'I felt honesty was the best policy/ Aemos muttered. Medea said something under her breath.
'Oh, say it so we can all hear!' I snarled.
'Honesty is the best policy/ Medea said. 'I was appreciating the irony/
'How so?'
The stuff you never told us. The honesty you withheld/
That's rich coming from you, Medea Betancore. In point of fact, I believe I told you everything. Shared everything. Sworn on my secrets/
Yeah, well../ she looked away.
'Oh Throne, you told him, didn't you? You told him about Cherubael and the Codicium and Glaw and everything!'
She turned on me, tears in her anguished eyes. 'I thought he would understand if everything was out in the open../
'No wonder he left/ I said, sitting down.
'Medea was only doing the same as me/ Aemos said. 'We were defending you to him, trying to make him understand and see things the way we saw them. We thought-'
What?'
'We thought he might change his mind and trust you again if he knew it all/
'I thought you both had more sense/ I said as I strode past them and out of the room.
There were several craft cradled in the Essene's hangar. Two ferry pods, a bulk pinnace, three standard shuttles and a number of small fliers.
I was busy directing the deck servitors to make a two man speeder flight ready when Medea came in, red-eyed and dressed for the surface in a fleece jacket.
'I'll fly you down/ she said.
'Don't bother. You've done enough/
'It's my job, Gregor! I'm your pilot!'
'Forget about it/
I clambered into the tight cockpit of the bright red speeder, pulled the canopy shut and fired up the single, in-line thraster.
The launch chute opened and I shot away from the Essene at full throttle.
I tracked his flight path to Catharsis, the capital city of Hubris. Festival flares and fireworks were spitting up above the slanted roofs of the vast
inland metropolis. The jubilee was in full swing. Once I had parked the sprightly little flier at Catharsis downport, I found myself weaving through a dense river of jumping, whooping people that clogged the winding streets. All of them showed the grey pallor of recent cold-sleep. All of them were drunk.
Bottles were pressed into my hands and young women and men alike planted kisses on my face. I was jostled and shoved and scattered with petals and confetti. The smell of the cryogenic chemicals sweating out of them permeated the entire town.
It took all afternoon to find him. He was alone in an upstairs suite in a crumbling but characterful hotel overlooking the Processional Tombs.
'Get out/ he said as I opened the door.