degree Kas had to admit she hadn’t expected. She’d spent most of her life reading about old processors, data systems, and code, but Solomon had been arms-deep in the stuff for almost as long, and it showed. Pretty soon, she felt like she was running to keep up.
In the end they rejected the link-support unit (too damaged), a surgery bay controller (wrong inputs), and a recon drone (Kas pegged the processor type as known-corruptible). They settled on an Eighth-Empire grenadier bot, badly slagged around the edges but with an intact core. Gytha added it to the small pile of pieces she was building, and punched a few numbers into her tablet. Kas blanched a little when she saw the totals.
Doesn’t matter, she told herself. Either Zhi’s plan would work, and they’d put it all back—hopefully before anyone noticed it was gone—or else she was irrevocably fucked, and the scale of the fucking probably didn’t make a difference. But still. She couldn’t help but imagine the Archscholar’s face when he was told. In other circumstances, I’d probably pay to watch.
* * *
Kas parted with Solomon, after he’d drawn her yet another map and promised to get her a meeting place when the parts were delivered, so she could take them down to Zhi. By this time it was, apparently, late evening. Kas followed the map back toward the surface, heading for the quarters she vaguely remembered the tour company had promised them, adjacent to the Drome itself.
Her navigation skills seemed to be improving—or else Solomon was better at drawing maps than Zhi, which seemed likely—because she only took one wrong turn. Emerging aboveground at last, she found herself on an apparently endless plain of weathered monocrete, which had once been a storage space for personal vehicles of visitors to the Drome. (The idea of owning a vehicle, which would then spend the vast majority of its time unused, felt vaguely obscene to Kas, like the height of Ninth-Empire arrogance and waste.) In this later age, the lot had become an ideal place to drop prefabricated buildings, all glamorously styled and looking wildly out of place in the wrecked landscape.
Kas headed for the one that said “Homeward Voyages,” was greeted by a cheery security officer in branded armor, and was admitted once she’d provided sufficient assurance she was in fact Scholar Zychtykas Three. Firidi, Vanalt, and Gneisin were sitting around a table in the common room, learning to play some sort of analog card game from the company flack assigned to entertain them. Kas ignored them, headed for the door with her name on it, and collapsed into the deliciously soft bed. Sleep came instantly, even without her algorithmic meditation aids.
When she woke the next morning, she spent a long time in the shower. The tour company might not have been able to provide its customers with a civilized network, but some luxuries at least could be imported—presumably at great expense. The events of the previous day had left her covered in grime and sweat, and simply scrubbing it off and dressing in a clean outfit—a practical coverall, this time, suitable for field work—helped her state of mind immensely. By the time she emerged into the common room, where the table was set with an elaborate breakfast, she was feeling almost optimistic.
“Morning, Scholar,” she said to Firidi, who was poking through a small bowl of assorted fruits.
“Morning, Kas,” Firidi said.
Kas sat down next to him and helped herself to toast and skyroot pods. “Where are the others?”
“Gneisin had a desire to see the warbot from yesterday’s match,” Firidi said. “Vanalt agreed to accompany her.”
“Sounds exciting,” Kas said. “You weren’t interested?”
“I wanted to speak to you,” Firidi said. “And I thought it was best done alone.”
Oh, fuck. Kas’s good mood vanished immediately. Fortunately, she was halfway through chewing a pod, so she could mask her confusion as she slowly popped the sweet seeds between her teeth.
“What about?” she said, when she was sure she could control her tone. Maybe they don’t know. It seemed unlikely. What else would account for that dark tone?
“Your behavior yesterday,” Firidi said. He shifted, looking uncomfortable, not an expression you often saw on a first-wave.
“What about it?” Kas said, stalling.
“Will you make me spell it out?” Firidi sighed. “You left the party arranged for us by our gracious hosts, and you were later seen in a . . . vagrant community.”
“Ah.” Kas took a deep breath. “The thing is . . .”
“I understand the allure of the forbidden,”