Actually there were three other ships out there, which solved a little mystery. Prethuvenigis had come aboard not long ago looking tired but satisfied, and had let Peters know that he no longer needed the smallship without saying a word about where he’d been with it. The other ships answered that question, at least by implication.
Thersin Vee was a bür smallship-carrier, shorter than Llapaaloapalla and clearly newer but equally clearly belonging to the same lineage. Ghedekepoalla was another Grallt trader, a conglomeration of spheres and tubes that was the first time he’d seen anything that actually looked like a spaceship from old science fiction vids. The third—
The third was Trader 1049, and people tended to go to windows and look out just to check to see if it was really there. Ferassi didn’t do that. Most especially, ferassi—not just ferassi-Grallt, but Ander’s and Alper’s relatives—didn’t get out and about, visiting other ships and groundside, to gapes and the occasional faint. These did, though. Those rumbles wouldn’t die away quickly.
The four ships were scheduled to go to Earth together. Formation flying in high phase wasn’t something Peters wanted to think about; it made his head hurt. More important, though, it meant four ships, one of them heavily armed, would appear in Earth orbit instead of Llapaaloapalla alone.
Peters knew that Prethuvenigis had bad feelings about dealing with Earth for more than one reason. Among other things, he’d figured out what the airplane pilots normally did for a living. That explained Thersin Vee—if you needed violent backup the bür would provide it cheerfully and with a will—and Ghedekepoalla, but it still wasn’t clear why Prethuvenigis had gone all the way back to Jivver and invited the ferassi. Given that he had, though, it was clear why he’d wanted to use Peters’s ship. It was the only way he could have done it in time.
Peters stared at the movement order for a long time, then returned to putting together a summary of the detachment’s financial status. He’d need to translate it to English and decimal numbers before presenting it; this was the real account, including the profits from the wagering, and he wondered what Commander Bolton’s reaction was going to be. No, he didn’t wonder, but he did wonder if the explosion might be damped by the fact that it was going to be a tidy little nest-egg for everybody, even divided forty-five ways. If anybody got to keep any of it.
The shutters rumbled closed, and after a little while he felt the surge of high phase entry. One and eight llor, as he recalled, full six-ande llor rather than his abbreviated day.
Underway for the last time. Next stop, Earth.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The man was bundled to the eyes in layers of threadbare clothing. It looked warm, but if he’d chosen the nicest-looking items as outerwear the rest must be falling to rags. “Where are we at?” Peters asked. “I used to know this road, but I got to admit I’ve done got confused.”
“That ain’t no surprise in this weather.” A gust swirled blowing snow around the porch roof. The kathir suit moderated the cold but did nothing for the force of the blast, and both of them flinched. “This here’s Sylvester,” the man said, then looked out into the forecourt of what had been a filling station thirty years ago. “West Virginia, U. S. of A., planet Earth,” he added.
Peters grinned. “Believe it or not, I figured out that part.”
“I wasn’t too sure. That’s a spaceship, ain’t it?”
“Yeah.” As Dreelig had two years ago, he suppressed most of the details. “It’s called a dli. Really it’s just a kind of ferryboat, to go back and forth between the ground and the big ship.”
The other nodded. “You folks lost?”
“You might say that. I’m tryin’ to get to Whitesville.”
“Just up the river a piece… Whitesville. Do I know you?”
“You might. I’m John Peters.”
“Fairey Howe.” They shook. “You any kin to Emmett Peters? He lived down Whitesville way, out by Blue Pennant.”
“My daddy.”
Howe nodded. “Me and your daddy used to whack one another pretty damn good playin’ football. He got killed in, what, thirty or thirty-one? Run off into the river, as I recall.”
“Thirty. What Granpap said was, he run off down by that railroad trestle just this side of town, and he and momma froze to death before anybody found ‘em.”
“That’s what I heard too… so Emmett’s daddy raised you? I can’t call his name.”
“Donald. He still lives at the old home place, that is if he’s still alive. I been gone two years.” Peters gestured, taking in the lowered sky and the blowing snow. “I’m tryin’ to get there now, but this ain’t helpin’.”
“Just follow the river yonder way.” Howe gestured upstream. “That’s if you can see it. You sure as Hell can’t see across it.”
“Ain’t that the truth. We’ll manage.”
“Yeah, I reckon so.” Howe looked away for a moment, then faced Peters directly, with a hint of defiance. “I’m required to tell you, you’re in violation of Federal Aviation Regulations, by operatin’ an aircraft without proper markin’s and in unsuitable weather conditions, and I’m required by law to inform the proper authorities.”
Peters shrugged and produced a thin humorless smile, holding eye contact. “Send ‘em around. I’m goin’ for the record.”
“Record?”
“The most Federal Regulations ever violated by one person… I reckon you must be the local stucach.” He pronounced it stew catch.
“Federal Compliance Observer. It’s a violation of Federal Regulations to use disparagin’ language.” In most of the country the term used was “fucko”; by chance enough Russians had settled in the Big Coal River valley for the more accurate word to pass into the language.
“Well, that’s another’n down for the day.” Peters gave Howe another humorless smile. “Thanks for the directions. Be seein’ ya.”
“See ya.”
Just in the few minutes he’d been speaking with Howe the snow had filled his tracks almost to the point where they were no longer visible; Peters knew how that went, and didn’t try to force his way back along his previous path, instead choosing a fresh stretch of white stuff to struggle through back to the dli. Closing the hatch finally cut off the itchy feeling of someone staring at the back of his neck; he made his way forward and took the pilot’s seat. Howe was still standing in the doorway, watching. Peters gave him a thumbs-up, and he nodded and closed the door, almost certainly not aware that the gesture was less than complimentary in zeref.
“Did you get directions?” Ander asked as he began the activation sequence.
“Yes, along with a reminder of why I don’t really want to live here.”
“Isn’t this enough?” Alper demanded, gesturing out the windshield. “I went to the hatch for a better look, and thought I would die of cold before I got back. I can’t believe people actually live here.”
“Not many do… here we go.” He lifted the dli a few meters above the ground and set off, keeping the speed to not much faster than a walk.
Even that was nerve-wracking. Heavy snow, lowering clouds, and fading light combined to reduce visibility to a few tens of meters, and the Big Coal River had been a major artery of the coal-transport system for a century and a half, perhaps longer. Steep hills, amounting to mountains and cliffs in many places, bounded it on both sides, and the twists and turns reduced the distance that could be traveled in a straight line to a kilometer at most. Both banks were decorated with railroad tracks except where the engineers had thrown up their hands and erected steel-truss bridges or trestles across the river to avoid some impassable spot. Highway 3 wound, here over, there under, elsewhere around or through the obstacles, and every spot wide enough for a foundation, and many that weren’t, was graced with a building, ranging from private houses to coal processing and storage facilities studded and draped with conveyors, lifts, stacks, cranes, and radio masts. The electric transmission lines that had once kept it all humming and clanking added towers, poles, and a few surviving catenaries to the mix.