Eye of the Ocean Book 3 Ji'jin Station

Eye of the Ocean – Book 3: Ji’Jin Station
She gave the spin analysis he offered over top of the map a very brief look.
“We'll have to contract out the placing of the inner lines. I don't want either Kori
or Alicia distracted from their primary duties. Rilla's people can do it, and provide
the safety valve of a link to the Station security forces.”
“Might as well involve them honestly, they've been making bloody nuisances of
themselves all day trying to figure out what we're doing in here. You think all this
is necessary then?”
“Have you asked Rit if it's necessary?”
He puffed his cheeks out with a sigh. “Nope.”
Her ti'Linn aide rose from a huddle in the corner and met another ti'Linn at the
door, the one that had accompanied Bolda. Balanced on four limbs was a large
covered tray.
“Lady Priest, your service,” her aide said in plain-tongue. A scratch showed on
the matte black surface of the upper left arm, near the last joint before the
pincers. Zt'li, she remembered and signed the aide to serve them.
She sat on the cushion she had been using before; Bolda knelt opposite. A
game of rings and stones was on a smooth stone playing field beside her. She
teased one of the stones with a finger to make a more pleasing configuration. “Do
you have any insight you haven't shared?”
Bolda pushed the stone back into place. “What are you talking about now?” He
scowled at the playing piece. He had been losing badly to Niv.
Ulanda laughed and the scowl was turned her way. And a grudging wink as he
pushed the Net map at her for the second time. “The central area, why isn't
anything shown there?” she asked. Their suite extended to a blank space at the
heart of the Station. His attention had been focused on it, had been the first time
too.
He knelt and gestured to the aide to serve them. “The core of the Station.”
“I don't feel it.” The old Station Center. One of the primary power sources.
A cover rolled to land against Bolda's leg as Zt'li held a plate out to him, the
ti'Linn's two lower hands signing apology. “Is this what I ordered?” Bolda stared
at the food, his eyes as wide as the heavy flesh would allow.
“Master weaver, it is.”
He looked at her. “You feel like eating it?”
The gray mess on the plate was twitching. “No, you go ahead though.”
“Maybe not.” Domestic Net grew over top of the maps. “We'll try again,” he
added, narrowing the kitchen choices down much the same as he had the image
of the Station. “This looks promising.”
It did. Baked fruit with cream. Biscuits.
Voices, then Alicia's high-pitched laugh came from outside. “You can't live on
just that.” Mixed marinated vegetables and poached white fish in spiced vinegar
sauce were added to the order. “We'll have to get a kitchen going here,” she
Laurel Hickey www.2morrow.bc.ca