A final check of papers and thumbprint and the shuttle detached from Imperial Station to the Yes, Sir. Again there were no windows—windows were a positive hazard in the blank vacuum of space—but this time Marce could access a camera feed from his tablet. He did so and saw the Yes, Sir hone into view, a long tube with two rotating rings, an ungainly but strangely beautiful object. His home for the next nine months.

“What a fucking hole,” his seatmate said, looking at Marce’s tablet screen.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Marce said.

“Looks pretty from a distance. But I’ve friends who have crewed Lagos ships before. They all have problems. House of Lagos is cheap. They run their ships until they fall apart and only repair them when the alternative is exploding. They scare me.”

“And yet you’re here, about to crew a Lagos ship.”

“I was going to crew on the Tell Me Another One, but it’s been impounded. Captain let pirates take her cargo, I heard. Switched over. Last-minute add. Worth it. Things are going to hell on End.”

“The rebels.”

The man nodded. “That and the other thing. About the Flow streams.”

“What?” Marce said. He set down the tablet and gave his full attention to his seatmate.

“A friend of mine who crews on the Tell Me—the one who was getting me the gig on it—said they dropped out of the goddamn Flow stream halfway here and only barely made back in before they were stranded forever. He’s got another friend who told him this wasn’t the first time. Flow streams are getting spotty all over the goddamn place. It’s only a matter of time before the shit really drops. I sure as hell don’t want to be on End when it does. I’m from Kealakekua. I’m going home.”

“This is the first I’ve heard about this,” Marce said.

“You haven’t shipped in the last few years, then. Everyone who crews has heard the rumors.”

“Just rumors.”

“Sure, just rumors, but what the hell else are they going to be?” the man said, irritably. “It can take five years for a piece of news to go from one end of space to the other, and the story’s going to change in the telling. So you don’t listen to the story. You listen to the pattern. And right now, the pattern is, weird fucking shit going on with the Flow.”

“The guilds know about this, then.”