“OK. Thirteen percent of the whole. How does that compare to Amity arrivals?”
“Goodness. Three out of ten in our landing zones are private. Most of the IC reps, a third of the ambassadors, and a few other dignitaries. Episteme is majority private. Corporate vessels.”
He didn’t want to go too far into the weeds, but better the numbers added up before he jumped to conclusions.
“Forget about Episteme.” He pointed outside. “What’s your average zone occupancy?”
“While the IC’s in session? Ninety-five percent. Until they return, it fluctuates but hovers near seventy-five.”
Yeah, something was off. He approached it with discipline.
“The IC begins a new session in forty days. The Constitution requires the reps to select the next President within five days of the opening gavel. They already know the candidates. They’ll arrive, listen to speeches, form voting blocs, and make it a done deal.”
“Your point, Trevor?”
“They’re legally required to be here. Yet when I look at those schedules, I calculate no better than a seventy-five percent zone occupancy up to and during the first twenty days of the session. How far out do reps and their staff book arrivals?”
Liv removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
“Oh. Well. It varies. As I said, many arrive on private vessels. Most of the lesser staff can only afford commercial, of course. Plus, many of them aren’t hired until the last minute, leaving them little choice.”
“How far out do the private vessels typically book?”
“Fifty standard days at minimum. We demand it. Most landing zones are reserved for commercial liners on scheduled routes; they’re confirmed several months out. Private vessels compete for slots. They pay an enormous premium. Some daily, others by the hour.”
“So, a newly elected IC rep wouldn’t be able to book private far enough in advance. He’d have to fly commercial.”
“Those types hitch a ride with senior members of their delegation.”
Made sense. Trevor laid out his plan.
“I want to compare inbound numbers for eight specific planets. Break it down by commercial and private. The first travel window involved the opening of the IC’s last session.”
“Late last year?”
“Yes. SD 220 to 240. That’s five days prior to opening gavel plus the first fifteen of the session. I want to see how that stacks up against this year: SD 150 to 170.”
“And the planets?”
He named the eight delegations that did not plan to renew their leases. Liv entered the data with a long frown.
“I can make this work with the private vessels, but commercial numbers require variables. Are you looking solely for flights that originated on these eight, or multisystem journeys with stops on your specified planets?”
Trevor hadn’t factored for the variable.
“Can you filter those journeys by planetary bookings?”
“Sure. Won’t take long.”
Liv set the parameters for the analysis. Trevor studied the five others who appeared to be keeping themselves busy. On the way in, he made note of the master schedule, which showed no inbound or outbound for another two hours. Only a few people milled about near Customs.
“Still don’t care to tell me what you’re on about, Trevor?”
“Would if I could. Might be a black hole.”
“So, I gather you’re not planning to increase our budget.”
Trevor stifled a laugh.
“You need an increase?”
“More warm bodies brings more peace.”
“Right. Submit a request. I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
She touched him again with a familiar rub.
“You said the same thing after we slept together.”
“As I recall, you rotated out two days later.”
Liv tossed a hand through her red mane.
“So I did.” She pointed to the holo, where a new set of graphics emerged. “And here we are.”
She parsed the data faster than Trevor, who saw a sudden, somber shift in her demeanor.
“What?”
