The Farthest Shore (Eden Series Book 3) by Marian Perera

supper. She had said she wasn’t going to write about the experience, though she had been reluctant to talk about it. This was her last night on board and his last chance to find out why.
    After she had cleared the table, he started to tune his kithar. As he had expected, she sat down to listen, looking at the sheet music with intent eyes. She was the most curious person he had ever known.
    “Can I ask you something?” he said, keeping his attention on the kithar.
    “If you like.”
    Alyster didn’t look up from the instrument as he strummed an experimental bar. “The day before we sailed, you wanted to write about this ship. What made you change your mind?”
    In the brief pause that followed, she breathed out softly. “I’m not working for the Beacon any longer.”
    “Why not?” He let his fingers glide over the strings in a random melody, the notes unpredictable as marbles rolling down a flight of stairs.
    “They ended my employment, that’s why.” The interest had gone, leaving a flat emptiness instead. “I could write, but I wouldn’t be paid for it.”
    She didn’t strike him as being lazy or incompetent, and he frowned. “Why did they do that?”
    Her face closed off completely. “It was a personal matter. Nothing to do with my work but everything to do with…myself.”
    Alyster kept the music easy and untrammeled, but the notes began to drift into a pattern as if by chance. “Did you like that kind of work?”
    “I loved it.” That brought the spark back into her eyes. “I think it’s the best way to keep people informed—they don’t have to go to a town crier or a public meeting when they can read in the comfort of their own homes. And a newspaper is far more affordable than a book.”
    “But a book remains how it is forever. They’d have to keep buying new… Oh.” Miri chuckled, and he couldn’t help smiling. “Well, if you enjoyed your work but you weren’t fairly treated, what are you going to do about it?”
    Her grin faded. “I didn’t think there was anything I could do. Do you have any ideas?”
    Alyster considered. “Is the Beacon the only newspaper in Endworld?”
    “Yes.”
    “All right, start another one.”
    She looked at him as though he had taken all his clothes off and done a dance. “What?”
    Alyster had always been the cautious one in his family, perhaps because of his older brother’s reputation for recklessness. He had to admit, though, there were times for action that took rivals completely off-guard, because no sane person could ever have seen a particular tactic coming. Of course, it was easier to offer someone else such advice than to follow it himself.
    “Give them some competition,” he said.
    Miri looked up as if beseeching the Unity to help her. “You can’t be serious.”
    Alyster raised a brow and continued to play.
    “You can’t start up a newspaper out of nothing.”
    “Why, what would you need?”
    “Where to start? I’d need staff—an editor, illustrator, typesetter, printer. There are a dozen people in the Beacon ’s offices already.” Definitely an obstacle, Alyster thought, but at least she was listing what she needed rather than simply saying his idea was impossible. “Then I’d need a press. No, more than one—a spare in case the first one breaks down. Ink and paper, distribution and premises to contain everything. I can’t begin to calculate how much it would all cost.”
    It seemed there just might be more to starting and maintaining a newspaper than he’d realized, but he didn’t plan on giving up too easily. The music helped too, because his mind unloosened along with his fingers as he played.
    “You know,” he said, “the race’s prize is two thousand.”
    Miri’s eyes widened. “You’ll give me that ?”
    “Oh, hell no.” He caught himself and continued. “I mean, not all of it. But if we win, I’ll divide it among the crew, and if you were to join the crew in an official capacity, you’d be due for a