“Paging. Yes, you have a travel itinerary. Payment is debited to the Outbound Project on—”

It’s now or never. “I’d like to upgrade, please.”

“Query?”

“Sybarite class, please, or the nearest thing to it you can find for me.” She’d checked her credit balance and she was damned if she was going to hunch restlessly in a cattle class seat for the duration of the transfer flight.

The terminal mumbled to itself for a while. “Acknowledged. Annealing to determine how we can accommodate your wishes — confirmed. Departure from bay sixteen in two hours and four minutes, local shuttle to Centris Noctis orbital for transfer to luxury liner WSL Romanov for cycle to Minima Four. Your connection will be in twenty-eight hours. Which option would you like and how would you like to pay?”

“Whichever.”

The terminal cleared its throat: “I’m sorry, I was unable to understand that. What economic system would you like to pay in? We accept money, approved modal barter, agalmic kudos metrics, temporal futures, and—”

“Check my purse, dammit!”

The terminal abruptly closed its eyes and opened its mouth. A small blue six-legged mouse poked its head out. “Hello!” it piped. “I am your travel voucher! Please allow me to welcome you to TransVirtual TravelWays on behalf of all our entities and symbionts! We hope your journey with us will be enjoyable and your business will be fruitful! Please keep your travel voucher in your possession at all times, and — squeep—”

Wednesday caught it.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snarled. “I am not in the fucking mood. Just show me to my cabin and fuck off.”

“—Please note that there is a security deposit for damage to TransVirtual TravelWays property, including fittings, fixtures, and emotivationally enhanced passenger liaison systems! We hope you have a pleasant voyage and a succulent profession! Please ensure your luggage remains under your control at all times, and proceed now to the green walkway under the cherry tree for transit to departure bay sixteen, where the VIP suite is awaiting your excellency’s attention.”

The mouse-ticket shut up once Wednesday transferred it to a pocket that didn’t contain any power tools or high-density energy storage devices. The path winked green in front of her feet, red behind her, as it guided her round a couple of strategically placed cherry trees and into a blessedly spartan metal-walled walkway that curved up and over the departure hall like a socialist-realist rendering of a yellow brick road.

Three hours to go. What am I going to do? Wednesday wondered nervously. Wait for Herman to phone? If he could be bothered talking to her — for some reason he didn’t seem to want to stay close. A twinge of loneliness made her clench her jaw. What am I letting myself in for? And then a stab of guilt so sharp she nearly doubled over fighting back the urge to vomit. Mom! Dad!

The VIP lounge was privacy-spoofed, a huge acreage of black synthskin and gleaming ivory patrolled by silent gray partition walls that flickered from place to place while her back was turned, ensuring that she could wander freely without seeing — or being seen by — the other transit passengers. A dumb waiter followed her around, all bright gleaming brass and scrollwork, eager to fulfill her every desire. “When do we board?” she asked.

“Ahem. If madam would follow me, her personal transshipment capsule is being readied now. If there are any special dietary or social or religious requirements—”

“Everything is just fine,” Wednesday said automatically, her voice flat. “Just find me a sofa or something to sit on. Uh, maximum privacy.”

“Madam will find one just behind her.” Wednesday sat. The walls moved around her. A few meters away the floor was moving, too. It all happened too smoothly to notice by accident. Something in one of her pockets twitched, then began to recite brightly: “We provide a wide range of business services, including metamagical consultancy, stock trading and derivatives analysis systems, and a full range of communications and disinformation tools for the discerning corporate space warrior. If you would like to take advantage of our horizontally scalable—”

Wednesday reached into her pocket and picked up her travel voucher by the loose skin at the scruff of its neck. “Just shut up.” It fell silent and drew its tail up, clutching it with all six paws. “I want a half hour call before boarding. Between now and then, I want total privacy — so private I could die and you wouldn’t notice. No ears, no eyes, no breathing gas mixture analysis, nobody disturbs me. Got it?”

The voucher blinked its wide, dark, excessively cute eyes at her. “Good.” She dropped it back in her pocket and stretched out on the huge expanse of padded cushions behind her. For a moment she wondered if she should have asked the voucher to leave her a bottle of something drinkable, then dismissed the thought. Privacy was more important just then, and besides, if there was something to drink, the way her luck was running right now she’d probably drink herself into a sodden stupor and choke on her own vomit. She held her hand to her face. “Get me Herman.”

“I’m here.” The voice was anonymous, bland.

“You corpsefucker,” she hissed.

“I can tell you what is happening,” said Herman.

After a moment, she made a noise.

“On Old Newfoundland, before the evacuation. I made a mistake, Wednesday.”

“No shit.”

“Like the mistake you made in attempting to return home. There were skin particles on the outside of your jacket, Wednesday. Both you and your friend. It will take at least four hours for the police forensics to identify your genome, but then you may be suspected of vandalism at best, conspiracy to commit murder at worst. Your friend will be eliminated from the investigation rapidly, but you may be unable to return home until the situation is resolved. Did you want that to happen to you?”

She couldn’t see anything. Her rings, biting into the palm of her hand, were her only contact with reality.

“What did you say?”

“I said.” She took a deep breath and tried to remember. “Meant to say. What makes you think this is home?”

“You live here.”

“That’s not good enough.” She fell silent. Herman, too, fell silent for a few seconds. “I would have protected your family if I could.”

“What do you mean, if?”

“I thought there were only two or three hunters. I was wrong. Earlier, I thought events were of no significance that were highly significant. I should not have left you alone here. I should not have let your family stay here, so close to the resettlement hub. I should not have let you settle in Septagon at all.”

“What do you want?” Her voice rose to a squeak that she hated.

“I want you to be my helper again.” Pause. “I want you to go on a voyage for me. You will be provided with money. There will be an errand. Then you can let go. It will take less than two hundred days, no longer.”

“I want my family back. I want…” She couldn’t go on.

“I cannot give you your parents.” Herman sounded infinitely remote, flat, ab-human. “But if you work for me, the hunters who took them will suffer a setback. And they will never trouble you again.”