CHAPTER 15Salan Chatto was medium-built, middle-aged, his skin swarthy, his eyes deep-set, cold. A man who knew when to laugh and joke and when to be icy hard. One who had adopted battle as a profession; a mercenary who had run his own ship during the Venegian war. Then he had been on the losing side.
“I’ve been doing some figuring, Kurt.” He sat in Canale’s place, recovered now, slipping into the Dalio’s routine like a hand into a glove. “According to Kendrick the Vishna ran out of food and water and the air went bad. Admitting the crew was probably holding back on supplies that still takes time. A lot of time; the circulators would have kept the air viable if nothing else.”
“So how long did they drift? Is that it?”
Chatto nodded.
Varl said, “There’s no way of telling. A long time, su
