The Collapsing Empire (The Interdependency #1)(52)

“What a fucking hole,” his seatmate said, looking at Marce’s tablet screen.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Marce said.

“Looks pretty from a distance. But I’ve friends who have crewed Lagos ships before. They all have problems. House of Lagos is cheap. They run their ships until they fall apart and only repair them when the alternative is exploding. They scare me.”

“And yet you’re here, about to crew a Lagos ship.”

“I was going to crew on the Tell Me Another One, but it’s been impounded. Captain let pirates take her cargo, I heard. Switched over. Last-minute add. Worth it. Things are going to hell on End.”

“The rebels.”

The man nodded. “That and the other thing. About the Flow streams.”

“What?” Marce said. He set down the tablet and gave his full attention to his seatmate.

“A friend of mine who crews on the Tell Me—the one who was getting me the gig on it—said they dropped out of the goddamn Flow stream halfway here and only barely made back in before they were stranded forever. He’s got another friend who told him this wasn’t the first time. Flow streams are getting spotty all over the goddamn place. It’s only a matter of time before the shit really drops. I sure as hell don’t want to be on End when it does. I’m from Kealakekua. I’m going home.”

“This is the first I’ve heard about this,” Marce said.

“You haven’t shipped in the last few years, then. Everyone who crews has heard the rumors.”

“Just rumors.”

“Sure, just rumors, but what the hell else are they going to be?” the man said, irritably. “It can take five years for a piece of news to go from one end of space to the other, and the story’s going to change in the telling. So you don’t listen to the story. You listen to the pattern. And right now, the pattern is, weird fucking shit going on with the Flow.”

“The guilds know about this, then.”

The man looked at Marce like he was an idiot. “They don’t want to know. A ship goes in the Flow and doesn’t come out and they say, oh, pirates got them before they could report in. Or there was some problem shaping the bubble inside the Flow and they just disappeared in it. There’s always an explanation that doesn’t mean the Flow is the problem. They don’t want to believe it. And if they don’t believe it, then who is going to tell the Interdependency? You? Me? Like they’re fucking going to believe us.”

“They might.”

“Well, you try it and let me know. What I’m going to do is go home. I got kids. I want to see them again.”

There was a thump and the shuttle landed in the Yes, Sir’s bay.

“You’re not worried that something might happen to this ship on the way out,” Marce said, while they waited for the air to be pumped back into the bay.

“I figure this ship is safe. I didn’t want to hang around after that.”

“Why not?”

“My friend on the Tell Me’s heard that this stream—the one out of End—is getting shaky.”

“How so?”

“How do I know? It’s a rumor, man. They don’t come up with a science report. But my friend is anxious about it. He even considered jumping ship and coming with us. But the Tell Me’s whole crew is grounded for legal depositions and he didn’t know where to get reliable forged IDs. It’s hard to fool the biometrics.”

“I’ve heard.”

The man nodded. “So he’s stuck. And he’s worried he’s going to be stuck here forever.”

“There are worse places to be stuck than End,” Marce said.

The man snorted at this. “An open planet is no place for humans. Give me a decent ring habitat any day.”

“Earth was an open planet.”

“And we left it.” The door to the shuttle opened and the new crew began to file out.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Marce asked the man. “The one on the Tell Me.”

“Why? You going to send him a condolence note?”

“I might.”

The man shrugged. “Sjo Tinnuin. And I’m Yared Brenn, in case you’re at all curious.”

“Kristian.”

“No, I’m with the Interdependent Church. Mostly.” Brenn shuffled off before Marce could correct the confusion.

An hour later Marce had what passed for an orientation and was assigned his quarters, a tiny, sealable bunk in a room with fifteen other crew members. Each crew member had their own bunk and locker, with a common lavatory and living space, the latter of which couldn’t possibly fit all sixteen of them at the same time. As the newest crew member, he got the worst bunk, the highest of four nearest the lavatory, at the same altitude where the lavatory fumes gathered.

Marce slipped into his bunk area, which had barely enough room to sit up, and connected his tablet to the ship’s system. There was already a message waiting for him, informing him where to report to his new superior, and when, the latter being a half hour from then.

Marce opened up an app that would allow him to text anonymously and securely and pinged Vrenna. This is your friend Kristian, he texted.

I already said good-bye to you. Now you’re ruining the moment, Vrenna responded.