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so even with guests in residence, there had been constant hammering during the day, with workmen from Najida village coming and going on the graveled road.
    The Reunioner youngsters, who had never seen wood and stone in their lives before their visit, had been fascinated by the process. So had Jase been. They had gone out more than once to watch the work . . . even climbed up to see how the structure was made.
    But the crew had gone home to their suppers, down in the village. Hammering had ceased for the night, and would not resume before they left, early, early in the morning.
    â€œYou’ll remember to send me pictures when it’s all done,” Jase said as they headed toward the door.
    â€œDeal,” Bren said.
    The house door opened for them unasked. Najida’s major domo, Ramaso, welcomed them in, staff waited to take their outdoor coats, and to provide their indoor ones. Other servants deftly took away the day’s catch from those following, and whisked it off to the kitchen—it would likely reappear as the staff breakfast in the morning, once the lord and his offworld guests were safely out the door and away.
    â€œA pleasant trip, nandiin?” Ramaso asked.
    â€œEntirely, Rama-ji,” Bren said. “The young gentleman and his guests have retired?”
    â€œThey are still awake in their suite, nandi,” Ramaso said, “well-fed and happy, by all report. Do you still wish only the cakes?”
    â€œJase-ji?”
    â€œCertainly that will be enough for me,” Jase said. The sandwiches they had had for supper had been more than they could eat. “A glass of wine, the cakes, and I shall be very content.”
    â€œThe sitting room, then,” Bren said, and led the way, Banichi and Jago attending. Tano and Algini went on toward their own quarters, there being a little packing yet to do.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    He and Jase had their dessert, wine chilled so that moisture frosted the glasses, and a plate of spice cakes still so warm from the oven that the icing melted.
    Banichi and Jago took cakes, too, but not the wine, and after sending an order to the kitchen, uncharacteristically informal in this very safe house, they took a second plate of little cakes with them and retired to quarters to help Tano and Algini pack up. Jase’s bodyguard, Kaplan and Polano, were likewise off in Jase’s suite, packing for a much longer trip.
    So he and Jase had this one last evening to themselves, no duties to think of . . . locally speaking.
    â€œMy hindbrain’s already starting to add up what’s waiting for me,” Jase said ruefully, feet propped on a footstool, and a second glass of wine in hand. “And top of the stack is my report to the captains.
And
to Lord Geigi.” A lengthy pause. Then: “And Tillington. Bren, we two need to
talk
about Tillington.”
    â€œIn what regard?”
    Tillington was the Mospheiran-side stationmaster, human counterpart to Lord Geigi.
    Tillington had been all right, in Bren’s estimation: Tillington had kept his half of the station running fairly well—cooperating, generally, with Lord Geigi, getting along well with Ogun, who ran the ship’s affairs on station.
    Tillington had had a hard situation.
Phoenix
, under Captain Sabin and Jase, with Ilisidi, Cajeiri, and Bren aboard, had gone off on its voyage to deal with a remote station in deep space, a lone human outpost that had been supposed to be dead—but which had been left with records they didn’t want lying there for any other entity to find: those, the human Archive, needed to be destroyed. That was the mission. Ogun, senior captain, had stayed behind, with half the crew, to maintain the ship’s authority on the station.
    Then, no fault of anyone aloft, so far as he knew, the disasters had multiplied.
    A conspiracy on the mainland had unseated Tabini-aiji, seized the spaceport, grounded all but the one