I don’t think Sloane has anything to do with the other problems. He seems wrapped up in personal issues, not a web of intrigue and unspoken threat. But the dinner conversation mentioned an assassination attempt. That must be the thing Lens saw which upset him so much. Of course it would.
Is Tara still in danger? Is she in danger here?
Why am I still sitting on the fucking bed?
As quickly as I can without activating any of the security devices, I exit the ship and make my way to the southwest. It’s not difficult to sense such a large number of humans from a distance. I can move a lot faster than they can, too.
Fortunately, it’s easy to find cover. Plots are fenced off into areas of 500 acres; each plot has several typical features: a house and several outbuildings in various stages of construction connected to either a silvopasture or an alleycropping design. The trees are integrated into the plan; in fact, they’re the land managers. We’re hoping the trees will terraform the farmland, doing the same thing they did on Dolparessa. And I’m supposed to be leading this operation, instead of running around crazy as Suibhne, trying to protect myself from terrorists.
Nothing ever goes as planned, does it?
Except that Ashtara can, to a limited extent, sense the future. I can feel it: an iron confidence running like sap through the core of my branch. Everything goes as Ashtara has planned – it’s just that his plans always run at an oblique angle to the most obvious pathway.
There’s a reason for all of this, if only I can remember what it is.
The lay of the land changes as I draw closer to the encampment. There are administrative buildings, the beginnings of a town. Near the outskirts, I can smell weaponry. That must be a military outpost. Tara is there.
I duck inside a hovercar garage near the outpost. I can hear them well enough at that distance, and I’m less likely to be noticed there.
The girl I call Anger is speaking.