No matter what Radko had said, you couldn’t keep something like that a secret for long, and Fitch would come across single-level linesmen soon enough. “You saw the bridge yesterday,” Kari Wang said. “I’m sure they’re trying everything they can think of to see who can read the boards.”

  She walked carefully along the horizontal line marked on the floor. Given that Radko had chosen what she said, and when she’d said it, Kari Wang would have to balance her own words as delicately as she did her body.

  “Mmmh.” Fitch looked at her critically. “I think we should start you on stairs soon. Stretch out some of those muscles. Your balance is improving. Half of what’s left is psychological. You think they’re not your legs, so you haven’t accepted them.”

  Why would she even think that? She could feel them. They ached every night; they gave out on her all the time. “Fitch, maybe someone should give you a new pair of legs and see how you’d cope. Things are not quite in the same place.”

  “They are, you know. We created them exactly.”

  Kari Wang didn’t believe him.

  TWENTY-TWO

  STELLAN VILHJALMSSON

  SO FAR, LINESMAN Lambert hadn’t gone anywhere a civilian could get to him. Yesterday morning, someone had leaked the story of Lady Lyan’s forced takeover of the contract. Stellan had heard five versions since. It had been cleverly done, for sympathy was with Rigel.

  Markan denied anything to do with the leak. “You think I want to draw more attention to him than I have to? If the New Alliance thinks he’ll go back to House of Rigel, they’ll double their guard.”

  “If they double the guard, he’ll have more than the Emperor of Lancia himself,” Stellan said. Markan still didn’t believe how many guards Lambert had around him.

  If Markan hadn’t leaked it, Stellan’s money was on Paretsky. Good publicity for a man trying to get back into a position he had lost.

  Meantime, Stellan had to find a new way to get Lambert.

  He’d slept with Kaelea twice. She was like other high-level linesmen Stellan knew; aware of her importance as a linesman, looking down on nonlinesmen like himself.

  Kaelea had told him that Lambert hated Lancia.

  “He’ll be so grateful Rigel has come to rescue him.” Why she thought Rigel could or would rescue Lambert was something Stellan didn’t pursue. Typical linesman, she seemed to forget there was a war on. The cartels didn’t have the power anymore, no matter what they thought. If Lambert knew as much about alien technology as Markan thought he did, Lancia wouldn’t let him go, whether he wanted to or not.

  By the second night, it was obvious Kaelea was having as much trouble contacting Lambert as Stellan was.

  Still, there had been some history between Kaelea and Lambert, and an ex-lover might be able to slip through where others couldn’t.

  He twisted a strand of her hair around his finger and considered how to use it. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said, and made himself sound cautious, as if he wasn’t sure he should be repeating it. “Lancia won’t let Lambert go. He’s been on the alien ships, you see, and they’re worried he’ll take the secrets over to Gate Union with him.”

  “They can’t stop him. He’s a level-ten linesman. He can do what he wants.”

  “I heard,” and he stopped twirling her hair to give his next words emphasis, and chose every word carefully. “Rebekah Grimes tried to go back, too, and they made up some story about war crimes.”

  Rumor was Lancia had killed Rebekah Grimes, and those sorts of rumors often had a basis in fact.

  Kaelea stiffened. “They wouldn’t,” but it was uncertain.

  Stellan shrugged. “You know Lancia,” he said, and left her to think on it.

  * * *

  WHILE he waited to see what became of that, Stellan looked around for other opportunities.

  He tried Cartel Master Rigel, of course.

  Rigel spent a lot of time at the Night Owl. Since it wasn’t the sort of bar Rigel looked to normally frequent, Stellan assumed he was hanging around hoping his former employee might return. Kaelea, he was pleased to see, didn’t come here.

  Stellan was fast becoming a Night Owl regular himself, although no one who’d seen him that first night would recognize him now.

  Stellan had introduced himself the second night Rigel had been there. “You look about how I feel,” he told Rigel. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  Rigel had looked him over. What he would have seen was a man of medium height, human-standard stock, with brownish blond hair—spiked into the latest fashion, much like Rigel’s own but without the color—dressed in regular business clothes. Stellan looked like a midlevel executive. Rigel would have dismissed him immediately as no one high enough in a company hierarchy to sell line business to; just another person in a bar wanting to talk.

  “Thank you,” Rigel said.

  Stellan ordered Glenn spirits, which was around what a midlevel executive would buy.

  “You’re here on business?” Rigel had asked.

  “Business.” Stellan made his voice bitter. “I finished my business days ago. I booked out on the Sagittarian Queen.” The Queen ferried corporate trade. “We’ve been waiting for a jump for two days now.” He downed his drink in one gulp. The mods in his stomach turned alcohol into harmless sugars almost instantly. He had to watch his weight, unfortunately, but it was worth it because people would say things when you were both drunk that they wouldn’t say otherwise. “Our company has a contract with the Sagittarian Line in this sector, so my boss won’t even let me switch to another ship. I’ve watched five ships leave while I wait here. Five.” He held up five fingers, as if he was already half-drunk and had to emphasize it.

  “That’s too bad,” Rigel had said sympathetically. “I wish that was my problem.” He downed his drink. “Another?”

  “Thanks.”

  They were nodding acquaintances now, occasional drinking partners when they were both alone.

  Tonight, however, Stellan had other prey.

  The line trainees. He’d researched all twenty of them. Some were housed on ships from their home worlds. Five more were housed on Confluence Station. But twelve were based here on Haladea, and three of those had become friends who visited the Night Owl regularly when off duty.

  He sighed when Rigel saw him and came over.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” Rigel asked.

  Stellan forced himself to smile because he couldn’t afford to alienate the cartel master. Rigel might still deliver. “I’d love the company.” He made it enthusiastic.

  Rigel hesitated, as if he could feel he wasn’t welcome.

  “Sit down, man. I’ve had a depressing day. It will be good to have someone to talk to. I thought I had passage off this hellhole, but it was a false alarm. I almost checked out of my hotel.”

  “That would have been bad,” Rigel agreed. “You’d never get another room.” He settled onto the stool beside Stellan. “I’ve been stuck in worse places. Not many more expensive, though.”

  Stellan raised his glass when their drinks came. “To company expense accounts.”

  “I wish,” Rigel said.

  Stellan’s quarry entered then. Three young soldiers laughing together. One in Aratogan caramel, one in Barossa two-toned brown, and one in Eridanus green. He watched them hunt for spare seats. They’d be lucky tonight. They even looked toward the private booths at the back until the Aratogan shook her head. He could see her mouth, “Too expensive.”

  They were expensive, and they charged by the hour, but one of those booths had already been booked by Stellan in the hope the line trainees would be here tonight. Now all he had to do was get rid of Rigel, plant a bug on one of the three, and settle in to listen.

  Rigel followed his gaze to the soldiers. “You’ve high hopes,” he said. “I think everyone in this bar has hit on her at one time or another,” for the Barossan—Aurelia Solvej—was an attractive woman.

  “One can hope.” Sex and romance were age-old assistants to spies and assassins everywhere. Get an attractive person in the group you wanted to follow, and you always had an excuse to approach them. Even if you were rebuffed, you got close enough to plant a trace.

  He drained his glass and ordered another drink for them both. “I’m just ducking into the bathroom,” and left Rigel shaking his head.

  On the way back he detoured via the bench the three had found, and offered to buy Solvej a drink.

  “Thank you, but no.”

  Stellan leaned forward to show her his comms, and his contact details. “If you ever want a decent dinner,” he said.

  “Thank you again, but no.” She was polite about it, but turned immediately back to her friends. Stellan looked disappointed and turned away, brushing lightly against her, slipping the microbug close to her collar, where it couldn’t be seen, as he pulled his comms back.

  At the bar, Morton Paretsky was talking to Rigel. The former Grand Master was in casual clothes although he still wore the ten bars of the highest-level linesman on his pocket. What else could he wear? He wasn’t Grand Master anymore. He wasn’t affiliated with his old house, Aquarius, either. Stellan thought Paretsky might be feeling unsettled right now.

  Personally, Stellan would have managed getting his old job back differently. Paretsky had spent most of his time at the confluence in the hospital with heart problems. He’d missed the brunt of whatever it was that had happened. With so few powerful tens working at capacity right now Stellan would have demanded his old line job back, and worked his way back into favor from there.

  Stellan picked up his drink. “I’ll leave you to talk.”

  For a moment Rigel looked panicked, and Stellan was tempted to stay for the goodwill it would generate. But he wouldn’t need the goodwill if he could get a better way to Lambert through the line trainees.

  Rigel’s expression changed to relief so suddenly that Stellan wondered if he’d lost five seconds of time and had offered to stay anyway.

  “Leo,” Rigel said.

  Stellan looked back. The man behind them wore midnight blue. He had a leaping rickenback stitched in gold on the pocket of his cartel uniform. He displayed no bars of a linesman. Leo Rickenback, Grand Master of the line cartels, cartel master for House of Rickenback.

  It was interesting he dared to dress so openly in cartel uniform.

  “Rigel,” Rickenback said. “Morton.” He nodded to Stellan.

  It was a strategic time to retreat. Stellan took out his comms and made a show of looking toward the booths, then “booking” the one he’d prebooked.

  He slid into the seat and turned the silencer on. Peace descended. Stellan ordered another drink and some of the fried root that was a specialty on Haladea III, put a receiver into one ear, and listened.

  He was on his last fried root before the trainees started talking about what he wanted to hear.

  “Do you really think Lambert knows what he’s doing?” It was Solvej of the lovely looks. “I mean, he was nobody before—”

  “Shh,” the other two cautioned.

  Solvej scowled into her drink. “Sometimes I need to talk about it. Tasker’s a six, and he says—” She stopped. “I know what we’re doing is experimental, but you should hear what he says about Lambert. I need to talk to people who understand.”

  Klim, the Eridanian, said, “We’ll be surrounded by people who understand soon. After the fuss about Hernandez, I hear they’re going to move us together.”

  “If you sell the contract, Morton, you have to expect the linesman to move out of the cartel house. Or do you expect the New Alliance to start their own house, and that’s what has you worried?”

  Stellan stopped himself—just in time—from looking around as Rigel, Rickenback, and Paretsky arrived at the table behind him. Someone had bugged Rigel. Or Rickenback or Paretsky, and his listening device was picking it up.

  Which meant that whoever was bugging Rigel was picking up the linesmen as well.

  “One might say the same of you, Leo,” Paretsky said.

  “What, that I’m worried about the New Alliance starting their own cartel house? Or that I didn’t expect my linesman to move out once I sold his contract? Part of that contract is board and salary. Of course he’d move out. And it’s inevitable they’ll end up creating their own gates—and therefore houses—if Gate Union continues to block access,” Rickenback said.

  Paretsky said, “That’s—”

  “Unthinkable, Morton? No, what’s unthinkable is us not thinking that will happen. Eventually, the galaxy will split into two, and the only people who will move between will be free traders affiliated with neither and prepared to wait and jump to the rim.”

  Underneath, the third linesman, Chantsmith, said something that sounded like, “Never did get that business with Hernandez.”

  “Didn’t you hear?”

  “But that’s not what I’m here for,” Rickenback said, over the top of Klim. “I’ve just come from seeing Ean Lambert and Lady Lyan.”

  Rickenback’s voice was as strong as any linesman’s.

  “Back when they moved the fleet to Haladea III,” Klim said. “You know, when Lambert had to go off and do whatever he had to do. And we got two days off.”

  “Is Paretsky blackmailing you, Rigel? Or threatening you?”

  “The only person who’s threatened him is Lady Lyan,” Paretsky said.

  “Keep out of this, Morton. Besides, according to Lambert, Lady Lyan didn’t threaten Rigel at all. She threatened Lambert.”

  “Threatening a linesman is as bad as threatening a cartel master. Especially a level-ten linesman.”

  “Anyway, Hernandez was really obnoxious about missing line training. You know how she gets.”

  “Don’t we ever. It’s like she’s on a drug.”

  Stellan perused the menu in the center of the table without really seeing it, trying to look as if he weren’t listening to either conversation. He jabbed an item at random, as if he’d finally decided on more food, and sat back. He should have recorded this. Except, all he’d been hoping for was something to help him get to Lambert.

  “Why, Morton.” He could hear the anger in Rickenback’s voice. “As a former grand master yourself, you know that every linesman is equal in your eyes. That’s what the grand master is for, to look after all the linesmen, not ‘especially’ the tens.”

  “Such naivete, Leo. You won’t last long with that attitude.”

  “She was so bad,” Klim said, “that her team leader sent her out on a job that day. It was that or put her in jail.”

  Stellan had studied the twenty linesmen trainees so carefully he knew more about each of them than their fellow trainees did. Hernandez was a scout pilot.

  “Isn’t that what this is about, Morton? Usurping me as grand master because I’m not doing my job?”

  “Leo, the job should never have been yours anyway. We had an incumbent Grand Master.”

  “Who’d been in the hospital for six months. If you can’t do your job, someone has to do it. Let’s not forgot, you’re not the only one who wants the position. Iwo Hurst is looking for it, too, and he has more support right now than you do.”

  So far, Rickenback was making an excellent grand master. It was a pity Markan didn’t support him.

  Stellan’s order arrived then. The same fried roots he’d had before. He bit into one. It was hot enough to burn his tongue.

  Behind him, Paretsky laughed. “The cartels don’t want Sandhurst in charge.”

  “Iwo has close to the numbers. It will only take a few to cross, and he’ll have them. He also has Gate Union support. It’s a different world out there now. The cartels made some bad mistakes. The worst of which was sending our nines and tens out to the confluence. We lost a lot of power. We don’t have it back. The military is ascendant now.”

  “Of course it is,” Paretsky said. “There’s a war on.”

  Klim lowered his voice. Stellan forced himself not to lean forward. It wasn’t going to make him hear any clearer. “They got attacked. One of her team died.”

  Rickenback said, “If Gate Union wants House of Sandhurst in charge of the cartels, they’ll make it happen. And speaking of Gate Union and Sandhurst, let’s address Lambert’s other worry. That Rigel will hand him straight over to Gate Union as soon as he gets him back.”

  So Lambert had some brains at least.

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” Rigel said. “I’d make him work. Do you know how many people have offered to pay triple and more to get Ean to work on their ships?”

  Paretsky laughed. “Only Lambert would think he’s that important.”

  Along with the whole Lancian fleet, who were prepared to expend a lot of manpower to keep him safe. Proven, as Markan had rather snarkily confirmed, by that unsuccessful attempt to kidnap or kill Lambert that first night. Stellan had to bite his tongue hard when he’d heard. It wasn’t his job to tell Markan his business, and he knew as well as Stellan did that Markan had a big security problem somewhere close to him.

  The fried roots had lost their allure. Stellan ordered a bowl of what the menu mysteriously called gher-wha, with no further explanation. He took out his comms, and settled back in the corner of the seat, facing outward, and pretended to watch his comms while he listened. It gave him a view to some of the room.

  “There was this big fuss,” Klim said. “Why had she been allowed to go? And she’s supposed to be traumatized. I mean, Hernandez.”

  Stellan could imagine the eye roll that went with it.

  “Probably traumatized because she missed line training,” Solvej said

  Rickenback was pitching doom and gloom for the line cartels. “You think you want to be Grand Master again, Morton. Have you looked at what you’re getting into? The cartels are a mess. Half of them are going broke, the military is trying to buy up the high-level lines.”