But the early terraforming engineers had tamed the Klameth sufficiently to farm and ranch the entire canyon and virtually all of its feeder canyons, several thousand kilometers of land under cultivation, all told. Ranches with vast pastures full of cattle, horses, and sheep showed as vivid green splashes against the deep rose of the canyon walls. Delicate pink and white clouds marked the big commercial orchards. A dark patchwork of newly plowed fields sprawled in every direction, ready for the row crops Jefferson’s farmers would be planting soon. Irrigation water sparkled in the early sunlight, where mechanical sprayers soaked the orchards and fields.
More recent terraforming efforts had created dozens of small lakes and aquaculture ponds, allowing Jefferson’s ranchers to cultivate Terran fin fish and shellfish. It was the shellfish — and the spectacular freshwater pearls her family cultivated and sold off-world, a commodity particularly prized by Malinese miners — that had paid for Kafari’s education on Vishnu.
One of the factors that had sent Kafari home had been her coldly logical conclusion that war would disrupt the economies of both star systems sufficiently, nobody was going to be interested in buying pearls, which meant the family could make much better use of its money than paying for an education she’d nearly completed, in any case. If necessary, she’d finish up the degree work by correspondence course.
Her academic advisor had made an offer to do just that, adding gently that he’d secured a scholarship for her, as well, to pay the balance of her tuition and the cost of SWIFT transmissions necessary to send course materials and exams. They both understood exactly what that offer meant and why. With war brewing, she wasn’t likely to return to Vishnu. Even if she survived, even if her family survived, the economic devastation following an invasion would destroy any chance she might have had to return and finish her education on Vishnu.
Kafari had left the office in tears, unsure whether to be profoundly grateful or to grieve for the loss of everything that offer represented. She still wasn’t sure. The one thing she was sure of was the tremendous compliment to her talents and academic standing that offer represented. Dr. Markandeya had gone far beyond the strict call of duty to find a way to help her and she would never forget it.
Kafari’s aircab had just signaled the landing field’s auto-tower for final approach when an override signal came through. The aircab slewed violently sideways in a sickening, high-g turn that slammed her against the safety straps. A gasp of pain broke loose as a government-issue aircar came screaming past on priority approach vector. It was headed toward the landing field, where a groundcar waited in the section reserved for high-ranking officials.
“Huh,” Kafari muttered to herself, rubbing a deep-seated ache across her shoulder and chest. “I wonder who’s coming to dinner?” Whoever it was, chances were vanishingly small they’d end up at her house to eat it. Another shiver caught her shoulders. Whoever that VIP was and whatever they were doing at Klameth Canyon, dinner was doubtless the last thing on their mind. Officials from Madison didn’t come all the way out here without a disturbingly good reason. And the only reason she could see for an official visit now was a scouting trip in preparation for war.
Kafari thought about the damage one good salvo from a Deng Yavac would do to Klameth Canyon Dam and abruptly wished she hadn’t thought of it, after all. The leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with the aircab’s abrupt course change back toward the landing field. Unless she were very much mistaken, war was about to come knocking on her family’s front door.
II
Simon’s aircar was closing in for priority landing at Klameth Canyon field when they overtook a smaller aircar. It performed a sudden, wrenching maneuver to clear the approach lane. He caught a brief glimpse of the occupant, a young woman, it looked like, with long, dark hair. Then his own car flashed past and all he could see was the bottom of the other aircar as it slewed sideways.
“That girl’s going to have bruises,” he muttered to Abe Lendan, who had insisted on escorting him personally for this tour of Klameth Canyon. “I’ve never seen a civilian aircar veer off that sharply. I wonder who she is.”
Abe Lendan frowned as he peered through a side window. “That’s a standard commercial aircab. She’s probably a student going home from that shuttle flight, this morning.”
“Shuttle flight?”
“A freighter came in a few minutes ago from the Vishnu-Mali run. I saw a notation about it, since it was carrying a cargo of high-tech weaponry we ordered from Vishnu’s weapons labs. A whole group of college kids came with it, traveling steerage.”
“Really? I’d like to talk to one of those kids. How can I get a message to that aircab?”
Abe touched a control. “Jackie, can you patch a message through to that cab we just passed? Major Khrustinov wants to talk to the passenger.”
The shuttle pilot’s voice came back through the speaker. “Of course, sir.” She left the connection open, so they could hear. “Klameth Field, this is Airfleet One. Requesting commo patch to the aircab inbound to your commercial strip.”
“Patching to aircab commo system,” a mechanical voice replied. “Connection made.”
“Hello, aircab, this is Airfleet One, do you hear me?”
“Uh—” a startled female voice responded. “Yes. Yes, ma’am, I hear you.”
“President Lendan has requested a meeting with you. We’re routing an override to your cab-comp, to set you down next to Airfleet One.”
“Really?” It came out a startled, little-girl squeal. “I mean, yes, certainly, ma’am, I’m honored.”
And terrified. Simon smiled ruefully.
A moment later, their aircar settled in for a neat landing at the edge of Klameth Field. A waiting lackey hurried forward as their pilot popped the latches, opening the pneumatic passenger hatch. President Lendan’s bodyguards exited first, then Simon slid out, followed by the president and his energy advisor, Julie Alvison. The aircab had changed course to follow them down. It settled to earth twenty-five meters away and the hatch popped open.
A shapely pair of legs emerged, followed by a curvaceous young woman clad in khaki shorts and a comfortable, rugged camp shirt with lots of pockets. A glorious mass of dark braids mostly obscured her shoulder pack. She was tall, nearly as tall as Simon, with skin the color of dark honey.
One of Abe Lendan’s bodyguards — one of only two, comprising the smallest security detail he’d ever seen escorting a planetary head of state — performed a quick electronic and visual search, then escorted her over. The closer she got, the better she looked. Not pretty, exactly. There was too much strength in that face for conventional, doll-like prettiness. But she was strikingly memorable. African features, mixed with something Mediterranean, maybe. Jefferson’s population was polygot, he knew that much from his mission briefing files, and the rural population was heavily weighted toward groups of African, Mediterranean, and Semitic descent, blended by generations of intermarriage. The effect of that blending was stunning, like a sculpture of Nefertiti, suddenly come to life.
“I hope my request to meet you didn’t inconvenience you, ma’am,” Simon apologized. He held out his hand. “Major Simon Khrustinov, Dinochrome Brigade.”