Skeeter smiled ruefully. “Double gate day, is right. And I’ve got this funny feeling we’ll be neck deep in lunatics before the day’s over. First Primary, then Britannia, and tomorrow, another double gate day.”
“Yes,” Ianira nodded. “The Wild West Gate opens tomorrow.”
“And that new tour gate they’re ripping half the station apart over, adding to the Commons.”
“At least, there won’t be any tourists coming through for it, yet,” Ianira smiled.
“No. For now, it’s the Britannia tours, packing in the loons. In record numbers.” He shook his head. “Between your acolytes and all those crazies coming in for the Ripper Season, this place is turning into the biggest nuthouse ever built under one roof. And those Scheherazade Gate construction workers . . . eergh!” He gave a mock shudder. “What slimy boulder did they turn over, hiring that bunch of thugs?”
As Ianira fell into step alongside Skeeter’s push cart, she glanced up with a reproachful glint in her eyes. “You must not be so irritated by the construction workers, Skeeter. Most of them are very good men. And surely you, of all up-timers on station, must understand their beliefs and customs are different? As a down-timer, I understand this very well.”
“Oh, I understand, all right. But some of the guys on the Scheherazade Gate crew are throwbacks to the dark ages. Or maybe the Stone Ages. Honestly, Ianira, everybody on station’s had trouble with some of them.”
She sighed. “Yes, I know. We do have a problem, Skeeter. The Council of Seven has met about them, already. But you, Skeeter,” she changed the subject as they navigated a goldfish pond with its ornate bridge and carefully manicured shrubbery, “you are ready for the Britannia? There are only seven hours left. Your case is packed? And you will not be late?”