Expatria: The Box Set by Keith Brooke Page A

sax, and said, 'I've told him, Milly, Kats. I've told him and he says...' She paused and looked at Mathias, then her face broke and she laughed with him.
    'He hasn't said a word because you haven't shut up since Sal said "Yes,"' finished Milly. 'You free for the rhythm section, Matt? We want a solid sound—Mono'll need holding back if she's any like this.'
    'Yeah, right.' Mathias was surprised to be asked; he hadn't thought he was that good, and anyway his mind had been off in another direction. 'Mono,' he said. 'I've been thinking over what you said about the Semi-A, about it needing more guts. I don't want to mess with the body, it's too good.' Neither did Mono, but she wanted more sound from her guitar, it was too often drowned out by the 'tones and Mono fronted the band because she wanted to front the band; she didn't want drowning out. 'There's a guy with some books I checked up, down on San Clemente. I found out some interesting stuff and I think we can rig your guitar with some kind of electronic amplification. I've ... experimented with something similar before and I've tracked down the parts through Alya Kik. I think it's what you're looking for.'
    Mono's face was all the answer he needed. 'We'll try it,' she said. 'Yes, we'll try it.' Then her expression changed. 'Hey, Matt. There was somebody looking for you. Asking questions. Slide said they had northern accents and they called you Mathias, not just Matt. He said they were probably friends'—Mono's expression faltered—'but you'd better go easy, Matt: they might not be.'
    ~
    On his arrival in Orlyons, Mathias had found that he had to feed himself for the first time in his life. He had no masked servants to tend to him, no kitchens of top-class chefs to feed him, no Home Secretary to organise his domestic routine. He had only himself.
    He was smart, though, he could mend things and make things and sell them from stalls, he could fake terran artefacts along with the best of them; with Vera-Lynne's help he had established himself easily. It was his days in the Mondata fishing boats that proved most useful, however. In Orlyons there was a steady demand for anyone who could handle a boat or a line or, best of all, the trawlers' vast purse-seine nets. Mathias could do all three and had never been short of work.
    That afternoon, after Mono told him of the Monotones' impending gig, Mathias skippered one of the big cats out of Orlyons for a night's fishing. The sea was calm, as ever, but the undercurrent had backed and was bringing cold waters up along the coast from the south. The fish were less abundant, but the cooler waters favoured the terran introductions and it was these that were the most valuable.
    Repeatedly, they lay the purse-seine in a wide circle, winched its bottom closed and then hauled it up between the cat's twin hulls; since Mathias had introduced catamarans to the local fisherpeople there had been a large reduction in the capsizes that had been common before. That afternoon the catch was moderate, lots of blue bass—Idi would have been proud—lots of doggies and a few mawfish. Then, as night drew in around the boat, Mathias set his halogen lanterns over the water and wired them into the cat's power-cells, charged during the day by the motion of the waves. The catch was good, that night. The profit would be high, after the boat-owner and docking dues had been paid.
    Sitting with his feet over the edge of the port hull, Mathias watched the sun climb slowly from the sea. It was morning and they were not long from docking at Orlyons. Mathias tried to estimate how long it would take them but gave up; it was too much work. Staring at the waves, he wondered if he would ever see his old friends again. At one time it had mattered to him, they were all he had, but the years had faded his memories. He had a new life now.
    Mono had been worried by the stories of people asking around Orlyons about him. She thought they might be agents of the Hanrahan clan, out