“Some settlement worlds don’t make it,” Genevieve acknowledged. “Actually, Haven is one of the older settled worlds that are still going. Ares is one that’s having a hard time, like Chamis. People can’t figure why some worlds make it and some don’t. It’s as though some worlds lack something people need in order to live, but no one knows what it is.”
“Now that’s interesting.” Jeorfy frowned. “I’m going to use the machines to look that up. I’m going to order some of those publications, too.”
“You don’t have a purchase order,” snarled Zeb.
“I can make one up,” said Jeorfy. “You think anybody’s keeping track? That’s a laugh. I can fake a number and then take the stuff out of the shipment when it arrives.”
Genevieve put down her fork. “How does stuff get ordered and come here for storage? Where is it brought? Who handles it?”
Jeorfy said, “Stuff gets ordered from the palace. I used to do it myself. Then it gets paid for somehow, before it comes or at the same time as. The smaller stuff is delivered down at Bliggen and sent up here on barges and wagons. That gets sent down the chutes. But Zeb says huge stuff is always landed right here in High Haven. After dark, by some kind of beam or other that sets it right down on the elevators.”
“Hasn’t been any huge stuff for decades,” mumbled Zeb. “Those big animals was the end of it.”
Genevieve put her hand to her mouth, only half-hiding a yawn. “It’s very interesting Mr. Coffin, but I’m so … I’m so tired. I only had about an hour last night, and all that running and hiding and riding . . .”
“Surely, surely,” said Zebulon. “You go ahead. Jeorfy and me, we need some sleep, too. Been a long day.”
She nodded her thanks, finished the food on her plate, then excused herself. Within moments, she was lying on top of the bed they had brought for her, her bedding pulled over her, soundly asleep.
Outside, in the other room, Jeorfy asked again, in a worried tone, “We will take her where she’s going, won’t we?”
“Oh, you can say that, yes,” Zeb answered, not meeting his eyes. “We’ll definitely take her where she’s going.”
* * *
On that same high vantage point where Aufors Leys had once stood to contemplate his relationship with the Marshal’s daughter, Ogberd Ygdaleson, Captain of the Lord Paramount’s Aresian mercenaries, Sometime-General of the Aresian army, leaned upon the railing in off-duty laxity, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. He did not see his brother ascending the steep flights behind him, he did not hear him until Lokdren was within a pace of him.
“Brother? Og?” Lokdren murmured, unsure of his ground under these unusual circumstances. Ogberd was not an emotional man. His men had never seen a tear in his eye. “What’s happened? Have we had news from home?”
Ogberd took a deep breath, shivered all over like a fly-bit horse, and nodded, wordlessly. He wiped his eyes once more, put his kerchief back into his sleeve, gritted his teeth, and said between them, “Granpa. He’s gone into it.”
“Aaaah,” said the other, with a grimace. “How far gone?”
“He’s at the wandering stage. Ma says he keeps looking for something. Granma asks him what it is, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t know. Something. Something he’s lost. She says he keeps listening for something. She asks what he’s listening for. He says he used to hear it, he doesn’t hear it anymore. They’ve done everything they can think of. The Chief hired some off-world quacks to take a look at the situation. They came up with pure vacuum. Not an ion. Gorge and vomit! If we’d just been faster!”
“Come on, Og. We’ve tried everything anybody’s even thought of.”
“Then we should have thought of something else,” Ogberd mumbled. Lokdren shook his head. “I’ve got dust in my ears from the nothing that’s come into them, so its hard to know where else we could have done.”
Ogberd sniffed, staring at the horizon. “I told them at home nothing was bein’ said. Father was raging. He said we just weren’t listenin’.”