The Recollection (8 page)

As she kicked through the warm surf, she watched the trading ships crawl across the sky, the sparks of their fusion drives burning like tiny, angry stars, and remembered the stories her father had told her about Great Aunt Sylvia, the black sheep of the family.

If the stories were true, before she vanished, Sylvia had been one of the Abdulovs’ best captains. She’d been everywhere, carving out new trade routes and building herself a formidable reputation. She’d been courageous, fiercely self-reliant, and notoriously promiscuous, and Kat desperately wanted to be just like her.

On a clear summer’s night, she saw the orbital docks bulking low in the hazy southern sky, their gigantic habitat wheels turning ponderously in the light of the long-set sun. Every time she saw them, they filled her with such yearning, making her wish for the far-off day when she’d graduate from flight school and take her rightful place at the helm of one of her family’s trading ships, just like her aunt.

Standing there, her head full of impatient dreams, there was no way she could have known how quickly those dreams would be shattered. No way to foresee that her doomed affair with Victor Luciano would force her to walk away from everything she held dear, leaving her jumping from star to star in an old tramp freighter, cut off from her family’s wealth and protection, desperately trying to keep fuel in the tank and food on the table.

Katherine Abdulov was twenty years old when she graduated at the top of her flight school class; twenty-two when she met Victor Luciano. Approaching Strauli now, at the age of twenty-six, wired into her pilot’s couch and decelerating hard toward the orbital Quay, she found it difficult to take her eyes from the blue and white swirls of the planet. The colours seemed to nourish her soul. At high magnification, she could trace the familiar bays and headlands along the stretch of coast owned by the Abdulov family, and if she squinted, she imagined she could almost make out the red roofs and white-painted buildings of the compound itself.

I’m coming home
, she thought, and wondered what sort of reception she’d receive. A lot of time had passed. A lot of fuel through the engine, as her aunt would say.

She supposed she should feel reassured that at least her father had, in his own gruff way, seemed pleased to see her.

As the
Ameline
lined up for its approach to the orbital docks, it automatically synched its databases with the local Grid. It was standard procedure and every trading ship did it. They carried googleflops of spare memory capacity in order to transport data from one star system to the next. They were couriers. Faster and more reliable than radio signals, they spread information along the trade routes at close to the speed of light, updating—and being updated by—each Grid they encountered. They carried electronic messages, books, scientific papers, breaking news stories, and market information. The local authorities paid them a small fee for doing so. They were the lifeblood of interstellar civilization. The information they carried helped stitch the scattered worlds of humanity into something approaching a cohesive whole.

Kat took a moment to scan her eyes down the list of incoming news headlines, then disconnected herself from the ship’s feed, unhooked herself from the pilot’s couch, wiped her face with her hands, and made her way down the ladder and back through the hatch into the main cabin, where Toby Drake and the Acolyte were still strapped into their seats.

“I thought you might like to see this,” she said.

Drake looked up at her and his eyes widened, and then flicked quickly away. Puzzled, Kat looked down and realised she hadn’t thought to change out of the figure-hugging ship suit, which clung to her curves like sprayed-on paint. Realising her mistake, she folded her arms across her chest with a muttered apology. She stepped backwards through the hatch and reached for the clothes locker, from which she pulled her grey coat. As she put it on, she felt the tips of her ears burn with embarrassment.

“We’ll be docking in a few hours,” she called. “As this is your first time on Strauli, would you like to watch the approach?”

She fastened the coat and, safely covered, returned to the open hatch.

Toby Drake looked questioningly at the Acolyte, who raised an eyebrow.

“Go ahead.”

Drake unclipped his harness with a grin, excited at the opportunity to visit the flight deck. He wouldn’t look at Kat directly, and there was something contagious about his shyness. Ears still hot, she led him up the ladder, and steered him into the co-pilot’s chair.

Although it would take another three hours to reach their assigned berth, the Quay already filled the entire forward view. It comprised a row of fifty rotating wheels, stacked on a single axle, each one a kilometre in width and over ten in diameter. Navigation lights blinked on their rims.

“There are three main sections,” Kat said, pointing them out, hoping to hide her self-consciousness by playing tour guide. She told him of the
Medina
, which lay along the non-rotating axle of the stack. It was the heart and soul of the docks, where on any day of the year you could find ships from six or seven merchant families, and pick up passengers, cargoes and diseases from a hundred different worlds. A place where you could walk down the central concourse between the bays and see the stalls laid out in front of each ship, heaped with knickknacks, weapons and curios from planets and systems a dozen light years away. Around that, the
Dharamshala
occupied the rim of the wheels, where spin gravity provided a comfortable abode for more than a million permanent inhabitants, and temporary accommodation for a transient population of more than a million travellers, traders and pilgrims. And lastly, the
Observance
lurked in the spokes and interstices of the station. It was the home of the Acolytes: a place of corridors that smelled of patchouli and sandalwood. A place of improvised laboratories and observatories, and temples filled with people from all corners of known space, here to see, study and worship the Dho.

“Technically, the planet’s called Strauli and the docks are called Strauli Quay,” she said. “They’re politically independent, but over the years, the names have become interchangeable.”

In theory, all starports were autonomous, neutral territories. To safeguard trade, the local authorities had no jurisdiction over visiting starships. It was only when passengers or cargo left the port’s environs that they had to submit to local customs and taxes.

Kat looked over. If Drake’s eyes had been wide when he saw her in her ship suit, they were now as round as rocket exhausts. Watching from her couch, she smiled.

“Surely this can’t be all that impressive to a boy from the Bubble Belt?”

Drake shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand. This is different. Nobody knows who built the Belt, but all this”—he swept his arm at the rotating docks—“all this is man-made.”

With an obvious effort, he pulled his gaze from the forward view.

“Does that make any sense?”

Kat smiled.

“So,” she said, nodding her head back toward the hatch that lead down to the lounge and the Acolyte waiting within. “Do you have any idea why they sent for you?”

Drake glanced nervously over his shoulder. When he spoke, he leaned close, his voice low.

“Not really. I’ve been kind of assuming it’s got something to do with James Harris. He was my professor at the university, and he came out here a few years ago, to study the Dho.”

“Do you think he recommended you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

A warning light appeared in Kat’s right eye. She hooked her implant back into the ship’s sensorium.

> Trouble.

The ship had detected another vessel emerging from jump a few thousand kilometres in their wake.

“Is that Victor’s ship?”

> Yes. Transponder ping confirms it as the
Tristero
. Besides, I’d recognise that ragged-ass drive signature anywhere.

“What’s it doing?”

> Mostly bitching about our little stunt. I’m seeing a lot of comms traffic to the Port Authority.

Kat twisted a smile. Victor could complain all he wanted. This was her turf and her family commanded a lot of respect on the Quay. Now that they’d welcomed her back into the fold, there was little he could do to touch her.

“Can we beat them into dock?”

> Oh yes. At best speed, they’ll get in three hours after us.

“Good. Keep an eye on them and let me know if they do anything unexpected.”

She disconnected and found Drake watching her. He had heard only her side of the exchange.

“So, what’s the deal with this guy?”

“What guy?”

“I’m talking about the captain of that other ship. I take it there’s some history between the two of you?”

Kat looked away.

“You could say that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She reached out with her implant, telling the ship to locate and magnify the Dho Ark.

“Look at this,” she said. She pulled it up on the main screen: the image of a gigantic crystal spinning in a majestic orbit around the system’s solitary gas giant. Drake glanced at the measurements displayed at the bottom of the screen and gaped. The Ark was an impressive way to change the subject. At more than a hundred kilometres in length, it dwarfed the Quay. It was larger than some of the gas giant’s moons and its sides were plated with smooth sheets of artificial diamond. Human ships fussed around it like gnats around an elephant. As it emerged from the planet’s shadow, the light of the sun caught one of its facets, sending rainbow refractions skittering up and down its diamond flanks.

“It’s beautiful.”

As Drake leaned forward, Kat studied his profile. He was younger than she was, and skinny, and his ears stuck out; but he also had kind, dark eyes and a shy, goofy smile.

“Have you ever seen it up close?” he said.

She shook her head. “As far as I know this is the first time they’ve let anyone, aside from the Acolytes, get near it.”

He turned to her. His eyes flickered up and down her wrapped body.

“Then why don’t you come with me when I take the shuttle over there? They won’t let you inside, but you’d still get a good look, and we wouldn’t have to say goodbye so soon.”

Kat opened and closed her mouth. There was a question in his eyes, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t know what to say. Suddenly flustered, she cut the picture feed, resetting the screen to an unenhanced view of the approaching docks.

“It’s past midnight on the Quay,” she said brusquely. “And the days are longer here than on Tiers Cross. If you’re going to adjust before we dock, you should try and get some sleep.”

She stood, and he rose to follow her. In the confined space, his hand touched hers and she turned to find him looking down at her, head bent slightly by the low ceiling, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

“I’m a lot older than you,” she said.

He laughed.

“I’m twenty-five years old,” he said. “What are you, twenty-four?”

“I’m twenty-six. Physically, I’m twenty-six.”

“That’s nothing.” He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. He was, she realised, trying to be charming.

She said, “Yes, but objectively, I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”

His smile broadened, dimpling his cheeks. He moved closer. Behind the leather, she smelled soap and sweat, and musty old books.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

Kat shivered. His closeness made her skin prickle. She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. It had been a long time since she’d had a man. It had taken months for her to get over Victor. Then there’d been Napoleon, but that hadn’t lasted; and that random guy in that bar on Icefall, the one who was gone by the time she woke the next morning... All of them older than her, and all of them in their own way rejecting her. She’d never been with anyone her own age.

She looked into Toby Drake’s wide eyes. He was young and willing, and this time, she’d be the one doing the leaving. She had a mission to complete. This kid couldn’t hurt her.

Ah, to hell with it
, she thought.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and, closing her eyes, pulled his lips down to meet hers.

STRAULI GRID

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