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probably a good thing. The xenophobia in Armstrong had grown ever since the bombings, and the crazies often came out on Anniversary Day.
    Obviously.
    She had stopped in front of five screens. She couldn’t avoid the images—the mayor, sprawled; the police, talking, moving, unable to figure anything out. No visuals from wherever the governor-general was giving her speech, not yet.
    People passed her, hurrying down the stairs as if there was actually somewhere to go. She leaned against the railing, trying to catch her breath.
    She needed to think.
    Her father was probably fine. He was either listening to a speech he didn’t want to hear or he was securing his business interests in the wake of another attack in the city.
    Her gaze went to Arek’s face again, only visible on one screen now. Two other screens showed the police, conferring, and yet another showed imagery from the speech Arek had given not an hour ago.
    She ran a hand over her face.
    This concerned her only as a citizen of Armstrong. A survivor of Anniversary Day. A casual friend of Arek.
    Nothing more.
    Sad as it all was.
    She took another deep breath and forced herself to feel calm. Just because everyone else was panicking didn’t mean she had to.
    She stood up and was about to continue down the stairs when the doors to Terminal 20 opened.
    Travelers flooded in, looking angry, harried, sad, confused. It looked like a large ship had arrived, but one hadn’t. There’d already been an announcement that nothing would land, or at least let the passengers disembark, until this crisis was over.
    So everyone who came in was from the ships that had been about to leave.
    She couldn’t help herself; she looked for Torkild.
    And hated herself for doing so.

 
     
     
     
    FIVE
     
     
    THE TEAM PUSHED Luc Deshin out of the building. He was stumbling beside others from the Gathering, all looking inward, communicating on links.
    His stomach was in knots. He wanted to contact Paavo, but knew he would just upset the boy. The school would handle things well; they always did.
    And his people would be there soon. Once they arrived—once they contacted him—he would let Gerda know.
    She had to be worried too.
    The light from Yutu City’s dome was amber. They didn’t try to mimic Earth days here, but invented their own weird coffee- and tea-like colors that seemed to rotate randomly.
    He hated it. It felt alien, and he didn’t like anything that felt alien. He liked to be in control of his environment. He didn’t like having it control him.
    The air outside smelled worse than it had inside the building. Sweat and some kind of exhaust from equipment that would have been illegal in Armstrong. Not to mention the dome environmental filters, salted with something scented—some kind of incense, maybe, or a faint perfume. Scenting the air was also illegal in Armstrong.
    It made him lightheaded—all of this was making him lightheaded.
    He wanted to go home more than he ever had in his entire life.
    “We need some kind of transport,” he said to Jakande.
    “The good ones have already been hired, sir,” Jakande said.
    “Then buy us one, for God’s sake,” Deshin snapped.
    Jakande didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Deshin knew the man was working his links, even as he moved Deshin forward.
    Deshin didn’t ask where they were going. They were moving in a group of people who had emerged from the Gathering, all with personal agendas, all focused now on Soseki’s assassination and its aftermath, not on any business that would have happened here.
    I need a report from my teams, he sent back to his office in Armstrong. I need to know that my son is all right .
    Team on the ground at the academy, sir, sent the acting head of security. Your son and his classmates are protected. The school is protected.
    “How’s that transport coming?” Deshin asked Jakande.
    “Private transports aren’t fast enough,” he said. “At least, not the ones left. We’re taking one of the