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though gravity’s whiplash left Ryllen feeling sick all over. Still, he smiled.

Dead ahead, the Port of Pinchon. Beyond it, the great isthmus leading outward to the Point of the Redeemer. Hundreds of ships bringing great cargos of Kohlna fish, Kanteemi cabbage, and other jewels of the sea to feed and heal a world of two billion.

All he had to do was dive down to street level at the port’s main entrance, lock the rifter inside the binding fields, and pilot at casual speed to Quay 95. Set down quietly, casually stroll up to the loading gate of the ship Quantum Majesty then wait for Lan Chua to emerge as Kai promised. The hard part, at least, seemed over.

Ryllen locked inside the elevated transport field and plotted his destination into the guidance web. He was two minutes out.

Good. A minute to spare ahead of the rendezvous time.

Sound and fury escorted him down the homestretch as crews off-loaded and gathered at festival tents. Smoke wafted from long grills and from thousands of poltash-stuffed pipes. Music, deep in bass, blared across the isthmus, often from speakers planted on ships’ bows. Those same ships lit up in a kaleidoscope of celebratory colors. For a few hours, the economic driver of Pinchon and all the many islands of The Lagos was shut down.

Ryllen was breathing easy when Quay 95 came into view. He didn’t detect the odd juxtaposition to the music and celebration. Not until flashers reflected upon the rifter’s bubble did he dare to look back.

“Cudfrucker.”

A crab-like Scram bearing the blue/yellow logo of the ITD and flashing an array of red lights closed fast. The rifter’s guidance web launched into hologram mode, this time sporting a verbal warning.

“Attention, Pilot of Rifter 6733. You are ordered to disengage your binding lock and set down at Quay 93. Failure to do so will constitute a transport violation subject to terms of immediate imprisonment. You have thirty seconds to comply.”

Ryllen didn’t respond, with no desire to set down shy of his destination. Best case? He’d lose his license, spend seven days in prison, and work forced labor for six months to pay off the ludicrous fines. He’d face a lesser sentence if he killed an immo in cold blood.

The Scram closed to within two meters of the rifter by the time he reached Quay 95 and began to extend its grapplers. Ryllen broke hard and dropped from the binding field.

His next move required perfect timing. The crowd inside the quay was too thick to see Kai Durin or Lan Chua, but they’d be waiting at the agreed upon location in seconds if Kai held up his end.

Ryllen cozied his rifter into a thin slot between a pair of silent cargo drones, threw open the bubble, and hopped out with a flourish. The Scram couldn’t fit into these tight quarters, but as he anticipated, the crowd cleared when the ship made a forced landing, a booming voice claiming this was a necessary police action.

He ducked around the drones and tried to blend into the crowd at the quay’s entry gate. Ryllen looked back once and saw ITD officers in full pursuit, as if his machinations never fooled them. Long before he secured his license, Ryllen heard a familiar mantra: Never screw with the ITD.

The open grills - barbecuing Kohlna and green prawns alongside steaming plantains and spiced choy – smelled intoxicating. Nobody cooked the island’s favorite meal like true seamasters. In any other context, Ryllen wouldn’t have been able to resist. But if everything fell through in the next minute, if his final gamble collapsed, he’d come nowhere near food this amazing for months.

Again, he looked back. The officers spotted him, pointed, grabbed for their weapons, and closed in.

That’s when we saw Kai’s spectacular pink hair descending the Quantum Majesty’s forward gangplank. This was going to be close.

He arrived at the instant Kai disembarked along with an entourage. In the middle of the cluster, as if surrounded by personal security, one of the most powerful men in The Lagos carried himself with a swagger of invincibility. He was taller than the others, tightly groomed, an off-white suit with a flowered neck scarf and a lapel sporting the rose-and-violet colors of Ascension. His slim mustache framed his lips, as if penciled on his face. It was a style reserved for those who commanded absolute respect.

This was not, however, what Ryllen felt when his eyes met Lan Chua. The Executive Chairman of Discipline at Nantou Global seemed less interested in the braided young poser than he did the ITD officers who caught up to their prey.

“What is your business?” Chua asked.

“Pardon the disruption, sir,” an officer replied. “We’re retrieving this miscreant. He will be dealt with and out of your way.”

Kai stepped forward, turning to Chua.

“Sir, this is RJ. The one I told you about. I don’t know of his trouble, but I’m sure he has a sound explanation.”

Chua patted Kai on the shoulder and appeared amused.

“Kai speaks highly of you,” he told Ryllen. “What have you done to stir ITD?”

A denial wasn’t going to work. Ryllen saw through Chua, as he did all those like his late father. No. Proof of fealty would win the day.

“Lan Chua, my sincerest apologies,” Ryllen said. “I risked my life because I wanted more than anything to see you. I violated a number of transport laws in order to be here. I broke elevation barriers inside the corporate cluster to reduce my travel time. I knew the risk, but this introduction is the most important opportunity of my life. I ask for mercy. I will repay your generosity many times over.”

Chua studied Ryllen, who lowered his eyes until hearing a direct response. Chua turned to the officers.

“Does he speak the truth?”

“I can’t know his motivation,” an officer said, “but we have him

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