Inbound, DropShip Somerset

Basalt

Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere

29 January 3133

Arrangements were made for me to leave Terra immediately. I’d go to Epsilon Indi, then on to Fletcher and finally to Basalt. I sent a message ahead indicating I’d go from Epsilon Eridani to Ingress and then Basalt. I pegged my arrival on that later course as being the third of February. That put me on the ground four days before Handy was expecting me, which is exactly what I wanted.

We doubted my message, which would originate from Epsilon Eridani, would get there much before I did. I wasn’t certain if The Republic would have someone traveling on the ships I said I was going to take to look out for any agents Handy might have in place on the journey in. It wouldn’t have been a bad thing, and would have put at least one more Republic official on the ground where I could get some help if I needed it.

And I was pretty sure I was going to need it at some point or other. Whether this was a wolf pack or a lion’s den, things would definitely get messy. Having backup would be useful, and I was given a variety of locations for dead-drops and names of contacts I could use if need arose.

The toughest thing about the journey was that Janella’s parents chose to head back home to Fletcher on the same DropShip. They were utterly unaware of my journey and apparently had made a spur-of-the-moment decision to leave Terra. “I’m not sure what more good I can do on Fletcher,” Thomas Lakewood had said, “but as long as I’m a Knight of The Republic, I should be doing something.”

Dodging them was not as difficult as might be imagined. I let my beard grow, which changed the line of my jaw and filled my face out. I also cut my hair shorter and colored it. If blonds do have more fun, you couldn’t tell by the trip I made, but, then again, that shade of yellow is seldom seen in nature so most folks didn’t look at it or beyond it for long. When going undercover I usually avoid dyeing my hair, since dye jobs have to be maintained and that looks suspicious. Handy would know exactly why I was dyeing it, though, so he’d accept it.

From Terra out to Fletcher I flew on the Munson, then transferred to the Somerset for the run to Basalt. On the Munson I kept to steerage, didn’t make many friends and skinned enough folks playing poker that I soon didn’t get invited to games. That worked fine for me, as I spent the time downloading books from the ship’s meager library and boning up on Basalt history.

My arrival on the planet proved uneventful and, using my poker winnings, I took a room at the Grand Germayne Hotel. I liked the place a lot, even if it was on the shabbier side of elegant: carpets just a bit too worn, Tri-Vid sets small and outdated, the menu the sort of thing that would have made my grandparents think they were eating all that cutting-edge cuisine enjoyed by the royals on New Avalon. The hotel’s chief claim to fame was that Duke Aaron Sandoval had once stayed there, and it was pretty easy to imagine I was seeing the same wallpaper in the halls that he’d seen.

Once I’d gotten settled in, I ventured out into the downtown of Manville, the capital city. It had been built on a series of nine hills at the confluence of three rivers that joined on their ways north. The downtown occupied the area just south of the convergence and had been built up into a lush riparian park with bridges over the rivers and cable cars running from one hill to another.

On this particular world, the native plants tended toward shades of blue instead of green, and while quite edible by humans and our herd animals, provided an exotic air to a world, especially for me so recently come from Terra. When disembarking I’d heard someone else remark that the plants made the world look as if the Tri-Vid needed adjustment. It could have been the result of the time I’d spent tending roses, but I actually appreciated the subtle shapes and colors that let these plants thrive here.

The color of the plants was not the only thing that struck me as unusual. Perhaps it was because I’d been on Terra of late, and at a Republic facility to boot, but the signs of stress on the society surprised me. Basalt, in theory, had been stable for a long time, but the signs of division were easy to spot. Ethnic Capellans and Kuritans tended to glance down and move out of my way as I walked through a largely Davion section of the city. In some shop windows I could see faint hints of Japanese lettering that had been hastily scraped away. In other places I saw hand-lettered signs reading “Loyal to Basalt,” accompanied by iconic pictures of Achilles Germayne shaking hands with Victor Steiner-Davion.

This shocked me. I did see a few boarded-up shops, but no signs of overt violence. Some Asian shopkeepers did hang in the doorways of their stores, glancing hopefully in my direction, but dejectedly dropping their heads as I made no move to enter their establishments. I might have, but the venomous glances given to them by other Anglos like me suggested patronizing those establishments would be outside the norm. Since my job was to fit in, I avoided attracting attention and went about my business quietly.

I had not traveled to Basalt with much in the way of clothes for two reasons. First, Sam didn’t leave Helen with much. Moreover, my job was to fit in with society here at least until I met Handy. Since fashion varies world to world, had I decked myself out in what was the very latest on Epsilon Eridani, for example, I’d look like a clown on Basalt. The last time I’d looked like a clown, things had not gone well, so I was determined to avoid repeating that experience.

I hit several department stores and didn’t buy the latest and greatest, but instead went to the clearance racks and picked out those clothes that were the least ugly. I mean, some of those clothes never should have been stocked in the first place, so it is little wonder they never sold. The normal stuff, though, made it to the clearance rack because it was a season behind. Okay, a season old on Basalt was an antique on other high-fashion worlds, but by purchasing slightly dated clothes here, I’d look as if I’d been around for a while. I’d fit in easily, and that was what I wanted.

I made one exception to this rule and went to a high-end store where I got scanned for a suit. I added to it all the appropriate things from head to toe, skin out. If I needed to move into some upper-crust circles, I wanted the right uniform there, too. This made the clerk very happy and I agreed to return the next day to get the altered clothes.

My last stop was to a styling salon, when I got my hair, as the personal-care consultant put it, “color corrected,” to a shade that wouldn’t make people’s eyes bleed. I also got my beard trimmed down into a barely there line of stubble that was supposed to be all the rage on Basalt. It didn’t do that much for me one way or another, but it looked easy to maintain, so that worked in my favor.

Coiffed and accoutered, I returned to the Grand Germayne and my room. A lot of the spycraft I’d been taught focused on noticing the little things, as they might give one an edge in any situation. I had, in fact, seen two people in the lobby I thought might be house detectives, or local police, but both were plainclothed and didn’t pay any attention to me. I’d also been trained to do something like close my door on a thread, which would invariably fall out when someone opened my door, thereby warning me someone had been through the room.