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certain origin, though the documents submitted in her behalf had been sound enough to satisfy the eye of Miss McBurney, who was unfailing in the requirements she demanded of prospective pupils. These were a sound enough pedigree for the school to maintain its social standing, and money. If faced with sufficient quantities of the second requirement, she would compromise just a teensy little bit on the first—but this time she was fooled.
    But that was all right, because the girl in the upper bunk didn’t want to go to Miss McBurney’s Justly Famous Seminary and Finishing School on Nashua. She wanted all the good things that her parents wished her to postpone in favor of an education. She wanted to cheat, and con, and double-cross, and swindle, and defraud, and bamboozle, with just a bit of flimflamming on the side, after the manner of her fathers.
    She was not overly pretty, not the sort of girl whose looks would hold your eye, not the sort of girl you would pick out in a room to fall in love with. She had sparkle and a lived-in face, both qualities that beautiful women can lack. Basically, however, she was just a girl—and that was perfect for someone with her ambitions.
    She was planning to skip at first opportunity, and Alice Tutuila was romantically willing to help her, at least to the extent of making plans. For aid in settling on a jumping-off point, reference works—guidebooks borrowed from behind the theology discussion in the main cabin—were the thing.
    “So what do you have there?” Alice asked.
    “ ‘Star Well: 2 lndg prts, rms 315 (9th–1r), dng var. (Grand Hall 4A), gmg, th & a, a*, d*, p-(A), sh-(A), no ta, sked 3 wk + unsked. Circumstances make this one. Star Well is a tiny rock, but because of location, hub of the Flammarion Rift. Primarily an entrepôt, and secondarily known for its gaming tables. Extremely dull, we’re afraid, unless you gamble.’ Then there’s an owner-operator list. But that’s all it says.”
    “What does the first part mean? All the abbreviations?”
    “Let me find the table. Oh, yes. There are two landing ports, and 315 rooms, ranging from nine thalers up to one royal a day.”
    “They charge that much for a room? Wow.”
    “That is an awful lot. There’s a variety of dining accommodations and a special note for the Grand Hall. It’s—let me see—excellent and extremely expensive. Gaming, but they said that afterwards. Theater and amusements. Alcohol. Drugs. Perversions—limited and expensive. Shopping—also limited and expensive. No tourist attractions. Three ships a week plus unscheduled.”
    “That doesn’t sound very good, Louisa. It sounds kind of small. There’s nowhere to flee to. You can’t run away if you can’t flee anywhere. Hey. Say, how about this: You hide in the closet of a royal-a-day room until the ship departs without you. A gorgeous gentleman discovers you there and is smitten with your charms. He offers on the spot to make you his mistress and carries you away to a life of sin and mad, mad passion. Oh, I love it.” Alice hugged her pillow and closed her eyes.
    “I’m not sure that would work. He might not like me that much. Or maybe he wouldn’t be gorgeous. Anyway, I’ll have to see the place.” She thumbed ahead in the book. “Let me see what the next stop is like. Oh, this is much better.”
    * * *
    “What’s this about losing money to young Villiers?” Shirabi asked. He was wearing his gloves and disposable suit, and he was up to his elbows in chemical glop designed to make the plants he worked among grow up big, and straight, and strong, and healthy. After all too many years of nervousness and ill-health, the result of living under constant pressure in small rooms and dealing only with symbols and symbols of symbols, he had adopted a hobby designed to put him back in touch.
    “Plant a seed, watch it grow, baby it along—it’s a real satisfaction,” he liked to say.
    He didn’t care particularly what he grew,