Ammonite

“Yes. I see.” The deputy was looking tired from her trip, and was being more than usually pedantic. “I hear that this site has a name already.”

Teng smiled a little. “My team have been calling it Dentro deun Rato.”

“In a while,” Da

Teng said nothing.

Da

Teng looked relieved. “Well, there are several springs. Fa’thezam says they’re deepwater springs that won’t dry up except in the most severe and prolonged drought. In which case we could always run a line from the Ho.” She tapped a key. The map widened to include half the continent. “These blue arrows indicate major native trade routes. We can use the Ho to transport our goods for barter; upstream past Three Trees and Cruath, all the way to Holme Valley; downstream to Southmeet and the coastal trade.”

“The soil?”

“McIntyre gave the all‑clear,” Teng consulted her notes, scrolling rapidly. “Rich, well‑drained, well‑protected by root systems. That means not much danger of erosion. Apparently the–”

“Give me a separate report on that. Let’s keep this general. Anything else?”

“It’s easily defensible.” The map changed to show elevations. Da

“Has Gautier finished her report on that?”

“Not yet.” Again, Teng scrolled busily. “But it looks promising. She says that the chemical valences of the olla are such that if–”

“Later. All I need to know is that progress is being made, and things are looking good. That there are no substantial snags.”

“That about sums it up: the more we know about Dentro de un Rato, the better it looks.”

Da

Teng sucked at her lower lip, but Da

“Hard to say.”

“Take a shot at it.” Don’t think, she wanted to say, react. Tell me your gut feeling. But that would only confuse her stolid deputy.

“Well…” Teng sucked her lip some more. “If we could start sowing crops now, and if nothing untoward happened–no fires or floods or droughts–and if we had help from the natives: seed stock, a breeding herd, advice, good trade relations… then, maybe. Maybe we could.” She looked pleased with herself. “Yes, I really think we could.”

Da

Teng did not stand up but shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“There’s something else?”

“Yes.”

Da

“Several people have approached me about… about leaving. About taking the gigs up to the Estrade.”

“Ah.” Da

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen? That’ll strain Estrade’s life‑support systems to the limit.”

“They understand that.”

Da

“Here’s a list.”

Da

She took a deep breath. If Vincio wanted to go, she would not stop her. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, looked at the list again, frowned. “Relman’s not on it.”

“No.”

Da

“Let them go. Let Relman stay. She’s a good officer. She’ll be especially eager to please, now.”

But we’re not officers anymore, not any of us, Da

“Give them ten days to think it over. Meanwhile I’ll talk to Sigrid and Nyo about making the platform’s functions tamper‑proof, accessible only from our uplink station. We’ll need those facilities, especially the satellites, as long as we can get them. I don’t want a bunch of disaffecteds screwing with the programs. If we can lock those systems in, then let’s let them go.”

After she dismissed Teng, Da

Da

Da

Her mod was blessedly cool. She had a fast shower, resisting the temptation to stand under the revitalizing water for longer, and pulled on summer‑weight fatigues. Her stomach growled, and she glanced at her wristcom. She would have to eat while she talked to Gautier, the ceramicist, about her report. There were not enough hours in the day.

She had just stepped back out into the muggy heat when her wristcom bleeped.

“Da