Pathfinder (Pathfinder 1)

“Then don’t manacle me to fanatical anti-monarchists.”

Citizen let go of him and crossed to the other side of the room as the boat lurched to one side, staggering them both. “You may be sure I won’t,” said Citizen.

“When we get there,” said Rigg, “let me see the royal family. Let me stand beside them. If there’s no resemblance, then the whole idea of passing me off as the male heir is done with, whether you’re in favor of such a thing or not.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” asked Citizen.

“I know you’re not.”

“I saw your father, bo

y. You look just like him. And enough like your mother, too, that everyone will know at a glance you’re the real thing.”

Rigg didn’t bother pretending that this opinion didn’t affect him. “Couldn’t my father—the man I called my father—couldn’t he have chosen a baby that he thought might grow up to resemble—”

“You don’t resemble them,” said Citizen. “You’re not similar to them in some vague way. Anyone who knew your father will know that you’re his son. You’re not an imposter, though I’ll never say that to anyone else on this boat. Is that clear?”

Rigg shivered. “I suppose you won’t be willing to let me wear some of the dry clothing that I no longer own in the trunk that isn’t mine.”

Citizen sighed. “As I told you, no official verdict has been rendered. You have the use of the clothing you bought in O. I’ll have something dry sent in. But no more belts.”

“I won’t need them, if you don’t put me back in irons.”

Citizen stalked toward the door, then paused there. “You’ll be peeing in a little pot for the rest of the voyage.”

Rigg smiled. “I told you, General Citizen. I want to go to Aressa Sessamo, and I want to go with you. The only way I’d leave this boat is dead.”

“I believe you,” said the general. “But you’re staying in here so that some other volunteer assassin doesn’t try to get at you.”

“What will you do to Talisco?” asked Rigg.

“Hang him, probably,” said Citizen.

“Please don’t,” said Rigg. “It would make me feel like all my work saving his life was wasted.”

“He won’t thank you for it,” said Citizen.

“He’s always free to kill himself,” said Rigg. “But I don’t want his blood on my hands—or on yours, for my sake. Remember what you saw, sir. He never lifted his hand to kill me, even if he planned to do it later. He committed no crime.”

“He committed the crime of stupidity while under my command,” said Citizen.

“Oh my,” said Rigg. “They’re handing out the death penalty for that these days?”

Citizen turned his back and knocked twice on the door. It opened; he left; the door closed and was barred behind him.

Rigg peeled off his wet clothing, wrapped himself in a blanket, and lay down on the floor, curled up and shivering. Only now could he face what he had done, how easily it could have failed, how completely he might have been killed, and it left him whimpering with fear.

CHAPTER 13

Rigg Alone

“But even if I close my eyes before carving the message, I’ll see the other proof that it didn’t work,” said the expendable.

“What’s that?”

“The existence of the message after I carve it, which in the ordinary flow of time would be before I had carved it, proving that the message is moving in the same direction through time as us, which means it will not be in the version of the ship that will make—or has made—the jump.”

“Just close your eyes and do it,” said Ram. “And keep them closed. And then come back and tell me you did it without knowing whether it worked or not.”