Empire's Legacy

Chapter 21: Changing Faces

Every line of her uniform crisp and neat despite the hour, Amy appeared without warming in the door of Peleteth's command center, startling Kirkwood so badly that he nearly fell out of his chair. She waited until he regained some measure of composure and then said,

"I have completed my inspection and will be departing Peleteth as soon as my transport arrives."

"It's the middle of the night!"

Amy stared down her nose at him. "We are in space, Commander. 'Day' and 'night' are relative concepts. My transport will be here in less than an hour. I will write up my report and file it with the Board of Spaceport, Space Transport, and Ground Transport Inspection. In due course the results will be forwarded to you. Thank you for your time and hospitality during my stay." She nodded to him and turned to leave.

"That—that's it?" Kirkwood spluttered.

She half-turned. "Was there something else you required?"

He paled slightly at the look on her face. "I was just wondering if you could tell me the results now?"

"Peleteth is a satisfactory spaceport, Commander Kirkwood," Amy said, mentally rolling her eyes, "although admittedly lacking in a number of areas. The details will be in my report. Good night."

Having left the command center, she stood on the Level Five promenade for a moment and surveyed the area. Cam's ship would come in at one of these docking ports, but the ships she needed would be up on the top ring. Level One was reserved for small, personal craft—almost exclusively high powered and owned by people or corporations with more credit than they knew what to do with.

A Smith 818, distinctive for its long, narrow nose, was leaving Level One as Amy stepped onto the platform. Its front view pane was wide and clear, affording an unobstructed view of the pilot; as the ship whizzed past the observation windows, Amy realized she knew the woman inside. One corner of her mouth twisted with the thought that, very easily, she might have owned one or more of the ships on this level.

She made a slow circuit around the edge of the ring, hands clasped behind her back, and observed the ships currently docked. Two were due to depart before she was; another two were clearly the toys of the elderly set with little idea of what actually constituted a good ship. There was one Sfera 21 in port, not scheduled to depart for another two days; its red paint gleamed in the station's lights. It wasn't a model Amy recognized, which meant it was probably the latest off the line.

No matter. If she could get in, she could fly it.

The access port hissed open and the Sfera's owner stepped out. Amy stifled a laugh. The kid was about 19, with spiked peroxide hair flashed up with red streaks that matched the color of his bird. Curlicue letters on the back of his jacket spelled out "Kettering"—a member of the powerful political family Kettering, then. Too young to be the son of the Kettering woman who worked with Amy's father; a nephew, perhaps? Not that it really mattered. What mattered was the fact that he was clearly off his head on something and didn't key the access port locked behind him, which meant anyone could walk in. This was fairly unlikely on Level One; Commissioner Guards stood watch at the entrances, as most of those docking on Level One were wealth, powerful, or both, and the last thing any spaceport needed was to deal with ship theft. No one was allowed onto the upper ring unless they owned a ship docked there or, like Amy's Captain Ellis, had been given free reign.

The unlocked access port made her life easier, though.

She checked the time. Cam's ship would be arriving soon, so with one last glance at the Sfera, she followed the teenage Kettering back down to Level Five. He settled in for a snack while she went back to her room, picked up her bag, and headed for Docking Port H34. Kirkwood and the two lieutenants who had been present to greet her when she arrived were both waiting.

"A send-off party was not necessary," she said.

"We simply wanted to assure you that Peleteth will always welcome you back," Kirkwood said. His eagerness was painful.

"Peleteth is a spaceport, Commander. It is an inanimate object, albeit a very large one. It cannot welcome me anywhere." She paused and considered. "But thank you for the sentiment."

There was a soft thud from the other side of the access port and then a hiss as the hatch rolled a side. A young man in a Commissioner uniform stood on the other side. "Ma'am," he said, saluting. "Allow me to take your bag."

"Thank you, Ensign," she said, handing it over. "Until next time, Commander."

As soon as the hatch rolled shut behind her, the young man touched her arm. "This way," he said. "We've got you set up in here."

Amy followed him into a sparse room with a wash basin and a mirror. "My bag?"

He handed it to her. "We have clearance to stay until we've refueled and have finished minor repairs," he said. "Which gives us about a half hour. Will you be ready to go by then, ma'am?"

"Stop calling me ma'am," Amy said, pulling off her wig and tossing it aside. "Half an hour will be fine. Do you have my re-entry set up?"

"There's a maintenance shaft connecting the ship to the station," he replied. "You can return to Peleteth via the shaft. It should deposit you in the maintenance tunnels."

"Goody," she said, making a face. "I so love crawling around grimy tunnels." She scrubbed the paints from her face. In the mirror, she saw the young man's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "It's a big difference, isn't it?" she said gesturing to her face.

"You look completely different."

"Good," she said. "That's the plan." She began to unbutton her jacket.

"I'll just wait for you outside," he said hastily. The door hissed closed behind him.

The uniform joined the wig on the floor. Amy looked longingly at her usual clothes, stuffed deep in her bag, but sighed and pulled out the outfit she'd specifically packed for this phase. Rich kids' clothes. Fine material. Bright colors. Tunic over tight trousers. Wide, flashy belt. She kept the boots; they were the only piece of her Commissioner uniform that wasn't actually regulation, because her feet had grown since the last time she'd had to wear the damn thing and the reg boots no longer fit.

There was a tap at the door. "We're running out of time, ma'am. Peleteth is calling for us to disconnect shortly."

She pulled on a jumpsuit over her clothes and opened the door, stabbing the last few pins into her hair. "Yeah," she said, slinging her bag across her back. "Show me to that maintenance shaft."