“Then, despite the IG, let us assume that Kalico isn’t scrambling around covering her ass and destroying evidence. That sounds too clumsy for someone of her competence.” Falise tapped at her chin again as she stared at the holo. “What are our alternate hypotheses?”

Clarice said, “A viable alternative would be that she’s playing a strategic game with someone on Capella III, perhaps the triumvirate. That we’re being used as pawns in some power struggle on the planet. Which might also explain why we’re to be housed at Port Authority.”

Ednund told her, “From Miguel Galluzzi’s report, I got the impression that it’s the only place on the planet that has the infrastructure to put us up. Although he also said it was more like a junkyard than a town. And Corporate Advisor Benj Begay called it something even worse.”

Clarice—obviously accessing the report—filled in. “He called it, ‘a dilapidated series of hovels, abandoned equipment, and squalor unequaled in the galaxy. Not to mention a den of iniquity, sloth, and slovenly-dressed pretenders to the human species.’”

Falise frowned. “So, where does that leave us? If we accept that Kalico Aguila is still the clever and cunning political creature we once knew, what does she gain by putting us in this so-called trash heap of a town? Why not at her Corporate Mine, or better yet, at the Maritime Unit with its modern facilities?”

“Sometimes people change,” Ednund reminded. “Who knows what calamity or trauma might have befallen her in the years since Turalon spaced?”

Clarice, again accessing her data, nodded. “In the records there is mention of her barely surviving an attack by flying predators, executing deserters, almost dying in the forest. Perhaps she suffered a head injury? Some infection that has affected her abilities?” A beat. “Or another possibility: She might just be exhausted and depressed after this long absence from civilization. She might not even care.”

“Also possible.” Falise reached for the tray, taking the cup of tea. Rations had been lifted, Turalon having shaved four months off the transit. She could now drink all the oolong tea she wanted. “But, forewarned as we are, I want us to be fast on our feet. To expect anything.” She glanced at Ednund. “Kalico may or may not be a problem. If we’re right that she’s mentally impaired, can you slip back into her good graces?”

“If my Lady wills.”

“We’ll see,” Falise thinned her eyes. “After all these years of ‘slovenly pretenders to the human species’ she might welcome a talented and charming male such as yourself into her confidence and good graces.”

“And if she’s sworn off males,” Clarice told her, “I can supply female company. As I recall, she was never particular to any single brand.”

“Always an option,” Falise agreed.