the Cadanessa, uncertain what to say.
Before the silence could become uncomfortable, Reva forged ahead, deciding to get out one of the things that had been on her mind.
"You take too many risks in your work," she declared bluntly.
Lish raised an eyebrow. Reva felt a twinge of misgiving; that was not the kind of small talk she'd had in mind when coming here. Since there was no angry outburst to stop her, she went on. "You're doing hot drops out on the ocean. If I could figure that out, you can be sure someone else will. Bugs. The Grinds—"
"I bribe the police," Lish interjected.
Reva narrowed her eyes. "No, you don't. You think you do. They'll milk it for what it's worth, then turn you over for extra points to someone with less invested. Maybe Selmun Customs. They must be hopping mad by now. You've been doing this for, what, eight months or so? You're running out of time, Lish."
The Holdout gave her a calculating look. "How do you know all this? About the Grinds? And Customs?"
Reva set down her wineglass. "Look. First, you make these underwater runs after dark, submerged. Harbor Patrol tracks that traffic. Are your smugglers good enough to avoid detection on each run, or are they counting on being faster than Customs?"
Lish shrugged.
"That's what I thought. So on half the runs they slip in undetected. The other half, you can bet someone's put the pieces together."
Lish's brow furrowed in thought. "I'm not the only Holdout on R'debh. Customs must have their hands full with other traffic."
"Don't count on it. You keep your transponders hooked up, don't you?"
"If there's an emergency—"
"—at sea, you want Patrol to be able to help you out. So your movements are traced. It's a two-way deal, you know. You ping the navsat for your location; the navsat knows where you are by your squawk."
The smuggler paled. "Are you certain my ID is recorded? There's so much ground traffic...."
Reva looked at her shrewdly. "You're not used to working dirtside, are you?"
Absently the Holdout shook her head. "Started in shipping."
"And you continue to think that way. That'll get you killed, or locked up."
Lish studied her guest with a thoughtful eye, then refilled their glasses. "Got any other suggestions?" she asked seriously.
Reva shook her head. "Too late for that. You cut a deal with Karuu, that'll keep you safe for a little while. He's connected. But when the fall comes, your cargo will be grabbed by someone else—probably the Dorleoni—while you and your playmates get swept up by the Grinds. Or Internal Security, with the kind of stuff you've been moving."
Lish waved that comment aside. "I'm safe from Security. I've got connections."
The assassin looked skeptical. "I haven't heard of any that'll keep the Bugs off your back. Generally speaking. What makes you think you're so safe?"
Lish chewed her lip and hesitated before speaking. "Do you know of the Shiran Traders?" she finally ventured.
Reva shook her head.
"From the Empire. Sa'adani space, I mean, from before we annexed the Confederacy."
"Ahh...." The meaning of that sank in, and Reva looked at her host as if seeing her for the first time. The Confederacy of Allied Systems was thirty-three subsectors conquered by the Sa'adani Empire
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