Angelmass

"Thank you again," the girl said, deftly disengaging from his arm and giving his hand a quick squeeze. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Kosta said again, stumbling over his tongue a little. "Can I—do you need help getting anywhere?"

"No, thank you," she said. "My ankle's fine now. Anyway, don't you have to go back in and get the rest of your luggage?"

He blinked. "Oh. Right. I guess I do."

She smiled, somehow managing to look both shy and impish at the same time. "Thank you again."

She turned to look out over the rows of line cars parked along the curb, the breeze brushing her hair up against Kosta's face as she did so.

And abruptly, it clicked. Her hair—that perfume—

She was already walking away from him. Dropping his travel bag, he took a half dozen quick steps and caught up. She started to turn at the sound of his footsteps; grabbing her arm, he spun her the rest of the way around and took his first real look at her face.

She was the escaped stowaway.

For a handful of heartbeats he just stood there and stared, his hand frozen to her arm, his head spi

It wasn't just her hair, though that showed no trace of the fancy braidings he'd invariably seen her wearing aboard ship. It wasn't even her dress, though how and where she'd managed to find a replacement for that blue and silver thing she'd been wearing he couldn't even begin to guess.

It was her; she, herself, had changed. Changed from a serene, confident, pampered upper-class young woman to a slightly helpless, very vulnerable teenage girl. Her posture, her expression, the way she moved her hands, even the texture and lines of her face—all of them were totally different.

"I don't suppose," she murmured into the brittle silence, "there's much point in asking what the hell you think you're doing."

And as her dark eyes gazed into his, the helpless, vulnerable teenager was gone, too. In her place...

Kosta shook his head. "No. No, I..."

"So what now?"

That was a good question. "Why are they after you?" he asked.

She shrugged, her eyes never leaving his face. "I overstayed my welcome."

"Stowed away, you mean."

She shrugged again.

I could do it, Kosta told himself. I could march her straight back inside and hand her over to those police at the doors. It would be the right thing to do—after all, her little joytrip had cost the spaceline a lot of money. And it would serve her right for using him to walk her out straight under security's nose.

But turning her in would mean drawing official attention to himself.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he let go of her arm. "Get out of here," he muttered. "Just... go."

She stood there for another moment, and he thought he could see some surprise in that expressionless face. Then, without a word, she turned and disappeared into the flow of people heading toward the row of line cars.

Kosta shook his head, a grudging admiration begi

But talk about brazening it out...

CHAPTER 7

"Welcome, sir," the gentle female voice of the line car said as Kosta got in and collapsed into the soft contour seat. "Where would you like to go?"

"The Angelmass Studies Institute in Shikari City," he growled, pulling the door closed with a muttered curse. "I suppose you'll need an address."

"That won't be necessary, sir," the line car said, pulling smoothly away from the curb. "Angelmass Studies Institute; One Hundred U San Avenue, Shikari City. Estimated time to arrival, forty-six minutes."

"Fine," Kosta grunted. "Let's get moving."

He glared out the window as the car maneuvered its way through the traffic, splitting his attention between the dull fatigue ache in his arms and his slow seethe at that fiasco the locals euphemistically called a spaceport baggage collection center. It had been possibly the worst example of inept design he'd ever seen—overcrowded, slow, with luggage carts nowhere to be seen. All of it far below the level of standards he was used to. He'd wound up having to manhandle all three of his cases out to the line cars on his own.

And the worst thing is they probably think they're doing just fine, he grumbled to himself. Well, just wait—when the Pax gets here, we'll show you how to build a proper spaceport.

Not to mention how a city should be maintained. The area he was passing through...

"Where are we?" he called, reaching into his i

"Moving north on Kori Street, in the city of Magasca," the line car answered. "Approaching the intersection of Kori Street and Enamm Street."

Kosta nodded, locating it. From the layout of the two cities and their surrounding communities he'd already come to the conclusion that Magasca and Shikari City had been built at different times; from the view out his window, it was apparent that Magasca, at least, had been here for a considerable number of years.

Vaguely, he wondered how long a city had to be in existence before it created slums like this.

The aging streets and buildings of Magasca gave way—rather abruptly, it seemed—to the cleaner and fresher cityscape of Shikari City. And exactly forty-six minutes after leaving the spaceport they were there.

It was, Kosta had to admit, an impressive sight. Rising up out of the landscaped lawn surrounding it, the Angelmass Studies Institute looked for all the world like some modern architect's vision of a squat, towerless castle. Only four stories high, but spread out enough to qualify as rambling, it was all glass and brick and that marble-like stone he'd seen so much of at the spaceport.

The line car took him up a curving, tree-lined drive and stopped at what was obviously the main entrance. "How much?" Kosta asked, stuffing his maps back into his coat pocket and opening the door.

"Fourteen ruya twenty. Do you wish me to call a luggage cart?"

The question was a surprise; Kosta hadn't realized the Empyreals had the capability for that kind of double-linear communication linkage. "No," he told the car as he fed the appropriate bills into the cash slot and accepted his change in return. Going around back, he popped the cargo hatch and pulled his cases out onto the pavement. And wondered with a flush if he'd lugged them all around the spaceport for nothing.

The Institute's entrance lobby was fully as impressive as the building's exterior: an archway two stories high, done up with a lot more of the marble-like stone. In the center, seated behind a circular reception desk of the same material, was a dark young woman who watched him approach with a slightly quizzical look on her face.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked as Kosta set his cases down with a multiple thump in front of the desk.

"I hope so," Kosta said. "My name's Jereko Kosta, here on a temporary study program from Clarkston University, Cairngorm, on Balmoral. My credentials should have been sent a week ago."

"Let me check," she nodded, tapping keys on her desk. "Mr. Kosta... yes, it looks like you're all set.

Will you still be wanting a room here at the Institute?"

"If there's one available, yes."

"We're holding one for you," she said, looking back up at him. "You'll be in room 433, on the top floor. If you'll put your luggage on the cart, I'll have it sent up."

Kosta looked down in surprise; he hadn't heard the luggage cart arrive. "Thank you," he said, reaching down for the first two cases. "These things don't take long to get heavy."