He should try going twenty years without a connection, she mused. Out in the middle of uncharted space, with travel time to the nearest space station measured in decades. That would blunt the edge of his addiction. But it wasn’t a fair comparison, and she knew it. Any ship large enough to undertake that kind of journey would have an internal network running—as the Artemis did—and while that might not be as fancy as a virt designer would like, it would probably be enough to fend off withdrawal symptoms.
They’d uploaded all her Hydran data into their headsets, including a map of the flyways, but navigating on faith in this dank tunnel, with no view of the outside world, was still disconcerting. She remembered being taught in school that Earth’s first space capsules had been made with small windows, not so astronauts could enjoy the view, but to keep the sense of blind confinement from unhinging their minds. Ru was probably better prepared than most to handle that kind of anxiety, but even so, she was glad to see the landing stage emerge from the shadows ahead, and to know this part of their journey was over.
The hatch at the end of the flyway wasn’t locked, and it opened at their approach. A tide of smells rushed into the flyway, not all of them good. Ru could pick out notes of human sweat, smoke, some kind of peppery spice, and a strange musky-sweet odor, like a cat in heat. There was particulate matter as well, and columns of dust swirled visibly in front of dome-shaped ceiling lights. That set Micah to coughing, and Ru had to wait until the fit played out. What an odd mixture of strength and weakness he was. Born and bred on artificial worlds, he no doubt was used to having his air scrubbed clean of any dust or odor, and his lungs weren’t prepared for this kind of assault. You’ve probably never been close enough to a campfire to taste its smoke on your lips, or walked through a field of flowers while clouds of pollen enveloped you. His power of imagination might be impressive, but there were some things imagination was no substitute for. “Smells are good,” she reminded him. “Even bad ones. Right? It means all this is real.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Bad smells are great. I love stink.”
When he had finally caught his breath, they moved through the hatch, into a low-ceilinged circular chamber. Tunnels splayed off in all directions, some barely wide enough for a single person to walk through, some wide enough for a couple if they were friendly enough. The room they were in was modern enough, lined with synthetic panels and outfitted with a display screen and control console, but several of the tunnels appeared to have been crudely excavated from solid rock. Headed underground, no doubt. If she and Micah went down there, the maps of the surface that she’d assembled would be of little use.
Voices were faintly audible, coming from one of those tunnels. Ru had her misgivings about going underground, but if they wanted to find people to talk to, it seemed the best direction to try. As the tunnel enveloped them they were surrounded by the echoes of human voices, resonating from the stark stone walls. Laughter. Cursing. Carousing. Apparently she had made a good guess about where Hydra’s main social space would be located. Once there, they needed to find someone willing to give them the information they needed without questioning their motives; there were only so many questions you could ask about a station if you were trying to pass for someone who belonged there.
The tunnel sloped gradually downward, leading them deep into the station’s core. She glanced over at Micah as she walked, and found him subtly transformed. His shoulders were pulled back, and his arms swung more aggressively at his sides, defining a larger personal territory. His gait was changed as well, his stride longer than before, more confident. His eyes were the same, though. When he looked at her their amber depths sparkled with excitement. And why not? He was in his element now. She felt as if a different man was walking by her side—rough-edged and confident, a man whose focus was on the physical world rather than digital fantasies. She and Tully had played various roles in the course of their outriding duties, but they had never transformed so completely or so compellingly. There was something perversely fascinating about a man who was so skilled at becoming someone else.
Soon the voices were loud enough that they knew they were getting close to their source. Ru did a final inventory of her weapons, making sure everything was ready at hand but hidden from sight. All except the long knife that was clipped to her belt. She remembered Micah’s horror when he’d learned the handle was made from the bone of an actual animal, not something cultured or synthesized. But when they left the Artemis he’d insisted she wear it. It had the right flavor for Hydra, he said. Whatever that meant.
People may not wear dead animals in the outworlds, she thought, but in some colonies no one would think twice about it.
The tunnel finally opened out into a large chamber hewn from the same coarse rock, obviously a social space of some kind. Variants of every size and shape were perched at the edge of a long bar, nursed drinks at the small tables surrounding it, traded cards and cast dice at larger tables beyond that, and pursued more private pleasures in shadowy alcoves around the perimeter. Many of the locals had tattoos and dermal inlays like Ivar’s. Only the center of the common room was unoccupied, perhaps because of the large circular cage that stood there. Raised up on a platform that was streaked with dark stains—dried blood, perhaps?—it loomed over the crowd, quietly ominous. Let’s hope that’s not where they entertain visitors, she thought.
They stood in the entrance for a few minutes, just taking it all in. With the costumes Micah had chosen for them they fit in well enough, but Ru was acutely aware that the wrong words or actions could give them away, and she remembered Ivar’s warning about what would happen if locals became suspicious of them.
Somewhere in here is a person who will tell us what we need to know, without asking why we need to know it. All we have to do is find that person. Looking around the room, she shook her head. The task had seemed far easier back on the Artemis, when it was just hypothetical.
“Drinks,” Micah suggested. She nodded in agreement, and the two of them crossed the crowded room, dodging inebriated locals along the way. One man reached for Ru’s butt but she shot him a look that made him draw his hand back as though he’d just grabbed a hot poker. There were several empty stools at the far end of the bar, and they claimed two. Ru looked around for a person or bot to serve them, and saw an Arakni pouring drinks at the far end. Two of his spindly arms were pouring beer, one was shaking a mixed drink, and one more was wiping the counter clean. Ru caught his eye and he nodded; when his tasks were done he came over to them.
“Haven’t seen you two before.” Was there an edge of challenge in his voice? These people probably all knew each other.
“First time at this bar,” Micah said guardedly. “I’m Tonio. This is Ru.”
“Pred Pago. What can I get for you?”
“What do you recommend?”
“We have an excellent Saurin lager, if that’s to your taste. Just came in. Smooth as a whore’s tongue. Or if you like mixed drinks, the house special is a Bleeding Heart: pepper-infused vodka and cava juice, with a dusting of semi-detoxified nightshade.”