 
Gingezel 2: From Bad to Worse

by

Judi Suni Hall, PhD. and Donald S. Hall, PhD.

Copyright Gingezel™ Inc. 2011

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. The science fiction is set centuries in the future, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Judi Suni Hall

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Also by Judi and Don Hall, published at Smashwords:

Gingezel 1 - The Limit

*****

Chapter 1

As the Genie hurled up from Candi Dua through the Gingezel atmosphere. Mitra had never been subjected to so many g's. There was good reason why the Genie design made the best hyperspatial racing yacht in the galaxy! Her tiny frame was forced back into a seat designed for passengers of average size. Usually she cursed the problem, but this time she was unaware of the discomfort bordering on pain. It didn't matter, nothing mattered. She was going back to Drezvir.

She'd sworn she would never visit that rock pit of a mining planet again. Mitra had been proud of her work there, proud of her hybrid reactor. She had hated every minute there though, hated the place, hated being an Outsider.

Talk about false pride. The damn thing blew up! Dr. Mitra Kael, Power Systems Engineer. Right. In a quiet way Mitra had been so pleased to be having her own design implemented. Her design was going change the colonists lives, give them a level of comfort they had never dreamed of. Sure. The reality was that the system blew and took the geothermal energy base out with it. The colonists who were going to be so much better off were now fighting for their lives to survive a red blizzard on backup power.

It was all her fault. Tranngol and Elin from Risk and Safety were telling her not to jump to conclusions, but Ari was right. She'd messed up. Not just messed up, killed people.

Now that she couldn't keep busy organizing her departure there was no way to hide from the facts. Blayne and Max were dead. Blayne, Lilla's husband, sweet Tessa's father. The limited report said that the same mining crew she had worked with to install the geothermal units were fusing an unstable rock wall when the power went. Blayne and Max were directly under it. Galaxy! She hope the rest of them weren't still in the mine.

Mitra tried to raise her hands to cover her face but the webbing held them immobile. She blinked large unfocused blue eyes. A tear escaped, then another until they formed a river on each cheek. Her dark hair framed a face that was ashen.

Where was Dreen? She needed him here with her. No, of course, not here. He had nothing to do with Drezvir. She needed to have seen him, told him. In her mind she saw him, so comfortable and loving. He had never said he loved her, but his eyes did. His appearance wasn't anything special, medium height, medium build, lived-in face, dark hair already graying. But their time together had been so special. Why had she kept it like that, an isolated bubble in time? She didn't even know how to reach him once he left the Crescent Bay hotel. She should have left a message, but she couldn't do it. How did you say something like I killed some people to a blank screen. Dreen! Sobs started to keep her tears company and the shaking was back.

***

"Dreen," the oriental man at the desk called when they were about halfway across the opulent lobby. "Mitra's been calling for you every five minutes." He turned back to the elderly couple who were checking in.

"Every five minutes?" Joran raised his expressive eyebrows. "She sounds serious. You'd better be careful my friend. You're one of the last surviving bachelors." There was more than a hint of teasing in his brown eyes and on his black face.

"Serious is fine by me," Dreen said as a smile spread across his comfortable, slightly rugged face that was showing a bit of color from the sun.

He was in a surprisingly good mood for a man whose software system had just been destroyed by a hacker. His back ache from the all-nighter spent trying to solve the problems had eased by the time they reached the harbor-side restaurant, and they had lingered over a long lunch of delicious white fish. They had sat and talked about Bojo, although Joran had skated around what Bojo wanted and simply said that he would have Bojo come talk to Dreen when Dreen woke up from his nap.

Then they had talked about the composition software Dreen was designing for Joran, and Joran's plans for turning the M single he had written for Mitra and Maillie into an album. It had been so good to see Joran looking the way he used to, lean, black, handsome, confident. The Galactic pop superstar, not a drugged wreck. Apparently the album was almost finished. Now that Joran was over his block, all the music that had been tumbling around in his head was insisting on being captured. The album would be a total departure for him and the Anton Band, consisting exclusively of romantic lyrical ballads like the love song M, with nothing experimental. After that, Joran had said he'd see.

Reluctant to leave, they had continued talking about nothing in particular. That had taken them through probably too much wine for midday, but Dreen was headed for sleep and wine never seemed to bother Joran. Then just because it was such a gorgeous day they had walked even further down the harbor, watching the half a dozen or so sail boats heading out into the lake. Dreen had to admit that although he should be viewing the hacker attack as a disaster, or at least as a serious problem, he couldn't remember a recent time when his work had been such fun.

Alone with Joran in the elevator Dreen said, "You know, I almost proposed the other night."

"Almost?" Joran prompted.

"You know how it is. The mood was right, and I was thinking about it, but I hesitated. To be honest, I was afraid she'd say no. Then the waiter came along and the mood changed." The elevator door opened and they stepped out. "There hasn't been a right time since."

"Then make one now, you bloody fool!" Joran said gruffly. "I'll get lost."

Dreen shook his head. "It won't take me ten minutes to show you what I mean on that interface."

With the Nemizcan tool kit templates he could mockup the essential features of a design in minutes. In this case, Joran was looking for composition software where he could take advantage of his synesthesia and paint music.

"I've got a suspicion the palette approach we usually use won't give you the speed and fluidity you want creating shapes, but it's easier to show you why. Why don't you take a drink out on the balcony? Then," Dreen smiled, "you can be the first to congratulate us - or help me finish getting drunk."

Dreen didn't really expect Mitra to say no. And Joran was right. He'd been stalling. The only thing wrong was that Mitra wasn't here, and they couldn't celebrate the way he'd like to. But he'd fly her here, and they'd fix that.

Joran hesitated. He wasn't sure he want to be around for something personal like a proposal, and definitely not this proposal. But he did want that interface finished, and he seemed to temporarily have Dreen's full attention. He shrugged and they stepped into the opulent apricot and green room that served as Dreen's home until the Nemizcan Computing's UltraSecure Hyperweb was on Gingezel. He got a mineral water from the bar fridge, and headed for the balcony.

Dreen waited until the sliding door closed, then put the call through. He knew he had a stupid smile on his face, but it all felt so right. He knew nothing could go wrong.

The elderly woman at the desk answered, not Mitra in her room. "I think Miss Kael has been trying to reach me?"

"Oh, Dr. Pendi. She's gone."

Well, almost nothing could go wrong. Sightseeing must have finally won. He couldn't blame her. Depending on when she started calling, she could have been trying for a while. They hadn't hurried lunch.

Dreen said tolerantly, "Did she say when she'd be back?" Mitra had flatly refused to get an on-planet number for her compad so he had to call the hotel room to reach her.

"You don't understand. She checked out."

"Checked out?"

To Dreen it had always been a ridiculous cliché, but his world turned upside down. She wasn't calling to say she loved him. She was calling to say goodbye. But that was impossible. He remembered their loving as well as sexy farewell, his whispering to the half asleep Mitra from the doorway that he loved her. It was the first time he'd kept a pilot waiting on the runway. She couldn't have left him.

The woman was watching his face. They had seemed like such a nice happy couple. She was sure the trouble had nothing to do with Dr. Pendi. She gave a fast glance first at the concierge's desk, then to the manager's office. But everyone was busy.

She said hurriedly, "I shouldn't be saying, but a secure sealed call came from off-planet, and she booked a Genie to leave right away. She had me calling you every five minutes until she left for the spaceport. She was very upset."

"When did she leave?"

"Thirty-five or forty minutes ago."

She left while he was laughing with Joran. Dreen felt sick. They'd been fooling around, and Mitra had been facing some crisis alone. She needed him, he was sure of that, and he hadn't been there for her. And now she was gone.

"Did she leave a message or forwarding address?" He was hoping against hope, but he had to ask.

"I'm sorry Dr. Pendi."

"Well, thank you for your help." Dreen was preparing to break the connection, but the woman spoke quickly.

"I'm sure this isn't the time to ask, but will you be wanting your room kept until you return?"

Return? What for? "No," Dreen said curtly. "Could you have housekeeping pack my things and ship them here?" He had only packed a bare minimum in his attaché - underwear, pajama bottoms, an extra shirt. He'd planned on a quick round of damage control then returning to Mitra.

"Certainly. A courier will have them there later today." She broke off.

***

For a long moment Dreen start blankly at the space where the woman had been, then he pushed himself to his feet, needing the help of both palms flat on the table. Reluctantly Dreen walked to the balcony door. Joran was leaning out over the railing watching something going on on the terrace below. He didn't move as the door opened.

Dreen spoke to his back. "She's gone."

Joran stood for a long moment not seeing the children on the terrace below. They were the same ones he had played with yesterday, and the little girl with her short brown pigtails and bright blue eyes had turned a few moments earlier, seen him and waved. Now all he could do was hear the words 'she's gone'.

Mitra had left Dreen! That meant she was free, that Dreen didn't have prior claim any more. He felt an intense, primitive surge of emotion, and stood there bent over the railing trying to compose himself before turning around. It seemed to Joran that it took forever to calm that wash of emotion, to be able to see the lake, the terrace, the laughing children. When he dared, he straightened up and turned around, his eyes searching Dreen's face. His friend looked twenty years older, and his skin was a sick color. Comparing Dreen to how he had looked half an hour ago Joran couldn't stand it.

"Where?"

"I don't know. She got an urgent off-planet call and booked a Genie. She left for the spaceport thirty-five or forty minutes ago."

"Then she might still be there." Joran shouldered Dreen aside and ran through the doorway.

*****

Chapter 2

Dreen didn't have the energy to come back inside. What did it matter? She was gone. Behind his back he heard Joran muttering to himself with increasing impatience as he was shunted from person to person. Apparently he finally hit success.

"Miss Kael? Yes she booked with us earlier today."

"I need to speak to her."

"I'm very sorry," Kristina, the woman who had handled the departure, said, "but the flight has departed."

"So, where's it going?" Contacting the Genie class of hyperspatial yacht mid route was tricky. Joran knew that from his own. Most pilots refused calls. He'd just get a runaround if he asked her to try that.

"I'm sorry, sir." Kristina gave the poorly groomed T-shirted man the benefit of the doubt with a 'sir.' After all this was Gingezel. "I'm not allowed to give out that information."

"Bloody hell you're not. I -"

That outburst brought Dreen around with a snap. "Joran!"

Joran gave him an indifferent look and returned his attention to the fresh faced young woman whose was freezing into ice. Appearance had him mistaking Kristina's age and authority.

Kristina had had plenty of experience in dealing with difficult members of the public. This one she judged as touchy at best, impossible when he wanted to be, and currently very upset. She was glad he was elsewhere and calling her, not directly across from her at her desk.

"Listen you little idiot. I want to talk to your superior and -" He'd get the little bitch fired. What the hell were they doing hiring someone like that? He hadn't set this planet up to run like this. Besides being furious, as the creator of the Gingezel consortium Joran had strong ideas about exactly what the visitor experience on this luxury planet should be like.

"Shut up Joran!" Dreen was close enough now for Joran to have to notice. He took hold of a shoulder and roughly pulled Joran out of the seat at the console and took it himself. He spoke to the icy mask. "I apologize for my friend's behavior. My name is Dr. Dreen Pendi, President of Nemizcan Computing. Given the treatment you just had, I don't expect you to accept that at face value. May I transmit my credentials?"

The woman's head inclined slightly. Dreen pressed his wrist cuff into the appropriate spot, and waited while his identity and professional credentials were transmitted and the woman read them. The glacier thawed slightly.

Kristina liked her current Nemizcan interface. There had been some problems with it when the spaceport introduced the Genie service. The man she understood was actually going to run the Gingezel Hub came all the way from Crescent Bay to fix them himself. He had said his name was Wayd and apologized that he had meant to send someone competent but they had called in sick so he hoped he remembered how to do interface design, not just boss people around. That had just been self deprecation though, Wayd had done an excellent job. She'd heard Nemizcan Computing was improving the Gingezel hyperweb with a new ultra-secure version, and when she asked Wayd, he had told her about it. It would really make her job easier.

So this was the man who ran the company. Kristina looked at Dreen with some interest. He was a pleasant enough looking businessman, early middle-age she'd judge by the greying hair, but not feeling well.

She said politely enough, "How can I help you Dr. Pendi?"

"I really do need to contact Miss Kael as soon as possible. I appreciate you can't say where she's going, but can you take a message and relay it if you should be in contact with her?"

There was no sense asking the woman to send a message to wherever Mitra was going. She would refuse that as she had refused to give Mitra's destination.

Kristina thought. "I don't see why not, but you know a Genie rarely checks in with either its departure port or destination port mid run."

"Yes, but if by chance they do, it will save me time. Just tell her Dreen Pendi of Nemizcan Computing needs to talk to her right away, and if she can't reach me easily on Gingezel, my executive assistant at Head Office will know how to contact me at anytime." And Lindy would too. Dreen wasn't going to make any more mistakes of that sort.

It was a harmless enough message. Kristina repeated the warning it would probably never be delivered, and disconnected wondering what it was really about. She sighed. It wasn't even lunchtime yet, and it was looking like one of those days. Besides that nut case just now, she owed personal favors to two caterers and four chefs for depleting their supplies to fill the Genie Miss Kael was travelling on. And, if she wanted life to stay reasonably pleasant she'd better start making those chefs happy before it was lunch time and they had unhappy diners on their hands.

***

"She could have told you where Mitra was going." Joran was angry, leaning against the wall and staring down at Dreen.

"No she could not," Dreen said shortly. "If it had been you on the Allegro, and I had been some singularly unpleasant member of the press you were dodging, what would you want her to do?" He took the sullen silence as agreement on the point. "There are better ways."

Joran brightened. "You're right. If she didn't get hold of you, she probably called home, assuming that isn't where she's going. You can just call there and get her folks to tell you where she's headed."

"If I knew where home was." Dreen was talking to his shoes.

"You don't know?" Joran was incredulous. "What the hell have you two been doing? Never mind, cancel that question. I can guess." He rubbed his hand across his face. "Okay, what about the hotel here? They've got to have her home address. It's the first place she stayed at and -"

Dreen cut across him, "And they are no more going to give it out than the spaceport, for exactly the same reason!"

"C'mon Dreen." Joran's expressive face showed his incredulity. "You've been living and working here for months. These guys know you. All you have to do is ask."

"I will not take advantage of that Joran, anymore than you will take advantage of the fact you own this planet. Besides," he added hastily after looking at Joran's face, "would you want them to tell another guest who you were and give them your private address just because that guest had been around long enough to become familiar to the front desk?"

Dreen was being impossible.

"Don't you want to find her?" The look of pain on Dreen's face made Joran want to bite back his words.

"Of course I do. And I will. Have you ever heard of databases?" he asked sarcastically.

Joran actually smiled. "Oh, I see. The Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb man isn't going to admit to the locals he hasn't got around to finding out his lady's contact information. He's just going to quietly pull it from the database. Nice move," he added approvingly.

"No by galaxy he is not!" Dreen exploded. "How the hell could I pretend to be providing a secure - I repeat secure - hyperweb if I have no more morals than that myself? And, assuming morals are a totally irrelevant issue to you," he glared at Joran, "let me remind you that such information will be on the old Gingezel hyperweb, not on the Nemizcan one and it will be stored with high security. They will routinely monitor for unauthorized insider or outsider access, report it, and probably figure out who it was. You already have a good system and good staff. How the hell do I explain my breach to Ralin?" Ralin Heusgar was the head of Gingezel Security.

"Tell him you're in love!"

He would kill Dreen in about another minute. Joran stalked out to the balcony and took a steadying breath. He couldn't get Dreen's face out of his mind. He wondered if he'd made any more sense when he first heard about Maillie's death. He remembered walking offstage mid-concert and the flight to Dreen. Probably not. He went back in.

"I'm sorry," Joran said simply. "What are you going to do?"

"Use the legitimate databases."

"Right." Joran forgot he was humoring Dreen. "There can't be more than a few million M. Kael's out there. You want to die of old age first?"

"Have you forgotten I started my career with an involuntary stint of database management? It's not that impossible a job."

Dreen was totally sincere. He already had about half of the filters he needed worked out in his mind. Of course there were the obvious ones of age and sex. He would also try putting in a minimum level of education and income bracket, if he could remember the bases that were likely to be publicly accessible and more than just glorified address books. Just by her conversation he was sure Mitra had a college or university degree, but he'd better not bound that one too tightly. If he could access bases with physiological data, her height would really thin the sample down. But with everyone's identifying characteristics on their wrist cuffs, stored physiological data was pretty much restricted to medical bases, and they had some of the tightest access justification requirements around.

Now, who else might collect that kind of data? He knew he was drifting off the point, but he didn't care. He had to keep thinking, thinking about anything at all. He wouldn't want to use a commercial search engine for these volumes of data either. What would they have back on Tranus at Head Office?

Joran had been standing there watching him. "You're punchy," he said bluntly, "and even though I am trying to help - believe it or not - all I'm doing is making you angry. Do you want me to clear out, or is there some grunt work a layman can do on the database stuff?"

Dreen focused on the impersonal hotel room, and realized with brutal impact why Joran had headed for his place when Maillie died. "Yeah. Start with working out as many spellings as you can for Kael, and include all of the dialects with strange spellings I wouldn't think of. Just because we're all educated and have been speaking StanGalLan doesn't mean it's her first language. It isn't yours."

StanGalLan was the common language of business between planets and fluency was a requirement for any university degree in the galaxy. So it had been adopted as the primary language on a lot of planets, including Dreen's home planet Tranus and Gingezel. Joran however was from Laurion and his first language was Latino.

"Also, think about whether or not she had an accent you can place. It would give an idea of what sector to start searching in and your ear is better than mine."

Joran nodded, but he stopped at the bar fridge on his way to the table and opened the door. He gave it's contents an assessing look. He'd had a lot of chances to explore the possibilities in the bar fridges of luxury hotels. He selected a small bottle of liqueur usually used a few drops at a time to flavor other drinks. The manufacturers used a singularly interesting combination of mood altering herbs, and stopped just short of legal problems with the drug boys. It should see Dreen over the shock, and if he wasn't paying attention, and Joran was betting he would not be, well down the road to out cold. Joran poured a solid double. For himself he poured a splash of his favorite rum derivative. He'd had it stocked in his and Dreen's bars. Then he added a lot of mix. One of them had to stay sober. Joran walked back to the table and handed Dreen the drink.

Dreen was already lost in something he was entering in his compad's notebook and took the glass automatically.

"Thanks." Dreen took a drink, made a minor face without comment and went back to muttering to himself.

Joran took a sip of his own, and settled in a chair, alternating his attention between watching Dreen and thinking about languages. When the level in Dreen's glass was noticeably lower and his color improved, he focused on Kael.

***

"Shit!"

This exclamation brought Dreen back to the hotel room with a start.

Joran slapped his compad down on the table with dangerous force. "Do you know how many ways there are to spell Kael? There's a C A L E , K A L E , C A I L, C A I L L E, C A Y L E -"

The spelling lesson was interrupted by the tone of the communications center.

Hell. Dreen swore. He must have forgotten to turn his call tone on again. Sure it was Mitra, Dreen hurried over to the unit.

"Dreen, you have an off planet call. Can you take it?"

"Yes."

The pathetically eager look on Dreen's face told Joran what he was thinking: they're between the first and second hyperspatial jumps and she's calling. Dreen had used that time interval on his commercial class yacht to call Joran often enough. But Genies didn't work that way. Every precious second was used by the crew to calculate the position for the next jump, then to shift to that position. Communication tied up both them and their equipment. Used to racing, the pilots all went flat out from one end of the run to the other. A call from a Genie mid route meant one thing - disaster. He judged the level in Dreen's glass and prayed to who or whatever he had been praying to a lot these last few years that it was someone at Nemizcan.

*****

Chapter 3

Rodd Turpene, Dreen's Vice-President of Marketing appeared. Five years older than Dreen, mid height, and sandy haired, he usually had an outgoing, professionally cheerful manner. Right now he did not look at all cheerful.

"Dreen, I'm glad I caught you in your rooms. How's the battle going with the hacker?"

They had talked the night before.

"The calling card managed to escape encapsulation and it took the system down about three, no four hours ago. The hacker didn't erase anything, just added code for some really creative interference. Now we're rechecking what he altered line by line to figure out why he hit certain points. We're not predicting his moves all that well."

"Oh oh. Then I probably have really bad timing. I had been going to ask you to come back to Head Office."

"What's the problem Rodd?"

There had been no mention of problems in his last call, and it took a beaut to get Rodd asking for help. He was the type who could weather almost any storm.

"This has nothing to do with Nemizcan, Dreen. It's a personal problem. I went for a routine checkup this morning and the doctor found something that made him unhappy. Did a few diagnostics before they let me loose."

Rodd ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign to Dreen that Rodd was very upset. Rodd was particular about his hair style.

"To make a long story short, I'm in for surgery in four days time. I tried to argue for more lead time, but it didn't cut any ice. There's going to be a fair convalescence and rehab too they tell me. Better part of a month, maybe more."

Assuming the surgery went well, but he was not admitting that part even to himself. Thank God for the tranquilizer they had given him before they let him loose. He kept feeling like he was watching and listening to someone else, but he was keeping moving and doing the things he had to. That mattered a lot to Rodd. Competence and unflappability were key parts of his self-image.

"I hoped to spend at least half a day with you before then."

Dreen was perfectly aware of Rodd's need to feel in control of things, and an excess of sympathy would be the last thing he wanted.

"I'm truly sorry Rodd. Let me think."

Everything was taking on an air of total unreality for Dreen. First Mitra, now Rodd. Rodd wasn't much older than he was. He'd spent just as much time in the gym. He couldn't have a life-threatening illness, which was essentially what he'd just said. Dreen tried to put that out of his mind and be practical. The Exec, the corporate yacht, had been sent back to Head Office months ago. He'd have to charter. It was almost three days' travel, two and a half anyway, even if he could get something right away.

"It's tight Rodd, without the Exec. Just in case I can't make it, can you brief Chett to cover until I do?"

Rodd looked at Dreen in real surprise. Dreen was always on top of the company.

"Chett is on that swing to the periphery Dreen. He won't reach the furthest point, Drezvir, for about a week depending on how the rest goes, then he has several stops on the way back."

Rodd hesitated. He and Chett pretty much functioned autonomously without direction from Dreen, but when it came right down to it, it was Dreen's company and he called the shots.

"Do you want me to call him back? He can't get here before I go in, but if you have to stay on Gingezel ...." Rodd let the sentence die.

Dreen had totally forgotten about Chett's trip, and short of asking Rodd, he knew he wasn't going to dredge up those other stops. But the one on Drezvir was worth the trip alone.

Nemizcan Computing had never done critical application software, but operator consoles were an interesting gray area and the recent ergonomic theory was that there would be fewer operator errors in the control room if they weren't staring at the same displays all of the time. That made the easy-to-alternate and easy-to-modify Nemizcan interfaces a natural. Ari Dellmaice was extremely interested in how it turned out, and so was the Farr Sector Mining Guild since they would be building units of their own.

Equally important, the project was Chett's first software development management effort, and Dreen knew how much it mattered to him. For some time Chett had been letting it be known he wanted to get a hand back in on the technical side, not just manage the hubs. He hadn't been in a hurry he said since there had to be a fit that didn't tie him to Head Office.

Drezvir had been that fit. Dreen hadn't thought of Chett at the time he, Ari Dellmaice, Tina Kern from ContSaft who usually supplied the power station displays, and the various regulatory bodies explored the concept. At that time Chett had been perfectly happy touring the galaxy and managing the hubs. Dreen had assumed the work would largely be done by Jann and her team, with him there if she needed extra assistance. Needing help was unlikely though. Jann had been with Nemizcan Computing since start up and was their most senior interface designer. Then the inevitable delay between all of the excited talk and finding the right reactor to use such a system on had stretched longer than he expected, and to be quite honest Dreen had thought the project would never go ahead.

Then all of a sudden Ari wanted the system on Drezvir for use with a hybrid reactor bought by the Farrese Mining Guild. By then Dreen had been tied up on the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb. With the operator console system being installed in the Farr sector there would be a lot more administrative overhead than planned because that sector had reverse jurisprudence. It wasn't the sort of thing Jann could, or would be willing to, handle. Dreen couldn't commit to working at opposite ends of the galaxy and still run a company. So the Drezvir installation had been Chett's chance.

Dreen shook his head. "No. Drezvir alone is worth the trip."

To give Chett what he wanted, Dreen had made Chett's role more than administrative. He had given him a significant amount of the software to design and implement. Chett had certainly done enough coding over the years at Tranus Dynamics. Still, he didn't have the formal training as a software designer most staff at Nemizcan had, so Dreen had told Jann to double check every move Chett made - quietly and privately. She was to tell him if there were any signs of problems.

For that matter, with all the legal problems associated with working in the Farr Sector, Dreen had done some checking of the key portions of the design, both Chett's and Jann's work. There been no need though. It was an excellent design. So Dreen had never interfered at all, had not even gone to the commissioning, because he wanted this to be strictly Chett's achievement. The system, by all reports, was a real success, and he had one happy Vice-President of Field Operations.

"Sorry it slipped my mind." He was exhausted. Dreen ran a hand over his face. He couldn't keep Rodd waiting there like that. The man had his own problems. "I'll break this and see what the spaceport can do for a charter. I assume Chett took the Exec?" It had more or less become Chett's home away from home and his personal yacht.

Rodd nodded.

"Not that it matters, the charter is faster." The room was getting unsteady. "Then I'll wake up Gali. He's been partially briefed to take over here anyway. While they're bringing in a yacht I can finish that, then -"

"No you can't Dreen." Joran's voice was firm.

Dreen looked at him in surprise and Rodd automatically followed the glance, seeing nothing of course.

Joran stepped into the camera's range, and Rodd recognized him. Trust Lantonnel to turn up like a bad credit, and to be there for a private conversation too.

Joran would have had to be a lot less adept than he was at reading relative strangers to not have read that.

He said quietly, "I'm sorry you've got troubles Rodd, and I'm equally sorry I ended up sitting in on a private talk between you and Dreen. It wasn't intended that way. Dreen's in the middle of a mess of his own and I'm helping out. We didn't expect your call."

Dreen was about to open his mouth, but Joran put hand on his shoulder. Dreen subsided. He was too exhausted to even try to deflect Joran. He watched Rodd anxiously though. Rodd and Joran didn't have much use for each other at the best times.

"Dreen has been up for the better part of thirty hours right now. I know that's not a big deal. He can sleep on a flight back. But while we were out having a lunch so he could unwind then sack out, the future Mrs. Pendi was trying to reach him. She was called away by some personal crisis, chartered a Genie, and left. Due to some phenomenal mess up in communications, which we're trying to sort out, we don't know where she's gone or why. Dreen feels terrible, both because he wasn't there for her, and because he has no idea what's wrong. We've literally just started to find out."

Now, Joran thought, come the big lies. He continued, "In three or four hours we'll know a lot more about what's going on. And Dreen will have had enough sleep to be functioning. Is it a major problem, Rodd, if the logistics of how he gets back wait until late afternoon and he calls you then?"

The future Mrs. Pendi? Rodd's brain seized on the one understandable and good part of what Joran was saying. That was news, and the first good news today. He and Hana had thought for years that Dreen would be happier with a wife. It wasn't that he needed to settle down. His lifestyle was very quiet. They just worried about him being alone. Rodd was pretty sure he got the rest wrong. He tried to think, to remember exactly what Joran had said. It was a gift he had perfected, to be able to repeat in his mind exactly what someone had said up to an hour after the conversation. It didn't work. He gave up and with his left hand totally destroyed what remained of his hair style.

"Look, Dreen, Joran, I'm really sorry but we're going to have to take this one in baby steps, one at a time. The stress -" he ran his fingers through his hair again. "Oh, to hell with it. I'll be blunt. Being scared half to death plus whatever happy pills the doctor gave me seems to have my head not working right. I feel like I'm sitting here watching and listening to someone else in my body, and whoever that somebody is, his grip on reality isn't great."

Dreen could identify with that description. He gave a fleeting thought to exactly what Joran had poured into him, but found he couldn't bring himself to care.

Rodd continued, "I think I got the first part. There is to be a Mrs. Pendi?"

Dreen nodded. At least, there was going to be if he ever found her.

"Well congratulations, Dreen! I'm very happy for you." The social amenities seemed to come out on their own. "Is it anyone I know?" Rodd was thinking of recent attachments of Dreen's and not getting far on one becoming permanent.

Dreen brightened. There was always the chance Rodd might know her. "Mitra Kael."

Meetrah Cayl. Did that ring a bell? Whatever it was was gone before he was even sure there was anything. Rodd knew the name Cayl in various forms of course. He dealt with Roween Kael quite a bit, and the terraformers often used a totally different set of screens if Roween was working with them. And then on planet there were the Cayle brothers, both superb athletes. The older was slowing down a bit, but the younger had taken the triathlon last month for his fourth time. And then there was Maurine Caille, a brilliant violinist. They'd been to her concert last year. Perhaps that was what had rung the bell, an M. Caille. But Meetrah?

Rodd shook his head apologetically. "Sorry Dreen, I don't think I know her. Is she someone you met on Gingezel?"

Dreen nodded again.

Rodd gave a conscious effort to what came next. This time his mind dutifully replayed Joran's next words. That was an improvement. They weren't making a lot of sense though. "And she's hit some sort of crisis?" he asked cautiously.

Joran was the one who answered. "We have to assume so. All we know is she got an upsetting off-world call and within an hour left in a Genie. You don't charter a Genie for no good reason."

Rodd nodded. Hana already had the family prepared to rally around him, but none were taking a charter of any kind, much less a Genie. They were coming on commercial flights. That was the next baby step behind him. Now came the one he was pretty sure he'd messed up on. "And you don't know what's going on?"

Again it was Joran who answered. He'd reached out and dragged up a chair and was sitting beside Dreen. It was starting to get through to Rodd that neither looked so great.

"She was calling every five minutes, but Dreen had his call tone off. I guess when it came right down to it, she couldn't face leaving a message. And when she got to the spaceport, she forgot to tell them to give us her destination. That's who we've been talking to and getting the run-around from."

Rodd's frown cleared. That was about what Hana would do. He remembered one terrible afternoon when he got a call from the maid. She'd been busy in the laundry, and came upstairs just in time to see an ambulance pulling away, and Hana and his daughter nowhere to be found. When he couldn't reach Hana, he had called every hospital in the city, only to be told it couldn't give out information without the patient's authorization, unless of course the patient was in critical condition and unable to communicate in which case the next of kin was contacted. This had been only marginally reassuring in that it must have meant Hana at least was not in critical condition.

It had been three hours later when Hana finally called. Their daughter had fallen off a swing, put her teeth through her lip, given herself a bloody nose, and had two black eyes. Hana had refused to leave her for a minute until they were sure the concussion was minor and she hadn't wanted to talk within earshot of her daughter. She was convinced she'd done the right thing. It had been one of the worst afternoons of his life, and Rodd wasn't at all sure she had.

"Oh, I see," he said in a tone that clearly said WOMEN. "I expect she'll call eventually, but in the meantime Joran is right. You need to sort things out and get some rest. A few hours won't make any difference at this end."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Dreen asked.

"More or less. Hana and Celise are in the outer office fussing around. They'll keep me in line." Celise was his executive assistant. Despite his protests and his hope for a while to get used to things, she'd called Hana the minute he returned to the office with the news. "I'll keep busy with the routine stuff, and make some briefing notes for you or Chett."

"I'll be there," Dreen said.

"Now Dreen," Rodd said with surprising firmness, "neither of us is having a good day. Let's not add our first fight to the list. I know you think that's the responsible thing to do, so you'll do it. But until you get hold of your fiancée, you won't know if it's the right thing. You have to pull together from the start you know." He blinked and ran his hand through his hair again, wondering just why that had come out. "Talk to you later." Rodd broke contact.

Dreen reached for his compad. Joran was faster. He slapped it shut and slipped it into his pouch.

"Sleep. Now."

Dreen gave him a dirty look.

"C'mon Dreen. You're too tired. You'll just mess up." This wasn't getting anywhere so Joran tried distraction. "Say, Rodd was almost human at the end there."

"He's all right," Dreen said defensively.

"C'mon Dreen. I feel sorry for him too, but let's not rewrite history. You don't like him much better than I do. What I can't figure out is why you kept him around after your old man died."

Rodd had been brought into Nemizcan on the advice of Dreen's father when Oren had finally accepted with disappointment, but no real surprise, that Dreen would never be seriously interested in the marketing side of the company. Rodd was the son of one of Oren's friends and colleagues.

Dreen was too tired to tell Joran it was none of his business. It was easier to answer him. "I keep him because we work well together. So far he hasn't disagreed with my corporate vision, and we don't have the sorts of technical-marketing squabbles some companies have. And," he held out his hand for the compad, "he doesn't interfere with how I do things like one of my friends does."

"Dreen." The syllable was a protest.

"If I don't stay busy I'll fall asleep."

"I thought that was the whole idea."

"If I sleep, I could miss a call," Dreen said stubbornly.

So that was it. Dreen was one really solid sleeper. Once he was sound asleep, a band could practice in same room and he'd never know the difference. That was literally, not metaphorically, true. Joran had tried it a couple times when they were students rooming together.

"That's okay," he said softly. "I'll stay here and stay awake. Now will you sleep?"

Reluctantly Dreen nodded. "Now do I get my compad back?"

Joran took it out of his pouch and put it out of reach on the table. "It won't go anywhere. Bed!"

Then he looked at Dreen's glass. "Can you sleep? You didn't drink as much as I hoped with that call." He reached into another pocket of his belt pouch and pulled out a partially used strip of pills. "One of these would help."

"What are they?"

"The white ones," Joran pointed, "are a relatively harmless sedative. By relatively harmless I mean they won't interact with booze and overdose you, or for that matter with an amazing number of illegals. On the downside, they're psychologically addictive and play pure hell with your dream cycle. That's why there's three, then a red one. So you don't go psychotic.

"The red ones," Joran continued, "have a good dream cycle but you have to be clean."

Dreen said dryly, "You've become quite the little pharmacist, haven't you?"

Joran was uncomfortable. He knew where Dreen stood on drugs. He hadn't once dared mention his problems to Dreen, and while he was at living at Dreen's after Maillie died he'd had to sneak out to rehab when Dreen was at work.

"I had to be. I just wanted to get through until I wanted to live again, not to kill myself." Joran stared out the patio doors unsure how much he dared say. "You don't know what it was like. Sometimes I could just keep busy working. But there'd be months at a stretch when that - that didn't work. By the time I came down from a concert, and it was time to rest for the next, I wouldn't know what I'd been doing. So, if it was red pill time, and my system had to be clean, I had to be alone with the ghosts." He shuddered.

"It's all right." Dreen laid a hand on his arm. "I know all about it."

Joran froze. "How?"

It was better to finally get things into the open now that Joran was finally talking.

"It didn't take much imagination given the state Jon and Arn delivered you in." Jon Melchrist and Arn Torson, two of Joran's pilots had shown up at his door with Joran propped up between them.

"I got the details from the band. When you and the band weren't talking to each other, they were all, at one time or another, talking to me. They wanted to know how you were. Mostly though they wanted to sound off. They spelled out exactly what was not going to happen again if you ever wanted to play with them." It had been a pretty grim picture too.

Joran wet his lips with his tongue. He said carefully, "You never told me."

Dreen shrugged. "You were trying to clean yourself up by then. I figured if I passed it all on, it could be pretty awkward meeting the band again."

"Thanks." Joran was unsure he could have faced the band if he'd known.

He held up the strip. "It's just a security blanket now. But," he felt compelled to be honest, "I can't bring myself to throw them away yet."

There didn't seem to be much to say to that, so Dreen nodded.

"So, do you want one?"

Dreen shook his head. "I'll try staring at the ceiling first."

Joran nodded. "I just had to offer."

"Thanks." Dreen went into the bedroom, and without undressing lay down on top of the bed.

***

Joran sat quietly thinking for some time. When the change in Dreen's breathing indicated Dreen was asleep, he slipped silently into the bedroom and pulled open a drawer. Then he took a thick blanket out, and spread it over Dreen. He bent down and muted bedside call tone, then taking one last look at the sleeping figure, went out, closing the door tight.

Seating himself at the sitting room communications center, Joran tried to decide what to say to Bojo. The man was crazy, meddling in Ennup 10 after all the trouble he'd already had. Still, he owed Bojo a lot so he'd set up the visit with Dreen. The other calls to Jon and Rodd would be a lot easier, but Dreen was not going to thank him for them.

*****

Chapter 4

Perhaps now was the time to speak to Chelan. Roween Kael turned onto their street. A sudden gust of wind plastered snow over the window, obscuring her view. She didn't see the patch of black ice and skidded slightly.

"Watch it!" Chelan protested.

I have been watching it all the way home, Roween thought mutinously, and set her jaw in her best formidable expression. She had not told Chelan about Mitra's call immediately. After all, by the time she'd calmed the hysterical child down, there had barely been time to put her desk in order before she taught her last class of the day. After that Chelan had been at a tenure committee meeting. He always found them exhausting - too much petty bickering he said. Roween had never understood that point of view. Surely the university's reputation was terribly important if the already tenured faculty were to maintain their galactic status.

At any rate he had come out of the meeting forty minutes late and had asked her to drive home. Of course, because he was late, supper time traffic was at its peak. There was a fine snow coming down and sifting around in swirls. That on top of the glaze from the ice storm late in the morning made the normally difficult rush hour driving hazardous. She had concentrated on driving.

" Chelan -" Roween slowed to turn into their driveway.

"Dr. Kael!" The front door of the neighbor's house opened, and the young man was there, cupping his hands. "Dr. Kael!"

"Bother," Chelan muttered, pointing to the pear tree, his usually amiable plump face looking cross. "I'd better go see what he wants." He dug in his pocket for a fuzzy cap to pull over his thinning hair.

The wind and freezing rain earlier in the morning had loosened a branch on their old wine pear tree, and it had fallen in the neighbor's yard.

Chelan sighed. "Start supper. I'll see to our neighbor and the tree."

Roween suspected he was more worried about the tree than the neighbor. It grudgingly produced a minute amount of delicious deep wine colored fruit late every summer, and Chelan treasured every bite.

Their old neighbors, the Brocks, had retired eleven months ago and moved to be nearer to their daughter. The new neighbors were young, rather noisy, and inclined to fuss if the smallest thing went wrong. Being a realist, Roween nodded, let Chelan out, parked the GV, and went in to cook.

Twenty minutes later Chelan came in, rubbing his gloved hands from the cold and looking for a nice hot plate of anything. Those tenure committee meetings always made him ravenous, and the current chairperson seemed to think that having anything more than a beverage available lowered the tone of the meeting - the pompous ass. A nice plate of pastries, or better still, deli sandwiches would give a person something to focus on while certain committee members made a point of letting everyone know how superior they had been to the tenure candidate when they had been that age. The current candidate was a cultured young woman from Rujjipet with fourteen papers to her name already, nine of which she was sole author. Chelan suspected that was what brought out the jealous, defensive streak in certain people.

Chelan padded into the kitchen on sock feet, enjoying the warmth of the heated tiles and thoroughly expecting to find Roween stirring industriously at something or other on the cooktop. She wasn't though. She had the pots and pans cupboard open and was standing staring at it like the contents were foreign objects and she hoped for divine inspiration to tell her what they were. Roween looked weary and every day of her age. Her still thick dark hair had escaped it's coil, the blouse she wore almost as a uniform to lecture in had ridden up and made her look, well, just a little lumpy, and a half-empty wine glass was in one hand.

Ever since their marriage cooking supper was part of Roween's self-image of superwoman. She had always been determined to be one of those women who juggled career, family, and home effortlessly. Using the cater unit was a cheat. Meals had to be prepared by hand from fresh ingredients. Failure to do so upset her terribly. The only allowed excuse was simply not being able to think of anything that sounded good. In the past few years that frequency had been going up.

"Well - " Chelan saw Roween give a guilty start. She had obviously been so abstracted she hadn't noticed him. "We'll have to have someone in to work on the tree when we can, but after that storm this morning there will probably be a queue. The neighbor's yard is mostly fine though." Chelan sighed. "I wish I could say the same for his temper."

Putting an arm around Roween's waist, Chelan gently took the wine glass and put it on the counter. Roween was starting to rely too much on a glass of wine or an aperitif to relax her when she got home.

"No inspiration tonight? How about we cheat just for once."

He expected opposition, but Roween just nodded. Chelan released her waist and headed for the cater unit. On the way past Meg and Basil's cage he stopped to open the door for the parrots.

"Come on out. There's no cooking to help with tonight." Meg really liked to be a nuisance when there was cooking going on.

They ignored him. They were back in love again. Meg was cuddled up to Basil, carefully grooming his shoulder feathers.

She had to say something now, or wait until after supper. Roween nerved herself up. "Chelan, there's a problem we have to talk about."

This was ridiculous. She was having trouble keeping her voice steady. Really, how much of a problem could there be? The mining accident was one of those unfortunate coincidences. But as for the pressure tube itself going, well, even with the best possible checks and balances in place equipment failures did happen. Off the top of her head she could think of three serious accidents in bioengineering facilities. One of her colleagues had even been present during one of the accidents. It had been extremely traumatic, and the poor man had needed counseling for over a year. But it had been an accident.

And Mitra would settle down. She'd been in shock, the poor hysterical child. Roween kept repeating this phrase to herself, 'the poor hysterical child'. Once Mitra got busy sorting things out she would be fine. And a company like Dellmaice Power Systems would give her the best possible legal support. It wasn't like her own position where she often did independent consulting. Roween had had to see her way through five major lawsuits when bioengineered specimens based on her calculations didn't meet design specifications, and the customers just didn't seem to realize how subtle the calculations could be.

Chelan stopped and turned to look at his wife. She was reaching for the wine glass with visibly trembling hands. Oh dear. She'd messed up a calculation again. It seemed at times to Chelan that Roween's life would be a lot smoother if she had a little less self-confidence. Every mistake wasn't as harmless as Meg and Basil ending up sterile. She never seemed to see the possible mistakes until she was staring at them, and a lawsuit.

"Well dear, tell me once we're eating. Right now I'm too starved to hear a word you say."

***

Chelan surveyed the table. They were eating in the breakfast nook of the kitchen, not the dining room, a sign Roween was much more upset than she was admitting. There wasn't a morsel of food left, and he'd gone back to the cater unit twice. There also wasn't anything left to say. They had been over everything at least a dozen times. Rising, Chelan picked up his glass and plate and put them in the sanitizer.

"I'm going to call Niki. Do you mind cleaning up?"

With the cater unit there wasn't much mess and it would keep Roween busy. He didn't want her eavesdropping.

Roween minded. Supper had been very difficult. Chelan seemed to have so much trouble grasping what she was saying. Even if she allowed for the news being upsetting after a long hard day, he seemed to be incapable of understanding that Mitra was just being overly upset when she was asking for a lawyer, that obviously she was both innocent of any wrongdoing and well protected by her company.

Roween worried about how Chelan seemed to be getting slower and slower to grasp things. For a while she had told herself that it was just that he was abstracted, totally absorbed in those simulations he was doing. But surely tonight the news about Mitra had focused him? He still hadn't understood. Was she seeing the onset of some cognitive problems? She simply did not want to cope with that. All she wanted was to go have a long soak in a scented tub, then possibly read some of the thesis she was external reviewer for. The defense wasn't all that far off, and she really hadn't worked her way into the meat of things. Why did doctoral candidates so often feel they had to spend chapters summarizing the current textbooks, and do it in such a way you were sure they weren't hiding their own work in there somewhere? Why couldn't the chapter list simply be broken into two sections: 'proving I've done my reading' and 'my work'? It would make life so much simpler.

"It's late Chelan," she protested.

Chelan looked at his time strip. "Not by Niki's standards. If I get our son out of bed, I won't be waking him. I'll just be getting him away from some nubile blonde. Or is he currently preferring redheads?" Chelan knew his son thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of the attractive affluent playboy, and he had the money and dark-haired fair-skinned good looks to do it.

Normally Roween would have made a spirited protest that Chelan was not to talk about their son like that, but she was too tired. All she said was, "Surely it can wait until morning?"

"No, it cannot," Chelan said firmly.

There was no sense trying to tell Roween he simply did not agree with her that Mitra was not in legal trouble. Roween did not accept his disagreeing with her. But Chelan had been researching Drezvir and the Farr sector since Mitra went there, and he had not liked what he found.

The idea of collaborating on a book, or at least an article with Mitra had caught Chelan's fancy. Also the situation with Drezvir had appealed to him as a historian. He liked the idea of a brand-new planet in one of the oldest sectors, and Farr was one of the oldest sectors even if it was incredibly remote. It had been founded, then essentially forgotten in the earliest days of hyperspatial travel. Contact with the rest of the galaxy has been reestablished about the time Mitra was born. The interaction had had mixed success as the Farrese set a new definition for xenophobic. They wanted what the galaxy had to offer without the galaxy. They didn't trust anyone but themselves, and used their legal system to severely regulate the Outsiders.

While the father in Chelan couldn't believe anyone wouldn't adore his daughter, the realist in Chelan had suspected that Mitra had come in for her share of the xenophobia and the severely regulated working conditions. It would account for her being so nervy and withdrawn for most of her visit home. It was as if she had forgotten how to socialize normally. By the time her visit was over, she was starting to be herself, but it had certainly taken time.

Once there had been a little more distancing for Mitra to regain her balance Chelan had wanted to talk to her about that aspect of her Drezvir experience. In the meantime he had started researching exactly how the Farrese regulated the sort of project Mitra had headed, not just the generalities he had looked at before. He had found the research academically fascinating. In particular, not since early Terra had any civilization done away with the concept of innocent until proven guilty. The inverse approach of the Farrese, that an individual, business, or corporation must prove innocence, had all sorts of consequences that fascinated him.

For starters, that combined with a harsh penal system resulted in the Farrese having a very low incidence of what Chelan called traceable crimes - violence, break and enter, embezzlement, and so on. But they had a very high incidence of what he would call vindictive accusations - accusations of slander, discrimination, sexual abuse, and so on. The courts were bogged down with them, and he'd given himself horrors thinking of teaching there and some student he had fairly failed accusing him of a sexual advance. How would you possibly prove your innocence?

Chelan gathered that similar imaginings had resulted in Galactic companies that worked in the Farr sector, or traded with the Farrese, spending small fortunes documenting every step they took. Over the thirty plus year interval it had been interesting to track the process. For ten or fifteen years there had been a ripple effect, with increased Quality Assurance demands for galactic projects as well. Then the galactic standards had slipped. Then the standards for dealing with the Farrese had slipped. Then there had been some serious accidents that were still being tried by the Farrese courts.

The interest had ceased to be academic tonight when Roween informed him of Mitra's disaster. Chelan was truly appalled. The horrors he had imagined for someone like himself facing a false accusation were nothing compared to the reality of an accident. The penalties in some of those court cases he had read about were unbelievably harsh by galactic standards. One case still being tried even had a death penalty possible. He hadn't known they still existed anywhere. Remembering the death penalty was when he had first lost his appetite, then he had decided to bury his alarm under two extra slices of pie.

Chelan also felt he had a much less naive image than Roween did about Mitra's place of employment. After Mitra and Mark had split up, an only thinly disguised blessing in Chelan's opinion, it had been obvious to him and to Niki that one of them would have to leave Dellmaice Power Systems. Chelan had hoped it would be Mitra. While he couldn't dispute the quality of the research facilities at Dellmaice Power Systems, or the opportunity for advancement, Mitra had been working too hard from the day she had arrived there. He knew that work place cultures varied considerably. In this case he suspected they reflected the top man, Dr. Ari Dellmaice. He was a tough, hardworking, self-made man, the kind of man the galaxy admired. Chelan had never been the least bit impressed by the type. He suspected that now Ari Dellmaice would have one goal, and one goal only in mind, to survive.

Chelan looked at his wife. Roween had one of her stubborn, truculent expressions on. If he said one more word on the subject they were going to have a fight, a big one. It wouldn't go well either, because he was hurt, deeply hurt, as well as alarmed. He was hurt that Mitra had called Roween, not him. He was hurt that Roween had stalled for hours before telling him. And he was hurt that she could be anything but terrified by their daughter's dilemma.

Taking a deep breath, Chelan said gently enough, "We're both tired and upset. If it's too much for you, leave the cleanup. I'll do it when I'm through talking to Niki. Go have your bath." A bed time soak was a ritual for Roween. "But I am calling Niki. He's very close to Mitra, and he'd want to know right away." The bitterness in his voice as he said this was lost on Roween.

Chelan continued, "Besides, if I leave it until morning he could end up hearing it first on the news."

"News? Chelan don't be ridiculous."

Chelan almost said, 'Do you think only the messes you get yourself in are news?'. Fortunately he stopped himself in time.

"News Roween," he said, a trifle less mildly. "Fatal accidents are news. Accidents involving the really big companies like Dellmaice Power Systems are news. And you know as well as I do that the galaxy has been fascinated with the Farr sector since we got into contact with them. If it isn't news by morning it will only be because something worse happened somewhere else."

He would have stalked out of the room, but that was difficult in sock feet. At his age he really didn't want to risk a fall on tile. Chelan knew he should either wear slippers or go barefoot, but he'd always liked sock feet and he wasn't about to change.

Looking at her husband's retreating back, Roween muttered, "Really, if you're going to be like that, I will leave the mess. In fact, I'm going to take that nice long soak. A long, long soak."

*****

Chapter 5

"Niki." He couldn't face his son. Chelan cut the visuals and said in a carefully controlled professorial lecturing voice, "Earlier today Roween got a call from Mitra. Her power station on Drezvir has exploded. There were two deaths plus injuries. Naturally Mitra feels terrible, but on top of that she's in serious trouble. With the jurisprudence there, it will be up to her to prove innocence of any fault or she will face manslaughter charges. We all know how hard that can be with any complex design, much less a prototype like hers. She ..." Chelan's voice faltered.

There was an agonizing interval where Niki, sitting at his office desk, saw nothingness and heard nothing until Chelan was able to try again.

"It's her opinion that she would be wise to retain legal counsel in addition to that provided by Dellmaice Power Systems. Your mother and I have had a long talk. We're at home now. We do not concur. She thinks Mitra is overreacting." Suddenly the formality Chelan had been using to detach himself from the situation dissolved. "Niki, I know Roween's wrong. Please come as soon as you can." He broke the contact.

Niki sat staring at where his father's face should have been restraining himself from calling back, restraining himself from calling and shouting 'It can't be true!'. It was second time in his life he had received a call with the visuals blocked. He didn't like it. It unsettled him almost as much as the content of the call. The first time it had been Chelan too, to tell him of his mother's hospitalization, a stress related illness Niki knew he had caused.

He simply couldn't, wouldn't accept Mitra screwing up. Niki wanted to see his father's face to know Chelan didn't either. He wanted to challenge him, to say you've got it wrong. But all there had been was the formal voice, the carefully controlled voice, and now Chelan had disconnected.

It was impossible. Niki buried in his face in his hands. He remembered Mitra's visit enroute from Drezvir to Gingezel, their laughing and talking together. He remembered her bubbling over to tell him about her new design idea for improving the Dellmaice Power Systems geothermal units. She was the best, as good in her way as Roween was in hers. It couldn't have happened. Then some part of his brain he didn't like very much remembered the aspects of her visit he didn't want to remember right now, her weight loss, the obvious exhaustion, the brittleness he'd never seen before. She always pushed herself hard but he'd never seen her overextended like that, and burnt out people made mistakes. In her business even an honest one could kill. Oh Galaxy!

***

The office door opened silently and his secretary Brenna came in already talking. She was poised even at this hour of the day, makeup perfect, her cap of light brown hair sleek, her beige suit still unwrinkled. She had just been waiting for the call to finish to ask Niki some routine questions.

"Niki, about that file ..." Brenna stopped. "Niki, what's wrong?" She knew the origin of the call. "Is your mother ill again?"

Niki managed to answer. "No, not Roween." He looked up. "I'm sorry, Brenna. I've got to leave as soon as I can, and clear as much of my schedule as possible for the indefinite future." And there were too damned many things to do. He'd planned on staying until midnight at least.

"What can I do?"

"Nothing. No wait ..." His brain was thinking now. "See if Sanja is still around. She owes me one."

"Of course. I'll check. And first thing in the morning I'll contact the two clients expecting a call back. I'll say you were unavoidably called away. They're both just fidgeting anyway." Brenna was very good at saying things like that as long as there was an element of truth in what she was saying, and Niki obviously was unavoidably called away.

"Bless you." He expected Brenna to leave, but she was hesitating at the door. "Yes?"

"While you were talking to home, Collan Rydler called on another line. He wanted to know if that supper is still on tonight. He said he tried your personal number first, and was routed here. Since he got me, he knows you're busy, but I said I'd check." She paused. " I'll call him back and tell him you're postponing. But he passed on the message he needs a decision on investing in the theater group. He intended to discuss it tonight, but if you know now, I'll just tell him for you."

Damn. The way the last two days had gone with the market so volatile and on top of that the fact that in the last three weeks it seemed like every last client had wanted to rearrange their portfolio, he'd totally forgotten Collan. Well, there wouldn't be any theater group or anything else.

At least he had money for Mitra, a lot of money. Niki had been telling himself it wasn't worth it, because he hadn't slept for the last two nights for fear the current market volatility was a delayed reaction from his chaos theory code. The sector he had made one investment in simply hadn't found a settle point. There had been minor fluctuations for weeks and then suddenly these wild swings. What he couldn't understand though was why the wild swings had shifted to other markets. Not a single simulation he had done, and he'd done plenty the last two days, could induce that. But now, maybe even if his code had been a problem, it was worth it. Maybe. Maybe not. The Kael family didn't need two members in legal trouble. Niki abruptly curbed that line of thought.

He took a breath. "No. I'd better call myself." Niki tried to smile, he didn't want to alarm Brenna. "I promised to bake him apfel strudel and he was counting on it, so we'll set another date." That was better. It made life sound normal.

"Fine." Brenna gave him a skeptical look. "I'll see how busy Sanja is." Niki didn't look so great, but if he was talking about cooking it couldn't be that bad.

***

When Niki walked into Sanja's office she was standing at a side table carefully measuring tea from an ornate lacquered canister into a simple white porcelain teapot. The cater unit provided tea and coffee of course, but Sanja preferred her own tea ceremony and an exotic tea grown only on Rujjipet. She turned as he entered and smiled.

"Hello Niki. Sit down, this will only take a few minutes."

He sat down in one of the well worn dark brown leather arm chairs and watched her. He liked to watch Sanja. In her own way she was as calming as Brenna, but the reason was different. Brenna was by nature calm and poised. Sanja was not. She was intense, competitive, and intelligent but over that she had laid a definite veneer of control and stillness. She once said it came from hours of meditation exercises. Niki let himself concentrate on the slender woman in her mid-to-late thirties, watching the light play on her thick black hair, her warm brown skin, the lovely oval face, and those perfect almond eyes. Chelan had said this meant somewhere she had ancestors from the Indian subcontinent on Terra.

Now, as always, she did not hurry. The tea carefully measured, Sanja waited until the water was at the precise stage of boil she wanted, then poured it into the already warm tea pot. Niki watched the movements, the slide of her easy fitting wine colored sweater across her back as she poured, her hair shifting on her shoulders. There was a look of intense concentration on her face. He felt his stomach unknot a bit. Being around Sanja was good for him.

It was not until the tea was steeped and she had poured a cup for each of them that she spoke again. "First, the important question. Have you even eaten tonight? Can you manage some tea biscuits or better still a pastry or a protein roll?"

The decision was too much for Niki. He give a helpless shrug.

"Well, I'll get an assortment and we'll see." She touched the contacts on the cater unit and returned with a selection. "The second question is easier. What all clients and analyses do you want me to take over? The last few days have been a madhouse here, but it's settling down so it won't be a problem."

It would be, but by what Brenna had said, Niki did not need to know that. Sanja also did not ask what was wrong. If he wanted to tell anyone, he would have taken the request for help to Brian, because Brian had more slack at the moment. But Brian was aggressively snoopy.

She started a slow, methodical review of what needed to be done. Niki found he could eat, and that relaxed Sanja a bit. She didn't like seeing Niki so obviously stressed. He was one of her closer friends.

***

It hadn't always be like that. Sanja was a relatively recent arrival to the city and the firm. Before that she had been a futures trader, but it had been time to slow the pace down a bit. When Sanja joined the firm, no less than four women had warned her off Niki. They all said Niki was bad news. Not that they put it like that. What they said was 'Niki Kael is handsome', 'Niki Kael is sexy', 'Niki Kael is fun'. Period. As long as you're looking for a really good time with no strings attached, try hanging your clothes in Niki Kael's closet for a few months. It was fantastic. Just make sure you were the one who walked, with a smile on your face. Try getting serious, and he runs like hell. Spend the night crying over a problem with your family or work, and in the morning he'll suddenly remember a business trip he forgot to tell you about. And on it he'll meet a new 'friend', and isn't it time you both moved on, no hard feelings of course. Of course.

Bad news.

It had never occurred to any of these women, or Sanja, that in Niki's eyes they weren't worth anything more.

The inevitable had happened three or four months after she joined the firm. Niki had invited her out to supper, a non-working supper. She had politely declined. The next time she had declined less politely. And the next.

When it was starting to look like Niki was a real slow learner, Sanja decided that they had to have a little talk, and it would not be the kind that was suitable for the office. So she accepted the next offer of supper.

Over glasses of red wine and menus in a very private alcove of a very expensive restaurant Sanja smiled sweetly and set the record straight.

"Niki, let's make life easier for both of us. Your reputation is all over town. It's not exactly bad. As far as I know no one has her knife out for you, but the list of your women friends would make a small directory. I haven't the least intention of being another name on that list. Besides the fact it would complicate life at the office more than it's worth, that simply is not my style. Do you understand me?"

Looking amused, Niki nodded.

Her friends weren't kidding, he was too damned self assured and handsome. "Niki, I'm not teasing." There was an edge to Sanja's voice.

The smile faded. Niki said, "I realize that."

"Then should I have been suddenly called by a client and excuse myself and go back to the office?"

"Would you be more comfortable? You'd miss out on a good supper."

Sanja thought about it, and stayed. They talked through legume soup, green salad a la Laurion, excellent lamb, pastry dessert, and coffee laced with Suranan liqueur. They talked the market, why she had quit futures trading, if he had really written a code that got him suspended (Niki had looked mortified that that had gone around), and office politics. Niki only slipped up twice, flirting almost automatically.

She scolded him.

He apologized, "Habits die hard."

They parted friends.

***

That had set the pattern for the last several years. Once or twice a year they would go out to supper when Niki was between girlfriends, and once or twice a month he would wander down to Sanja's office for tea. Both made a point of not intruding on the other's personal life in their conversations, but they talked about just about anything else. Now Niki very obviously had a personal problem, and Sanja didn't know how to change their pattern. It would have to be up to Niki.

They finished their review and Sanja nodded. "That's straightforward enough Niki. You aren't asking anything unreasonable." She continued in her gentle voice, "I do think though that it will have to be you who makes the calls for those two portfolios you're reconfiguring. I can do the leg work and brief you, but the clients have a right to speak to you. I'll need say ... three days?"

Niki nodded.

"And I do need to be able to reach you when you are out of the office, Niki. The way some of the markets have gone crazy the last two days, we're all rethinking our short term strategies. Up to a point I can cover, but beyond that I would make different decisions than you would." She smiled. "That's why your clients use you, mine me." Sanja was by far the more aggressive risk taker of the two, a carryover from her earlier career.

"I'll give you my private number. Call it any time. I'll assign you priority so you'll get me, not messaging."

"I think that's it then. Brenna says you have to leave as soon as you can, and you still have a call to Collan Rydler to make. Which reminds me," she hesitated, "this isn't the time to be a nuisance, but if you're talking to him could you ask if there's any room for another player or two on that Farolavo Power energy deal? I like the looks of it better and better each time I read it through. I was going to call him tomorrow. But if you're talking to him, maybe he could call me tonight."

That brought reality back with the force of a flood. Niki said very carefully, "I'll tell him you want in."

Then unable to sit where Sanja could watch him, he got up and walked to the window and stood looking at the spectacular night time cityscape, not seeing any of it.

Sanja nodded, then looked at her notes. "Niki, did we cover that client Collan sent this for?"

Niki had asked her to assess Farolavo Power as a venture capital investment because he did not deal with the energy sector. Office gossip had it that since he'd been in trouble once, and had his license suspended, he now would not trade in energy because his sister Mitra worked there, or bioengineering because of his mother.

"Is it one of the reconfigurations we talked about, or did it fall through the cracks? If you can give Collan your go-aheads today I can be his contact here 'til you're back."

Niki said to the window, "No, it didn't fall through the cracks. The client was my sister Mitra. She won't be going into anything after all."

That didn't surprise Sanja. It was amazing the number of people who thought they wanted to get into venture capital then chickened out.

"Well, if the other openings are this good Collan will fill them. But why the mystery stuff?"

Niki turned back to Sanja, a half smile on his lips. "Because Collan has been in love with Mitra since he saw her. It would affect his judgement."

"Collan and Mitra?" Sanja was astonished.

"No Sanja. There's no 'and'. Mitra wouldn't even know his name if you used it. They were both at a party once, that's all. But since then every time we're together she's all he can talk about. I suppose you could say it's something harmless like he's the founding member of the Mitra Kael fan club but I'm afraid it's more than that."

"Poor Collan." He was such a sweet man too. But he was at the age where he should be buying puppies for his grandchildren, not living alone in a flat daydreaming about unreachable girls. He'd lived and worked too hard and too fast for too long. It was a mistake a lot of them were making.

Sanja had been too preoccupied with these melancholy conclusions to realize Niki was coming to a few of his own. When he spoke he startled her.

"Sanja. If you'll promise me not to say anything until you hear it from someone else, I - I think I want to tell you what's going on."

Sanja did not answer immediately. Now that it came right down to it she wasn't sure she wanted Niki's confidences. She rather suspected his past had come back to haunt him, probably in the form of a woman who was out to get even in a big way, maybe with a paternity suit where she was after the publicity more than a settlement.

As Sanja did not answer immediately, Niki turned back to the window. Standing there like that, he looked like she had already rejected him.

She said reluctantly, "If that's what you want Niki."

There was a long enough pause Sanja thought he had changed his mind.

Then Niki said in a strained voice, "I'm having trouble getting this out."

Sanja rose and came to stand beside him. She put a gentle hand on his arm. "It's all right Niki, you don't have to."

She realized it was the first time she'd ever touched him. Niki turned, and must have read something about her guesses in her face because he turned scarlet.

"Galaxy! It isn't something little like that." He never thought he'd consider the kind of disaster Sanja was obviously imagining as little, but his perspectives were changing fast. "It's Mitra. Her power station on Drezvir blew up. Two were killed. Eight were injured."

"Oh Niki." Sanja didn't know what to say. Inadequately she asked, "Is she here at home?"

"No. I don't know where she is. The message was from Chelan - my father." He turned away looking back out the window. "Since you're covering for me, you'd better hear it all. You see, I don't know how tied up I'll be." He forced himself to go on, "Apparently in that sector she's likely to automatically come up against manslaughter charges and," he swallowed, "to be required to prove innocence."

He continued in a formal voice, hoping that might stop the tremor that seemed to be creeping in. "Mitra seems to not have complete confidence in the legal representation she will have through her company. So she has asked us to at least explore alternatives."

Niki thought of the legal nightmare of his own disciplinary hearing and tried to multiply it up. "It could be quite a thing to arrange, so, you see ..." He stopped. He couldn't keep talking any more than he could control the tears that had started streaming down his face. He hoped with his body turned away from Sanja she couldn't see. But she must have, because he felt her arm slip around his waist.

"I'm so sorry for all of you, Niki," she said softly, but she didn't know if he heard her.

*****

Chapter 6

Ari Dellmaice was well past the stage where sleep was even a remote possibility long before he finally drove home. All the same, he made a pretense of trying for Naura's sake. Then, when he was sure his wife was asleep, he got cautiously out of bed, and picked up the robe he had deliberately left on the chair, not hung tidily in his closet like he usually did. He took one last look at Naura, her soft brown hair spread on the pillow, her face sweet in sleep, and crept out of the room.

The motion woke Naura from her light doze. For a moment she just thought Ari was using the toilet. But when he didn't return, she reluctantly decided he was having another sleepless night. She was tempted to go after him. She hadn't seen him this upset in a very long time. He wouldn't thank her though, and he wouldn't tell her what was wrong anymore than he had when he came home. Naura wondered if she'd ever know what was wrong this time. After all, Ari was trying harder to communicate the last few weeks and was getting home early enough to spend time with the boys.

Was. Past tense. She remembered the silent, uncommunicative man who had finally walked in the door. His dark hair had been sweaty and rumpled, his brown eyes unreadable. It was late enough there was stubble showing on his strong chin, and that chin was set in it's aggressive position. Back to square one. Naura curled up into a little ball and settled in for her own sleepless night.

Ari's restless feet led him unerringly to the nursery play room. There in the soft glow of the night light was the finished space station he and Erlin had worked so hard on. The boys were supposed to stay in their rooms at night, preferably sleeping but if not sleeping, playing there. His youngest Sander didn't though. He was a nocturnal wanderer. So Naura had put night lights in so he wouldn't hurt himself, or be frightened by the unfamiliar shapes ordinary objects take in the dark.

Ari personally thought the night lights a waste of time at best and probably a mistake. He was sure Sander loved being frightened in the dark, enjoyed the possibility a dark corner could hold an undetected Suranan werrbatt or that armed mercenaries could be lurking under a table. He suspected that all the night light had done was get Sander roaming the rest of the house and avoiding the play room. He was a lot more likely to get hurt in the rest of the house. In the play room he had at least memorized where everything was.

"Damn."

He bumped his head on the Genie model hanging from the ceiling. Erlin had insisted that for the Genie to be approaching the docking bay he had designated for it, it had to hang over the walking space between the art table and the toy shelves, and it had to be that low or the trajectory would be wrong. At the time Ari had been amused at the scientific accuracy. After he'd smacked his head half a dozen times, he had seriously considered the feasibility of rotating the space station model, but it would fall apart, and he knew that he would never get it back to Erlin's demanding standards. Now he was used to ducking, at least usually he was.

The model Genie was Erlin's most treasured possession, a gift from his hero, Genie racer Arn Torson. Erlin had found out his Aunt Kara had briefly been married to Arn. After about a week of being pestered by Erlin, Ari had got around to calling Arn and telling him he had a nephew who currently worshipped Genie pilots and would he mind talking to him. Arn hadn't minded. In fact, the few minute chat Ari had expected had run almost an hour-and-a-half.

A week later the model had arrived signed by the Allegro crew, Arn, Jon Melcrist, Rhea Enlis and Eli Heron. They were all Genie racers from the old days when that sport had been unregulated, and Erlin had all of the statistics on each of them. It had come Interstellar Courier Express, delivered by Eli Heron himself, who had insisted on personally giving it to Erlin. When Naura had said not to bother, that Erlin was playing with friends a few houses down, Eli had said that Arn would have his hide if he didn't wait. So they'd called Erlin back, and Eli had formally handed over the parcel and shaken Erlin's hand. Erlin had been ecstatic.

That had been a nice gesture on Arn's part, Ari thought as he rubbed his forehead, but then Arn was a nice man. Ari almost smiled remembering that Erlin had wanted to call his Aunt Kara and show her the model since she designed Genies and had been married to Arn. It had taken quite some doing to persuade Erlin that was a really bad move. He understood divorce, in that it meant two people who were married weren't any more, but Erlin would have to have some experience with women to understand the kind of divorces his Aunt Kara had.

Moving restlessly around the room, Ari found he was shivering. In fact, his legs were trembling. Exhaustion was settling in, that was all. After all, it was one of the longest, toughest days he could remember. Exhaustion. That was all. Ari flatly refused to admit he was about as scared as a man could be. His lawyer, Haran Barloth, a pessimist at heart had found something he could really get into. He'd run disaster scenarios, then worst-case disaster scenarios, by Ari with what could only described as relish until Ari had ordered the man out of his office. But the words had stuck. Prison. Extradition. One of the few sectors with the death penalty. Look through provisions. The words had been tumbling through his head ever since then.

Ari shivered again. Exhaustion. And even though it was summer, it was a cool night. A wave of illness hit him, and it seemed to come from the general area of his stomach. Ari tried to remember if he'd eaten today. He knew he had turned down Naura's offer to get something for him when he came home. Beyond that he honestly couldn't remember. So he probably had not. Maybe some nice nursery food would help. It couldn't hurt. At least, he amended as he felt half sick again, he hoped it couldn't hurt.

Ari walked to the cater unit. He entered his request for a bowl of hot soup, rolls, and pudding. Chocolate would have been his pudding choice but Naura was still convinced it was bad for the boys. Then with extreme care because he was trembling again, he carried them to the tiny art table and gingerly lowered himself onto a child sized chair. He would not think. He would eat, and rest, then think. Those instructions were easier to follow than he expected. It seemed to take all of his concentration to lift a spoonful of hot soup to his mouth. He should have had a sandwich Ari decided when the third spoonful stained his lapel. But the soup was hot and tasted good, and he persisted, dunking the roll like he hadn't since he was a kid.

By the time he was finished Ari felt better. Not good, but better. He was still cold though, so he walked over to the daybed and stretched out, pulling the comforter with its bright red and yellow sailboats over himself. He tried to just relax into the downy warmth of the comforter and not think, but this time he could not command himself. He was finally alone. Not reacting. Not reassigning people. Not organizing, deploying, signing off staggering sums of money, or equally staggering amounts of equipment. He could think.

What Ari found though was that he could no more control his thoughts now than he could with the myriad of demands at work. They jumped around. Had he forgot to tell Cebron about - no, of course he hadn't. He'd caught him at the loading bay. Was Kubo going to come back, and what about the megacity units if she didn't? There was always Jones of course, but he didn't have Kubo's experience. He should have kept his mouth shut, but Kubo knew he had a temper. What he had not known was that she had one to match. What was that statistic Barloth quoted? Ari rubbed his temple. He couldn't remember. It had something to do with extradition. Kael. He kept seeing Kael sitting there in some man's robe, tiny and white and shaking, and still trying to come through for them. Why the hell did she have to screw up? Laratte had warned him she would sooner or later, but he had thought that was spite. Barloth - had he missed anything major throwing Barloth out?

At last though Ari's mind quieted to the point where he was aware of the familiar comforting surroundings, the warmth of the quilt, the space station looming dark and mysterious in the half light. He remembered Naura coming to watch them finish it. They had stood, arms around each other's waists while Erlin installed the last piece. Then they had all celebrated with chocolate cake, something Naura almost never let the boys have because she said it made them hyper. But he'd insisted since it was their - and his - favorite. Neither kid had self-destructed either, but he'd been too pleased with the moment to rub that in. In fact, it had been one of their best family times ever.

A singularly unwanted tear trickled down Ari's cheek and his throat tightened. He couldn't lose all this. He couldn't lose everything. And he wouldn't Ari told himself fiercely. He was tough. He'd always been able to make the hard decisions. Well, he'd make them now. He had been making them. The first thing to do was keep this quiet, give Cebron and his risk experts a chance to figure out what happened. That was perhaps the one advantage of working in the Farr sector. If the accident had happened anywhere else, the utility would probably have called the regulatory watchdogs before they called him.

But Rostin, the planet manager, had managed a limited call to him before communications failed. He had agreed to keep it completely quiet until Cebron had a look, not even contact the subcontractors. Barloth hadn't liked it. Neither had Cebron. They both wanted the subcontractors and suppliers told. But that was not going to happen because as soon as it did, the story would be all over the place. 'Dellmaice Power Systems reactor explodes. Cause unknown.' He'd be ruined. No. What would happen is Cebron would find the problem, a specific problem. Then there could be a discrete release. 'There has been a problem with a prototype reactor, but it has been identified and will be fixed.'

Surely that would look the best to the government of the Farr sector too? The problem had been dealt with responsibly. Surely they were only out to get the people who were not being responsible? Assuming of course they were even involved. Haran said yes they were, and they had to be notified immediately. But Rostin said the Mining Guild was autonomous on these sorts of technical issues. Surely Rostin knew. He was the planet manager after all. Rostin had to be right. Ari accepted that, and tried to relax.

And if Cebron didn't find the problem? Ari's exhausted mind balked there. He would. He was good. And if he didn't, well, Ari mentally shrugged. Then there would be more hard decisions. But he'd come out of it. He always did. Always.

***

"Hi!"

The loud greeting in his ear jerked Ari out of a light doze. He opened his eyes to see the glowing lurid green butt of Sander's favorite toy stun gun about 6 cm from his nose.

"Hi yourself!" Ari respond as Sander clambered onto the day bed in rumpled pajamas.

"Wass you doin'?" Sander demanded.

"Thinking." Ari said.

Sander considered this. Erlin was always saying don't bother him, he was thinking. Sander didn't bother to think much unless he was working out some scheme. His dad didn't look like Erlin did when he was thinking though. His dad looked like he'd been crying, only his dad never cried. Sander shrugged and brandished the gun.

"Wanna play?"

*****

Chapter 7

Durstin Fallor could smell the stink of his own fear and feel the sweat running down his chest and back and thighs. It was a bad time to be sweating. Even with all of the equipment running in the room it was bitterly cold, and it was only going to get colder. Red blizzards on Drezvir only went from bad to worse. The last time there had been a chance to look outside visibility was zero again from the dust storm.

He remembered a professor once telling him that any crisis that lasted more than three or four hours wasn't a crisis. It became normal operating conditions because the human body just couldn't sustain an alarm state. The words had impressed him at the time, sitting in the security of a classroom. Now he could tell that professor he was wrong, dead wrong. Durstin was just as scared as he had been how long, how many lifetimes ago when the power went out? And he could see no end to the nightmare in sight. Well, scared or not he had to keep going. Some one had to. He might only be Site Power Engineer, but control had shifted to him when Mitra's reactor had overpowered and taken the colony's power down. Did his fear show in his face, he wondered, or was it normal? Oval face, light hazel eyes, full mouth, brown hair. Beyond lips that seemed to be too stiff to move, was the rest the same?

The Mining Guild crew stood patiently waiting for his next instructions. He was alternating between being relieved and outraged at their docilely waiting for commands. No one had questioned his choices, and at least now they had backup generators for the mines and batteries on-line for the habitats. Power had been shunted to the outdoor lights long enough to get the town people back safely since of course the storm made communication impossible.

It had to go that way didn't it? The whole power system crashing while everyone was out hunting for that damned kid. At least they were back, the kid was in the hospital, and not too many, only seventeen, were suffering from exposure. All the power he could manage was now going to the mines, meaning they could make significant progress toward digging out the miners that were still alive, not just maintain life-support on the emergency generators they kept down there.

That docile acceptance however had meant he had no one to delegate to, no one to consult. There had been no respite, no one taking command even for ten minutes. And Durstin was getting tired, desperately tired. He was starting to fantasize about sitting in his favorite restaurant, sipping on a steaming hot cup of that lemony mint tea he had learned to like once on a holiday he'd taken to Azuramer. He had wondered how anyone could drink a hot drink like that in the humid tropics, but you got used to it. Now it brought back memories of warmth, blessed warmth.

Warmth was a luxury he wouldn't be seeing for a long time he told himself harshly, and he could forget about exotic teas. But if he didn't get moving again, they'd all be doing without a lot more than luxuries for a long time. They'd be lucky to survive the night. Still Durstin hesitated. He was so tired. Too tired to be making decisions. He ran a hand over his face, smoothed the greasy hair from his forehead. No one said 'are you all right'. A couple of the crew exchanged worried glances, that was all, damn them.

Decisions. The ones until now had been forced on him. Find alternate power. That was straightforward, except that he couldn't believe that they'd lost the geothermal base as well as the hybrid. Never, never in a million years would he have imagined that worse case scenario.

Durstin still didn't know if the geothermal unit itself was damaged. There hadn't been time to look. It was irrelevant though. The power spike that went through the system when the hybrid overpowered had burned out the geothermal substation and it would take days to repair even if they had the parts, which they didn't. Damn the Farrese idea of a grid, Durstin told himself for the millionth time or so. They swore their designs were good, but he doubted anyone but a Farrese engineer could understand them. They were unstable in the most unpredictable ways, and they used materials no one outside of the Farr sector had seen.

Wasting time on that would have been crying over spilt milk. Durstin had cursed, then focused on the essentials: getting the population home, then starting to get that poor mine crew out. Those decisions had been no-brainers, even if it had stretched every last iota of his engineering skills to implement them. The grid was in terrible shape after the power surge and they had to be very careful not to strain its weakened components.

The next decision had been harder. With the expanded population and no geothermal power base, the batteries that had originally supported the colony couldn't supply enough power to heat the habitats. So he had to tell Rostin to issue the order to double the people up and seal off sections N6 and J11, the ones with the most wind exposure. Then he'd cut the power completely to those sections. That had meant they had to drain the water from those sections to not lose the plumbing from frozen pipes bursting.

Losing the water seemed to have been the last straw for Rostin. There simply weren't enough containers to catch more than a fraction of the water, so Durstin had said to catch what they could, but if most of the water ended up on the ground, tough. They had more pressing concerns. Rostin hadn't seen it that way though. Since the colony started, acquiring and then conserving every milliliter of water had been a major priority for him as Planet Manager. So they had had words, angry words. Durstin clenched his jaw at the memory. What else could he have done? They had enough to drink until more could be shipped in, but they did not have the energy to keep all the habitats heated. Right now being dirty was his last concern, and cost wasn't even on any priority lists.

Well, Rostin was going to be a lot less happy with the next move. Durstin rechecked the power demands against the battery output on the monitors. There wasn't going to be enough power. Something else had to go. All the same, he stalled.

"Adelaide recheck the remote meteorological stations will you?"

As the reddish brunette nodded and left, Durstin reached for his bottle of fruit flavored drink. It didn't taste at all like fruit if you remembered fruit, which Durstin did, but it kept your electrolytes balanced if you were really sweating. Then he took another stimu-tab out of its strip and swallowed it. That should keep him going for another hour or two.

The Farrese crew watched impassively. This time Durstin was more than annoyed. They, their friends, their families, were living through this disaster. Didn't they have a single damned opinion on anything?

"You've done well." Durstin's eyes moved over the exhausted crew. "We've got power where we need it."

Pep talk. They needed a pep talk. He needed a pep talk. But what the hell was there to say?

Adelaide returned, looking not at all impassive.

"Minus 32° C at station A with a 110 kilometer an hour wind." Her voice broke. She swallowed and licked her lips before continuing, "Minus 27 at station B, with gusts to 140. Minus 21 at station C with the winds about the same as at station B."

So the temperature was still dropping. At least it was only about five degrees an hour now. That wind that had come up all of a sudden while that damned kid was lost was in advance of the cold front that had taken them from plus 16° C to minus 25° C over the course of three hours.

The cold front hadn't been forecast of course, Durstin thought bitterly. Drezvir didn't have weather satellites yet, and these really severe fronts developed too fast for the models. You knew they were coming when they hit the first remote station, and you knew how bad they were when they were over. Durstin was feeling decidedly pessimistic. He expected they'd hit the minus 50 degree range or so plus windchill before winds dropped. That meant they had no choice but to cut power to the terraformer's modules - the plant nurseries and the chicken coops. He'd keep monitoring the remote weather stations. If his pessimism was right, they would have to cut power to the hydroponics too. Durstin wasn't thrilled about that, but a reduced diet beat the whole colony suffering from hypothermia.

Damned if he was talking to Rostin first this time. He was simply doing it. "All right. This is what happens next."

*****

Chapter 8

"Hello there, Niki." Collan greeted him with his perpetual cheer, his middle aged cherub face wearing the usual smile. "Have you taken time from the current mad house to tell me I'm out of luck on the whatevers they were you were baking?"

Niki nodded. It was as good an excuse as any. "Apfel strudel. Hope you don't mind waiting." He actually had gone as far as getting the recipe from Roween and shaking his head at the antiquarian ideas of how to cook, but that was it. Sometimes he wondered how she had the patience to sort out those old recipes Chelan found.

"Not at all, not at all. It's not as bad over here as it must be with you, but it's crazy enough." Looking at Niki brought something to mind. "You haven't by any chance dusted off some memory pacs you no doubt have cached away somewhere have you?" Collan winked.

For an instant Niki's mind froze in horror. Collan couldn't know he had been using his chaos theory code to manipulate the market. Collan could not even know he'd kept it after the disciplinary hearing. Besides, he reminded himself firmly, it was too much later. Surely it was too much later? His simulations showed the small adjustments he made for Mitra couldn't be doing this. Could they?

Firmly, Niki shook his head. "Innocent this time."

"Ah well, it didn't hurt to ask. After all, sometime someone is going to turn that technique of yours into platinum." Collan gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Had a shot at it myself you know. Got that paper of yours and the whole bit, but the right kind of brains must not run in my family. I puzzled over that damned thing for months. Even tried talking to that tame professor of yours, but I ended up none the wiser."

"You what?"

Collan was enjoying the growing expression of horror on Niki's face. "Got your paper first. That wasn't hard. That professor's name was all over the disciplinary proceedings. And I'd heard you'd been spending time with him while you were cooling your heels. Since he wasn't your type for socializing, it had to mean work.

"I was one of the ones who believed you'd listen to the board and behave yourself, so it had to mean academic work, not tweaking your code. So, I just flagged all the likely journals and set up a routine scan for either name." He sighed. "Those academics work on a long time frame. I'd totally forgotten it, then eighteen months later, there it was, a joint paper in your names in an obscure math journal. Not, as I said that it did me any good."

"I see." Niki did. It was very straight forward for the kind of investigation Collan routinely did. And who all else? He'd been trying so hard to forget it all he assumed everyone else had been too.

Collan answered before he could ask. "Ah well maybe one of the bright boys the prediction coders hired has finally had some luck."

"Oh no ... Collan ..." Niki was having word trouble again.

"C'mon Niki, grow up. That little weird idea of yours was the first fresh breath in this business for one hell of a long time. There wasn't one of the analysis code firms that wouldn't have given five years R&D budget to hire you if they dared. There was a lot of talk about it. But in the end they all got cold feet and went for academics instead, and hoped they'd come to grips with the financial side. Maybe one has," he added optimistically. It would be interesting to have a few new wrinkles in the game. "All the same, I'll lay odds the regulatory boys knock on your door first on this one."

"Terrific." Niki rubbed his face. That was just what he needed. He thought about what he had considered an innocuous memory pac shoved in the back of his safe and wondered what he should do with it. Maybe, he thought bitterly, he should give it to Collan.

It was beginning to register on Collan that Niki was flat. Well, he wasn't getting any younger either and he'd probably been up most of the last few nights at his terminal. He'd just sort out that one fund and let Niki get back to work.

"Niki, did Brenna pass on the message I need the decision on that theater group?" He knew she would, but it was a way to tactfully prompt Niki.

"Yes. I'm sorry Collan, I'm out - out of it and the others too. Sanja would like a place on the energy sector one though, and a second slot if it comes free."

"No problem with Sanja. I'll call her when we're through - I assume she's still at work too?"

Niki nodded.

"So, the mystery client put you through the hoops and got cold feet did they? Well, don't take it personally. I see a lot more of that than you do."

"Thanks Collan." Niki hesitated. "One more thing."

Collan refocussed. He'd been calling up the file for Sanja. "Yes?"

"Some of the firms you have me in. I may need to pull out and I'd like an idea of what kind of lead time you need to replace me."

Collan frowned slightly, trying to remember what all Niki was in. "It depends which one you want out of Niki." He gave Niki a hard look. "Have you heard some dirt I haven't?"

"No, it's a personal liquidity problem."

"Your venture capital investments are not the place to solve that."

"All the same, I need to know."

That got him another look, then Collan said, "Which one Niki?"

"All of them."

Collan brought his hands down on his desk, friendly cherub gone. He liked Niki and had guided both his career and finances for years. This was the first really asinine move he'd seen.

"Forget it Niki. You'll take a bath right now, and I'd never get you back into a comparable set. This has taken us eight years. If it's liquidity you want, hit the banks and put your stock as collateral. Even at prime plus you'll win." And that's so basic you know it inside out. What kind of trouble are you in, kid, to get so stupid? Collan asked himself.

Niki knew that look. He was in for a two-hour papa knows best lecture and he didn't have the time. He sighed. "Collan. You can be a pain sometimes. You're going to lecture, right?"

"Damned right! You trying to ruin yourself?"

"No." Niki's look was hard. "Collan, I'm going to insult you now because I have to. Promise me not a word of what I say will be repeated and you will not, I repeat not, act on it until you hear it somewhere else."

"You're damned right, I'm insulted! Do you want a signature?" Collan demanded the sarcastically. "You know I can watch my mouth. And I'll sit on my hands."

"No, no signature." Niki sighed. Collan was angrier than he expected. "When you hear me you'll understand." He decided to start with the bottom line. Collan was seated and it would settle him down. "Mitra's power station just blew up. There are deaths, a lawsuit pending, and she wants private galactic level legal support. Someone will have to pay for it and the folks are just professors, when you come right down to it even though Roween has quite a name. And they're nearing retirement - or hope to." Collan was hanging in, so he continued, "Mitra has some liquidity. She was your mystery investor and this is why I'm pulling her out. But I'm assuming that if things go nasty and long-term I'll have to carry it. That's why I need to know my options." There. It was out. No tears that would be even more embarrassing with Collan than they had been with Sanja.

Collan looked like he was giving tears serious consideration though. He had kind of crumpled in on himself, and was shaking his head. "I haven't heard a thing."

"I think it was literally hours ago. I don't really know. I think the folks know more. I'm on my way there now." Niki felt cheap, but he had to say it again. He couldn't handle insider information charges right now.

"Collan, assure me again you won't pass the word on about Dellmaice Power Systems. Let it come through normal channels. If you hold any stock yourself you can be prepared to be the first to move, but that's it. I don't need more trouble now."

But Collan was reviving. "You don't need to worry there. I've eased out of Dellmaice Power Systems over the last year and a half. You wouldn't hear the gossip since you avoid that sector, but even the corporate reports are bad news. Not Dellmaice's fault, just a timing crisis. Too many cost overruns up against project deferrals. Mitra's unit was all that was stopping an official downgrading. That," he added, "was why I had hoped she had jumped ship."

"So, this will finish them off?" No wonder Mitra was nervous for her own skin.

"I wouldn't say that," Collan hedged. "Dellmaice is shrewd and as tough as they come. But he's got himself in the tightest spot he's seen yet."

"Thanks for telling me."

Collan nodded. "Look Niki. Keep me informed will you?" He hesitated. "If you really do have to liquidate things, come to me first. Right now bad moves will cost you a fortune, and my personal assets are in good shape. I always keep a fair redeemable float, just in case something really tempting comes along. I was thinking about Farolavo Power, but I'll hold off a bit till you know where you stand. They'll need a second round of venture capital in seven or eight months anyway. That way I can personally buy you out at a fair price if it comes down to that."

Niki was touched. That was decent of Collan. "Thanks. Let's hope I don't have take you up on it."

*****

Chapter 9

Still yawning and thick muscled, Dreen opened the bedroom door. Joran was slumped in a high backed chair watching something on holovision and apparently taking notes. Dreen looked past him to the partially drawn blinds. It was definitely not early evening. The night was fully dark except for a sliver of a moon hanging low over the bay.

Groggily Dreen looked at his bare wrist. "How long did I sleep?"

"Nine, no," Joran consulted his wrist cuff, "closer to ten hours. You needed it." He looked back to Dreen. "Everything's fine here except there's no message from Mitra. Why don't you hit the shower and wake up?"

There was no sense talking to Dreen until then. That and a cup of coffee seemed to be all it took to get him going, but until then he was useless. Then to the retreating back, "Oh yeah. Your clothes came. I hung a suit in the bathroom to get the wrinkles out and left the rest. Good thing they came - you're a mess."

Dreen ignored him as he expected. Dreen had great faith in a steamy shower taking the worst wrinkles out of clothes hung on the bathroom door and would probably have quite happily worn the slept in ones after he'd steamed them. Joran turned back to his docudrama and the notes he was making on his compad.

***

"What in the galaxy are you watching so hard?" Dreen was in a hotel robe and toweling his hair.

"Quite possibly the worst historical docudrama ever created. I've a list," Joran waved his compad, "of the historical inaccuracies I've picked up, and I'm no historian. As for the direction, production, musical score - they stink."

"So why are you watching it?"

The credits appeared and Joran turned it off. "I know the son-of-a-bitch who produced it. Galaxy class pompous ass. The next time he bores the shit out of me at a party," Joran announced cheerfully, "I can liven up the conversation." He waved the compad with his notes.

He would too. It was a trick he'd learned as an undergrad. Joran did not by any means have total recall, but he could commit to memory almost anything he put on a single page and store it in his head indefinitely. That trick combined with an agile mind had kept the scholarships office plus nervous parents happy while he kept up his honors mathematical physics degree and got his first band going.

It was starting to get through to Dreen that Joran was in a good mood. Too good. He asked with a mix of apprehension and suspicion, "And what have you been up to?"

"Just getting a few things done so you won't have so much to worry about. Go get something to eat and I'll tell you." Joran's attention was on the list he was memorizing.

"Joran, you didn't try to wheedle Mitra's address out of the hotel!" The accusation came out with more force than Dreen intended.

Joran was insulted. "You made it perfectly clear that I was not to do that, so I didn't. I think you're being stupid, but I didn't. I'll tell you right now though Dreen, I'm giving your way two weeks. Then I try it my way."

"Which is?" Dreen eyed him coldly.

"Put on my Anton persona and throw my weight around for all it's worth."

That was about what Dreen had expected. "Joran -" he began warningly.

"I'm not kidding Dreen. That one isn't negotiable and I'm not wasting breath fighting with you. So shut up and go get some food. The chicken and rice is edible."

He added as an afterthought, "Think of it as an incentive to move ass on the database route."

Dreen sat there with the obvious air of a man counting to ten, again, then again. He kept his mouth shut though, and after a few minutes pushed himself up and went to the cater unit. There was quite a pile of debris beside it. He turned to Joran.

"I thought you wouldn't eat this stuff."

"Reheat garbage?" Joran asked. "I don't."

This was a standing sore point between them whenever Joran moved in with Dreen, since Dreen lived on the stuff and Joran was a worse cook than Dreen was.

"It didn't to take too many years on the road to come up with that rule. But I was afraid room service clattering around would wake you up. Housekeeping too, so I activated the Do Not Disturb light. Sorry about the mess."

Joran was really trying. Dreen just wished he wasn't making him quite so nervous. Dreen brought a plate of the recommended chicken back and a mug of strong coffee.

"While you're up, get me some more of the chocolate cake. It wasn't bad either."

Dreen returned with the cake, and another mug of coffee. "You want them here or at the table?"

Joran considered this seriously. "Table," he said and reluctantly heaved himself out of the depths of the chair.

Trying a cautious bite of the chicken, Dreen nodded approval. Although he didn't have the categorical objection to cater unit food Joran did, there had been quite a lot of variation in styles of cooking during his stay here, some definitely not to his taste. This was quite good.

Joran was watching him with amusement. "I told you the chicken was edible. They must have learned a few tricks here on Gingezel."

"MmmHmm." Dreen blew on the coffee and took a sip. "Okay. I'm awake. What have you been up to? You're looking a little too pleased with yourself and you're making me nervous."

"Let's see." Joran stared at the wall. "I watched that docudrama. And I did my meditation exercises. I worked out the problem I was having on the sixth song for the new album, and I did a couple sets of my martial arts exercises. You were sacked out quite a while."

He was watching Dreen out of the corner of his eye, and Dreen was starting to look like he'd explode. Joran relented.

"Okay. Let's start with the crew downstairs. I left a message both in the computing room and with the desk that a few things had come up, and you didn't get to sleep as planned. I asked your crowd to check in here if they beat you back. And," he added with a gleam of amusement, "it seemed like an act of cruelty to have that hacker wake up if he didn't have to. He was having trouble walking. So I called the desk and cancelled his wake up call on your authority.

"Actually, I told the girl he was only being woke up to work for you, and if you were pissed with her she could have my hide." He doubted Dreen would mind, and he didn't. He was obviously entertained.

"That hacker girl was the first in, but not as early as she thought. She called about an hour and a half ago." Joran shook his head. "She must have spent hours lying there thinking. She was going on about some idea Gali gave her about deflecting traces." He waved at the communications center. "I recorded her for you. Is she always liked that - on overdrive when she just woke up?"

Dreen nodded. "More or less."

"Oh to be so young." Joran sighed. "Gali showed up about forty five minutes ago. I told him you'd been talking to Rodd and that you would want him up here when you woke up. With the girl -"

"Brys," Dreen supplied. Joran had seen the team often enough, but he seemed to ignore their names. Dreen guessed it was because he met too many people.

"With Brys listening I left it at that. Oh yeah, I did tell him that I let the boy -"

"Evrit."

"Evrit sleep in. I asked if I should wake him up and Gali laughed and said to let you. Then he said something about you weren't kidding about showing up awake." Joran looked at Dreen. "He said you'd know what he meant?"

"I warned him about Brys' habit of trying to tell you about hours of thought in ten minutes."

"Oh." Joran was enlightened. "Poor Gali! At least all I had to do was record her." He added reflectively, "Gali's in the best mood I've ever seen him in. I thought the hyperweb going down would have him upset." Gali was usually quiet and serious, but his homely nondescript face had been one big smile.

Dreen smiled a slow private sort of smile. "Some things die hard."

Joran was no wiser.

"He's another over-the-hill hacker."

"Truth?" Joran had trouble believing that.

"Truth. He doesn't advertise, but then I don't either. For that matter I didn't know until yesterday. So don't talk it around."

Joran digested that. "Live and learn." He shrugged.

Dreen surveyed his empty plate. "How's the cake?"

"Better than the chicken." Joran stood up. "My turn to carry." He cleared the table and returned with cake for Dreen.

"Thanks." Dreen put a forkful in his mouth. "You're right. Someone can bake. So what else?" Joran was obviously not finished, and he was starting to stall. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere.

"I called Rodd about the time we'd said. I didn't want him waiting at the office."

"Thanks." Dreen had totally forgotten his promised to call Rodd. "How was he?"

"About what you'd expect. He was at the talk to anyone about anything but his problems stage. We must have talked - hmm - maybe an hour and half."

Dreen stared at Joran. That was bordering on martyrdom with Joran's opinion of Rodd. "You could have woken me up. If he was going to be like that, you didn't have to get stuck."

Joran dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "We got along fine. You're right. He's not all that bad guy if you can get him to cut the crap."

"Uh huh. And exactly what crap are you talking about?"

"You know, his all superior, everything is fine, Daddy can take care of it all line." Joran reflected. "You know, it used to worry me that he was hurting your customer base with that line - I really thought he was one of the pompous types who believed their own PR."

"Oh." That explained a lot. Pompousness was a real red flag to Joran. "And?" Dreen prompted.

"I hadn't realized it was just a persona - kind of like Anton - shaped by what the majority of his clients like to see. When he drops it, he's okay. And I assume he has intelligence to know which clients like which. He's pretty smart."

Dreen knew what Joran meant, and it was one of the reasons he was glad Rodd was there. He hated hand holding. But he was getting more confused by the minute. How had Rodd and Joran sorted things out?

"I'll admit," Joran frowned, "we had a bit of trouble at first. I was trying to tell him a few things I thought should be done but he was treating me like an idiot." He shrugged. "I guess all he's seen is the basket case that shows up at your doorstep now and again. And as for Anton, he just assumed I was a big problem for some handlers. So," there was a gleam of amusement again, "I had to set him straight. Then we got along fine."

That did not help Dreen's nerves. Joran's idea of setting someone straight could mean almost anything. The treatment the girl at the spaceport got was mild compared to sometimes.

He said carefully, "Do you mind elaborating?"

"Relax. The poor guy had enough problems without me jumping all over him. I just said maybe it would be easier to talk if he knew my background, save him some time with unnecessary simplifications. Said that I wasn't a computer type, but I wasn't technically illiterate either. Said that I figured with all of the Ph.D.s running around Nemizcan an honors bachelors in mathematical physics didn't count for much, but I did have one.

"Then I explained that you couldn't produce an album without having the best computing equipment and being on top of current media technology - as a user anyways." Joran grinned. "He's like most people. Never reads the print on his albums so he had no idea that I produced them myself, at my own studios.

"Then came the part he had just of bit of trouble with. I explained that early on I decided that I wanted artistic and lifestyle control, so Anton isn't really so much a stage persona as a well run vertically integrated company." He made a face. "Or at least it was well run, until I messed up when Maillie died. Anyway, I told him I figured the only way to not get screwed was to do an MBA concurrent with my advanced degree in music theory. And that since then I've marketed myself with the help of a few guys like him.

"Rodd figured I was totally shitting. But I got him into a discussion comparing the kind of marketing I have to do and the kind you do, and he started to buy in.

"You know ..." He sincerely doubted Dreen did but that was irrelevant. The lecture would be good for Dreen. Technically he was the best, but his business success was strictly accidental. A lecture might even wake him up and focus him. "The sort of thing like the fact you are partially if not largely customer driven. Your customers have a specific need. If Nemizcan meets it, they come to you. You don't have to chase them much. So you can have the odd advertising campaign plus your centralized hubs on all the worlds, and everyone is happy as long as the housewife can talk to live support when she needs to, and the corporate buyer has a live person show up now and again - takes them to dinner. They just pay you their monthly fee to be connected to your service and use your software.

"And you deal in relatively large sums too if you're doing site or planet wide licensing. Me, I'm an impulse purchase on the hyperweb or at one of the dozens of music shops or cafes in any mall in any city on any planet. And you're talking small change for most people. They don't know they want me. There's a lot of competition out there. So for every purchase I have to sell them that they do want me, not one of the other guys. I have to go the publicity route big scale. We had really good talk about that."

Joran was sincere. Rodd was better at marketing theory than he had expected, and shrewd. "We found similarities too. We spent a long time talking about how you deal with the situation where you've got a new product ready to go and the customers are still just absorbing the previous one. It would be nice to just say great and put it on the shelf, take a holiday, and haul it out when the previous product's life time is up. But creative people want to see their stuff being used, not to have worked hard to have something shelved."

He gave a rueful smile. "I'm no better on that score. If I have an album recorded I want it out, even if I know I'm releasing it too fast and I'll damage sales."

"Uh huh." Was it fatigue, or was this conversation getting more disorienting by the minute? Dreen decided he definitely needed another strong cup of coffee.

"Me too," Joran said holding out his own mug. It had been a long day and the night was going to be even longer.

"By the way, I owe you one yet again." Joran made a grimace. That seemed to be a real pattern lately. "Rodd had some really good advice on the new album release. It's going to take some real doing to not end up getting my nose rubbed in every last screw up I've made since Maillie died. He had a few ideas we hadn't come up with to shift focus." He gave a rather brittle smile. "They might even work. You can bill me for consulting."

"Forget it. It probably distracted him. I just glad he could help." Dreen was, too. He was really worried Joran's return to the public eye would turn sour. Then what would Joran do with himself? Dreen couldn't imagine him retiring. As for Joran and Rodd, Dreen couldn't decide which was dominating, amusement or amazement. It was no wonder they had talked an hour or so. The hows and whys of the sudden turnaround would take a little getting used to though.

"Okay, so you found someone to talk business theory with. Once you got done, what exactly were the few things you were trying to tell him to do?"

Dreen might not have the formal training in psychology that Joran and Rodd had, but he was naturally good with people, and he was very used to Joran's red herrings. He had to admit this was one of his better efforts though. He had almost totally forgotten the point of the conversation.

The corners of Joran's mouth turned down slightly. Dreen suppressed a smile, rewrapped the robe a bit more snugly about his waist, and wondered just exactly what Joran figured he'd be mad about. At least he was finally going to find out.

Joran was suddenly brisk and businesslike. "We agreed that Rodd would get in touch with Chett and do two things. First he's going to tell him to rethink his schedule to truncate the trip to essential stops only, and then ask him to be prepared to come back on short notice. Rodd was thinking of doing it anyways. That means you are relatively free to chase after Mitra, and you aren't stuck on the administration and marketing sides any longer than you have to be. Apparently Chett has quite a few routine stops - mostly your hubs and old clients that can be skipped or the visits shortened. It was a case of he was just stopping in on the way past sort of thing."

Dreen nodded. It was what he would have asked for, so this obviously was not what Joran was avoiding.

"Then I told him you would be leaving here at 10:30 in the morning and be there in a day and a half, give or take an hour or so." Joran looked straight at Dreen. "Face it Dreen. You won't hear from Mitra."

*****

Chapter 10

Joran couldn't stand the look on Dreen's face. He softened his words.

"You won't hear from her till she lands, and depending on where she's going, that could be a week or so. Rodd needs someone there he can count on. Funny," he said reflectively, "how we hit a real snag and all of a sudden an image isn't good enough. I'd get you there sooner, but Jon and the crew are powder skiing on some uncharted glacier or other in the southern hemisphere. It'll take a while to get them out. Once they're somewhere more civilized, I've got a charter jet lined up. They can sleep all the way here so they'll be ready to fly." He added unnecessarily, "I'm lending you the Allegro."

Dreen took his time on this one. It was definitely interference, but Joran was right on all points, except maybe one.

"Thank you - I think."

Dreen had still not made up his mind on Jon Melcrist. Jon was a big name from the early Genie racing days, and Dreen had no idea how Joran had lured him into being a private pilot. Well, that wasn't exactly true. A number of the old Genie racers had quit en masse when the new safety regulations came out. And when Joran had commissioned the Allegro, she had been at the very top of the non-racing class. Since then there had been two 'necessary' replacements of key systems to Jon's personal specifications. Dreen had not wanted to know the details at the time. Now, he was sure he didn't want to know. As for Jon himself, he was a good astrophysicist, bordering on brilliant, with what Dreen considered distinctly suicidal tendencies. If he didn't risk his neck a couple times a month he got really edgy. Otherwise he was a nice enough guy.

"Do you mind telling Jon the point of this is to get me there in one piece?"

Joran was offended, rather like a little boy whose favorite bicycle isn't being admired properly. So far Dreen had avoided riding in the Allegro, and he had hoped for at least some polite enthusiasm now. Even coming to Gingezel, Dreen had begged off saying he had to travel with his team on the Nemizcan corporate yacht.

Now Joran gave one more try. "You'll love her Dreen, and Jon's the best. I remember once when we were experimenting with how accurate a bank shot you could get with various strong gravitational fields and we came out really close to a red giant. It was incredible, even if we were only there a few moments." As clarification Joran added, "We were going for speed - you know - wink in and out and pray at the far end."

If this was meant to be reassuring, it wasn't. Dreen wasn't a good flyer at the best of times, but Joran laughed at him for that.

He constrained himself to a noncommittal, "Uh huh."

Joran was getting enthusiastic now. "The very best though was when we came out right in the middle of this ionization cloud in a gaseous nebula. It was incredible, the ultimate light show all around. Even with all the extra shielding we'd added, it took out sixty percent of our systems. And it was a really good thing we weren't just wearing SecondSkins. We had on those really heavy suits the Tribe uses working in high fields. Eli 'got' them for us." Joran winked. If the Tribe had discovered that misappropriation of their carefully protected technology, Eli would have been in serious trouble. "And it took Jon and Arn and Rhea six weeks to limp back to a spaceport, but it was worth it!"

"Why?" Dreen was incredulous.

"Because none of us had done it before, dummy. All we'd done was come out near one and work our way to the edge. We wanted to see what it felt like to come out of hyperspace and just be there." Joran was ecstatic

"You mean this was on purpose, not some slight miscalculation of Jon's?" Dreen asked carefully.

"Of course it was on purpose! The way Jon flies, if he miscalculated like that he'd have been dead years ago. Besides," Joran added, "it was the perfect time to do it. We were scheduled for that second redesign installation where we retrofitted the AI system with ThinkThere. So blowing some stuff wasn't a real problem. There was a charter waiting outside the nebula to take me to the next stage of the concert tour, and Jon and Arn and Rhea got pretty bored going back to port, but it wasn't a dead loss. They came up with a few more mods, and she's the best around now."

"And I don't want to know what class." Dreen didn't realize he had spoken out loud until Joran answered him.

"Racing of course," he said in real surprise. "I bought in at the top of commercial. Stupid rules. You can't buy racing class Genies for everyday use, but no one checks your mods on a commercial one. Bureaucrats!"

"Well, thank you for the loan," Dreen said carefully, in the tone of a father presented with what had probably been a crawler of some sort before spending too many hours in an active toddler's pocket.

Fortunately Joran was too preoccupied to notice. He continued, "She's yours till you find Mitra. I've already told Jon he's on Tranus on twenty four hour call till then and not to get more than one or two hours away from you. He's not much pleased, but he'll live."

Dreen wasn't much pleased either. The last thing he needed was Jon moping around in a bad mood. "There's no need Joran. Once I'm there I can charter, or call Chett back and use the Nemizcan yacht." It wasn't a Genie, but it would do. "I'll have already imposed on you and Jon. Let him come back and finish his skiing."

Joran shook his head in a firm no. "You have no idea what Mitra's problem is till you find her. Then you may be in a hurry. Besides," he added lightly, "it reduces my temptation to go after her myself. That's your job after all. All I'm worried about is Jon getting bored."

It looked like he'd inherited Jon and that was that. In rather bad grace Dreen stood up. "I'm cold. The clothes should be fine now. Why doesn't he sign up for the hang gliding club? The escarpment east of the city is supposed have vicious enough up and down drafts to keep even him happy."

The latter was meant sarcastically but Joran brightened. "Great idea! With that escarpment I don't suppose there is any white water kayaking?"

"I wouldn't know." Dreen preferred to compete with people, not mother nature. He stripped off the robe and reached for his pants, still talking to Joran through the open bathroom door.

That was one thing for Dreen, Joran thought watching him. He kept in shape without seeming to try too hard. He was solid muscle and not an extra ounce of fat. He was a bit thicker set than when they had roomed together, but it suited him. Naked like that though the gray hair was a shock. It didn't fit with the body. He'd always rather expected that was why Dreen had never dyed it, even though he had grayed in his early thirties like most men in his family. He also wondered if he'd dye it when his body started to catch up and show some age.

Joran said, "Jon can ask around."

Dreen was buttoning his shirt. He turned to Joran holding up the suit jacket with a questioning look. It was his best one.

"It was on top."

"Well, I'll ruin it working tonight. I'll wear a sweater."

"A sweater?" Dreen never wore sweaters, just varying degrees of disreputable jackets.

Dreen was now rooting in his suitcases, destroying the extremely tidy packing job the young man from housekeeping at the hotel in Candi Dua had done. That was the trouble with someone else packing. You couldn't find anything.

"A sweater. You know, those knit things grandmothers are supposed to make except the only person I know who knits is one of my programmers. He says it relaxes him. I can't imagine Lindy knitting."

Lindy, Dreen's executive assistant, was an elegant, sexy platinum blonde grandmother of indeterminate age. She kept Dreen supplied with homemade cookies and gossip about her grandkids. She either mothered or flirted outrageously with every male on staff, and male clients too for that matter if she thought it would amuse them. They adored her. Her relationship with the women on staff was different. Either they thought Lindy was great and tended to drift in for a break to hear the latest scandal or talk clothes, or they thought she was totally useless and wondered why Dreen didn't get someone competent like Celise. The latter group however had the sense keep their mouths shut. They knew Dreen liked Lindy, for galaxy only knew what reasons.

He did too. She was easy to get along with and she amused him immensely. She also coped with the chaotic way he ran things with apparent ease and total calm. Celise would have quit in four days, maybe three.

Joran tried to imagine Lindy knitting. "I can't imagine it either."

Joran had reached the stage where he knew Lindy very well. When he had descended on Dreen after Maillie's death, after eight or ten days she had called up and said they must need a break from each other, come over for supper. He'd been so surprised he hadn't known how to say no. But it had been a harmless enough experience. There had been two well behaved grandchildren present and Lindy had cooked and served excellent stir fried vegetables and shrimp. Then they had all sat around the kitchen table playing a game and working on a huge bowl of popped grain. Conversation had been undemanding. The children had provided most of it, telling of their classes, their school teams, and the clubs they belonged to. Lindy had repeated the process every ten days or so. He still couldn't say he'd especially enjoyed the evenings, but he'd appreciated her intentions. And he had come to understand why Bojo and the Allegro crew competed for Lindy's spare room. There was a real feeling of home in the best sense.

This last time though, when he showed up at Dreen's after the band quit, she had decided he needed the real interfering type of mothering. After the split up with the band Joran had literally refused to go anywhere public and hardly left Dreen's apartment except to go to rehab. Dreen couldn't even get him to the Nemizcan box at the sportsplex. There had been a couple of the family evenings at Lindy's to give Dreen a break, then she had called him telling him to arrive relatively dressed up. Joran had assumed a family festivity, perhaps the birthday of one of the grandsons he'd gotten rather attached to. But when he arrived, he had found a very nervous looking Lindy waiting in her entrance hall wearing an evening cape. He had not thanked Lindy for that little set up job, but the evening had been fun. He had even gone back to jam with the band at the club after hours, something he had thought he would never do again.

Ten days later he ended up in Lindy's debt again, although she never knew it. It was supper with the grandkids again, a huge pot of pasta. The girl of five had been there, and after supper she had beaten Joran twice at his favorite hologame. Lindy had said not to worry, kids always win, and this one would be a grand master at that game soon. But he did worry. Both he and Bojo had senior grand master status, and only Bojo ever beat him at that game, and not often. His hands were out of shape. Joran had gone home and unpacked his keyboard, put on the earphones and practiced until his hands ached. That happened way too soon, and his playing was off. He hadn't noticed it jamming with WinSome, but they hadn't done anything demanding. He'd forced himself back into his strict practice regime.

Oh, yes. Joran could imagine Lindy doing quite a number things. Knitting was not on the list.

***

There was only one place left to look in his suitcase, an isolated outside pouch. Dreen unzipped it and found his sweater in lonely splendor, carefully folded with tissue. He pulled it out, automatically crumpled the tissue, did a rim shot into the garbage with the crumpled ball, and pulled on the V-neck. It was a natural colored Tamaran fibre with an interesting slub. Mitra had bought it for him and he hoped wearing it might make her feel closer.

"Nice," Joran remarked from his vantage point. "Tamaran?"

Dreen nodded. There had been enough stalling around. "Can I go to work now, or are you finally going to tell me what you think I'll get mad about?" He ran a brush through his hair and returned to the sitting room.

"Neither exactly. I'm going to tell you that you've been stupid and it's caught up to you. Then you get mad. Then you go to work."

"Sounds interesting." Dreen was rummaging in a box of stuff he had borrowed from Wayd, the Nemizcan Hub Manager for Gingezel.

"Focus Dreen!"

"I'm focused." He stood up. "You aren't talking."

Joran sighed. "All right. Rodd and I were talking about what happens if, for a noticeable length of time, neither of you are around."

"You have been busy, haven't you?"

Joran ignored the sarcasm. "His side is in good shape. There's a well established line of command and he delegates control to the appropriate levels. He'll spend the next four days making briefing notes, but basically it should be easy for you, or more likely Chett, to take over if he has to."

"Good for Rodd." Dreen had a pretty good idea what was coming next. But Joran was all warmed up, and he didn't want to spoil things. It was good to see Joran minding about business again, even if it was Dreen's business, not his own.

"You," Joran said accusingly, "still haven't even set up a line of command!" He hadn't been able to believe it at first when Rodd told him. "All you have are those teams of yours that are always changing. Someone manages a team one time, and the next time they're part of a team. And the teams all report directly to you. Rodd had no idea what will happen if you aren't there."

"Probably nothing," Dreen replied indifferently. "Everyone is busy at the moment. Once Gali takes over here, no one will even miss me."

"You can't run a business that way!"

"I certainly can, and I do. Did Rodd mention that we routinely provide him with first class, innovative products to market, and that I have one of the lowest attrition rates in the business?"

"That isn't the point. You aren't organized."

"That is so the point. If we were organized into a rigid structure sooner or later, and I'd bet sooner, someone would get stuck where they didn't want to be, being told to do what they didn't want to do. That," he said flatly, "is just plain a waste of resources. Because at that point either they quit, or they just plain ignore you and do what they want anyway. It's a lot easier to let everyone do what they want to start with."

"And if they all want to do the same thing?" Joran asked sarcastically.

"The project gets done in record time, then we all sit around and scratch our heads and try to come up with something else fun to do." Dreen was totally unperturbed.

"But that isn't managing things."

"Managing innovation is an oxymoron."

Joran wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. He tried one last time. "Okay, let's say I grant you that it works with you there, and it must have since you've lasted longer than most computing companies your size and have never had to go public -"

"Thank you."

"But who is going to take care of things - and don't tell me administrative decisions don't come up - if you're gone? Chett? Will he know enough about the R&D side?" Rodd had said not, but Joran wanted Dreen's opinion.

"No, he's a very fast study, but I wouldn't ask him to. The hubs are enough to handle."

"Then who?"

"Lindy."

"Lindy?" Joran was incredulous.

"She runs the place anyways, so why not? Every now and again I think about making her the VP of something or other, but half of the women would quit. There's a faction that can't stand her for some reason that I suppose makes sense to women. I don't get it. But they like their jobs well enough to tough it out till I get back." Dreen was completely serious.

This was getting through to Joran. "Okay, if I think about it, I can believe Lindy handles a lot of the administrative detail. But even if you are available by holoconference to give advice, there could turn out to be decisions she has to make on the spot. Dreen, you'll have to back them later."

"And I told you," Dreen replied, "at the moment the technical teams are all happy except for the one here, and I can't believe Gali won't be just fine given a few days to come up to speed. Where things can, and," he sighed, "invariably will mess up is on the people side. And," he looked hard at Joran, "I'd say Lindy has pretty good sense there."

Joran had the grace to look uncomfortable. Dreen would guess if he were a blond he'd be scarlet. Dreen left it a bit longer, then said, "Does that mean I win?"

"Yeah, but that last one was as cheap shot."

"And you've never used one? Seriously though, thanks for talking to Rodd. I didn't expect you to, and it makes tonight easier."

*****

Chapter 11

"Now, do you want to do some technical work?" Dreen asked.

"Sure." Joran wanted to get him off Lindy as a topic, and as a whole Dreen had taken criticism better than he had expected. Better to not push him. "More database stuff? I made up that list of names for you, and I thought about languages. I'd swear she was from a real polyglot planet or a home with more than one language spoken."

"Why?"

"Oh her StanGalLan is good enough, and accent free, not like mine. But since we've all been using that, I haven't bothered with a translator, have you?"

Dreen shook his head.

"Well, think about it. She throws in a lot of words that aren't StanGalLan. Most of us do. I slip in Latino if I'm not careful. One of the guys in the band, Paulo, comes from a home where they spoke two languages as well as StanGalLan. Get him excited and he's impossible to follow without a translator. He says it's because he kept slipping between the three languages as a kid, and his head never got it straight that some of the words were from different languages, not just synonyms of the same word in the same language. Mitra's not that bad, but she throws in Mander, and that's weird. She's definitely not oriental, and Mander is not that common, except in the oriental sectors and it's hard to master if you weren't raised on it."

Dreen considered this and nodded. "It's a start. And you're right. I just wasn't thinking about it. I can look at the polyglot and oriental sectors first. So thanks. But what I'd like to do now is that interface."

Joran stared.

"I'm trying to be balanced Joran. There's no sense starting on databases - all the tools I want are on Tranus. I'd sooner clear up the loose ends here, then focus."

It was after all, Dreen told himself, a misunderstanding, a miscommunication, not a crisis. What Rodd was facing was a crisis. What someone in Mitra's family was facing was a crisis. But he and she weren't facing one. He would find her, and apologize, and pick things up from there.

"Suit yourself." Joran understood what it was like to have to keep busy, to go hide in what you do best. "Where do we start?"

"Here." Dreen was rummaging in the box of things he'd swiped from Wayd. "I know this notebook isn't the brand you use, but it's loaded with all our templates. Try it, and this," he took out a graphics tablet, "and use this." He added four styluses to the pile on the table. "I'll bring up the sort of screen I'm thinking about, and you can see if you can do what you call drawing music." It was a tricky coding problem, capturing Joran's synesthesia.

He sat back and watched Joran attempt to draw, and the increasing frustration on his face. It was what Dreen had expected. Joran wasn't a graphic artist trying to create a specific image. They were prepared to do quite bit of fiddling to do that. Joran wanted a sensation as fluid and natural as his playing now was, or as uninhibited as he imagined painting at a canvas would be, and he wanted it without the hours of practice becoming an artist took. He had admitted to Dreen art was something he had never tried. When Dreen imagined him trying, in his mind he saw pots or palettes of paint all over the place and some huge abstract canvas Joran was splashing at randomly.

Joran threw the last stylus down in disgust. "Was this a bad idea? When I'm not breaking concentration going to the palettes, I'm fighting one of these fiddly things. It makes my fingers cramp."

"It's about what I expected, but that conclusion had to come from you." Dreen went back to the box. "Try one of these, and ignore the palette. Just draw." He put a pile of mice on the table.

Joran gave them a dispirited look, and grabbed one at random, activating it. He moved it around cautiously, flexing his still cramped fingers, then in broader swoops. "Better, but," he shuffled through the heap, "any others?"

"Check the box. I just pulled some mice at random."

Dreen watched as Joran rummaged around with apparently complete seriousness, at last extracting a mouse that to Dreen looked like any other mouse. He activated it and began to draw in broad swoops that presumably were making a graceful curve across the screen, but Dreen couldn't be sure since he was sitting facing Joran so he could see exactly what he did. He was resting the mouse well back against the heel of his hand and not using fingers at all. Now and again he punctuated the process with a trial click that amounted to slamming the mouse into the table hard enough that Dreen hoped he had picked one QA'd by a kids' toy manufacturer, not one of the delicate optical mice used by architects.

"That's sexier," Joran announced with satisfaction. "I think if I painted, I'd paint by whole arm motion."

That didn't surprise Dreen. It fit with his mental image of Joran painting. "Mouse, no finger controls," Dreen said, a slight note of resignation creeping into his voice.

"Is that a problem?" Joran was totally unconcerned. Challenges were good for Dreen.

"It's unusual. Not a problem. Is there any particular reason you like that mouse?"

"It's sexier." Joran couldn't define why it felt best.

Dreen didn't think he was up to that conversation so he let it drop. It didn't really matter anyway. He'd use whatever Joran wanted.

Joran was frowning now. "But I still don't see how it works. I mean I like the mouse, but as soon as I'm doing all the palette stuff I'll lose the mood again."

"I know. How good are you at doing separate right-left hand functions?"

"You're asking that with the kind of keyboard stuff Bojo and I do? Good."

"Okay. How about I customize the keyboard so you can reproduce all of the palette functions - color, line size, texture - that sort of stuff, with a single keystroke. You can essentially play the keyboard with whichever hand you want, and draw with the other."

"Not bad. Not bad at all." The note of admiration was genuine.

"It may take a while the way things are going, but once I work it out - whenever I can - I'll get temporary caps printed for your keyboard and do the coding to reassign key functions for something like this. I don't expect the first try to work. I won't put the right things beside the right things, but we'll get there."

They went over where Joran thought color blocks should be, texture, line size and such, pretending the keys were assigned and Joran was playing them. Dreen watched every move.

***

"So, what's next?" Joran stood up and stretched, feeling rather like an experimental rat.

Dreen was packing things. "I think Bojo's problem. Then when I focus on the hacker I can stay focused."

"Speaking of hackers, you'd better let Evrit start coming to."

"Right." Dreen called the desk and asked them to wake Evrit. He'd panic if he called, and never hear the explanation he'd been allowed to sleep in on purpose.

"Now," Dreen turned to Joran, "what about Bojo?" He looked at his time strip. "Do you know where to find him?"

"I talked to him earlier. Said you were sleeping and would probably talk to him when you woke up. He said he'd hang around in his room. Can I call and tell him to come over?" The band were all staying at Joran's hotel.

Dreen nodded. If Joran had flatly refused to speak for Bojo earlier, he wouldn't now.

There was a brief conversation, then Joran said, "He'll walk over."

*****

Chapter 12

Joran went to the room controls, turning down the lights, just leaving a pot on high over the table. Bojo would be more relaxed in shadows where Dreen couldn't get a good look at his deformed face, and this request would be hard enough to get out.

They sat in silence waiting for Bojo to walk the distance between hotels. Joran was trying to figure out some way to deter Bojo from this particular bit of insanity. His ideas weren't any better than the ones Bojo had shot down earlier though.

Dreen was wondering for the thousandth time or so what it would be like to be a synesthete and hear color.

It was Joran who let Bojo in.

"Thanks for agreeing to hear me out, Dreen," Bojo said quietly.

To Joran's surprise he came and sat at the well lit table, not in one of the arm chairs in the corner. In the strong light even that unruly mane he wore his blond hair in now couldn't hide the damage.

In the same quiet voice Bojo asked, "How much do you know about my accident?"

Dreen said carefully, "I know that you were injured on Ennup 10, and Joran was frantic. I also know he spent a small fortune getting you off planet to that private clinic." He looked at Joran. "That makes those press releases about a travel accident on Laurion some of Joran's more creative writing. That's all I know."

Joran grinned and gave him a 'who me?' look.

Bojo nodded, relieved. So Joran had kept his mouth shut. If he had told anyone, it would have been Dreen. "The story is pretty straightforward." He was talking to the wall, not Dreen or Joran. "I was home visiting my parents, and they were entertaining. It was noisy, and I was trying to compose a song. So I went for a walk. I strayed out of our walled compound. Usually that's safe enough, and there are a few areas in the city that I like.

"But I wasn't paying attention. All of a sudden I found myself in what the state media calls 'a minor police action'. Other than throwing myself on the ground and covering my head, I didn't do anything - offer any resistance, even try to talk. But the military assumed anyone not in their uniform was a dissident." He shrugged. There wasn't anything else to say. Dreen knew the rest. He'd even come to visit during the long convalescence on Laurion.

Dreen couldn't help it. He knew he was making Bojo uncomfortable, but he was staring at Bojo's face, wondering at the kind of brutality that could have caused such irreparable damage. One side was normal, the way Bojo had looked as a star, the handsome slightly rugged blond. The other, despite the best rebuilding the galaxy had to offer was distorted and the eye tracked wrong.

Bojo sat there stoically. There were now three people off Ennup 10, discounting the doctors, and he kept telling himself that they did not count, who knew the full truth about his 'accident': Joran, Lindy, and now Dreen. Of necessity one other, Hoffner, knew part of it. He waited for pity, or worse.

All that happened was Dreen said, "I'm sure you're working up to your request, but I'm not following you."

"This," Bojo waved at his face, "was my political education. I'd always believed the newscasts that made the military heroes against dangerous, armed subversion. Dangerous." He laughed a bitter laugh. "I didn't move a muscle. And no one from the authorities so much as lifted a finger to check, much less help, the injured. It was the 'subversives' who took care of me, got me to a hospital in their sector. Even once they knew who I was, they were kind to me."

He stopped. Dreen didn't need all that stuff. The nightmare was his, not to be shared. "Anyway, when I recovered I started to upgrade my education about life on Ennup 10. Then I started to try to find realistic, nonviolent, nondestructive ways to help. First I bought a factory, and started running it to humanitarian, galactic standards. Nothing to draw attention. But it had decent wages, work breaks, meals provided, some medical benefits. Then I bought another. Eventually I met people from other classes with political ambitions and they started to trust me.

"Any non-state political intent isn't tolerated. So my new friends get a lot of police surveillance and harassment. Lately," Bojo stared broodily at the night, "it's gotten worse. The problem is there's been increased sophistication in the surveillance back there. The relatively simple tricks we were using to stop electronic eavesdropping don't work. That's why I'm approaching you, Dreen. It's become impossible for them to meet."

Bojo moved his stare to the wall. "I suppose it seems like I'm a coward, sitting in a beautiful room like this talking about the people back there who are taking the real risks, but this is where I can have an effect. The people who want to change things have no money or power. I have money, and I'm getting power."

Bojo gave a wry smile. "I got my idea for how to fix the surveillance problems when another irate fan was taking us to task for that series of albums that comes with the warning that they could damage playback equipment. We blew quite an expensive system of his." He shrugged. "It's amazing the people who don't read. Anyway, the idea is that maybe those, or some of our other albums, could be doctored to deliberately blow monitoring equipment. But I'm not that technically competent. So, I'm asking if you can help."

"Me?" Dreen was surprised. "You people are the recording experts. Can't someone who makes up your recordings do this for you? Or," he saw the look Bojo and Joran exchanged, "don't you trust them?" This wasn't exactly a project you'd want talked around.

"Timoth yes," Bojo said. Timoth was the Anton Sound Master. "Sound Masters learn early on to hold their tongues. Everything they do is proprietary. The rest are a bunch of gossips.

"That isn't the problem though. Technically Timoth would implement anything I want, short of subliminals of course, but what do you implement? You want to mask conversation to the point where an eavesdropper either gives up, or cranks up the volume. But it still has to sound like the original. That seemed like a mathematical game more your style than Timoth's."

Dreen looked at Joran's impassive face. Joran was a better mathematician than he was. And by now he certainly knew enough about the technical side of the music business to be a Sound Master if he ever wanted to be one. He should have been all over this project - selling it, or chipping in with a few dozen ideas of his own, or doing it himself.

"I take it you don't approve Joran. Why?"

Joran tried to flex his tense, aching shoulders. It had been too long a day. "Because I happen to care for Bojo, and one of these times he's going to go home and find himself in trouble again if he keeps this sort of stuff up!" Joran's voice was taut with anxiety.

For a long moment Joran and Bojo stared at each other, faces hard. Joran relented first.

"I also happen to understand why he feels he has to do this. And I owe him a lot." He appealed to Dreen, "I simply couldn't do it. So I said maybe you could."

Dreen nodded. He believed Joran. If he started working on this, he'd be mentally right back in the time after Bojo's accident. He had been frantic then, but with Maillie his personal life had been strong and wholesome. Now his delicate mental stability would shatter. Maybe he should look at the admission positively. At least Joran was showing sense.

"Let me think." Dreen got up, pacing around the room.

Today had certainly sent him a lot of lessons that put his own problems in perspective. He looked at Bojo sitting motionless, waiting for his verdict. He didn't have the personal link Joran had. It wouldn't tear him apart to do the work. And he respected Bojo's strength in trying to ease a few of the problems on Ennup 10. A lot of men, having survived what Bojo had and rebuilt a career, would have walked away and never looked back. Dreen suspected he might have. And technically the project would be interesting, a challenge.

Dreen did another lap of the luxurious apricot carpet and caught Joran watching him, his face a lot less impassive than Bojo's. If he didn't take this on, how long would it be before Joran tried? That was the deciding factor.

"I'll try Bojo. But I'll need some time to think before I know how to handle it." He watched the relief spread across Bojo's face and realized how tight his control must have been. "But there's a real problem. I'm not a good enough hardware man. Even if you and Timoth told me the kind of equipment I'm dealing with, I wouldn't necessarily translate that into the right software. I need an interpreter. Would you let me involve Gali? He's my best hardware man."

Joran didn't insult Dreen by asking if Bojo could trust Gali. All he asked was, "Will he do it?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. All we can do is ask."

Not even attempting to hide his relief at the implicit acceptance of the project, Bojo said, "If you recommend him, ask him. Does he know much about recording and replay equipment, or just computer hardware?"

"Computer hardware. But I've been thinking about that. Could you take him through Joran's studio and show him? Use the pretext that I need the information for the composition software I'm writing for Joran. I do, so it's true enough, but I wasn't worrying yet."

Bojo and Joran exchanged looks and slowly nodded.

"What I can't do, Bojo, is speak for him. You're going to have to explain the situation and ask him yourself."

Joran expected refusal, or to get volunteered, but Bojo merely nodded.

"Fair enough."

Joran gave Bojo a questioning look.

"I'm getting my priorities set right," Bojo said quietly, feeling that leaden depression he had been fighting return. He looked at the two faces that were too polite to ask questions. "Save it for Gali, if he's in." He waved Dreen to the communications center.

*****

Chapter 13

"Gali, how's it going?"

"Not bad." Gali was still in the good mood Joran had encountered. "Evrit just stumbled in holding coffee and a sickly sweet looking roll. He should be awake in an hour or so."

"Can you spare me a minute or so up here?"

"Sure. Now?"

"Please."

They waited in their separate silences. Dreen was wondering how to present the law abiding Gali - well, usually law abiding he amended, remembering the hacking admission - with Bojo's request.

Joran was still getting nowhere on how to kill the project.

Bojo was trying not to think about the report he had received a few hours ago.

This time Dreen was host, letting his old friend in. Gali looked ridiculously rested, no fatigue in his slight frame, face relaxed, every thinning hair in place. Keya had taken good care of him.

"Hello Dreen," then looking past him, "Joran, Bojo."

They joined the others at the table. Gali looked enquiringly at Dreen.

"I'd like to know if you're interested in a project, Gali." Dreen tried to smile. "As if you aren't busy enough. It has to be confidential though."

"The standard nondisclosure agreement?" Gali looked around the table, expecting to be given an electronic copy to read and endorse with his ID.

"No, actually," Dreen was uncomfortable, "this project will have no records in the company or anywhere else that it was done."

Gali and gave him a level, assessing look. "Dreen, if you've let Joran talk you into one of his harebrained quasi-legal schemes like those Allegro mods, you're making your next mistake in what seems to be becoming a string of them. I'll tell you right now, I won't be part of it, and I don't even want to hear about it." He rose, good humor gone.

"Sit down Gali, please." It was Bojo. "It isn't a project for Joran, it's for me. And it isn't illegal, it's just ..." he searched for a word.

"Dangerous to the point of stupidity?"Joran supplied.

"Thanks a lot." Bojo gave Joran a quelling look, then returned his attention to Gali. That had been the reaction of an honest man. He'd trust him. He had to.

Gali gave the three a long look, then slowly sat down. Bojo was a totally different person from Joran. He'd hear him out.

"I'll listen, but no promises in advance."

Bojo nodded acceptance. "First, what's your opinion of police states?"

This was totally unexpected, but Gali didn't have to think to answer. "Not very high," he said dryly.

He had been thinking a lot about Brys on Ennup 10 in the last twenty-four hours, and imagining his own girls there. They were younger than her, staying with Jann on Tranus until term was over and they could come to Gingezel. You didn't hear much on the news about Ennup 10, but what was there was pretty grim.

Bojo nodded. "I'm Ennup 10 born, upper class. As a kid I was never political. My whole head was on music. I got a fast education." He waved his hand towards his face. "Since then I've slowly become more and more involved with changing some of the political injustices there. Only we've hit serious problems with state monitoring of our activities.

"So I approached Dreen to see if he could come up with a way to remaster a few Anton albums to block monitoring. Or," he added with vehemence, "better still destroy a lot of very expensive military equipment in the process."

"And Dreen is asking me."

Gali took his time. Yesterday he would have said no. Today he kept thinking about his little girls. No one hurried him.

At last he said to Dreen, "How do you see doing it?"

"Does this mean you're in?" Bojo interposed.

Gali nodded. "I've got my two girls back on Tranus. Lately I keep thinking of them somewhere like that."

Bojo nodded. A nice man.

Dreen said, "The biggest trick will be to not damage the playing equipment Bojo's friends use, just to selectively damage monitoring. You may have tricks there, but I was thinking of a simple volume effect. Create enough digital confusion at normal volume that anyone monitoring tries cranking it up," Dreen suggested. "And Bojo said why not use albums of theirs that already have damage warnings."

"Creating that digital confusion won't be trivial if you have to preserve the sound of the original album," Gali warned.

"Tell me," Dreen said dryly.

"So," Gali looked at Joran and asked bluntly, "where's the danger?"

"If anyone figures out that the albums are causing a problem, there's suddenly a direct link between the subversive groups Bojo is supporting and AntonCorp." Joran replied. "They know Bojo both plays with us and works for the corporation. He files his tax returns on Ennup 10. That would make life very tricky for him the next time he went back."

He gave a look of disapproval to Bojo. "He's been increasing his presence on the planet the last few years, and," Joran added as Bojo looked about to speak, "don't tell me nothing can happen." He counted his objections off on his fingers. "People can talk. The altered albums may not be as good as you think. Or the military may be a little smarter out there than you think."

"It's my decision," Bojo said flatly.

"You've made that perfectly clear." Joran threw his hands up in disgust. "At least nobody can say that I haven't warned them."

Bojo looked at Dreen and Gali. "Want out? I don't think there would be a link to Nemizcan Computing. No one would know what company I used and Dreen has always respected our privacy and doesn't talk around the AntonCorp link. The crowd on Ennup 10 pretty much have their hands full on planet. All the same I'd be lying to say there is no risk."

Gali looked at Dreen. "You can sure pick them." Then he looked about Bojo. "Relax. I'll keep Dreen company on the stupids here."

"Thank you both," Bojo said simply.

"There is one problem, Bojo," Dreen said. "I'm sure you want this done yesterday. But besides the fact the coding will be tricky, I'm not sure how much time I can give you right now. You see I'm heading back to Tranus in the morning."

"Are you?" Gali asked dryly. "And what other surprises are there tonight, or do you prefer doling them out one at a time?"

"Sorry Gali, but I didn't know how this business with Bojo would go. I got a call from Rodd. Rodd Turpene, our Vice President of Marketing," he elaborated for Bojo's benefit. "He's in for emergency surgery and I said I'd get back in time for him to talk to me."

Bojo nodded and rose, walking down the room to the window.

"Rough luck that," Gali said. "Any details?"

"He wasn't volunteering any."

***

From where Bojo stood the soft light gave the apricot carpet an almost golden glow. Beside him was a rattan chair with plump downy soft green cushions. There should be a woman in that chair doing nothing more than reading the latest romance thriller or looking at a fashion magazine while her man watched sports. It was that kind of room. Joran's hotel where the band was staying was equally luxurious but different. It was all tile and chrome, the sort of place you could track sand in, or throw your sports gear in the corner. The families with kids loved it. There wasn't a thing the kids could hurt.

But this one - Bojo couldn't find the word. It was shutting out the galaxy. He had wondered how the Nemizcan staff had ended up here, but when he asked Joran, the answer was very simple. At the time Dreen had been making his arrangements this hotel had been at the final construction stage, and they had been willing to alter the banquet room that now served as the Nemizcan offices to Dreen's liking. All the same, living here must be slightly strange. Just talking like they were made him feel like he was violating something he couldn't define. Bojo opened the blinds to stare at the cold impersonal night.

It was that night he spoke to. "I'm sorry Dreen, but I have to pressure you. You see, there have been four arrests." Bojo shook his head helplessly. "I don't know who - whether they are key people or poor innocents. I don't know when it happened." The depression deepened and his shoulders slumped. "I don't even know if they are dead or alive. I hope dead, for their sakes. If there is anything that can be done, I have to try to do it."

"When did this happen?" Joran's voice was sharp with concern. Bojo had said nothing about this before his lunch with Dreen, or later when he called him.

"I heard about an hour and a half ago." The message had been embedded in a routine operations report for one of the factories he had an interest in.

Dreen and Gali exchanged looks and Dreen raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Don't even think it! I am not coming up to speed coding on that kind of analysis with lives at stake. There has to be someone back at Head Office."

But even as he said it, Gali had his doubts, and Dreen was shaking his head.

Gali said slowly, "Besides being just plain being tricky to mask what you want behind the sound, I've got the sneaking suspicion this one needs a devious mind."

Their eyes met.

"Brys," they says softly in unison.

"We're thinking of Brys Toleman. Maybe you've noticed her around?" Dreen asked Bojo's back. "The young blond woman with our crew."

Noticed her? From the moment she had walked onto the terrace while the band was playing, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. She was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and she didn't even try. Her halo of red gold hair was held back by a cheap plastic clip, and she didn't wear a trace of makeup. As for her clothes, they were as threadbare as the stuff all the band was slopping around in, but usually women didn't do that.

But she didn't need to try to be beautiful. It was the expression on her face, the way she smiled, the way she moved. Ever since then he had been planning his day to see her, but that was hard. She seemed shy, hanging around the edges of crowds. Sometimes, in the middle of the night Bojo let himself imagine he could just spend some time with her, maybe have a cup of coffee or walk on the beach. Once, he had let himself imagine maybe there could be more. Maybe with her it could be different, he wouldn't -. He felt the hot shame the doctors said there was no need to feel suffuse his face. He widened the gap in the curtains and stared out the patio doors.

In a careful voice Bojo said, "I think I know who you're talking about."

Dreen continued, "She's busy enough that normally for someone that young and inexperienced I wouldn't give her two tricky jobs at once, but I sincerely doubt it's possible to swamp her. What do you think Gali?"

"She'd love it. Don't worry about her. Worry about me when I get to work in the morning."

Bojo seemed to have taken up astronomy, so Joran asked, "Can we trust her?"

Dreen hesitated, looking for words. You did not discuss details of a P3 psychiatric profile.

Gali had no such reservations. "No," he said flatly.

That got him look from Joran and brought Bojo around.

Not trust that angel? Gali was crazy. Bojo asked in that same careful voice, "Explain yourself Gali."

Gali nodded. "In this situation trust has to have three components. Can you believe she will do the job, do it the way you want, and not talk. The last is the least of my worries, although you'll have to satisfy yourself on that."

Bojo felt the ice hit his stomach and he knew with resignation that in time it would work through to his bowels.

Gali continued, "She can be a real chatter box, but it's almost all technical. As far as I know Dreen is the only one to get anything personal out of her. So I suspect if you tell her not to talk, she won't. It's the first two that bother me. Brys is as close as you get to unmanageable. She does what she wants, the way she wants. If that happens to coincide with what you wants great, otherwise tough luck. All I can say is decide for yourself."

Not bad Gali. Dreen nodded his approval. There wasn't anything there Gali couldn't have picked up from working with her.

"No!" It came out more forcefully than Bojo intended.

"All right." Dreen was prepared to respect that. "I'll truly try to do what I can, but you know the constraints, Bojo."

"No, that's not what I meant." His eyes caught Joran's, pleading. For galaxy's sake Joran, you know I can't do this and why. Don't embarrass me. Bail me out.

Their eyes locked. It was Joran who gave up and shrugged. He pushed himself up to walk down to Bojo.

Before he could say or do anything, Dreen shook his head. "No Joran. Bojo has to handle this one on his own. You see, Brys is from Ennup 10."

Joran stared down at him. "You're serious?"

Dreen nodded.

Bojo was staring at Dreen in shock. If she was from one of the Families, if he had gotten to know her casually and been careless because she looked like such an angel - he felt the ice spread. Idiot! Fool!

Bojo found his voice. "This may be a really bad idea then Dreen." He was surprised he sounded calm. "You don't know what it's like there, what kind of loyalties she might have. What class is she anyway?" He was sure he'd never seen her, but that didn't mean much. She wasn't his age. But only children from the Families had the kind of education Dreen hired.

"I suppose the word is manual laborer. Her father is some kind of janitor I think. She had a cleaning job in some factory."

That angel? Relief fought with outrage. "It may be all right then." He returned his focus to Joran. "Joran?"

Joran said stonily, "I think Bojo and I need to talk this out on the balcony. It may take a bit." Joran got a couple beers from the fridge and opened them. "Why don't you and Gali have a nice chat about what you're going to do if Rodd has serious trouble. Gali is the heir apparent after all."

He stepped out, Bojo behind him.

"What was that shot about?" Gali demanded.

Dreen sighed. "It appears that while I was sleeping Rodd and Joran had a nice talk and decided how they would run Nemizcan since they don't think much of the way I do."

"That doesn't sound like Rodd."

Dreen gave a wry smile. "Talking to Joran? Or agreeing with him?"

"Either, if I come to think about it. But actually I was thinking of criticizing you."

"That was probably mostly Joran," Dreen agreed. "He thinks the way I run R&D is mostly organized chaos."

"It works, that's what counts," Gali said. "For that matter, what Tina and Andrai do is pretty unusual too, but it works for them." Tina and Andrai were the husband and wife team who had founded ContSaft, the computing company specializing in control and safety systems Nemizcan had worked with on the Drezvir interface. They both hated administration but had no intentions of bringing in an outsider, so they took rotating shifts of three to five years depending on what was needed for project continuity by the one on R&D side.

"By the way though, did he by any chance get that heir apparent idea from you?" Gali asked bluntly. "Because if he did you can get it out of your head right now. I was serious about wanting to get back to the coding and have some fun."

"And leave me stuck?" Dreen was amused.

"A few weeks won't kill you."

***

Bojo carefully shut the balcony door and stood leaning against the wall, letting the cool air sluice down his face. He was waiting for the onslaught from Joran. But didn't come. All that happened was that Joran came to stand in front of him, resting against the balcony rail.

"When?" The single syllable was soft with understanding.

"The minute I saw her. I - I don't know why - what happened." Bojo gave a helpless shrug.

"Love goes that way sometimes. Don't try to explain." Joran took a drink, thinking. "But then you have, haven't you?" One of the love songs they still had to record for the album was Bojo's. It was as poignant as M's song, equally full of unrequited love.

Bojo nodded.

Joran realized Bojo's beer was untouched. Damn. He knew what that meant. He'd better say what he had to fast. "Look, Bojo, I'll do what I can. I'll introduce you. I'll come to the bar with you - it's as good a place to talk as any this time of night. I'll make sure you get privacy. I'll stay for a drink. But under the circumstances I flatly refuse to do anything more."

"Joran, your judgement is as good as mine," Bojo pleaded.

"Not here buddy. You aren't thinking. You go home for holidays. Maybe she does sometimes too. What happens there if a nice girl like Brys looks like she's understanding something she shouldn't when two people are talking on a street - whatever. I couldn't tell her what she needs to know to be safe. It isn't my territory."

Bojo nodded reluctantly. Joran was right. Damn. The ice was working through. He shoved his beer can into Joran's empty hand. "Sorry."

Joran sighed and followed him in.

"Dreen, do you mind?" Bojo was heading for the lavatory, not waiting for polite answers.

Dreen and Gali stared in mild confusion at the slammed door.

"Scared shitless," Joran announced accurately, if crudely. "Does the same thing every time we go on stage."

Gali's eyebrows rose. "That's an occupational hazard I never thought of. Why does he do it? Make himself go on stage I mean."

"Oh, he's okay once he's there. He's busy playing and he knows he's good. It's the getting there he can't handle - all those faces."

"And you?" Gali was curious. He'd never thought of this.

"For me it's a high. We're all different."

*****

Chapter 14

Brys didn't so much as look up when Dreen and Gali entered the Nemizcan office. She was in some undetermined place in the galaxy matching wits with who? Physically she was in the office, checking segments of code for subtle alterations, but mentally she was roaming the hyperweb, thinking about the hackers she knew. Who? Who? Was there some subtle flavor to the tricks that were being played that would tell her who she was up against? It didn't really matter of course, but somehow it would be nice to at least put a pseudonym on the mind she was battling.

"Brys." Dreen walked up to her work station.

"Mmm?" Brys called up the next segment of code. It was fine - oh oh - no it wasn't. Would you look at that. Sneaky. Brys gave Dreen a grin as she highlighted the minor change, hard to see parsing the code, and a debugger would never catch it since it was a valid structure. But it would render that piece of code garbage.

Dreen did not smile back. His jaws clenched. That was the fifteenth comparable trick as of the last time he'd tallied the score. How many more? How many had been missed?

Brys called up the next segment.

"Brys," Dreen tried again.

This time she gave him an unfocussed look.

"Do you remember Joran? The man who came and got me at noon?"

"Sure."

"I'd like you to talk to him and a man called Bojo for a moment. They have something they want to ask you. You can say yes or no - it's up to you, but please talk to them. They're in the lobby."

Brys looked at the screen, then at Dreen. "Now?"

"Please."

Brys shrugged. "I could stand to stretch my legs."

***

They were across the lobby before Brys focused and realized where they were going to a bar! She took another look at the two men. They had seemed nice enough. Suddenly all of her mother's warnings about what was likely to happen to a pretty young woman who was stupid enough to go work for total strangers on another planet came flooding back. She unconsciously slowed her pace trying to remember what Dreen had said. Her mind had been so focused on her coding she hadn't really listened. She had assumed it was about a project, but she couldn't swear to it. What she could remember was his saying to go with Joran and Bojo and to listen to them. Then she could do what they wanted or not. It was up to her.

What had she done to get into this? They were friends of Dreen's too. Damn. She suddenly remembered that offer of that bonus of a holiday here on Gingezel. She'd honestly thought it was for working hard and staying out of trouble as a hacker. But maybe 'favors' were expected for that kind of generosity. She took another quick look at the men. No way. He'd said she could make up her own mind. Well, it was made up.

Brys came to a complete halt, took one long look at the bar door about twelve steps away, and said, "I realize you are friends of Dreen's, but all the same I think I'll go back to work now."

She turned and started to walk. She thought she had handled that rather well. No scene, no fuss. She'd just make damned sure she was across the lobby and in the elevator with the door shut before either of them could get in with her. And if one of them tried? She'd worry about that if it happened. Brys lengthened her stride.

"What the -?" Joran started to ask.

Bojo was faster on the uptake. "She thinks it's a pickup." He was rooted to the ground, watching the retreating back with total frustration.

"Shit!" Brys was a fairly tall girl and she could move. But then, he could move too. Joran caught up about half way across the lobby. "Brys -"

She didn't even turn her head.

"Dammit woman! Dreen isn't pimping for a couple of friends."

It wasn't tactful but it was all he could think of since they were about ten seconds from the elevator.

"Where'd you get an idea like that anyways?"

Brys didn't believe Joran. She reached for the call button, but Joran was faster. He put his hand over them and she pulled hers back like it had been stung.

Joran was mad now. "Look. I don't give a damn what you think about me, but you just insulted my best friend, and your boss for that matter. Don't you think you'd better start explaining yourself?"

A motion in the corner of his eye made him turn his head. Damn, that was all he needed. He looked at Brys, who was determinedly facing the crack in the door like she could will it open.

Dropping his hand Joran said carefully, "Okay. Have it your way. All we wanted to do was talk computing, but that's fine. This is turning into a scene and my guess is that in about thirty seconds the concierge is going to come over here and throw me out. Believe me - I don't need that." Not with the new album coming out.

Joran firmly believed that if you did something really, really stupid a reporter complete with camera would wink in from quantum space just to put the holograms on the news. Getting thrown out of one of the best hotels on Gingezel over a girl was really, really stupid. And Tamao looked ready to move.

"I'm leaving now. I'll walk across the lobby very slowly. If you want to talk, we'll talk. Believe me, anywhere you sit will be safe. If not ..." Joran hesitated, anger gone, "I really am sorry. Obviously I did something stupid to offend you."

Not looking back, Joran turned and walked away. Where was that damned Bojo anyway? He looked towards the lounge. Not there, unless he went in. Joran scanned the room, then saw the back of a blond man in the little gift shop studiously looking at something. Coward.

Brys didn't believe him saying he would leave. It had to be a trick. It took almost a minute for her to get up her nerve to look around and two elevators had come and gone. He was really walking away. She gave a nervous look and smile at the concierge's desk. He was watching her. Now what was she supposed to do? Had she somehow got it all wrong? Joran had really sounded sorry at the end. She hesitated a moment longer, then started after Joran.

He didn't hear her coming on the soft carpeting.

"Joran?" It was a hesitant whisper.

Very carefully he turned around. "Okay Brys. Want to sit down here in the middle of the lobby and sort this out? Tamao over there will keep an eye on me. I guarantee it."

"Would he really throw you out?" Brys was both relieved and mortified.

"Either personally, or have someone else do the strong arming. If you don't mind, I'd sooner not find out which." Then, since she truly looked puzzled, Joran added, "It's part of his job to see that his guests - that's you - aren't bothered by strangers - that's me."

"Oh." Brys selected a chair and sat on the edge of the seat.

To Joran she looked perched for flight. "Is it all right if I sit here?" He pointed to a seat across from her. "I'd rather not have to shout." He sat down at her nod. "All I'm going to do is sit on my hands, and talk."

Joran meant it literally. He tended to talk with his hands and he didn't want Tomao to misconstrue anything. He really didn't need this kind of trouble right now. What the hell had they done anyway? He carefully put his hands at his sides, tucking them under his thighs then he looked at Brys. He'd been doing some fast thinking and none of it pleased him.

Since she was obviously waiting for him, he started cautiously, "Look, Brys, I have no idea where you got your idea about Bojo and me from, but right now that isn't what worries me. Dreen is not the kind of guy who tolerates any nonsense where his employees are concerned. And the fact you think he might has me really worried. Has anyone been giving you problems here, or back when you were at Head Office?"

Joran was really looking at Brys for the first time. She was so young. She must have been just barely of age when she joined the company.

"If so, what you'd better do right now is go and talk to Dreen, even if you're embarrassed. Because whoever it might be is in big trouble, and not just with Dreen. Sexual harassment is a human rights infringement."

"A what?" Brys wasn't sure what he was saying.

He almost asked her where she was from to not know about human rights infringements, then he decided they probably weren't big on worrying about them on Ennup 10. Instead Joran said in a matter-of-fact tone, "In most of the galaxy it's illegal to use a position of power like being an employer to demand sexual favors."

"Oh." Brys thought about it. It would certainly simplify life. "It's a good rule."

"Yes," Joran agreed. "So do you need to talk to Dreen?"

"No."

No one had been bothering her. Brys was still thinking about Joran's saying it was illegal. And she'd thought Dreen might have expected something for that money? He was so proper about things. For someone who used to be a hacker it seemed queer, but he really was that way. Boy, had she got things wrong. But she hadn't known it was illegal. She blushed scarlet.

"Brys. You're lying."

"No." She didn't know what to do. He was just watching her. "Really, no. It's ... no."

Joran had a sudden flash of insight. They were Dreen's friends. She'd panicked because of that. She was afraid of Dreen. Galaxy, why? He was so preoccupied with Mitra he wasn't looking for other women, even if he didn't have that self-imposed hands-off attitude with all the females at work. But who knew with this spooky little one? He remembered Gali's words. 'You've been making a lot of mistakes lately, Dreen.' This one must top the list.

"What has Dreen done, Brys?"

He hadn't thought she could blush any harder but she did. Joran was wracking his brains, trying to figure out what in the galaxy Dreen could have done. Dreen was so proper. Now, Joran knew he might say something stupid not watching his mouth, but not Dreen.

Brys felt compelled to speak. "It's me. I got things wrong in my head." There was long silence, then she tried again. "You see, today he offered this huge bonus - for sorting out the hacking and," despite the embarrassment there was a trace of a smile, "to lay off the hacking myself. I thought that was it. But then when you ..." she trailed off. "You see, all of a sudden I thought there must be strings - it was so much ..." She trailed off again.

Joran still didn't know what he'd done, but first things first. "I've known Dreen for years Brys. It's what he said it was. A performance bonus. He's generous offering them, but you have to bust your butt to actually get one. So it's fair enough."

Brys nodded, miserable. "It was just so much."

Curiosity got the better of Joran. "It's none of my business, but what?"

"Two whole weeks anywhere on Gingezel," she waved a hand, "on holiday at the end of our stay. Expenses paid, on top of our regular holiday pay." Her eyes were wide.

And you'll probably more than make up for those two weeks half killing yourself trying to get the holiday Joran thought. Even if you don't, all it really meant compared to their total stay was delaying return on the Exec by two weeks. Perspectives.

He nodded solemnly. "Very nice. But definitely a bonus. Good luck."

What the hell is Bojo doing in that shop? He could stand bailing out any old time. Well, he was on his own.

Joran asked cautiously, "I don't want to seem stupid or insensitive, but what did I - we - do wrong?"

"You were going to go into that bar!"

Bars were for getting drunk, gambling, and buying sex. A decent woman couldn't even be seen in one without ruining her reputation, even if she was only hauling her husband home while there was still grocery money left for the week. Brys was trembling.

"Where else were we supposed to go this time of night?" Joran forgot he was sitting on his hands and waved around lobby. "Bojo and I were sitting with Dreen and Gali in Dreen's suite but a man's room was definitely not the place to ask you to. And your computing room has an open floor plan. Talking there would disturb Evrit, Gali, and Dreen. And I'm not about to talk business in the middle of the lobby. This has been quite enough talk in a lobby." He looked at Tomao who had focused as soon as he raised his hands. "Would you have preferred a walk in the dark with two strange men?"

He could have bitten his tongue. As soon as the last came out her eyes were way too bright and shiny. Damn! He was going to get thrown out yet. They stared at each other in total misunderstanding.

***

Tomao had been discreetly monitoring the situation. All of a sudden it looked like Miss Toleman was on the verge of tears. Dr. Pendi had been very firm in his request that they all discreetly keep an eye on her, her being quite young and not used to living away from home. He walked over.

I will not cry. I will not cry. That would be most unprofessional. Brys discreetly reached in her tote for a tissue. "But -"

"Miss Toleman. Is there a problem?" Tomao made it very clear what answer he expected and who was the problem.

Damn, Joran thought. I don't need this. Where the hell was Bojo? This is his problem. He can come over here. He can talk to Brys. He can talk to Tomao. I'm leaving. I'm going for a very long walk on the beach, then to my room and staying there. The galaxy, friends included - no, make that especially friends - can solve their own problems.

"No. Everything is fine." Even to her own ears it didn't sound convincing.

"We're just sorting out a little misunderstanding." Joran was impatient.

"I'd prefer to hear that from Miss Toleman, sir."

"Really ..." Brys honestly didn't know what to say. Tomao misconstrued the hesitation.

"I think you should leave, sir."

"Fine." That suited Joran. "All I wanted was to get some computing advice. Miss Toleman seems to have somehow decided it was a pickup. I've tried to apologize," he turned to Brys, "and I truly do. I don't know what the hell I did, but upsetting you wasn't the idea. But," he turned back to Tomao, "I think you've got the best idea I've heard recently. I've pretty much run out of apologies."

"Actually, I think we owe Miss Toleman more than an apology."

None of them had heard Bojo coming up softly from behind.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Bojo ignored that. He looked at Brys. "I don't want to cause you more distress, but was it the lounge that upset you?"

She looked at him blankly. She didn't know the word.

Bojo nodded to himself. "The bar?" He gestured in that direction.

Brys blushed to the roots of her hair again.

"I'm truly sorry we were so stupid, Miss Toleman." He turned to the mystified Joran and Tomao. "Miss Toleman is not well traveled, and her impression of umm, drinking establishments, may be pretty much like those in say that one southern continent of Pendrae."

Brys didn't know what he was referring to, but she'd find out online later. He looked very concerned though, and now the other men did too.

Before Tomao could explode, Bojo said gently, "You have your own daughters. If they were off planet, on a world where they didn't know the customs, surely you would prefer them to err on the side of caution as well? I'm sure she meant no insult to the hotel. I honestly doubt she's heard of a lounge."

What did I get wrong this time? Brys wondered in misery.

Tomao nodded. "I certainly would hope my girls would," he said gravely, but hope was about it. The older was a nice enough girl, but he was sure the 14-year-old had been born too hasten him and his wife to early graves. She wore more makeup already than her mother ever had, and was always 'out' with 'her friends', and when you tried to check, they lied to cover for each other. He expected off world she'd be most likely to try to lie about her age and check out the kind of bar Miss Toleman refused to go near.

Tomao turned gravely to Brys. "Please let me assure you that our lounge is nothing - er - that is, if you should choose to use our lounge Miss Toleman, you'll be as comfortable there as in the café.

"However," and he fixed a stern look at Joran and Bojo, "I do think Miss Toleman would be more comfortable consulting in the café. It will be open for another 45 minutes. Now, if you will excuse me -"

He headed across the lobby towards an elderly well-dressed couple emerging from the lounge. They had asked him to make arrangements for a boating expedition in the morning.

Brys watched with disbelief. That lady was as old as her grandmother. She started to give at least partial credit to what everyone had been saying. "I got it all wrong again, didn't I?" she asked Bojo.

He was the less threatening of these two men. He was quiet, and his voice was grave. The one Dreen called Joran could be funny, but his volatility scared her.

"No," Bojo said firmly. "You were right. If you ever even think you are getting into an awkward or dangerous situation, you should leave like you did. All that happened was that you didn't know what a lounge was, and what's wrong with that? It's not exactly knowledge a person is born with. You have to learn it."

Brys digested that. It was the sort of thing Lindy would have said. She gave Bojo a grateful smile, and took another look at the grouping by the lounge. Maybe one of these times when they weren't so busy with the hacker she should try going in, so another time she knew what to do. What did you even do there, anyway? Was it like a café where they sat you down and there was a menu, or what?

"Well ..." Joran started to rise. "Let's get that cup of coffee and -"

But Bojo was starting to sit down. "There's no hurry. I think Brys might be wondering if she wants to see what a lounge is like. Let's give her a minute to decide." He turned to Brys. "It really is pretty harmless you know. A nice hotel like this has them so adults who get tired of their rooms have somewhere to go. You can read the news, play a game as long as you use earphones, talk to a friend, or just sit. That's about it."

We're in no hurry? Joran was staring at Bojo in disbelief. What happened to 'I hate to pressure you Dreen but'? If there was no hurry, why wasn't he comfortably in bed, and why weren't they doing this over breakfast? Joran was feeling the day. All he wanted was bed. In the morning there would have been no scenes. Belatedly he remembered Bojo's confession of hopeless love on the balcony. No, we probably aren't in a hurry.

Sighing, Joran sat back. Brys seem to be thinking, totally unaware she had let conversation lapse. Bojo was quite contentedly watching her. So what was he supposed to do, watch Bojo watch Brys? He spotted the bag at Bojo's feet. So Bojo had truly been shopping and stuck him with this scene?

Brys looked up. "So we really could go in there and talk work?"

"Sure. You and the other young programmer too if you want to. Sometimes, especially at portels -" he saw the confusion - "spaceport hotels, I think more business is done in lounges than in the nearby office buildings.

"So, if you want company first time in, we can start over. Or if you've just about had enough of tonight it can be in the café. No hurry," he reiterated and they lapsed in to silence.

"What have you got there?" Joran spoke into the growing silence.

"Chocolate bars. They had a new shipment in." Bojo was an admitted chocoholic, and tonight was shaping up to be a three or four bar night. "Want one?" Joran was as fond of chocolate as he was. He held out the bag.

I might have known, Joran thought resignedly. "Ladies first," he said automatically."

Bojo held the bag out to Brys. "Brys?" he asked tentatively, not sure if he should use the familiar name.

"Pardon?" Brys came out of her reverie to see a bag being held in front of her.

"Want some chocolate?"

"Oh, thank you, no." That really was very polite of him.

Brys was pretty sure she understood chocolate. Although she had rarely eaten chocolate on Ennup 10, she'd discovered on Tranus that she liked it. But it was very expensive. Chocolate was for special occasions, like birthdays. Then it was fine to buy it for yourself as a treat, or if the person was a special friend, to give it as a treat. She and Lindy had gone to a fancy pastry shop on one of her birthdays and Lindy had bought them both pieces of the best chocolate cake she had ever tasted. It even had a flat slab of real chocolate over top of the icing.

Brys wondered what the man was celebrating, but she certainly wouldn't waste his chocolate eating it. She had priced the bars in that shop. She didn't know a single brand, and they were triple the cost on Tranus. Still, she might buy one if she was still here on her birthday. Perhaps tomorrow was the blond man's birthday and he was treating himself.

Brys wondered how old Bojo was. Not as old as the black man, she thought. He and Dreen must be almost her father's age. Still, quite old. Maybe thirty or thirty-five? Brys took a better look. She'd really only seen Bojo at a distance on stage before. He was rather nice looking. Not really fat or thin, just kind of in between, with thick blond hair that was a truer blond than her own. His eyes were very kind looking, and a true blond's blue, unlike her kind of all colored ones, but she wondered if maybe one didn't work. It looked like he'd had some kind of minor accident, and the eye didn't seem to quite track like the other one. But he'd obviously had really good doctors because he looked fine, not like her one uncle, and some of her father's friends. About thirty-five, she concluded, but she was never that good at ages.

Bojo had turned back to Joran and was blessedly unaware of the scrutiny. He re-offered the bag to Joran this time. "Keep what you want." Joran looked like he'd definitely needed placating.

"Thanks." It was as good a distraction as any, and they all needed a breather. Joran dumped the contents on his lap and started sorting through. It wasn't a bad haul. "Milk, cloudberry cream, plain dark." He was cataloguing as he piled them onto his other leg.

"Tranian mint, Marzipan - my favorite. Now that's better." He noted that Bojo, ever the realist, had purchased two so he'd get some himself. "Coconut. I haven't seen that for ages. It's Maillie's favorite." The words slipped out before he thought. "Was." He looked at Bojo, mildly startled. Bojo was usually sensitive about anything that would remind him of his dead wife.

Bojo stop sneaking peeks at Brys and transferred his full attention to Joran. "Mind?" It was well past time to stop coddling Joran.

Joran gave it some real thought. "No," he said in mild surprise. It didn't even hurt. It was just mildly nostalgic.

Brys watched in mild disbelief as Joran stashed the coconut and marzipan bars his pouch. Then before she realized what he was doing he dropped the Tranian mint cream she had been eying into her opened tote bag.

"I can't keep that!" She started to reach for the bag.

"Yes, you can," Bojo said. "Call it a minor compensation for the trauma. Now," before she could object, "it's getting late. Where to?"

She'd been thinking about that. Brys really wasn't sure she'd have the nerve to walk into the lounge on her own, and it looked it was another item on the list of things she had to learn to do. She said quietly but firmly, "I'd like to try the lounge."

*****

Chapter 15

Joran watched the retreating back, as Brys stalked - it was the only word he could think of - out of the bar. Terrific. He might as well have gone to bed an hour ago. He turned to Bojo. To his total amazement Bojo was watching her with a contented grin.

"And what is there that's remotely funny?" Joran demanded.

Bojo was still watching the retreating back. "She sure knows how to stand up for herself, doesn't she?"

"You should have figured that out the last time she walked!"

Bojo shrugged.

"I would have thought that was a reason to be careful, not to get her upset," Joran said and looked at the manager. "You've probably got us in trouble again!"

"Are you really worried about that?" Bojo asked.

"Yes I am really worried about that!" Joran said angrily. "Every time something like that happens it makes the press."

So they were definitely going on stage again. Bojo had wondered just now when Joran only nibbled one appetizer. That meant a diet, and a diet either meant a new woman, or trying to get down to stage weight.

"If that's a problem for you I'll go sort it out." Bojo stood up and walked over to the bar manager.

They conducted some sort of a conversation that looked to Joran to be completely relaxed. The manager smiled and nodded and as Bojo returned, he walked into the lobby.

"What did you say?" Joran demanded.

"Just that I broke one of the standard rules of the galaxy, to never try to win a political argument with a woman. I said when she calmed down and was speaking to me again, I would apologize and eat dirt or whatever. Then I asked him to go and reassure Tomao."

"And is that what you were doing, having a political argument?" Joran asked incredulously, starting to be amused in spite of his anxiety. Brys and Bojo had shifted to some argot his translator chip ear implant couldn't get a word of.

"It is isn't a joke, Joran," Bojo said in all seriousness. "Given what's at stake I had to be completely sure of her.

"You see, initially I couldn't even believe Dreen that someone of her class would be able to teach herself enough to be useful to him. And," he added at the look on Joran's face, "I am not being prejudiced! What I mean is that her class has to go flat out just to survive. Time is an unknown luxury and learning takes time, so learning is an unknown luxury. How she broke the cycle I don't know, but at least now I believe Dreen. I pretty much did before I tested her, just the way she was acting so unsophisticated, and money is such an issue."

He frowned, not liking to think about that. Sweet little Brys was all upset about just needing new shoes. She was paid enough to buy a lot more than shoes, but he could guess the size of the extended family she supported back on Ennup 10. They would use every micro credit she could spare. She didn't even know she could buy cheap food at the market and stash the food in the hotel fridge, and she'd eaten like she was starved when he'd ordered a few plates of snacks. He should have ordered more. Bojo stared down at the empty plates, then shook his head. He was straying.

Refocusing Bojo said, "But that little outburst settled it. No one who wasn't born to it could use that dialect the way she did.

"Even so though, that didn't mean she was trustworthy. There are a surprising number of people of her class who are more terrified of changing the system than the upper or middle classes are. They are probably realists who see what change will take, will cost, and figure the pain and suffering would be worse than what they have now. At least now, if they keep their heads down and work hard, they more or less survive.

"I don't agree with them and neither do my associates, but I respect the fact they exist. If she was one of them, she could be a real danger."

"I take it she isn't?" Joran asked dryly.

"No," Bojo agreed with amusement. "That she definitely is not."

"So what did she call you anyway, and why for that matter?"

"I told her what class I was."

"And made it sound like you thought she was dirt too." Joran may not have understood the words, but the tones were obvious.

"Umhm." Bojo was unapologetic. "That was how she would expect my class to act."

"I don't think I'd like your friends."

"What friends?" This time Bojo was offended.

"Okay, sorry! So what did she call you?"

"Nothing I thought to ever hear a woman say."

"What?" Joran was curious now.

"No, Joran."

"Come on, it can't be that bad. I've a well travelled vocabulary."

"And I said no."

Joran gave it up. Bojo was getting his stubborn look. "Okay. Now that you're happy, what next, or are you leaving Dreen stuck with the software?"

"I'll give her a few hours to calm down, and stop in on my way to breakfast and explain things."

Joran stared. Bojo actually meant it. "Bojo, listen to the voice of experience where women are concerned. She is not going to have calmed down by then. You saw her face. You're going to be lucky two weeks from now if she isn't crossing the street when she sees you coming."

"Well, Dreen may have to mediate for a few minutes at first," Bojo conceded, "but I wouldn't bet on it. She's mad enough she'll be out on the hyperweb trying find anything she can that's discreditable to me. What she will find should have her rethinking."

"Forget it on both scores," Joran said flatly. "First, Dreen has put an end to the freelance hacking. He offered a bonus she really wants. Second I think she'll stick to her promise to behave. She won't dig you up."

"Thanks for not telling me," Bojo said acidly.

"Tough on you. You're the one that dodged most of the scene in the lobby. If you'd been there you'd have heard."

"I didn't dodge." Bojo was exasperated. "Did it ever occur to you if we both went after her she might have started screaming the place down?"

That was a point, but Joran was in no mood to concede it. He said, "Secondly you are not putting Dreen in the middle of this, and you are not leaving him to cope with her fuming all night. You're going to call now and sort it out!" That got him a rebellious look from Bojo. "Look, Bojo, he has enough problems of his own right now."

"I suppose." Bojo sighed, unconvinced. "It's rough luck about Rodd."

"Rodd," Joran said angrily, "is the least of his problems. Mitra's gone."

"She dumped him?" Somehow Bojo just couldn't believe that. Although it would be another reason for Joran's sudden diet.

"No - at least I don't think so. While we were out at dinner she got some emergency off-planet call and was trying to get hold of Dreen. And when she couldn't, she just took off. He has no idea where she went."

Bojo digested this. "At least you could have told me that much when I talked to you this afternoon."

Joran resented the implicit criticism. "Do you want me to get in the habit of talking about my friends' private lives? I just told you now because of the mess with Brys."

It was Bojo's turn to look like he had been slapped. Joran hadn't meant it that way, but Bojo obviously thought he was the friend he was talking about.

"Bojo, I'm sorry. I didn't mean I'd ever -"

"I know. Forget it. You're right to keep Dreen's life private and to have not told me until now. But I am glad you told me. Dreen doesn't need more stress until he can get hold of her."

"That," Joran said carefully, "actually is the problem. He can't get hold of her. He choked on asking her that kind of stuff. I honestly don't know if he was afraid she wouldn't tell him, or he just liked the isolation from reality for a while. The fantasy vacation romance sort of idea." He shrugged. "Either way he blew it."

"Surely that's easy to correct."

"Of course it's easy." Joran was suddenly very tired. "But Mr. Don't-Break-The-Rules won't have any part of it. He's going to try the impossible - search the legit databases."

He really wished Dreen had never had that scare with the military. Joran had nothing against the military. They did necessary work, often without the thanks due them. A couple of his university friends were in it, and they loved it, especially the one in munitions design. The physics of some of those weapons was fascinating. But Dreen's experience on parole for hacking one of the most secure military databases was totally different from being a career officer. He had never been the same since. But that was something he definitely couldn't talk to Bojo about. That was the most secret part of Dreen's life.

Instead Joran said, "I gave him two weeks. Then I find her."

To Bojo, Joran was looking exhausted, and closer to fifty than forty. He said gently, "It will sort itself out."

"I suppose so."

Bojo smiled. "Distract yourself with the concert. Setting it up will keep you busy for a couple weeks." His smile broadened at Joran's expression. He counted on his fingers. "One: you're on a diet. A single square of chocolate, mineral water, a few veggies. Two: All of a sudden you care about bad press. That means a concert, right?"

Joran nodded. Bojo really didn't miss much.

"When did you decide this?"

"Tonight. Actually, it was Rodd's idea on damage control. To do a concert so close to the album release no one has time to dig up dirt, they're too busy anticipating. What do you think?"

It wasn't their usual route to start touring quite that close to a new release, but Bojo had to admit there was a kind of logic to it. It presumed you could pull it off though. The release back to back with a concert was a lot of pressure. Then there was Mitra.

Bojo said cautiously, "Can you handle it? You aren't committed yet."

Joran gave a wry smile. "I'd better be sure, hadn't I? I'm self-destructive Bojo, not stupid. Neither you guys or the media are likely to give me another chance and I don't expect one. I'll be sure before I commit us."

After a moment's hesitation, Joran reached in his pouch for the compact of pills he had offered Dreen. "Keep this for me, will you Bojo? It's my last security blanket, and this way if I'm not going to make it, you'll be the first to know. I wish I could tell you to trash them but ..." He shrugged.

Bojo looked at the packet impassively. "What are they?" If it was anything illegal Joran was getting them back.

"Prescription sleeping tablets, that's all."

Bojo nodded and put them in his own pouch. At least Joran was really trying. But he wasn't about to make any bets on success.

"Shall I give Dreen that call?"

And that was it. Joran nodded, hiding his relief. Dreen had been right. If he had known how strongly the guys really felt about the drugs, he would never have been able to face them. As it was, Bojo was making it easy for him. Joran reached in his pouch and brought out his compad.

"What's that for?" Bojo was already on his feet.

"Getting rid of the rest of the temptation. Although we both know you have to trust me there since I can memorize numbers if I really try."

Bojo nodded and left.

*****

Chapter 16

Brys had no intentions of going through a repeat of the scene at the elevator where Joran had stopped her getting in. That had taught her he was faster than she was. She left the lounge and headed straight for the relative safety of the women's rest rooms. Usually she liked those large luxurious rooms. There were walls of mirrors, and an entire long wall of marble sinks with gold taps. The moss green carpet was unbelievably soft and the walls that weren't mirrored over were finished in a pretty floral pattern. There were fresh bouquets daily. Usually there were women about to watch, often doing interesting things to their makeup, hair, and clothes. She had already learned two new ways to do her hair with a scarf just watching them.

Tonight the obvious expense of every feature infuriated her. She was also alone for once as she unceremoniously slammed her fabric tote down beside a sink and lowered her hands into the basin, breaking the beam and activating the water flow. She bent over, liberally splashing her face. Then she took a carefully folded towel from the pile by the sink and blotted her face. That helped a bit.

Brys wasn't totally sure whether she was mad at that man, or herself. Had she gotten so soft that she'd forgotten everything she had learned growing up? You just didn't trust strangers. And how hadn't she been able to pick out exactly what he was? Back on Ennup 10 she had been able to judge anyone's class at a single glance. Maybe it was the fact everyone here confused her. Here on Gingezel it seemed half of the rich people tried to not even look rich. Now, you could tell Lindy back on Tranus was rich. She wore very nice clothes, and gold earrings. But here the rich people sometimes just dressed in shorts and tee's.

Like that man, fooling her. But maybe he wasn't really rich. Maybe his dad cut him off when he wanted to bum around being a musician, and he had just been talking to impress her. Well, it hadn't worked. But he hadn't been trying to impress her, had he? He'd been putting her down. And she'd set herself up because she hadn't placed him. But that was irrelevant. He was from Ennup 10 and she should have known.

Unclipping her hair, Brys reached in her bag for her comb. Her hand came across the chocolate bar Joran had given her. At the time the action had both embarrassed and surprised her. Now the chocolate offended her. It wasn't an extravagance or generosity at all, the rich bastard!

She removed the offending chocolate bar and turned to throw it in the garbage. Then practicality got the better of her. She'd save it and eat it. That would sure serve him right. She replaced the bar and started roughly jerking the comb through her thick, almost frizzy hair. She'd really thought she had finally found a friend. She had even told him about her money problems since she had to buy new shoes. Stupid! He was probably laughing at her now.

***

Brys' mood hadn't improved in the least by the time she got to the computing room. Without so much as a look at Gali, Dreen, or Evrit, Brys stalked to her seat, slammed her bag down, and activated her terminal.

Gali caught Dreen's eye and they headed for Dreen's glass enclosed office that took up one corner of the open space. It was sound proofed so his administrative work with Head Office wouldn't disturb anyone.

Once they were in this relative privacy Gali said, "Just offhand I'd say Brys didn't think much of the project."

"It looks like it." Dreen was watching Brys. She could get snappy, especially with Evrit, but this mood was a new one.

"Want me to find out what went wrong?" Gali volunteered. He was surprised. It had sounded perfect for Brys to him.

Dreen's call tone sounded. "Let me get the other side of the story first."

Gali nodded and left.

"Hello Dreen. Sorry to have added to your troubles." Bojo didn't feel free to mention Mitra. "Is Brys back?"

"She just stormed in. What happened?"

"Well ..." Bojo was uncomfortable. "I may need a little help. You see," he looked at Dreen intently, "I really had to be sure what her political sympathies were before I told her anything. So," the discomfort increased, "I didn't exactly lie, I just told her I was upper-class Ennup 10."

His sudden smile startled Dreen.

"She's all right. She told me off but good, and left. But," Bojo looked uncertain, "when I told Joran I'd let her calm down then talk to her, he said there wasn't much chance of that so I'd better call you."

Dreen took another look at Brys. "Just offhand I'd say Joran's right," he said dryly. "But I don't see what I can do. I'm not about to pressure her on this Bojo."

"I'm not asking you to. What I'm hoping you'll do is give her permission to do a little on-line research that might get her rethinking." Then at the look of alarm on Dreen's face he added quickly, "No serious hacking, nothing government. Just the corporate records of the companies I own on Ennup 10. She's welcome to break in and snoop if she doesn't trust the external information. The companies have a decent reputation. Plus, she'd better come to grips with the fact we aren't just hotel musicians - aim her at some Anton stuff."

"I thought you were all working hard at your being the Anton Band not going around right now. Do you want her to decide first? Then only discuss the Anton side if you have to?"

Bojo grinned. "Were is the operative word. Joran's dieting again."

Dreen groaned. This was just what he needed. "Whose bright idea is this?"

"Apparently Rodd's. He and Joran worked out some kind of convoluted logic that made sense at least to them." Bojo shrugged philosophically. "It has to be some time."

Dreen sighed, "I should never have slept. Those two had a great time."

"What else have they been up to?" Bojo asked curiously.

"Besides deciding how to totally reconfigure Nemizcan, not much."

"Ignore them," Bojo advised cheerfully. Brys was wonderful, his angel. He simply couldn't keep his mood down. Then the smile faded.

"There's one more thing." Dreen wasn't going to like this. "It's the reason it took us so long." He hesitated, looking at Dreen's tired face. "She thought it was a pickup Dreen," Bojo said quietly. "We got it sorted out, but not before Tomao almost threw the pair of us out." He was right. Dreen did not like this at all.

"I see. Or rather, I don't see. You'd better explain yourself Bojo."

"I'm not sure how much I can explain. Joran is the one who took off after her and talked to her, but I was stupid and it was my fault."

"If you're trying to apologize -" Dreen's voice was ice. If Camrail had come on to Brys -

Bojo's voice was just as icy as he cut him off. "I'll let that pass. You're having a rough day. I said I was stupid. Period. No moves. All that happened was it was late and we headed for the lounge, where one goes this time of night to discuss business."

Dreen looked blank.

"Yes, that was our mistake too. But the stupidity is mine. I should have remembered the kind of drinking establishments she would associate it with on Ennup 10." Bojo braced himself. "The only women in them are prostitutes. So, she jumped to a reasonable conclusion, bolted, and ran."

Bojo shrugged into the silence that followed the explanation. "The stupidity I do apologize for, but it hasn't exactly been my best night either. And to be honest I had totally forgotten about them - that aspect of the local culture never appealed to me."

Dreen ran a hand across his face. "Don't feel bad. At least you figured it out. I could have done the same thing, and not known what I did." Sometimes the galaxy was too complicated. "You said she talked to Joran?"

"It seemed to be a long conversation. Want me to get him?"

"Please, but give me the sites you want her to look at first."

***

Dreen tried to tell himself to think positively and not try to anticipate what Joran would have to say. Mistakes happen, and that was an honest cultural mistake. He focused instead on the news that Joran was on a diet. He sincerely hoped Joran and Rodd knew what they were doing. He was pretty sure he couldn't handle another round of Joran moving in with him right now if the concert fell on its face. At least this silly mix up with Mitra would be over long before then, and that would help. Maybe they could attend the concert together. He rather suspected she would like being a part of the pre- and post-concert celebrity scene. That thought had Dreen smiling.

Settling himself into the call booth, Joran thought that one of the great things about the public places on Gingezel was they had really private privacy booths. You could literally say anything you wanted. No one could see or hear you, and only criminal monitors activated any recording equipment. For everyone else there were only emergency contacts for health problems.

"You're smiling. Has something happened? Has a message from Mitra come through?"

"Sorry, no such luck. I was just thinking it would be nice to take Mitra to your concert."

"Bojo has a big mouth," Joran was sour.

Dreen took a good look at him, then said slowly, "Not big enough. What's the whole story on Brys?"

"That my friend, is the closest you have ever come to permanently wrecking both our lives," Joran said, his stomach churning at the thought.

Dreen shook his head. "Sorry Joran, I'm not following. I know there was a mix up with the lounge, but I thought you got it sorted out."

"Yeah, but only because Brys has literally never heard of human rights laws. Which is another issue - you'd better go rattle someone in hiring's chain but good on that one." He paused, looking at the textured wall beside his face. "Okay. It's simple and you won't like it at all Dreen." Joran turned back to his friend. "Up front - Bojo just thinks it's the bar thing, a cultural mixed up, and it stays that way okay?"

Since he obviously wasn't continuing without an answer, Dreen reluctantly nodded.

Joran took a deep breath. "Earlier today you offered Brys a bonus that she accepted in good faith. The same night two of your friends she doesn't really know show up and she is asked, under some pretext, to go to a bar with them. To her bar equals prostitution and she figures she just unwittingly rewrote her job spec.

"Now," Joran continued looking grim, "assuming she had headed for the protection of the manager's office and the nearest communication center, where exactly would we all be? You would be charged with procuring sex from an employee. Bojo and I would face co-charges. What the hell do we say in defense? That we really wanted her to work on a little espionage Bojo has going? No.

"And we aren't dumb enough to lie in a courtroom. So either we keep our mouths shut which is implicitly accepting guilt, or plead cultural misunderstanding which a judge may or may not laugh right out of court given my recent track record. Which," Joran added at the look on Dreen's face, "has not involved anything illegal - at least nothing I can remember - but has been wild at times. And," Joran was determined to finish, "the real trial wouldn't have been in a courtroom anyways. With me involved it would have been all across the galaxy in the media."

"Shit."

"Reasonable sentiments," Joran agreed, happier now that the recital was over. "She's really great though Dreen, I'll say that for her. When it was obvious I'd made a big mistake going after her and I left, she thought about it and came back after me on her own to sort things out. And she stuck it out through what has to have been one of the all-time great cross purposes conversations. She has guts too. Once she got it in her noodle she had it all wrong, she decided she had better see what a civilized lounge was. I'd have thought the misunderstanding would have put her off indefinitely."

His voice was suddenly soft. "Dreen, I know her assumption any of us would be involved in that kind of sex is damned insulting from our side, but don't get down on her. I don't think it's what she - I'm not to sure how to say it. I mean, hell, I was insulted and I'm a stranger. But I don't think she was thinking of you as a person. She was just adding up the facts as she saw them and coming up with the conclusion her background gave her."

"I know." Dreen was tired, very tired. "I just wish it hadn't happened."

He looked as rough as he had after hearing about Mitra, and Joran was suddenly angry at the universe in general. "Why the hell do we let places like Ennup 10 exist anyways?"

"They aren't the only place sexual harassment happens."

"Yeah, but at least in most places a - how old is she anyways?"

"Twenty I think, maybe twenty-one. I'd have to check the files."

"At least in the rest a twenty-year-old girl doesn't think it's normal business practice." Joran was staring at the wall again. "I wish I could believe Bojo was doing some good."

"He's trying anyways."

"Yeah." Joran roused himself. "Well, that's that. She understands that the stupid - excuse me - but it really was stupid - that stupid bonus is legit. She'd better hear it from you though. And you'd better give her the corporate facts of life too. And I'm serious - if whoever let an inexperienced worker like that come to work for me without going over the basics with her was still around, I'd fire them. What was she when she joined?"

"Eighteen and a half. But she had worked full time for three years. We usually only spell out the company specific material on transfer-ins. We don't treat them as new to the workforce. I'm sure you're right, she should have been treated like a student or a new employee." Dreen wasn't inclined to defend the mistake. "Anyways, it looks like I'm spending the day thanking you for bailing me out."

Joran shrugged it off. "Just partially evening the score. If that's it, I'm calling it a night. And taking a long, long walk in this blessedly crime free town. Then I'll try it your way - stare at the ceiling." He hesitated then added, "Bojo has the pills."

"Good luck."

"Thanks." There was a ghost of a smile. "By the way, if Brys calls Bojo something that sounds like cat hissing, wash the young lady's mouth out with soap."

Dreen could stand some amusement. "Why, what does it mean?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Bojo flatly refused to tell me, and since he knows my vocabulary pretty well, it must be a beaut." Joran yawned. "Want a ride to the space port in the morning?"

"Let yourself sleep in." The idea of being driven to the space port by Joran was considerably more alarming than the idea of being flown to Tranus by Jon.

"I think I will. Call me when you get to Tranus?"

"Right, and thanks again Joran, for everything."

"G'night Dreen. Go to work."

*****

Chapter 17

Dreen sat for quite a while thinking. Before he left he'd have to brief Gali thoroughly on the near miss and ask him to please, please keep an eye on Brys. But first he'd have to talk to her. Dreen found himself singularly uncomfortable with the situation, despite Joran's advice not to take it personally. He wished he could leave it to Lindy, but that would be a cop out. He knew that copping might not have been the deciding factor, but there was the additional fact that the problem was best dealt with now, and Lindy would be asleep.

He roused himself and walked to his office door. "Brys, I want to talk to you."

Brys was trying desperately to lose herself in her work. She didn't even look up. "Later. I'm in the middle of writing a bit of code for Gali to try."

"In my office please, Brys." That got him a dirty look, but she stood up and grabbed her tote.

Evrit looked up. "Good," he muttered with intense satisfaction. She'd been getting away with bloody murder ever since that hacker took the system down. She should never have activated that calling card, much less tried half of the other stuff she'd done. Maybe now some of it was getting her in trouble. He hoped so.

Gali enquired from across the room, "Were you asking me something, Evrit?"

"Just talking to myself." He watched Brys walk into Dreen's office and close the door.

***

If that man has been working on Dreen, Brys thought, I won't do any computing for him, no matter what. They said I didn't have to do the job and I won't work for someone like him. As she sat down defiantly Brys' thoughts were back on the same treadmill she had been trying to avoid.

Dreen leaned against the wall, trying to think. "Brys, I've been talking to Joran about ..." He didn't know how to say it. "About the trouble you had. He -" Damn!

He should have called Lindy even if it was the middle of her night. He didn't have any idea how to deal with this, and all of those management training types could go to hell. They had obviously never had to try their own advice. Dreen crossed his arms, frowning, trying to think of as succinct and impersonal a way as possible to do this.

Joran? Brys looked at Dreen's closed, angry posture and felt a sinking sense of betrayal. She thought she and Joran had sorted her stupid mistake about doing business in a bar out and she wouldn't hear about it. She had almost got Dreen into serious trouble, but nothing had happened after all. Now Joran had called Dreen, and he was furious. She stole another quick look. He was just standing there, not even looking at her. What had Joran told her - that Dreen could actually go to jail for the sort of things she had imagined? But that was terrible. She hadn't meant trouble.

Living on Ennup 10 had taught her early on that not meaning trouble doesn't count for anything. You didn't make trouble at work, not if you wanted to stay employed for another five minutes. Brys was now seriously frightened, bordering on panicked. What would she do here? She was just on a work permit, and she didn't know anyone to go live with, and the hotel rooms were unthinkably expensive. She didn't know anywhere in the town that employed computer people. She supposed with so many hotels there were always cleaning jobs, but you might not get one right away, the hotels being so nice and everyone wanting the job. And it was so expensive to be here.

"Please, I didn't mean to be trouble." It was hardly a whisper spoken to the floor and it was not clear Dreen heard her. She licked her lips and tried again, forcing herself to look at him. "Please, don't fire me. I won't ever cause any more trouble. I ..." Brys couldn't finish. She looked down at her feet.

The last words got through Dreen's reverie. "Fire you?" He stared at Brys. She was pale and trembling. "Brys, no one is going to fire you."

Dreen realized Brys wasn't listening. She was going on in more or less a mumble about not causing more trouble. Where in the galaxy had the woman got the idea she would be fired? Even as he thought it, Dreen had the answer. Ennup 10. He thought of Bojo's shattered face. No, you probably didn't cause trouble on Ennup 10. He sat down to be at the same level as Brys.

"Brys." Then more firmly, "Look at me Brys. On Ennup 10, would they fire you now?"

Miserably she nodded.

"I am not going to fire you. No one is. Can you get that through your head?" He wasn't laying odds on it. "You've done absolutely nothing wrong Brys. I'm mad at me for being stupid, not at you."

This was not getting anywhere. Dreen was intensely aware of Joran's succinct description of just how much trouble they were skirting around.

"Look Brys, I'm going to get both of us a drink and you're going to calm down, all right? But we do have to talk this out and I'm just upsetting you. I think when I get back I should call Lindy. You like Lindy don't you?"

It was night time there, and Lindy wasn't a nighthawk. He couldn't wakeup Lindy! "Oh, please don't ..." It trailed off and she blinked hard.

Dreen didn't know if she was the crying type, but he decided right then and there he was the kind of boss who couldn't handle it if she was. She won that one hands down.

"All right, what about Gali? That's your only other choice Brys. I want someone here so I don't upset you again." Gali would kill him.

Miserably Brys nodded.

Dreen left. "Gali, I'll need you for a few minutes. Come tell me what you want to eat and drink." Dreen headed for the cater unit.

"What -"

Dreen killed the question with a look. Evrit was too damned curious.

Once they were at the cater unit, he said very quietly, "You are not going to react to one damned thing, you'll keep me from doing anything liable, and," Dreen smiled grimly, "you can kill me later."

Gali kept his mouth shut and added tea and a muffin to the tray. He didn't like the word liable in that sentence. He noted that Dreen was carbo-loading again with huge sticky buns.

"I'll carry that."

They went into Dreen's office and sat down.

"Are you okay now Brys?"

She reluctantly nodded. She was accepting that she wasn't fired, but Brys had this sneaking suspicion that she was still in trouble. She had no idea why Dreen was insisting Gali or Lindy help talk to her. It didn't bode well though.

Dreen turned to Gali. "Gali, will you please open a new memory pac. Use my compad." He shifted it over. "Initialize the pac to your voiceprint only and record this conversation."

He had to give Gali credit. The request got him a look, that was all.

When Gali was finished Dreen said, "Brys I want you to understand that Gali is here for your protection, and that's why he's recording us. I made a mistake a few minutes ago trying to deal with a serious situation in a casual manner, and I upset you badly. This time we'll do it properly."

It was an effort to keep his voice even. "There are two labor relations human rights issues involved here Gali, sexual harassment and wrongful dismissal. I want you to act as an observer, mediator, and if you feel that Brys is not being treated fairly but is hesitant for whatever reason to proceed, you are to initiate legal proceedings on her behalf. Are you prepared to do that and use the recording as basis for proceeding?"

Well, Gali thought, I can see why we weren't discussing this where anyone could eavesdrop. Thanks a lot Dreen.

"Yes."

Brys was looking at the two of them in open horror. Dreen was using words like legal. She didn't want to make trouble for him with the authorities. "I don't want to be trouble - please ..." She looked from one to the other beseechingly.

"You aren't being trouble Brys, you've been through some trouble and it has to be handled properly." Dreen was firm.

He turned to Gali again. "This is the basic situation. Earlier today I offered Brys a bonus. Late the same night she was requested to accompany two male friends of mine to discuss a consulting job. Because they chose to conduct the discussion in a lounge, she concluded the consulting was just a pretext and in reality she was expected to provide sexual services to one or both of them, essentially as an unspoken 'string' attached to the bonus."

Gali interrupted quietly, "For the record please name those friends." How the hell had Bojo and Joran managed this mess?

Dreen winced but Gali was right. "Joran Lantonnel and Bojo Camrail. At that point Brys left, but Joran followed her. I understand they talked and sorted it out -"

Gali interrupted again, "You can't do that Dreen. You weren't there and you're putting words in Brys' mouth." He turned to Brys. "What happened Brys?"

"Please, I was just stupid. It was all a mistake."

Gali said quietly, "That's all right. I still want you to tell me exactly what happened."

Reluctantly Brys did, with a lot of doubling back and elaboration. At one point she even produced the chocolate bar like it was some kind of proof of her story.

Under different circumstances Dreen would have been amused. As it was, he was starting to realize just how accurate an assessment Joran had made and he was starting to feel sick.

"So you see, I just got it all wrong," Brys pleaded.

The poor young woman, Gali thought. That was quite a trauma. He didn't understand or like all this fuss about not making trouble though.

He said, "You handled yourself very well, Brys. Now, I want to talk to you for a minute. Dreen, we could all stand fresh drinks." Then as Dreen hesitated, "I'll let you know when I need you."

Gali watched the retreating back. Dreen must be hating every second of this. Still, it had to be dealt with.

When the door was firmly closed he turned to Brys."I'm sorry Brys, but all his talk about making trouble has me nervous. Are you sure what you told me is what really happened? Or were you right in your first guess about sex, and when one of the two men realized you were walking and they'd made a mistake, they pressured you to say it was all a mix up. After all, Dreen is your boss. That's a lot of pressure if Bojo or Joran wanted to use it to shut you up."

She couldn't have faked the look of total astonishment.

"Oh no. They were very nice." Brys thought about what Joran had said. "Considering I insulted them and Dreen by thinking something like that." Or at least they were nice until that man made a fool of me.

Gali noticed the change of expression and the flush. "Brys, what is it?"

But she shook her head. He might be a monster, but it was nothing to do with this. She added plaintively, "I just got mixed up. I didn't know."

"Don't apologize Brys."

***

Dreen deposited the tray by the cater unit and looked at the closed door. There was no sense getting something that would just end up cold. He knew Gali as well as Gali knew him. Gali had decided something didn't ring true and he intended to sort it out. Without him. The implications of that were obvious, and they weren't exactly flattering from someone you had considered your friend and colleague for over a decade. Well, he might as well get some work done.

Blessedly Evrit was totally engrossed in sorting something out. He was staring at the screen and muttering to himself as Dreen walked past to his terminal and sat down. It was no use. The characters on the screen were meaningless. The idea of getting himself on the Allegro and strapping himself onto a sleeping bench was suddenly infinitely attractive even with Jon Melcrist piloting.

***

Gali looked at Brys meditatively. Despite his distaste for the whole situation he wanted the right thing to happen for her. He said evenly, "What about Dreen, Brys?"

"Dreen?" Brys repeated blankly.

"Has he been pressuring you to say it's all a mix up? He was the one who said there was a wrongful dismissal aspect, Brys, and he is the only one who could try to fire you. Bojo and Joran couldn't."

Oh no. Gali couldn't think - she looked at him in horror. Gali obviously did think Dreen had - her mind was racing around in circles.

Gali interrupted her thoughts. Obviously he was not going to get a direct answer.

"Brys, what exactly happened?"

This much she could handle. "Dreen said he wanted to talk to me. I thought that man," - she spat the word out with contempt - "was working on Dreen to get me to do the consulting for him when I said I wouldn't. You know."

Gali did not know, but the tone of voice and the way Brys had slammed into the office did not sound promising for Bojo's project. "And?" He prompted.

"I was going to say I wouldn't do it. Then Dreen said Joran had called. Then he stopped talking and wouldn't look at me." Brys stared broodily down at the floor. "Gali, what would I do here? I bet there are queues to get cleaning jobs at such nice hotels." She was so absorbed in her own problems that the look of total astonishment on his face didn't register. "So I said please don't fire me, or something like that, and Dreen said where did I get an idea like that. Then," she finished abruptly, "he got you."

"I see." Gali said. "Thank you Brys. I'll get Dreen now."

He went to the door stepped out. "Dreen, can I bother you?"

Dreen looked at Gali feeling ridiculously nervous and got a reassuring smile. He got up and walked towards him.

As Dreen reached him at the open doorway, Gali said very softly, "Impostor syndrome."

Dreen raised his eyebrows. That explained a lot of the spookiness.

They stepped in.

"Dreen, Brys has given me her version on wrongful dismissal. Could I have yours?"

He gave it and Gali nodded.

"You pretty much say the same thing."

"Well, if that's everything -"

"Not so fast Dreen," Gali interrupted. He turned to Brys. "Brys, we've been talking about the extreme kind of sexual harassment. Have Bojo or Joran done anything else that might have made you jump to that conclusion?"

Brys looked blankly at Gali. Dreen wasn't helping him either, damn him.

Gali said, "Did either of them touch you inappropriately Brys, or use suggestive language that offended you?" Gali saw Dreen wince visibly at the latter, which was not surprising. You could never be sure what Joran would say, and he had quite a vocabulary. But Brys was shaking her head.

"Out loud Brys."

"No."

"Good." Dreen stepped in firmly.

There were limits to thoroughness and Gali was pushing his popularity right about now.

*****

Chapter 18

"Brys, this is what we are going to do. It's obvious you have been through quite a trauma, and you really don't understand what's involved. Why don't we give you a week to think this over? Then if you change your mind, Gali will file a complaint on your behalf. Otherwise," he looked at Gali, "do you remember how long back charges can be filed?"

Gali shook his head."I know it's years, I have no idea how many."

"Me either. Gali please look it up, and arrange for this to be held by our lawyers for that long with Brys to have access at any time. That way Brys, if once you've had more work experience you find yourself troubled by tonight, you can review your version here and you can always lodge a complaint then." Dreen continued, "Gali, please seal the memory pac."

That completed, Dreen turned to Brys. "Have you more less survived Brys? I expect having to tell us everything was hard, but I think it's best in the long run."

Brys was regarding Dreen with total confusion. "Do you mean you are keeping that for years, just so I can make trouble if I want to?"

Dreen wondered if her amoral rating was right, or if the testing had totally overlooked the possibility of a place like Ennup 10 and its effects on upbringing. He'd have to ask. At any rate, there was no harm trying to explain the issue to her.

"It's called trying to do what's right, not what's to your personal advantage. It's the basis of most law." Dreen didn't labor the point. "Gali will make sure Lindy gives you more information on the things we've talked about, but have you any questions now?"

Please say no Brys, please. Dreen knew he wasn't in luck though. Brys had that little frowned she wore when she didn't understand, and intended to.

Brys said uncertainly, "The sexual harassment is the same for men and women?"

"Of course." Dreen was surprised.

Gali suppressed a smile. He'd lay ninety percent odds she was heading straight for Dreen's blind spot.

"But what about Lindy? I mean the way she talks, and sometimes ..." Brys trailed off. Dreen didn't exactly look angry, but -.

Gali was trying not to laugh. Laughing would definitely be a mistake with Dreen looking millimeters from the end of his tether. It looked like it was a good idea to bail him out.

"Brys, Lindy is a natural born flirt, and no one will change her. I'm quite sure when she is very ancient and in a nursing home, she will flirt with the thirty year old doctors, and they will love it. You're focusing on the wrong word, Brys. Focus on harassment. That means giving someone a bad time or putting them down. Something like Lindy's flirting is okay, since most of us get a kick out of it. And she has good instincts on who is easily offended and leaves them alone. Besides," Gali concluded, "Lindy is harmless."

"Harmless?"

"She isn't seriously interested in any of us, Brys, or out to embarrass us. She's just having fun. And, if any of the guys decided to call her bluff, she'd probably set a speed record for running."

Brys took her time considering this. "Oh." The frown was still there. Life was too complicated

"For that matter Brys, there's nothing wrong with office romances either, as long as the partners are mature enough to not let it get in the way of their work. Now," Gali looked at Dreen, "if you don't need me?"

"Go ahead, and thanks Gali."

Gali nodded and left. It was looking like a long night.

"All right Brys, it's getting late and we'll have Lindy do this in detail, but I think I had better give you the quick version of what Joran called the corporate facts of life."

He didn't ask if she had or hadn't received an explanation early on. If she had, she had obviously been too overwhelmed to focus. Dreen touched on money first since he was pretty sure that did interest her, starting with explaining that damned bonus, the general philosophy on bonuses, her options on overtime, her pension and its portability. Then he explained their health package, and how it worked on various worlds, and that wherever she was, she could always be flown back to Tranus at her request if she hit a health problem. He touched on the financial and job related side of disability. Finally, he said that since she was within three or four years of the age a lot of their women started families, she should know about their parental policy since it was nonstandard.

"Of course we have to respect the laws of each planet we have hubs on, but a lot just require you to give leave. Most of our women don't like that because they want to keep their skills up, not have to retrain. So where we can, we've negotiated the right to set up a home office if the parent asks - both the father and mother get equal leave Brys - and they work the hours they feel like.

"Once the baby is born, it usually sets the hours by its sleep patterns. If working at home is working out well, we don't argue if they want to keep it up until the child is school age. Or, if the parents prefer and the world leans that way, we support day care. For that matter several hubs have their own daycare centers. At one the staff is eighty percent female with a median age of twenty-eight."

Brys thought of when she was young, and how her mother and aunt always worked different shifts so they could take each other's kids. And when you were too far along in a pregnancy to do your work, you lost your job. You did if you got hurt, or seriously sick too. Then the family had to try to take care of you and pay the medical bills. Like with her uncle. He was still only managing to pick up the odd bit of light work the way his shoulder was.

Dreen said gently, watching her face, "I take it that isn't how it was on Ennup 10."

Brys shook her head. "There isn't any of that stuff. You do your work and get hourly rate, or if it's a factory, piece rate. That's it. Except," she added wistfully, "a few years before I left two new companies owned off-planet came into my city. One is a clothes manufacturer, one machine parts. Their benefits are nothing like you just told me about Nemizcan Computing, but they have medical benefits, and pensions, and they pay high rates - for only eight-hour shifts too. One has a cafeteria at the factory and the food is actually good, and cheap too. But," she sighed, "you're more likely to win the lottery than get a job there. If there's a single job to be had, there's a line ten blocks long."

It was as good an opening as he was likely to get. Dreen decided to gamble. He wrote two names on his compad and slid it to Brys. "Are these the companies?"

"How - how do you know?" Brys stared.

"Bojo is the off-worlder who owns them."

"That -" she made the hissing sound.

Dreen eyed her sternly, suppressing amusement. "I'm told you shouldn't use that language."

"It's true!"

"Even if he owns those factories, Brys?"

Brys hesitated, uncertain. She was used to physical, not mental exhaustion. She felt disoriented, and rather shivery. She shouldn't have left her sweater on her chair.

She retreated to certain ground. "I'm not working for him." Her chin went up.

"I gathered that," Dreen said dryly. "No one is making you. But I promised Bojo to relay a message. You'll do me the courtesy of listening. After that it's up to you."

Dreen looked singularly uncompromising and Brys subsided.

"Thank you. First, Bojo is sorry he upset you like that, but -" He didn't get to finish.

"I thought he was nice and he was laughing at me!"

Joran's assessment was a lot more accurate than Bojo's, Dreen decided. Give her a week, maybe two, but even then he wouldn't guarantee she'd be talking to Bojo.

Giving Brys another quelling look Dreen continued, "But he had to be sure of your political orientation." Then as Brys looked confused, "I understand that in your class on Ennup 10 a lot simply want to get through life. They're afraid of what I expect you would call trouble making."

Dreen paused, searching for words. Bojo hadn't been specific on this score. He just wanted Brys calmed down enough to talk to her himself later, but Dreen hadn't the slightest intention of doing things that way. He was getting way too tired of tonight.

"If you were like that Brys, it would have been a real problem for him." He paused, giving Brys time to think. She obviously was, he knew that look.

After the way he treated her, Brys was not particularly inclined to believe a thing Bojo had told Dreen. But suppose it was true, he owned those factories. Then maybe he wasn't the monster she thought. She had thought he was nice when they were just talking, like when he told her she could put things in the hotel fridge. Whoever owned those companies was being nice, nicer than they had to be. No one else on Ennup 10 spent money on employees like that. And if he did own those factories, that was very interesting. Two of her father's friends worked in those factories, and ever since they were hired there was extra money available for things she wasn't supposed to know about, anti-government activities.

Brys said with typical bluntness, "What would be a problem for him?"

Either they were trusting Brys, or they weren't. "He's supporting anti-government activities Brys."

"Why?"

Dreen considered. "I can't honestly say it's because he's an idealist. I think what really matters to him is his music. But I think when he got his face smashed up in a protest there, he started thinking. Initially he may well have just been out to get even. Now I get the impression he's heard enough bad things about lower class life that he really cares."

"His face?"

"He was just out for walk. He got caught in a riot. It was pretty brutal."

For once Brys did try to pick her words carefully. Dreen obviously cared about his friend. "I think maybe your friend is exaggerating." She tried to remember Bojo's face. "Maybe he was in a riot, and maybe before they recognized him he got a little hurt. But I don't think much happened." She thought of her uncle.

"It was enough that Joran had to have him flown off planet to a special clinic, and he spent eight months there while they put him back together. For six of those months they thought he'd never play again."

"But he looks fine," Brys protested, although she knew Dreen wouldn't lie about that. "Not like some of my father's friends."

Dreen said gently, "He was lucky Brys. He had the best doctors in the galaxy. I think that's part of it. Once he got over being angry this happened to him, he started to think about the fact the same thing could have happened and there could have been no help."

He let it go at that. He didn't think Brys could handle any more pushing this night.

"All Bojo asked me to do was apologize, and give you permission to check out his owning those companies on the web." He smiled. "That's why I said no 'unauthorized' hacking. You are authorized to do this. There are the standard hyperweb sites for shareholders for those companies, but he doesn't expect you to believe them, or him. So he says you're welcome to root through their internal stuff if you want to go to the trouble of breaking in. He said the security is nothing special since the companies aren't important to anyone."

"Oh." Brys was now thoroughly confused. That sounded so much like the way he had talked in the lobby, when she had decided she liked him.

Fortunately Dreen hadn't been looking for an answer. He was pursuing his own uncertain line of thought.

"Look Brys, that was all I was supposed to do. Bojo wanted to talk to you himself. But to be honest, I don't think either of us needs that stress - wondering what comes next. So I'm going to tell you what he asked us to do. And," he said hastily before she got prickly again, "you don't have to get involved. I'll tell you right now though, that both Gali and I have already agreed to help. But, and please," he looked at her beseechingly, "don't be insulted. I have to have your assurance that you won't talk to anyone. What I say stops here. That applies to the part about Bojo financing anti-government activities too."

Brys wasn't offended. She knew the need for secrecy more than Dreen did. Curiosity surfaced though, as she hadn't realized Dreen and Gali were already involved. She nodded solemnly.

"What he wants us to do is essentially come up with some electronic processing - digital sequences - that can be hidden behind the music on certain albums that will make surveillance more difficult. He was hoping we could come up with something that could literally blow monitoring equipment, but Gali isn't sure it can be done. I've only had a few hours to think about it - I'm pretty sure we can make eavesdropping more miserable anyways."

Brys nodded, trying to focus, but she was feeling a little peculiar.

Dreen took the silence as encouragement. "So, I'm not pushing you to help, but will you at least look at those sites Bojo asked you to? You'd better come around here and use my terminal. I don't want Evrit curious."

Obediently Brys rose, and abruptly sat down again. Her teeth were chattering and she rubbed her arms.

"Brys, are you all right?" That was a stupid question. She was shaking like the proverbial leaf. Dreen was at the door in three steps. "Gali!"

"What is it?" Gali couldn't imagine what was left to go wrong.

"Brys is sick."

*****

Chapter 19

Brys was shivering again, holding her arms.

"Brys, Gali will see you to your room, and call the hotel doctor -"

"No! He can't do that, not in the middle of the night. I'm not sick. I'm just kind of cold and -" She had to stop. She was shaking too hard.

Brys watched as Dreen and Gali exchanged looks. Dreen's expression was simply alarmed, Gali had a kind of puzzled frown. At any rate, they couldn't force her to see a doctor, could they?

Gali said, "I'll get your sweater and a hot drink Brys." Then to Dreen, "Pity we haven't alcohol here."

At least he could fix that. While Gali headed for Brys' sweater Dreen contacted room service. "Dreen Pendi here. One of us has had a bit of a shock and is feelings shaky. Could you send up some strong coffee with a suitable liqueur." He wished he remembered what Joran had poured into him. "And a bowl of the soup of the day." That was hot.

"Right away."

Gali was back. Brys relaxed a little as he wrapped her comfortable baggy pilled beige sweater around her and handed her a cup of tea. She took a grateful sip, but when he offered her a muffin as well, Brys shook her head. There was no way she could get it down. Gali still had that puzzled frown, and was making soothing 'you've had a bad night' noises, but she didn't even try to listen. It was too hard.

The hot tea was helping a little. Brys said, "Thank you." She tried to say 'I'll be fine now', but she started shaking again and almost spilt the tea.

There was something about her face. Gali said tentatively, "Brys, have you been eating?" His oldest girl, Gia, had pulled a stunt like this just before they left for Gingezel, trying a starvation diet then thinking she could go bicycling. And when they were young, Keya had overdone the slimming a couple times and then had tried to work too hard.

"We had meat things in the lounge." That came out better. She put the tea down and let Gali help her get her arms into the sweater.

Girls. "I don't mean appetizers," Gali was stern, "I mean a nice solid protein and carbohydrate and vegetable meal. One you sat down to eat. Not grabbing a sandwich here."

At Nemizcan Head Office there were both the in-building cafe and the restaurant as well as cater units, but here Dreen had decided they would use the hotel facilities. Only now that he thought about it Gali could rarely remember seeing Brys in one.

"Not today." Or was the daylight interval yesterday now? Probably yesterday, and yesterday seemed a long time ago.

"When?"

"I've only been careful this week."

"This week!" Gali was shocked. He turned to Dreen. "I think between the stress and over-dieting Brys -"

She was compelled to defend herself. "It's not a diet. I had to buy shoes. And I've been careful before."

"And not had a night like this," Gali said dryly. He turned to Dreen. "Before we insist on a doctor, let's try a solid meal. It's almost time for a break anyways. For tonight, do you think a room service meal all around is a good idea?"

Dreen nodded.

Gali continued, "We can use the time to discuss your going -" But Dreen was shaking his head. So Dreen hadn't told her he was leaving yet. "What we're going to do next with that hacker," Gali amended. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll get Evrit's choice and call room service."

It was a good idea. He might not have another chance to eat before he hit the Allegro, and Dreen didn't eat much when he was weightless, he wasn't good at it. Joran had warned him that the Allegro crew decided to disable artificial gravity and fly weightless every now and again to pretend they were back on the race circuit. The way things were going, no doubt his whole trip would be weightless. "A steak, medium rare, potatoes, a salad."

"Brys?"

"I don't think -" She wasn't sure she could face that kind of food. Dreen's sounded horrible.

"Well, I'm having chicken something and rice." Gali looked at Brys. "If you haven't been eating, you don't have to eat much, but you'll try a few bites of everything." It was the tone he used frequently when he talked to his daughters. "Now, you will have a salad with the meal and fruit for dessert. Your electrolytes must be terrible."

The door buzzer sounded. Dreen said, "I'll get it."

"And what protein?"

It all sounded terrible. "Chicken I suppose." That was what they had back at home on Ennup 10 if they ate meat.

"Carbohydrate?"

"Rice." Then Brys added wistfully, "In that lounge there was the nicest hot sauce. Do you suppose that I could have some more?" It might help get food down.

Gali was studying her again. She looked likely to toss up the meal and she wanted hot sauce? She'd looked at the nice bland muffin like it was poisoned. Gali wished he knew more about Ennup 10. He hazarded a guess.

"Brys when you were at home - I mean Ennup 10 \- was the food all hot?"

She nodded. There was some flavor to the dishes there. Here it all tasted like dust.

Gali and Keya had always spent a lot of their weekends cooking, and a few years ago they had done some experimenting with hotter foods. Thinking about Brys' near poverty upbringing he hazarded another guess. "Brys are you used to a vegetarian diet - rice and a legume - beans, lentils, whatever?"

Brys nodded again. The shivers were back and she didn't want to talk. Through the glass wall of the office she saw one of the men working customer support leave his booth and head for the toilets. He looked unreal, and very far away.

"Well, I'll see what I can do."

She was going to tell Gali that the room service didn't have anything at all she was used to, but Dreen was coming in followed by the man from room service, and Gali left. With embarrassing solicitude the man showed her the tray.

When he left Dreen said awkwardly, "If you've been starving yourself, you'd better eat some soup first." He'd checked the miniature liqueur bottle. It was the stuff Joran had poured in him, and that stuff really hit you. "That liqueur could hit you the wrong way on an empty stomach."

Dreen was starting to be mortified that Brys found her per diem so tight she wasn't eating properly. He never thought about things like that. He had just assumed accounting came up with something reasonable for Gingezel, but maybe they hadn't properly allowed for the extremely high costs in Crescent Bay. He'd have to check. Add one more item to what was becoming an infinite To Do List.

Brys dutifully picked up the spoon. She had been worried she would end up with one of the creamy soups they liked here, but it was a dark broth with tomato and assorted things floating in it. She wasn't interested in what they were. The soup was physically hot and seasoned enough to go down.

When she got about a third of a bowl down, Dreen ventured tentatively, "Brys?" He didn't know if he should be talking, but there was one more thing she had to get through her head before her ideas were irrevocably set.

"Yes?" Brys picked up the coffee and took a tentative sip. She usually avoided liqueurs.

"There's one more site you have to look at."

"Oh?" She was only mildly curious.

"Gali and I wouldn't violate copyright on music. The albums we'll change were written by Bojo and Joran."

"Really?" She was more interested now. Absentmindedly she took another sip of coffee. "The steel band has made recordings and has a web site?"

She loved listening to the band, and it was easier now that they had shifted to night performances. Even before that though, sometimes she had gotten up early at noon just to hear them.

"Not exactly." Dreen wondered how much more she was up to. "Do you know The Anton Band?"

Brys smiled. They were her favorite band. She had even started a collection of their music when she was back on Tranus and had three of their albums now.

"They're really good, especially the experimental pieces."

Dreen could argue that, but the attitude certainly helped since the experimental albums were the ones to be altered.

"Well, Joran and Bojo -"

There was a call tone. Automatically he activated the communication center.

A small framed, dark haired young man said, "This is room service. Is there a Brys at this unit?"

"Yes," she answered and Dreen arranged for her to be seen.

"I understand that first off you don't feel good, and on top of that you don't think much of our food." The young man smiled.

What in the galaxy had Gali said? "Oh no, your food is very nice," Brys stammered.

"Not if you like hot," the young man said cheerfully.

The open admiration on the young man's face went right past Brys. On a different night, Dreen might have been amused by that. As it was he winced. The young woman was becoming a hazard. While Brys and the young chef were going over the contents of a large platter where he'd put samples of peppers, spices, beans, peas, lentils, and rices Dreen tried to figure out how to at least partially retrieve the night. He decided with resignation that if they got anywhere on getting the hyperweb back up, it would be thanks to Evrit docilely plodding away.

Still, he knew he couldn't face himself in the morning if he didn't help Bojo, and by what Bojo said, it was urgent. And he still had to break it to Brys and Evrit he would be off the project for a few weeks at least. Evrit wouldn't be a problem, he accepted every and anything. But right now Dreen wasn't laying odds on Brys. And he still had no idea of how to tell her about the Anton connection.

Brys and the chef were finishing.

The young man announced, "This should be more fun than the usual middle of night shift. I'll do a large batch and stock-up your cater unit." He disconnected.

Brys started to rise, but Dreen stopped her. "If you're feeling up to checking out those sites, stay there and use the terminal you're at."

Brys nodded. She was feeling a bit better. "And weren't you going to give me the reference to the steel band's site?" If they had a name she'd never learned it.

"Yes," Dreen hesitated. "No, not exactly. The steel band doesn't have a site. I was going to give you Joran and Bojo's." Brys was waiting politely. "You probably weren't listening when I gave Joran's full name, Joran Lantonnel. He took his stage name from part of his last name. You want the Anton site. Joran is Anton, and Bojo is Mrail."

He watched Brys warily. Why in the galaxy did she have to be the one employee who seemed totally unaware of the Anton connection? The problem with all the rest was getting them to not gossip. No, he took that back. Evrit probably didn't know either. He tended to be more out of things than Brys, but at least Evrit wasn't his problem right now.

Brys seemed to be taking this very well. No pallor, no shaking, no tears. By the look on her face he'd say she was simply trying to figure out how to politely suggest that either her employer or his friends were major league liars.

Smiling, Dreen said, "That's one too many for tonight, is it? All the same Brys, it's true. Why don't you go to the site and look at some photos?"

But Brys knew the site inside out and she was mentally trying to reconcile Joran with the on stage photos of Anton. They were both blacks, tall, and slender. What else could you say with all the makeup? Then she tried to match the Bojo who had been sitting talking to her first in the lobby then later in the lounge with the blond man in the jumpsuit and the demonic mask. It didn't work.

"I - I don't think it would help. I know the site."

Dreen was thinking. "And I doubt there are any documents behind the site that have their real names. AntonCorp is private so they don't have to post corporate structures for shareholder's reports. If they did you'd find Joran is President, and Bojo is one of the vice presidents."

AntonCorp might be private, but it moved a lot of money around the web. Brys, always curious about money, had seen some of the transactions. Trying to reconcile Joran and Bojo in their scruffy clothes to executives in AntonCorp was even harder than imagining them all glittery on stage.

Dreen continued, "I don't think the site has business things - at least it sure doesn't if Joran listened to me. When he set it up I said he'd be such a choice target for hackers that he'd better totally isolate his business."

Brys nodded, "All the software behind the site is just to maintain the site - provide the publicity photos, sound, that sort of thing." She smiled. "It's probably the most fun site on the hyperweb though to hack."

"Fun?" She'd lost him.

"MmmHmm. Whoever set it up put lots of stuff in it for hackers to find. There's things like 'congratulations' when you get to difficult spots, and I remember for a while if you you tried to access the files for one set of images, there was a video of Anton on his knees saying 'Please don't! If it's all the same to you, please change something else. These images are brand new and cost a fortune.' There are lots of silly pictures of the band too, clowning around before shows and such. They used to change regularly, and I've heard that you could even win tickets if you were from the planet they were performing on at the time. They went to so much trouble - you kind of hated to wreck things."

That wasn't a bad idea, and it sounded like the sort of stunt Joran would pull.

The same thought crossed Brys' mind, thinking of the sort of smart mouthed things he said.

She said cautiously, "I suppose -"

But Dreen was following his own line of thought. That talk about pictures of the band clowning around had given him an idea.

He said, "Don't push yourself Brys. You've had a rough enough time. I think I know what will work." Rummaging in the memory pac storage section of his waist pouch Dreen extracted several pacs.

"Five or six years ago, no, maybe it was a little longer I went through a stage where I thought I was quite the holographer." Dreen gave a self deprecating smile. "I'm sure before the novelty of the idea wore off, my friends got pretty tired of it, but I carry some of the images around when I travel. I think," he was sorting memory pacs, "I have some here from the first concert Bojo was in after his accident. Joran flew me in, and a lot of Bojo's other friends - moral support kind of stuff."

Having found what he was looking for, Dreen reached past Brys to put the pac in the terminal and selected the section of images he wanted.

"I got a lot of images of the band setting up, and later at the house party."

And there they were, a younger version of the steel band looking as disreputable as they usually did, getting out of a bus inside some arena. Brys thought she saw Bojo at the back, but she couldn't be sure. Then there was an image of them still in T-shirts on a stage that was definitely set up for an Anton concert, checking their instruments. Then there were several images in a dressing room with Joran sitting in front of the mirror, stripped to the waist, being painted up by some young man. The best was one of him half made up, talking to someone beyond the door.

Finally, just when Brys was starting to wonder why there were no pictures with Bojo in them, there was one of everyone all made-up and standing around the blond with the demon's face paint. Joran/Anton had his arm around the man's shoulders. Brys supposed if she was accepting the fact of Joran was Anton she might as well accept that Mrail was Bojo.

She said, "I'm sorry, it's just ..." She wasn't sure how to finish.

"Hard to reconcile the guys in Ts with their stage look? Don't apologize, there just aren't out of costume images of the band around. Joran is a privacy freak. He doesn't have security let anyone anywhere near the place until they're all made up and after a concert they cleanup their faces at the hotels. Hardly anyone in the galaxy knows who Anton really is. And Paulo, the one band member who was famous before he joined the band, likes Joran and keeps everyone guessing about who else is in the band."

At least, I think he likes Joran, Dreen amended mentally. Paulo was the instigator of the band walking out. Dreen could never decide if that was an act of love or hate.

"What I can't figure out is how you're just about the only one in the company who doesn't know - and gossip - about Anton."

Brys didn't know how to say that except for Lindy no one talked to her beyond work, other than to say hello and wasn't the weather great or terrible. She could never figure out what to say to them either.

Dreen however considered the question rhetorical. He was continuing, "By the way Brys, talking about the fact the guys are the Anton Band is one of the sure ways to get in real trouble with me. They're my friends, and Joran in particular goes way back. I won't have them pointed at and whispered about when they're around me, and I definitely won't tolerate word going outside the company. They need a place they can come and go from, and just be people."

Brys nodded. She could understand wanting to feel normal. Besides, who would she talk to?

Dreen turned his attention back to the screen. "Bojo was real camera shy that round, but I did accidentally get a picture of him the next day at the house. I was trying to get Maillie." Dreen was calling up another set of images. "And he turned around just as I was taking the hologram. I suppose I should have erased it - he hates full face photos - but it was such a perfect one of Maillie."

Brys studied the image. There was a group of people sitting at the side of a pool. Joran was in the pool hanging on the edge and talking to a woman. She wasn't exactly pretty, but she looked very quiet, and kind, and happy.

"Is that Maillie?"

Dreen nodded.

"Who is she?"

"She was Joran's wife. She died three years ago."

Brys knew his wife had died, and he'd left a concert when he got word. Now she stared at the woman. "She looks very kind."

"She was. She was good for Joran, put up with his antics and schemes."

"I can imagine why he misses her so." Brys braved a question. "I don't suppose you know where he went then, when she died? That is," she added, "if it's all right to ask."

"It's all right," Dreen's voice was resigned. "He went where he goes every time he has a problem. My condo." He was imagining Joran moving in again after the upcoming concert.

"Oh."

Brys rather wished she hadn't asked. Dreen didn't look too happy about it. She changed her attention to the screen and to Bojo. He was at the rear of the photo, off to the side, and there was no doubt it was Bojo. The sun had caught him full face, and the wasted flesh on one side was red and angry looking. The worst was around the eye, and the eye was looking in a random direction. Brys winced involuntarily.

"It was that bad after so much doctoring?"

Dreen nodded. He'd forgotten himself how bad the mess had been.

"It's healed up well."

"Yes, I suppose it has. At the time he was upset enough about his appearance he didn't want to ever go on stage again. He just wanted to write, and to do instrumentals on recordings. Joran thought that was stupid. They had one hell of a fight. Bojo said he didn't need that, and took off."

"To your apartment?" Brys ventured with a hint of a smile.

That was more like Brys. Dreen's smiled back, "No. To Lindy's."

"To Lindy's?"

Dreen almost said 'she collects strays' then remembered her campaign to be nice to Brys.

Instead he said, "That gives you something in common. I think he figured if anyone could keep Joran off his back, it would be Lindy. She and Joran get along fine, but she's one of the few people who really tells him off. Anyway," he shrugged, "somehow she mediated and Bojo ended up back onstage with the makeup so weird no one would know what's underneath. I have no idea what he thought, or thinks of it." And, he added to himself, I think this is all I can do for Bojo.

"Look up what you have to on the hyperweb to satisfy yourself about Bojo and Joran, then lets get some work done," Dreen concluded.

Brys nodded, and as Dreen left, she wondered how loose an interpretation she could take of 'Look up what you have to, to satisfy yourself.' Now that she knew their names, there were a few other sites she would like to check out.

*****

Chapter 20

Kim Loderson yawned and stretched, causing the Anton blue thermal pajamas to mold themselves to her long slim form. She pushed her pale blonde hair out of her oval face and checked what had happened on the Genie during her sleep cycle. She always did this first thing, before she even dressed. The flight was routine. She sighed. They always were. She told herself, as she had for two years, that a few more months of this and she would start thinking that going back to the racing circuit looked good.

The thought of the racing circuit brought a frown to her pretty, gentle, sleepy face. She hadn't had a chance to call Arn before the new assignment had come through. Calling Arn was always tricky. It was better to just run into him, or better still, to seem to just run into him. Then he was glad to see her. But if she showed any interest, and she was interested - oh was she interested - he ran for cover.

Kim had never decided if this was because he was still sore about their racing years. After all, she'd won eight out of ten times when they raced against each other. No one had passed her three-year aggregate either, and none of those wins were luck. Arn accused her of being devious. Well, if learning the mental makeup of your competitors and using that against them was devious, Kim supposed she was. But it was ridiculous not to. Take Arn. His style was straightforward and he counted on his reflexes to win. Jon always took risks, even if he didn't need to. And Eli - Kim could list the styles of all of the old racers and how to use their styles against them to win.

Or, maybe Arn just ran because his divorce with Kara Dellmaice had him terrified of commitment. Kim preferred to think the latter, but she wasn't quite sure, so she was cautious.

It was the pink uniform's turn. Kim pulled off her pajamas and slid into the skintight chief pilots' SecondSkin. A touch of matching blusher and lipstick, and that was all there was to it. That was all there ever was to it. Boring. Oh well, at least this run was to a part of the galaxy she'd never been to. The Farr sector was not well charted either. Maybe they'd run into problems at that end of the run. Cheered by that thought, Kim decided breakfast, the meal she always ate at the end of a sleep cycle whenever that was galactic standard time, was in order.

With her hand millimeters from the door contact, Kim turned back to her terminal. She had better check on her passenger. Using her chief pilot privileges, Kim accessed the restricted data. No metabolic irregularities were recorded by the room sensors, but very little sleep was recorded either. That brought the frown back. Kim accessed the cater unit use records. Mitra was hardly eating, just sipping a bit of juice and drinking a lot of stimulant loaded beverages. Not good.

As a former race pilot, where her life had hung on split second judgment and reflexes, Kim was intensely aware of how far the human body could be pushed without degraded performance. Mitra obviously had some disaster waiting for her on this planet Drezvir, but she was doing herself no favors by arriving there a wreck.

***

Mitra rubbed her dry scratchy eyes as if that would improve their ability to focus on the screen in front of her. It didn't. It didn't improve her mental focus either. She was looking at a part of the hybrid reactor that had given her and Elin a lot of worry. There were necessary support structures that impeded coolant flow. They couldn't be moved. The coolant channel couldn't be moved either. But the flow slowed there, and there was some turbulence induced.

She and Elin had run simulation after simulation to estimate the energy transfers in that area. And there had been a lot of models built and tested in the thermohydraulics lab. Then Elin had modeled various ways to arrange the sensors to pick up any problems. Then they had tried the best looking sensor configurations in the thermohydraulic mockup. Then Mitra had redone the energy calculations, then ... It had been a seemingly endless loop.

But what if they had been wrong somehow? Computer simulations and models weren't the real thing no matter how sophisticated they were. But surely the most that would happen would be a localized overpower with possible damage to the supports and that piece might sag. But that would mean ... Mitra lost focus and rubbed her eyes again and reached for her tea, not even noticing it was cold. That couldn't lead to a gross overpower of the sort they saw. A localized overpower and a trip on those downstream rate of rise sensors, and one hell of an expensive rebuild. But surely not gross overpower and an external pressure tube shearing. But there had been shearing. But -

The muted tone of the entry chime startled her out of this downward spiral. With an exhausted arm she reached for the contact. "Yes?"

"Mitra? It's Kim." Kim hesitated, wanting to see Mitra but not wanting to intrude. Words weren't Kim's strong point, and she hadn't had time to come up with any good ones in a few steps down the hall.

Kim, her pilot. Mitra pressed the open contact and tried to put a welcoming smile on her face. "Hello Kim."

They'd said hello to each other when Mitra boarded the Genie, but she hadn't been paying much attention. Now she saw a tall, slender blond with gleaming mid length hair. She was wearing a tight fitting rose pink SecondSkin with the pilots insignia on her shoulder, and the touches of lipstick and blusher on a rather sleepy looking face were the same shade.

"What can I do for you?"

"I -" Kim yawned. "Oh bother! I'm useless until I have breakfast." She hesitated again. "Would you join me?"

Mitra hesitated in turn, wanting to finish looking at this section of the reactor all in one go. But Kim was running the ship and she didn't want to offend her.

Kim stood there watching her. This was her first good look at her passenger. Mitra was tiny - there was nothing to her and the navy robe she had wrapped tightly around her made it look like you could circle her waist with your hands. She might well be bright and cheerful at her best, but right now she was drawn and pale, her hair was stringy, and there were dark smudges under bleary looking bloodshot eyes. That decided Kim.

"I would like you to have breakfast with me." It was firm this time.

Mitra didn't even try to argue. She just halfheartedly tried to remember where her bag and comb might be. There weren't many places, but she couldn't see the bag. So she didn't try there either. She just ran a hand through her hair, pushing it off her face, and rose.

"Thank you Kim." At least the automatic social amenities were working.

***

"So, have you been on a Genie before?" Kim asked. The question wasn't an insult even to very rich people. Most people hadn't been.

Mitra shook her head. She was sucking some sort of space glop Kim had put in front of her without asking. It wasn't bad. There was a nice berry flavor to it.

Kim took a long sip of her own. The cater unit stocked planet-type food as well, but she was used to space rations from her racing days and preferred them. Like many Genie racers she had never used her ship's pseudo-gravity. It took energy that she might want for something else. And she could never manage the art of eating loose food in zero gravity. She always ended up with crumbs and droplets floating around until the ventilation system eventually filtered them out or they ended up somewhere they shouldn't be. So she stuck to space glop she could suck out of the bag.

"Then I'll show you around after my shift." Kim gave a tentative smile. "The engineer's tour? Not the 'what decorator did all these fittings' tour." She waved a hand at the luxurious if small living area.

"Thanks." Mitra nodded, too tired to even wonder how Kim knew she was an engineer. She'd never have another chance to be on a Genie.

Well, that didn't go anywhere. Kim shifted to a carbo pouch. They were salty and she preferred them to the sweet breakfast ones. Maybe she should just be blunt. She mentally reviewed what she had inferred about her passenger. Mitra was from Dellmaice Power Systems. She was important. That made her some sort of senior engineer most likely. There was no reason to fly an administrator out to the Farr sector in a hurry. And she was worried. And she'd just stuffed the ship with food. Maybe that was the lead.

Kim swallowed, took another drink of fruit and protein blend, then said, "You know, you have so much food loaded onto this baby I was afraid the moments of inertia would be off. I reran all the simulations, then because I've never trusted my life to a simulation yet, we did some pretty fancy maneuvers before the first hyperspatial jump."

To Kim's consternation, Mitra paled even more than she already was. "I'm sorry. Are you a white knuckle flyer? Everything is fine. This baby is a smidge more sluggish but it's only affecting the third decimal place or so in a couple directions of spin, and that's been compensated for."

Mitra was staring at the table, unable to speak. She knew Kim was trying to be kind, but the words 'I've never trust trusted my life to a simulation yet' ran through her mind again and again. The tears started coming.

"Mitra," Kim asked in real alarm, "what is wrong? I mean, I know there's some kind of problem or you wouldn't be taking a Genie to the Farr sector, but it can't be that bad."

"Can't it?" Mitra found her voice, and it was bitter. She forced herself to say, "A reactor I designed blew up. People were killed."

"In the explosion, or from the power outage?" Kim asked practically.

Mitra stared. "What's the difference?"

"None to the poor people," Kim said gently. "But there is a big difference to you. If it was the power outage, a lightning strike in a good thunderstorm could do the same thing."

Mitra looked like she was thinking this out, so Kim left her to it for a while.

Mitra was. She was remembering the terrible storms on Drezvir, and the power outages, and the fact the miners never did anything risky during them just for that reason. Too bad there had been no warning of the accident.

When it looked like Mitra was withdrawing again, Kim said, "So do you have a clue what went wrong?"

Kim assumed not. She assumed that was what Mitra had been doing for all those hours, reviewing and re-reviewing plans, trying to second-guess herself. "I mean - I suppose it might break rules or something - but I can listen for a bit off shift. That would be something interesting to do for a change." She yawned, "I mean I don't sleep all of it, just most of it."

Mitra stared. There was no shock, no censure. All Kim looked, besides being alarmingly sleepy for someone who would be piloting a Genie in a few minutes, was interested.

Kim couldn't help it. She giggled at the look on Mitra's face. "I'm not useless you know. I was in engineering physics, trying to decide what to do and taking some energy system courses and some materials science and such when Genies came out. And that was it." A dreamy look came over her face. "I shifted directions and took the astrophysics I needed, and got my pilot's license."

The rest was history. She took another swallow then added as an afterthought, "Kind of like Kara."

Kim said it like the name should mean something. Mitra didn't try very hard to remember if she should know the name Kara from the Genie racing circuit. It was easier to ask.

"Should I know who Kara is?" She was probably some hot new racer she'd never heard of being isolated on Drezvir. Hell. Those tears were threatening again.

"I thought you might have met her some time or other," Kim said. "She's Ari Dellmaice's sister."

That shocked Mitra into focusing. "Ari has a sister who's a Genie pilot?"

"She doesn't race," Kim said, distancing herself and making herself superior to that bitch Arn was married to. "But yes, she has her pilot's license. Kara is a propulsion systems engineer. She's done the systems for most of the Genies flying, including this one." She was watching Mitra. With the touch of animation she was almost pretty. "You really don't know Kara?"

"I didn't even know Ari had a sister." Mitra had trouble enough reconciling him with a wife and children even though she'd met Naura. Imagining him as a boy in a family setting was beyond her. "What's she like?"

"Tall. Dark hair, olive complexion. I suppose good-looking if you like the type." This was said in a disparaging tone. "As for being an engineer, she's the best. Driven. Half talent, half killing herself working. And," Kim added as an afterthought, "she has a terrible temper."

Mitra actually smiled, something she'd been sure she'd never do again. "That sounds like Ari's sister all right." Mitra yawned. "Those yawns of yours are contagious."

"Why don't you let yourself have a nap before you go back to reviewing the design?" Kim suggested.

*****

Chapter 21

"This is ridiculous," Evrit announced to the universe in general and no one in particular. He pushed himself out of his seat and headed for the cater unit rubbing his too close set eyes. It was 6:20 AM, and they had worked half of the night finally getting the system up and it had remained up for exactly forty six minutes. He was tired, and stiff, and needed to move. His blondish hair was rumpled and his narrow face showed fatigue.

It was a different problem this time. Brys said the hacker had obviously set himself a list of different ways he intended to fail the system, or 'trophies' to collect and was working his way through the list.

Brys and Gali were engaged in what was becoming a heated argument over a suggestion he had made on their approach to make dodging a trace impossible. They never even noticed him. Evrit gave them a dirty look. For someone who was supposed to have been sick earlier, Brys was sure fine now, and she'd eaten enough for two at supper.

That was rather nice, Dr. Pendi having a full supper like that brought in for them before he left. Evrit still wasn't sure what he thought of his leaving though. Obviously he had to if Mr. Turpene was that ill, but it certainly was rough luck on the timing side with the hacker now so aggressive.

Dreen watched the retreating back with a spark of interest. He was working with Evrit to figure out exactly what the hacker had done this time, which was essentially corruption of some key files Dreen would have sworn were inaccessible. Evrit had simply left and clearly said 'this is ridiculous.' Not 'I need a break', 'I'm tired', or even 'I'm sick of this', but 'this is ridiculous'. It was the first time in more than two years he'd worked with the young man that he'd heard a response that wasn't essentially a variation on 'yes sir'.

Evrit was a disappointment to Dreen's mind. He was intelligent, courteous, and capable. He had a memory Dreen suspected could be trained to surpass Gali's. He was disciplined, he was organized. What you gave him to do was well done and on time. But that was it. There was no sign he was creative or prepared to take the initiative, and if it wasn't showing up at his age it wouldn't. The problem should be cockiness and a lack of judgment, not this flatness.

Dreen was coming to accept that he had gone to a lot of trouble and expense in the form of agreements to help fund a co-op program at the university where Evrit had been enrolled, and where his current employment was being credited towards his degree, for a drone. He would always do impeccable work and would never harm the Nemizcan reputation for quality. He would also never once enhance its reputation for innovation. Dreen couldn't fault Evrit. He'd let his ego get in the way. He thought the test he posted was so clever you'd have to be creative to break it. Dreen had decided quite some time ago he'd been wrong.

Dreen studied the retreating back. Upset. Definitely upset. That was rare too, except when Brys was snipping at him. It was worth a try.

Dreen followed Evrit and picked up a coffee for himself. "What's ridiculous?" he asked easily.

'What was ridiculous?' Evrit asked himself. The whole approach was ridiculous. The hacker was making them dance to his tune. They weren't hired to catch hackers. They were hired to make a secure system. There was a big difference. Evrit certainly hoped they did catch the hacker, and he went to prison, but that wasn't the point. Chasing him was a waste of time. Since they didn't seem to be able to make an impenetrable system - and he had to admit he had no ideas there - they should be containing the hackers, once they were in. He had very definite ideas on that.

Evrit looked at Dr. Pendi, the man he had come to Nemizcan prepared to admire and for whom the admiration had moved almost to hero worship, and said politely, "Nothing sir, I'm just tired."

It was the same polite servility that made Dreen want to shake him. But this time Dreen had seen the flash of frustration before the mask came down. He had tried every polite, supportive, nurturing way he could think of, or the various group leaders he had talked to for inspiration had suggested. Not one of them had worked, and to be honest his patience was pretty much at a record low right about now. Since he was doing everything else wrong, he might as well have a shot at it here too.

Dreen said in a voice that should have been a warning, "Let's try that again Evrit, what's ridiculous?"

"Honestly sir, nothing."

"Evrit, you just picked the dead wrong time to try that line. You're talking to me in my office. Now."

That had pretty much the same effect it had had on Brys. Evrit paled, and followed Dreen's obviously angry back, trying desperately to figure out what in the galaxy he'd done.

"Sit." It was abrupt and Dreen more or less slammed into his own seat. He took a look at the pale, startled face across from him and said quite deliberately, "Evrit, I've just about had it with you. You do what I tell you to, and that's it. You don't contribute an iota beyond that, no matter how much is going on. Right now Brys, Gali, and I are doing our damnedest to get this project back in line." He deliberately put Brys at the front of the list and had the satisfaction of seeing a slight flush replace the pallor.

"Now, you have two choices. Since you aren't contributing much to the process you can keep your mouth shut and your opinions to yourself for the duration of the project, or you can tell me just exactly what you think I'm doing that's ridiculous \- it's my project after all - and exactly how you think you'd do better since you think you're so damned smart. And I'll warn you right now, for reasons that are none of your damned business I'm in a mood where I have just about zero patience. So if you're opening your mouth, make it fast."

Dreen sat there watching Evrit and wondering if he had just spent his time training a very competent but not creative young man for his competitors, because he'd just about forced Evrit into a position where his options were to defend himself or quit.

Evrit stared at Dr. Pendi in open disbelief. Dr. Pendi was always such a gentleman, so polite. He didn't even know he could talk like that. And it was unfair. He worked hard. He worked as hard as Brys. And he was the one who had ended up taking care of the hacker because she was asleep. Didn't that count for anything? Just because she and Gali were making a big fuss about their stupid idea -.

All of sudden it all came spilling out.

Dreen quietly picked up his compad and started making notes. Evrit never even noticed. Dreen waited until Evrit was completely finished, then took a quick look at the page. Given the circumstances it had been a remarkably concise argument. There had been a few really good swipes at Brys, but that didn't bother him. It hadn't taken two months to figure out those two would never be a team. What mattered was the idea on the page.

Dreen said quietly, "You're right you know. Because Gali and Brys and I have all had our try at serious hacking, we've fallen for the temptation of trying to beat this one at his own game - prove we're better than he or she is. I wouldn't go as far as saying it's a waste of time. If we had a way to make our trace harder to dodge, I think word would go around pretty fast and that's useful as a deterrent.

"But if you have a way to make the system more robust, that's more useful still." Evrit's chin came up at the words 'more robust' and Dreen smiled, "You just got insulted right?" He slid the compad across. "Is this an accurate representation of what you want to do?"

Evrit took the compad and tried to focus. He was still coming to grips with the fact Dr. Pendi had said he was right. He hadn't realized yet that Dr. Pendi had actually focused on what he said in detail. He scanned the page quickly and shot a startled look at Dr. Pendi.

"Take your time, read it again."

Evrit did, carefully this time. Dr. Pendi had put all the ideas that had just been floating around in his head down in succinct point form, expanding with his own concepts on some points, and writing cautionary notes against others. Evrit thought about it. Yes, he supposed that's what he was saying.

"Yes, sir. I don't think I quite realized that's what some of it meant though."

That was a good sign. Evrit was taking input and not claiming false credit.

"All right, let's talk about it. If you could pull this off, your assessment that the system would be robust is right. I said more robust because even partial success would help.

"Dynamic reconfiguration in response to a hacker isn't new. You helped implement ours. Neither is containing a hacker. We try to do that. But your idea of trying to build some of the features we put into the firewall between the two hyperwebs into the containment is, and so is the way the dynamic reconfiguration is tied to this firewall construction, not the invasion. It's a good idea and you should pursue it.

"Do you have any idea how much work it would be?" Dreen had an on-the-fly guess but he was curious.

Evrit was still studying the notes with an air of slight confusion. It was what he was thinking, but it looked so different when Dr. Pendi wrote it down like that. He wanted desperately to please, but his intrinsic honesty won out.

"No sir."

"Evrit," Dreen said with more than a trace of exasperation in his voice, "Could you possibly get past this sir thing and call me Dreen? Unless," he added as an afterthought remembering the disaster with Brys, "it's some kind of serious cultural mistake on your home planet."

Evrit actually smiled. "To be honest, it is. Sir is the best compromise that I could come up with. At the University I would never call anyone by less than a full honorific. Sir is what I would use for one of our neighbors, or a friend of my parents. It's rather familiar."

"If you say so," Dreen gave up. "From my perspective, I think if everyone called me sir all day, and I was suddenly with some friend who said Dreen, I'd look around to see who he was talking to.

"Anyway, back to your idea. Try giving it a loose guess. Rank it between 'I can do this myself, no problem' and 'it's a lot of work.' "

Evrit took another look. Had he really meant to say all those things? "It's a lot of work, s-" he consciously suppressed a sir.

"Use sir. It's too awkward to pick around it." Dreen held out his hand for the compad. "I think that's about right." He looked at Evrit. "I really wish I wasn't catching a flight and spending the next couple days in hyperspace. I think the best thing to do would be to spend those days developing this with you." The quiet face was closing down again. "But Evrit, the operative word is with. This is, and stays your idea. Okay? No one in the company - me, or any of the other professionals - will claim it. Have you got that clearly through your head?" After Brys, he wasn't assuming anything.

Evrit wasn't at all sure he understood what Dr. Pendi was saying. He ventured a cautious, "No sir."

"Evrit, what do you want to have happen to this idea?"

"Sir?"

"Surely you don't want me to say thanks and give it to Brys to work on?"

Evrit flushed, but he kept his mouth shut.

"That's normal. That's called ownership. It's your idea, and to be quite candid Evrit, you'll be lucky to come up with another of that caliber in a lifetime. Not because you're stupid," or noncreative Dreen added to himself. No one noncreative could have come up with that concept. "But because most of us only have one or two good ones. So hang onto this. But at the same time I want to see it implemented and you're too inexperienced to both manage a team and do research at the same time."

Manage a team? Dr. Pendi was talking about a team working on his idea? Evrit stared.

Dreen continued, "Where you'll get the most satisfaction and the experience you need is in the research, but you can't do it all. So think about what part most interests you while I'm in hyperspace, and we'll see how to make the rest work out. Okay?"

Evrit was probably sitting there looking at his doctorate, but Dreen would have to do a little calling around before he mentioned that. There was no way he was sending that research to the university Evrit was from. In his mind he had a list of three.

"Yes sir!" There was real animation in Evrit's face now. He was finally realizing Dreen had taken him seriously and they were going to work on his idea.

"I think that takes this as far as we need to now, but can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Evrit was happy enough he forgot to be formal.

Dreen's lips twitched slightly. There might be hope for Evrit yet. "This can't be the first idea you've had. You must have at least little day-to-day ones on how things could be better or different. Why, in the galaxy, haven't you said a thing?"

"Oh." Evrit was uncomfortable.

"Oh what? Dreen prompted. "I can't believe you've been deliberately not doing your job." He realized he'd just said exactly that, but he doubted Evrit was remembering.

"But I was trying to do my job." Evrit decided on the spot where his loyalties were. It was his project Dr. Pendi was talking about, his project at Nemizcan.

"You see," Evrit continued, "before I came here the university gave me a lot of counseling on career management. They knew you were one of the high-tech firms that usually won't take anyone without an advanced degree. I didn't even have an undergraduate one, and you've never even taken one of our doctorates before."

"I see," Dreen suppressed groan. Overly helpful idiots.

But now that he was started, Evrit was happily chattering on. "And the Dean had us to supper at the Faculty Club, and he was telling my father how important the co-op program was to the university. It's the first co-op program where they can offer an off-world placement with a major firm. It will make a big difference in the caliber of people they can attract."

"They attracted you." Dreen wonder just how good Evrit would be if he ever relaxed. Gali's caliber? It was possible.

"Sir?" Evrit was lost.

"If their project program isn't great, why did you go there?" Dreen asked patiently.

Evrit would have preferred to not answer the question, but he didn't want Dr. Pendi cranky again.

"I'm the fourth child. My brother and sisters are all doing advanced degrees off planet. But all at once there were two weddings and my father had a chance to expand his business, something he's wanted to do for years, but it took a lot of reinvesting. So I went to where I could live with an uncle."

There. It was out. Evrit was from an upper-middle-class, borderline wealthy family. But that run of events had really strained them financially. A wealthy man like Dr. Pendi, with both Nemizcan and Pendi industries behind him could never understand.

*****

Chapter 22

It was totally ridiculous to feel nervous. Dreen had called him and reassured him things were fine. All the same, Bojo's stomach was in the familiar knot as he walked into the Nemizcan offices dressed in faded chinos and an open necked beige shirt. He had only tried on three pairs of pants and four shirts before settling on these.

As he entered Dreen's glass walled office, Brys looked up, smiled, and made the sounds that to Dreen sounded like a cat hissing.

Before his brain was in gear, Bojo smiled back. "Hello." He added a slightly different sound.

Brys' eyes widened in shock, then she grinned. "I asked for that, didn't I?"

"MmmHmm." Bojo sat down beside Gali where he could see Brys easily and was well away from her. He turned to Dreen, "How impossible is it?"

"Not exactly impossible, but there are some constraints I hadn't thought of. By the way, we have about twenty minutes before the support staff changes to day shift, and Wayd and the installer crew get here, and I have to leave for the spaceport. I assume you want to minimize the number of people who know you're here." Evrit had gone to sleep some time ago.

Bojo nodded. "What are the constraints?"

"Brys," Dreen deferred to her.

She took a quick look at Bojo. He looked pretty much like he had in the lobby, quite handsome really except there were dark circles like he hadn't slept much. If he was trusting her she supposed she could trust him. Still, it really went against the grain to talk to someone other than Dreen and Gali.

She said, "The problem is the playback equipment, in two ways. First," here she shot another nervous look at Bojo, "I want to be sure of something. Are the people having surveillance problems friends of yours or ..." she stopped awkwardly, not sure how to finish. She found she couldn't say like my father and uncle and their friends.

Bojo said evenly, "As far as I know, no one is looking for trouble among my peers, because there isn't any trouble to look for. Unless of course, someone is being even quieter than I am." He found he was picking words too. "It's people I know through the factories."

Then he gave up on trying to read her mind. "Are you trying to say you know some practical things I don't know Brys? If so, thanks and I won't ask how you know."

Brys gave Bojo a grateful smile for making it so easy and nodded. "It's that the playback equipment will be so cheap. We'll have to be careful to not use ranges or sequences that will be lost. There isn't much speaker distinction really, either. That could change the sound density and cause dead spots you didn't expect. I know the first decent sound I heard was at Lindy's, and I was amazed how good sound could be."

She braved another shy look at Bojo, expecting him to agree how wonderful Lindy's sound system was, since he was her friend too, but he was frowning. What did she do wrong now?

For once Bojo was disinclined to help her out. His condo on Laurion had been his first tentative attempt to put roots down. He'd been spending so much time composing with Joran between tours he started to feel like he was in the way at Joran and Maillie's house there. So he'd bought the condo. Its sale, fifteen months after her death when it was obvious Joran would never set foot on Laurion again, had been a low point for all of them. Bojo had just had an agent dispose of most of his furnishings, but the sound system meant too much to him. So he'd gone back long enough to pack it up and have it shipped to Lindy. She said she just considered herself custodian, but Bojo doubted he would ever try to settle down again.

Brys looked at Dreen for support.

"It should sound be good Brys. That's Bojo's professional system. He gave it to Lindy when he sold his condo."

The isolated fact it had been Bojo's was no help to Brys, but no one was enlightening her. She added to the already long list of confusing isolated facts. Bojo doesn't like Lindy having his system. But then why give it to her? She put that aside as Gali was speaking.

"You're the musician Bojo, we hope you might have some ideas."

"That's easy Gali. Give me the names of typical brands and I'll have Timoth measure responses against manufacturer specs, and do a sound map for typical rooms. You can help, if that's an advantage, or he can report to you."

"Is that wise Bojo?" Dreen asked. " Earlier you and Joran were hesitant on how much to involve Timoth, or the rest of the crew. I thought that was part of why you needed us."

"Because he might have a big mouth?" Bojo considered. "I know what Joran means. If you want the dirt on anyone, ask Timoth. All the same, he can and does keep his mouth shut. Sound Masters have to. These past three years no one has got a word out of him about the Anton troubles, and he's taken a lot more heat than the band. I mean, we can disappear into anonymity. He's in a professional register that allows anyone to look him up.

"I thought about it overnight. What I'll do is sound him out. We understand each other pretty well. I expect what he'll mostly need is a plausible story to tell anyone around who's snoopy - like the whole rest of the sound crew," Bojo added realistically.

Dreen said, "On our side we intend to run everything against Joran's Painted Music Interface. Gali and Brys are working on it, and if you want them at the studio, well, say some questions have come up on how Joran works when he's recording and how to link the interface to recording equipment."

"That works in part, but it won't wash on Brys' problems," Bojo said flatly. Then suddenly he smiled. "Consumer feedback! A whole lot of kids buy their own stuff - not the ones with rich parents - and they are complaining about our sound. Even poor kids can spend some money, and some of them grow up later in life having a lot of money to spend. So we're seeing how we can improve the sound on cheap units. It's a valid reason to release a new run of albums too."

He looked at Brys. "I was assuming the changed albums would be sent as memory pacs, not downloads, because I can't see any clean way to have two types of downloads available. I ..." He felt awkward. "I don't want to embarrass you but would your family and friends actually buy an album as a memory pac, or would one sitting around stick out?"

"No one has a lot," Brys said, "but we all have one or two that were gifts. It's nicer to give a memory pac - you can wrap it up, and put it in somebody's hand, and watch them open it."

Bojo nodded. She was an angel.

He thought a moment longer. "Complaints about sound are also a good way to justify having all of the manufacturers that Brys can think of courier us samples of their lower lines." Bojo grimaced. "This will of course have all of the low end manufacturers getting daydreams about an AntonCorp endorsement, which simply won't happen.

"What will happen is that Joran will jump on me with both feet when he finds out, and I'll have to come up with something to keep everybody happy. Maybe let them release the test results, saying we tested - not endorsed - their product, or maybe let them say something innocuous like 'enjoy your Anton on' that we'd normally sue them for as copyright infringement." Bojo shrugged, "Such is life."

Gali observed, "You don't sound worried."

"No. We handle this sort of stuff routinely."

Talk became technical until Gali announced that Wayd was due in five minutes. He looked at Bojo and nodded gravely. "I think we have a start. If this time suits you, we can use it daily, or I can spend time with you in the evenings and brief Brys later."

"For the time being, this is better. It's the one time I can guarantee Joran won't want me." Joran wouldn't surface until 10:00 or so, and he did want the excuse to see Brys.

Gali nodded again, "Then let's call it a night." He turned to Brys. "You, young lady, are going to have a good breakfast now."

"But we had a huge supper."

"At about 2:00 AM," Gali reminded her. He continued sternly, "There won't be any nonsense on this one Brys. I want at least three meals a day. Since the hotel is going to the trouble of providing spicy food in your cater unit, I want you to eat a good supper before you come to work, and I'll have them change the unit here so you'll eat well at your break. That's one meal I can check on."

"Yes Gali," Brys said meekly. She recognized parental authority when she heard it.

Dreen was watching them amused, Bojo in open confusion.

Gali enlightened him, "I understand that except for some appetizers you fed her, this young lady has been more or less starving herself for a week. She almost passed out on us, and scared us silly. So now she's going to have sense and eat."

"Oh." Now Bojo felt terribly guilty. He should have been more careful, taken Brys more seriously when she was eating so much and said she'd been not eating. He hadn't taken that as literally as he should, and probably over-stressed her. Had Gali been serious that she almost passed out? He'd made himself lightheaded the odd time, doing a concert on an empty stomach, but nothing like that. But then he'd never really been hungry in his life.

Guilt did what nothing else probably would have. Bojo heard himself say, "Brys, they were just taking fresh rolls out in the bakery between the hotels when I went past. I could smell them."

Actually, he'd left his hotel ten minutes early just so he could go in and look and see what they had and what it cost. "If you want to walk that far back with me, you could buy some and stock your refrigerator. They let you buy one of each."

Gali didn't give her a chance. "Great. And do me a favor Bojo. Go and sit her down on the beach and watch her eat one. Unless," he added at Bojo's expression, "it's an imposition?"

An imposition? Except for the minor problem of what the hell he was supposed to say, breakfast could last all day as far as Bojo was concerned.

He shook his head. "No problem." Then looking directly at Brys for the first time in this exchange, "Brys?"

Suddenly shy, she nodded and picked up her bag. What could she do? Everyone was being nice, and the bakery rolls sounded delicious. But breakfast on the beach? The idea of eating outside like that gave her the shivers.

Bojo noticed. "Are you unwell again Brys? I can get something for you if you don't want to walk."

Belatedly Dreen remembered a fine point on Brys' psychiatric profile. He probably shouldn't say, but she never would. "Brys is a megacity girl, Bojo. I think she's a little agoraphobic. At least Lindy said it was hard for her to learn to stand outside for a bus." He had just remembered that, so he wasn't violating P3 rules after all. "She may not want to eat on the beach."

"Oh. I'm sorry Brys. Would you sooner not go out at all, or could we find a sheltered terrace?"

"A terrace is nice." He was so sweet. She'd survive.

"Great."

Bojo moved to stand awkwardly by Dreen, wanting to say something, but not sure how much he could say with Gali and Brys around. "I hope your problems all sort themselves out Dreen."

"Thanks Bojo," Dreen appreciated Bojo's concern.

That prompted Brys to remember her manners. She stopped halfway across the room. "I hope you have a good trip."

"Thanks." This time Dreen's tone was dry.

What had she done now? Brys looked to Gali for enlightenment, but he just looked amused. Since there was no one else in the room, she tried Bojo. He gave her that patient smile he had in the lobby and the lounge.

"It's just that Joran has lent Dreen the Allegro, Brys. She's a racing quality Genie, and Jon, the guy who pilots her, is an old racing circuit hand. Dreen's been tactfully avoiding a ride on her since Joran got her, and his luck just ran out." He turned to Dreen and gave him a cheerful clout on the arm.

"Relax. Jon won't kill you."

"Bojo. Get out of here."

Bojo grinned, and headed for the door. "Come on Brys."

Dreen watched the retreating backs with intense misgivings. "Gali, whatever else you do, please, please keep an eye on Brys. I know she means well, but that young woman is a hazard." He tried to smile. "Think of it as training for your own girls."

Gali gave a noncommittal grunt. "Wayd will be here in a minute. Do you want to break it to him that he has sole responsibility for the hub implementation and management as of this morning, or do you want me to? I don't think he'll mind. The team is pretty well gelled and they don't really need me anymore. He has to take it on some time."

Dreen considered. "I may as well, then I better head for the spaceport." He sighed, "Believe it or not, the Allegro is starting to look good."

*****

Chapter 23

It was working itself up to a first class gale. The plastic ridge supports of what Drezvir residents called a snake, the enclosed walkway between the buildings, were distorted and the translucent plastic walls were vibrating. It was so familiar Mitra already hardly heard the whine. She felt the cold though. Mitra had found the heavy cardigan jacket she'd bought to walk around that northern harbor town on Gingezel, but those icy ocean breezes were balmy compared to Drezvir winter. She pulled the jacket tighter, folding her arms around her chest, and shivered.

It seemed to be taking forever to get to the hospital from the administration complex. Not knowing what to do when she got to Drezvir, Mitra had gone to Rostin's office. The greeting had been as glacial as she had expected, but they had managed mutual formal civility. She had wanted to go down the mine first, but Rostin had flatly refused. He had said that there had been enough problems with her claustrophobia when the mine was safe and well lit. It did not seem a good time to tell him that the claustrophobia was a lie invented because she was afraid she would find some engineering problem down there, end up trying to fix it, and prolong her stay. Rostin had not tried to stop her from going to the hospital. He had simply said he would meet her there in an hour and take her to the terraformer's shed where Dellmaice Power Systems staff were setting up.

The hospital door was in sight at last, and Mitra braced herself, sick with nerves and guilt. She had discovered very early on in the flight that there was no sense telling herself she was not necessarily responsible for the accident. Logically she knew that the hybrid was her best design yet. Logically she knew she'd half killed herself to get it built to the highest standards possible. Logically she knew Tranngol was right. There could have been unauthorized modifications, poor maintenance, a component that somehow was defective despite all the QA screening. Engineering history was full of horror stories of that sort. Logically Kim had said the mining accident could have been caused by any power failure.

Logic didn't count. All she kept hearing was Ari's voice. 'Why did I let you push me on this one, Kael?' Mitra knew that even if Tranngol came up to her with a defective component in his hands, she could never be comfortable again until she convinced herself - not them, herself - that her design was right.

But, oh, she had never realized the magnitude of the task. When she'd done the design, it had been one step at a time. You worked on a stage, documented it, and then built on that. Then built on that stage, then on that. But when you looked at the design all at once, there were so many details, so many design decisions. It was overwhelming now that she was questioning each one, and Mitra had forgotten so many of the whys. Her documentation was better than most engineers'. Her endless fights with Mark had that habit ingrained. But it was amazing how after five or six years reasons that seemed obvious weren't anymore.

Well, she now had to push the door open or never walk into the hospital again. Mitra knew she wouldn't have the nerve to come back. Trying not to think she opened the door. The lighting in the tiny reception area was almost as dim as the dust dimmed natural light in the snake. Martine obviously did not have any of the batteries or fuel cells on the grid yet. In the gloom Mitra and a tired looking brunette nurse at reception stared at each other, trying for recognition. She couldn't place the woman.

The nurse got there. "Mitra!" she said in shock, but with real warmth in her voice. "Have you come to see the miners? No one expected you for days." She stood up.

Mitra nodded, at a loss for words. She wasn't quite managing to assimilate the fact she wasn't getting an even icier reception from the nurse than Rostin had given her. The nurse however didn't seem to notice the silence. Her professional manner seemed to involve a running stream of cheerful comment.

"It's a bit dark in here, isn't it? Still, they say they'll be starting work sometime today to get at least a bit more power online."

The nurse was ushering Mitra down the short corridor towards the rooms. "Now, you can't see Nann or Roddy yet. They're in intensive care - family only for visitors." She added confidentially, "They're slipping in and out of consciousness a lot. If you ask me, that's a blessing."

She stopped at a door. "Now the rest -" she poked her head in. "No. Jenine isn't here. I thought she might be. She's more or less ambulatory so she must be visiting the rest of the crew down in the ward."

They crossed a small open area where a woman in a robe and pajamas with a newborn in a carrier beside her was sitting in the gloom telling a story to a child. The child smiled, then hid her face against her mother as they passed.

"Here we are." The nurse came to a stop, looking at Mitra more closely. "The rest of the crew is at the stage where all they need is time to recover. They look a mess though - you've pretty much showed up at the ugliest stage of green purple for the various contusions. What they mostly are is bored sick of the hospital walls and they'll be glad to see a fresh face."

She pushed open the door. "You've got company."

Cautiously Mitra followed the nurse in. The ward was meant to hold eight, and five of the beds were occupied. Jenine was in a wheelchair, sitting beside the third bed on the left, playing some kind of board game with JoJo. Andy and Geoff in the beds on either side were watching the game.

Even with all her imaginings en route and the nurse's warning in the hall, Mitra wasn't prepared. Mess seemed an understatement. Everyone seemed to have a least one part of their body immobilized and bandaged, and instruments and tubes abounded. And the nurse was right, pretty much none of the visible skin was a normal color. Mitra froze. She was lousy at hospitals at her best. She had trouble taking flowers to a friend in for simple tests.

"Mitra!" It was a surprised chorus.

"Mitra, it is good to see you. Come over here."

It was Ken Kwan, the foreman, in the second bed on her right. His skin looked worse than the rest, perhaps because green and purple didn't suit Oriental coloring. His upper trunk and one arm were immobilized, and there were tubes disappearing under the blanket that looked too thin for the chilly room.

His smile was warm, but as she approached it clouded over. "You know Blayne was one of the ones who didn't make it?"

Mitra couldn't meet his eyes.

"Gwen," he said, "give Mitra and me some privacy."

Gwen. That's was the woman's name. She had two teenagers, and her husband was a mine shift foreman like Ken. It was amazing how it came back, like she'd never left. Gwen obediently ushered Mitra to the bedside and drew the curtain that provided a degree of visual and acoustic privacy.

"Mitra, have you seen Lilla yet?"

Mutely Mitra shook her head.

"That's a relief! All this has been tough enough on her, but she's been so worried about your coming. She's convinced you'll be taking the accident as your fault, and she's half afraid to see you. I said I'd talk to you first, and tell you it's all right."

Mitra looked at him in mute incomprehension.

Ken stretched out his free arm and touched her gently on the forearm. "Listen to me Mitra." His eyes were intense. "That's the way it has to be - for Lilla, for the crew. It was an accident, it's over, and you get on with life."

Mitra wasn't buying that for a moment and it showed.

Ken tried again. "Look, Mitra. I know it's not that way for you. You've got to be up against some sort of review process. When it comes to that," he gave her a resigned, bitter smile, "I'm due for disciplinary hearings as soon as I'm deemed well enough. But for them ..." he waved beyond the curtain, "it's over for them. They have to heal and they have to go down into that mine again. So you have to do what I do. When you're in here, or with Lilla for that matter, put your own doubts and problems away. They like you Mitra, and after working with you on that damned geothermal unit, there isn't one that can believe any of this is your fault." That had been the toughest piece of engineering any of them had done. "Okay?" His intelligent eyes searched hers.

Slowly Mitra nodded. Her problems were nothing compared to theirs. But what had Ken said?

She found her voice. "I'll try." It would be hard but she'd truly try. "But Ken, how can you possibly be in trouble?"

He looked like he'd have liked to shrug. "Rostin sent new orders around a few days before the accident. Any unusually dangerous rock faces were either to be abandoned or at least independently inspected before work was started. I won't say the one that came down on us wasn't dangerous, but neither Blayne or I thought it was unusually so. However Rostin has decided to make an example of it."

He would. "So what will happen to you?" Mitra asked in alarm.

That did bring an attempted to shrug that it was immediately regretted. "For sure I've lost my job. The question is whether or not I'll be welcome to stay on planet at a lower level. More likely I'm expelled from Drezvir, and the question is if anyone else in the Guild will take me. But," he tried to be philosophical, "I can't worry about that until it happens. Right now I have a full-time job letting my body heal and worrying won't do it any favors." Ken tried too. Mostly in the day he managed. 4:00 AM was harder.

Mitra wanted badly to know how severe his injuries were, but considered it bad manners to ask.

Ken however had noticed the glances that kept straying to his torso. He said matter-of-factly, "Broken ribs, a punctured lung, crushed right shoulder that's been rebuilt."

Ken looked at Mitra, hesitating. "Did they tell you most of the emergency personnel, and a lot of the townspeople were out combing the hills for Ginny at the time of the accident?"

Mitra stared at him blankly. "Ginny?"

Ginny was the best behaved of children, and smart too. Mitra could see Tessa getting lost, not to be bad but just being stupid, but not Ginny.

"How did she get lost?"

"She was doing a science experiment for Dr. Windegren, the terraformer. Perhaps you know him?"

"C.C.?"

With everything that was happening, she had totally forgotten that C.C. was terraforming Drezvir. Was he here? Probably not. Terraformers tended to cycle between jobs. But the reference to familiar, safe, home was almost too much.

"Yes. Yes. I know him," Mitra managed to say blinking back all too familiar tears.

Ken looked at her curiously, then decided it was her business and let it pass.

"Ginny was experimenting with fertilizing lichen." Ken actually managed a smile. "Chicken shit to be precise. We have a chicken coop now."

Her tone was slightly hysterical, but Mitra laughed. "Trust C.C.!"

Ken relaxed a bit. That was better. "Only Ginny decided to explore on the way home, and she got into one of the fault lines that takes a dogleg - she couldn't get out until dark, and," he sighed, "by then there was a raging red blizzard."

"Oh no." Mitra was appalled. Those dust storms could be terrible, and it would have been frigid.

"She's a smart kid," Ken said with pride. "She kept her head, conserved her oxygen, and walked to the lights she saw. Unfortunately the lights were for the spaceport, not the settlement."

"But you found her? She was all right?"

"Unconscious from hypothermia, and actually hungry for once when she came to, Ginena tells me. But she'll be fine. They let her go home yesterday."

Ken didn't add that having the emergency response personnel all out on the search had delayed their rescue in the mine by hours. Or that when the power went Ginny hadn't been found yet. Or that there had been the additional problem of disrupted communication with the storm, and all the townspeople out searching were using the light of the settlement as a reference like Ginny thought she had. So when the power went the problem of getting them home safely without a new loss was serious. Or the fact that when everyone did get back cold and hungry, there was no heat, and no way to cook. The rows of stoves in the cafeteria took too much power with the mine rescue started. All there had been was hot beverages.

Mitra would just feel worse. It had sure made the Kwan family doubly unpopular.

"And now," Ken's face brightened with the necessary unpleasantness out of the way, "have you had a good vacation to tell us about? Get Gwen to reopen these curtains."

***

It was finally getting through to Mitra that she was welcome. She was more than welcome. This mine crew was the only group who had decided to befriend her after working together on the geothermal unit. The miners were quite willing to pick things up like they had been before the accident, and they were all desperate for any distraction she could provide. Once they had accepted she really and truly had gone to Gingezel, the questions started in earnest and no detail was too small not to fascinate them.

They started with how she got there, and exactly what her room was like on a space liner, a luxury one yet! What entertainment was there on the space liner? What was the food like? What was the Gingezel spaceport like? Was it fancy with lots of shops? What kind? By the time they got to asking about the hotel, it looked like she'd have to spend any spare time here. Mitra was starting to feel hoarse when the door opened and Gwen reappeared pushing a trolley.

"I thought this was a good excuse for a treat." She smiled her professional smile.

The trolley had teapots and plain sugar cookies. Mitra was served first as the guest.

"It's nothing fancy Mitra. It was cold enough the night of the accident that we lost the current hydroponics crop \- they had to route all the backup power first to the mine, then to the habitats when the cold front really hit." Cheerfully she added, "Still we can't complain here. We're getting the best of the dried stores."

Lost the hydroponics crop? Mitra was aghast. She'd never even thought of that. The miners however were taking it calmly, and accepting the tea and cookies like it really was a treat - the high part of the afternoon. It shouldn't be like this Mitra thought rebelliously, looking around the dreary room that was the same beige paint baked onto prefabricated metal as the rest of the habitats. Hospitals should be bright and cheerful. There should be flowers, and cards, and bowls of fruit. There were two half dead looking hanging plants in the reddish light of the window, and it looked like the eight year old class had made a bunch of Get Well posters and stuck them to the walls. But the bright primary-colored finger paints just made to the rest of the room drearier.

Bowls of fruit. Mitra's mind jumped back to that as she took a grateful sip of tea. Surely there had to be crates of fruit on the Genie? She honestly couldn't remember what she told the woman to fill the thing with. In fact, she hardly remembered deciding to fill it. But Kim had made a point of teasingly rubbing it in every time there was a tricky hyperspatial jump, although Mitra couldn't believe she'd bought that much. Had she? She'd never bothered to look at the manifest. And she had to be honest enough to admit she never even thought of the miners - or anyone else except herself and Tranngol's staff when she ordered the food. But now that she'd been in one, she knew a Genie could hold a lot of stuff. Mitra was sure she couldn't eat a mouthful of it thinking of the miners laying here eating dried food rations.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and visible tension went through the room. None of them would be comfortable with power problems for a long long time.

Gwen said a little less brightly, "Well, that work on the power station must have started. I'd better go see to things. The intensive care is still on backup power, and all the key monitors in here too, so that's fine. But I should make sure all the ambulatory patients are in bed so no one hurts themselves in the dark if there's another total blackout."

She added for Mitra's benefit, "You see, we don't have backup left for lights." Then turning, Gwen said firmly, "Jenine. You should go to your room."

"Please, not with Mitra here. I'll stay put."

When they had first met, Mitra hadn't believed Jenine was a rock-face miner, with her pretty fair face and slender build. She noticed belatedly that Jenine's usually close cropped dark hair was shaved off in one spot and there was a gash on her skull.

"Well ..." Gwen wavered, then there was another flicker. "All right, but stay put." She left at a trot.

*****

Chapter 24

The lights flickered again. The miners in their hospital beds looked to Mitra for reassurance.

"That will be Martine. There will be a few drops, and maybe even some outages, but when she's finished there should be enough fuel cells and batteries to get you out of this brownout."

"Who's Martine?" The question from JoJo was suspicious, and strain showed in his small wiry frame and olive skinned face.

"Well," Mitra was trying to make it as light as she could. She pointed to Andy, a large, tough looking, well muscled blond miner who was in a hip cast. "She's about your size, black, my age, and," her smile became genuine, "she has a vocabulary to top the one you tried to teach me making those last two cuts for the geothermal unit shaft."

The rock face crew had been all right, doing their best to work to millimeters when they were used to centimeters.

The tension dropped a bit.

"She's okay then?" JoJo confirmed.

Mitra nodded. "The best. You haven't seen her before because batteries and fuel cells are her game, and all your stuff is from the competition." There was another flicker. "I'll be honest. The fact your grid is set up for their stuff will have her swearing for a few days and you'll have to have to be patient, but she'll get there."

That obviously did not go down well. It was definitely distraction time again. "So, what do you think about some nice fresh Gingezel apples for supper, if I can bully customs into moving ass?"

"Apples?"

Andy was trying to focus on what Mitra had said but his stomach was in a knot from that last power drop. He knew it was ridiculous, that nothing could happen to him here, but it scared him terribly to have the power coming and going like that when he couldn't even get out of bed, much less run. Not that there had been time to run more than two or three steps. Still, he'd been lucky and got partly clear. Legs mended. Andy tried to stop his mind from going down that route.

"Apples?" He tried to remember the last time he'd bitten into an apple. He thought it was about six months after they landed Drezvir, but he couldn't remember who imported them or why.

"Yeah." Mitra looked at the strained faces. "Look, I have to be honest here. I didn't exactly plan this, and say 'hey, I've got to bring some goodies for the crew.' As far as I know my brain kind of stopped working from the time I got the call to come until I was a couple days out in space. But when I did focus, I had a ship full of food in huge crates. I do sort of remember telling a lady at the spaceport to stock up."

She noted amusement on a couple faces. "And I think what was in my mind was that after Gingezel I couldn't face -" Mitra came to a full stop, mortified. How could she criticize the best these poor people had?

Jenine had no such scruples. "The total crap they feed you here?"

"Jenine," Ken scolded, but there was more amusement in his tone than censure.

"Nutritious crap," Jenine amended. "Do you seriously have apples?"

"Must have," Mitra smiled. She liked the outspoken woman. Six faces now looked at her in total confusion. "I mean, there's bound to be some, but I haven't looked at the manifest."

"Mitra!" Jenine was shocked. "Boxes of lovely food and you haven't looked?"

Ken's sense of politeness asserted itself. "Mitra we can't take food out of your mouth."

"Yes we can." Andy was getting quite receptive to the idea of an apple. "I can't remember exactly when I last had an apple. I'd like to have one."

"Not apple, apples. Plural," Mitra corrected. "There's bound to be a crate not just six."

"If there's spare chocolate bars, you get ranked as an angel," Jenine added with a wistful sigh.

"Most likely." Mitra pulled out her compad, rummaged through the memory pacs in her purse, and extracted one. "The manifest should be on this." She looked at Ken. "Be improper. What do I look up for you?" Her eyes asked him to join the game as the grid was getting noticeably less stable.

He smiled. "Nuts. Roasted salted nuts. "

Mitra looked down at the compad and blinked hard to clear the tears. Their dreams were so simple. She had forgotten what it was like to live here. She brought up the manifest and scanned by keyword. "Okay. So far we're on. What else?"

Bruce cautiously shifted his tall slender dark frame, slid a finger under his neck brace, and scratched. "Mango anything," he said quietly. "I was born in the tropics and I always wondered if Outsider mangos tasted like ours."

Mitra scanned the list. "Mangoes - one crate. Also mango and orange juice, and mango jam."

This excess resulted in stunned silence.

"Okay, what else."

She looked around the room, but they seemed to have exhausted their imaginations. Mitra focused on the small quiet dark-haired man Jenine had been playing a game with.

"JoJo?"

"Oh, I don't know." It was too hard. "An apple will be nice." He smiled an apology for letting her down.

Jenine tried to bail him out, "What about oranges?"

"Oranges are nice too," he agreed. Then suddenly there was a wistful smile. "You'll never have it, but that makes me think of marmalade - on toast in the morning."

"Well." Mitra was keying it in. She shook her head. "Sorry. I don't know why there isn't any, if there's mango jam. Just a minute." She tried 'JAM'. "It says jams, assorted single servings - so who knows? You game to try?" Mitra knew the only on-planet choice was strawberry from the berries in the hydroponics shed. Hell. They would be gone now too. She hoped there was lots of jam made.

"Sure."

"Geoff?" Mitra asked the stocky redhead in a hip and shoulder cast.

"Does it have to be fresh, or is there other stuff?"

Mitra looked. "Space glop, entrees -"

Geoff stopped her. "Anything fish. I don't know what possessed me come to a waterless planet, but fish would be wonderful."

"I'll check the meal ingredients later, okay?"

Geoff nodded. Fish, here on Drezvir. Real fish, not simbiofish. They had eaten those greasy things steady for three days after the accident to not waste the loss from the hydroponics shed. He'd believe real fish when it was in front of him, even though the terraformers were promising fresh fish in a year or so.

Mitra looked around again, then shifted her gaze to Ken, a frown on her face. "Ken, why aren't there any holovisions in here?" Andy had a compad on his table, and JoJo had earplugs on his pillow, but that was it.

"Brownouts," he replied economically.

"It's no great loss," Jenine added. "There's nothing new to watch since you left anyway. And there isn't likely to be for the foreseeable future either, since luxuries have definitely dropped off the budget now."

"But still, you can't just sit here. I mean they can run on batteries." Mitra stopped.

Batteries that no doubt right now were running critical equipment like the monitors on Geoff and Ken and communications. Rostin wouldn't be in a hurry to get more than needed for essential services either. That was exactly the sort of cheapness he'd be into now. Surely Tranngol must have brought a stock to keep his analysts going while Martine messed around? He wouldn't mind a few batteries coming here.

She said, "This was an oversight by Dellmaice Power Systems. I'll have some batteries brought by later today."

"Mitra." Ken was objecting again. "They have better things to do. And we want to keep our profile low."

"Big deal. A couple boxes get sent here, you unpack them and shove them in yourselves. Rostin will never know."

"Well ..." Jenine wasn't inclined to argue. "Watching the classics for the twentieth time will beat dirty beige walls. Thanks." She sighed. "I could stand getting lost in a new story about now though."

Andy teased, "Too bad you don't have a box of assorted holodramas like the assorted jam."

"Sorry. I don't think I got quite that creative. It's too bad though. I watched a couple really good first releases on the Genie."

Mitra had forced herself to listen to Kim's advice and to take breaks from reviewing her documents, fearing she would get stale and miss some detail. But she had discovered she couldn't face her own company. Kim had given Mitra as much time as she could, but that wasn't much. So Mitra had either worked out, or hidden in holodramas.

"You came on a Genie?"

It was more or less a chorus. To all of them this was obviously much more interesting than Gingezel.

"Yes, I chartered one. It was fastest." Mitra was only half paying attention. She was trying to prod an idea loose from the back of her mind.

"Chartered one? Like you book a taxi?" Ken demanded incredulously.

"Sorry?" Mitra wasn't listening. Before he could repeat the question she asked, "Is there a communication unit in here?" She hadn't applied yet for her compad to be on the communications network. "I have to call Kim." She didn't see one, but one corner was screened.

"Sorry, you'll have to use Gwen's unit."

"I'll be right back." She left them staring mystified as the door closed behind her.

***

"Mitra what can I do for you?"

"How imminent is your departure Kim?"

"Imminent?" Kim rolled her eyes. "Those custom inspectors are going through every item in every one of those blasted crates you had us jammed with. I was offended. I thought they figured there was contraband. But they assured me it was just that they had to confirm the manifests for the materials and the planet and country of origin to get the duty right."

Oh oh. Mitra had totally forgotten about the heavy duties Drezvir charged on every thing imported. Ari would kill her. No, she corrected herself realistically, Ari would just make damn sure she paid every credit of it, and probably for the food as well. Maybe she had better look at that manifest. She wondered briefly if Niki had left that extra bonus in something really liquid. She hoped so.

"Kim, if you aren't busy can you do me a favor, or are you busy?"

"Only busy getting it driven home that my skills as a sleuth aren't up there with my skills as a pilot."

"Oh, that is a good simugame, isn't it?" Mitra agreed. "That's what I want to talk to you about. I'm visiting with the miners that got hurt in the accident." Kim and the rest of the crew knew the whole story now. It had been a long trip. "They are bored out of their skulls."

"I can believe that if the spaceport is typical of this dump. It took me less than twenty minutes to exhaust its recreational potential."

"The spaceport is a high point."

"You're kidding!" Kim was appalled.

"No, so I wondered just how many rules of your charter service I'd be breaking if you just left your library of holodramas and simugames behind, then restocked and billed me when you got home."

Kim shrugged, "Why not? We're due for a new set anyway. But do you want all of them? I mean a good third are kid stuff. They get so restless traveling."

"Believe me," Mitra said sincerely, "they'll take animated nursery rhymes right now."

***

"You came on a Genie?" Ken tried again as Mitra walked in the door.

Mitra nodded.

"And the pilot, Kim," Andy asked, "is she a blonde about your age?"

It was Mitra's turn to be mystified. "Yes, but -"

Andy said triumphantly, "I bet she's Kim Loderson, the one who dropped off the racing circuit."

"Too many of them are now. Spoiling it."

"Wonder why?"

"Money."

It appeared, from the most animated conversation Mitra had heard since walking in, that everyone in the room, Jenine included, was a Genie racing fan. It sounded like they bet a lot on it too.

"Hasn't been the same since Jon Melcrist dropped out."

"I heard that singer, that Anton bloke with all the money, built himself some special Genie that will take anything on the circuit and Jon is crewing it."

"C'mon. You can't believe everything on the hyperweb. If he did, why aren't they racing it?"

*****

Chapter 25

"Dr. Kael," Olan's tone was repressive and his faded aging face was hard.

The voice from the doorway made Mitra jump and there was an instant uncomfortable silence in the room. She started for the door, but as she passed Andy, he tugged at her sleeve pulling her to within whispering distance.

"Don't let old sourpuss get to you, hey. He's been in here shitting on us about twice a day too. He's just -"

"Dr. Kael!"

The tone was imperative and Andy released his grip, but he gave her a half wink, and as she passed Ken she got a thumbs up hidden from Rostin's view by the bed covers.

"Mr. Rostin," Mitra said icily.

How could the man possibly be doing anything but giving the crew full support after what they had been through? Then she noticed a much younger plump baby-faced man standing in the middle of the hall, behind Rostin. Mitra frowned, confused. The man was not wearing Mining Guild overalls. He was wearing a quilted metallic jacket with an insignia she didn't recognize and pants with a lot of pockets like the terraformers favored.

Olan turned to the man. "Dr. Auta, this is Dr. Mitra Kael, the Chief Project Engineer for the hybrid, and our liaison with Dellmaice Power Systems."

And why don't you just say the accident is her fault, not ours, Mitra thought sourly in response to the tone. She waited for Rostin to complete the introduction.

"Dr. Kael, this is Dr. Trebur Auta. He is representing the sector Environmental Protection Agency and the Sector Judiciary in this fatality inquiry."

To Mitra it seemed that Rostin was only marginally happier with this man that he was with her. There was an awkward silence, and for lack of any better ideas Mitra extended her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Auta."

Under the circumstances it was a totally ridiculous thing to say, but she didn't have any better words. It seemed to work though, Auta took her hand in his for a moist handshake.

"Dr. Kael, it was good of you to get here so promptly to assist us." He paused, then releasing her hand continued formally in totally unaccented StanGalLan, "I understand you are en-route to examining the reactor hall, then seeing Dr. Cebron. I was hoping to speak to you for a few minutes, but perhaps the analysis shed would be a more suitable place."

He looked pointedly at the ward where the miners weren't even making a pretext of not eavesdropping. "I really should speak to Dr. Cebron as well."

Well, at least he was being reasonably tactful Mitra decided but she was pretty sure she wouldn't like this little talk. As they started down the corridor she took a sideways look at this Auta. He looked like what's his name, that friend of Niki's, who was such a nuisance hanging around her at that party. Only Niki's friend always looked cheerful. With sinking spirits she wondered just what exactly a combined EPA and Sector Judiciary rep did.

***

"Mitra, thank goodness you're here." Tranngol was approaching, hand outstretched, a welcoming smile warming his intelligent and at that moment sad features. "We've got a million questions for you!"

"Only a million?" There was a tremor in Mitra's voice.

Mitra knew she was staring but except for his size, the eyes, and the voice she wouldn't have recognized him. The shoulder length black hair and full beard had been shaved off, and he was now totally bald. Or at least the part of Tranngol's head she could see was totally bald. He had on a blue toque with a white snowflake pattern, a green ski jacket, heavy pants, and snow boots. She looked around and realized none of the Dellmaice Power Systems staff had hair over 1 cm long, and they were all in equally heavy clothing. As Mitra shivered and wrapped her arms across her chest, she fleetingly wondered if Elin had packed ski clothes for her too. She hoped so.

Tranngol's smile broadened. "It's a bit of a shock isn't it? We were advised of the water shortage. And I've told everyone we get heat last."

The shed was brilliantly lit and just warm enough for the electronics to function, because they couldn't set up otherwise, but the colonists had come ahead of their personal comfort.

Even as he was talking Tranngol was aware of a definite air of disapproval settling over Olan Rostin and what seemed to now be his inevitable companion, Trebur Auta from the sector government. Rostin he had pegged as the ultimate bureaucrat, and probably a pretty tough customer when it came to running Drezvir. Auta had him confused between the bland baby face and the fact he hardly said a thing. Auta was supposedly from the sector EPA, but Tranngol wouldn't have guessed he had any technical competence. Either he was a paper pusher, totally incompetent, or maybe merely out of his depth. That was possible if normally he was with the Judiciary and the EPA had just seconded him because of the fatality.

Tranngol didn't like be confused. His job was tough enough when you knew where you stood. Once again he cursed the holes in Ari's briefing. At any rate, they didn't like the familiarity with Mitra. What did they expect? They were from the same company and both senior staff members.

Tranngol went on smoothly, "Durstin has been invaluable of course." Especially at not answering my questions he added to himself. "But we really need you Mitra. You're the one who knows why you made the decisions you made."

"And it's my voice print sealing every last one of those sign-off sheets you're pouring over."

She tried to shake off the depression that had resettled on her as they walked from the hospital to the reactor hall. The mess there had been pretty much what she expected, which in a way was a relief. No surprises. The best thing to do was get on with it.

"So, who has the first priority with their share of the million questions?"

Mitra scanned the shed, recognizing most of the faces either from when Tranngol's team worked on Mark's reactor, or just from running into them around Dellmaice Power Systems. She focused on the ones who were crucial to the analysis. Lloyd Yomatta was intent on what presumably was a sensor image on his screen, his slender body bent forward, his pleasant Oriental face frowning. Dana Mardin, the second on the team since Elin wasn't here, was standing beside him, a hand on his shoulder. She looked delicate in her puff jacket.

Jennifer Harkin was a couple of workstations away, equally intent on the screen. She had to be learning the computer hardware, but which, Nemizcan or ContSaft? While Mitra watched, Jennifer shivered visibly and pulled her stylish little hat down to where it covered a few more centimeters of red bristles and folded her arms across her chest. Sam Ieano plodded up looking like a blimp in heavy clothes and as Jennifer looked up he asked her a question. Mitra tried with no luck to lipread.

Tranngol brought her attention back as he nodded towards a young solidly built blond man in the center of the shed.

"Brenn. We'll start at the pressure tube breach."

Obediently Mitra nodded. Brenn was their nondestructive testing expert.

She turned mechanically to Olan Rostin and the new man. "If you'll excuse me." Without waiting for an answer she headed for Brenn's workstation, totally forgetting Auta wanted to talk to her.

Tranngol watched her retreating form appreciatively. "That's the kind of client I like. She'll work as hard as any of us, and not hold a thing back. She wants the answers."

He turned back to the two administrators. "It isn't always like that you know. You can get engineers who can't believe they've made a mistake, or won't admit it and fight you every step of the way."

And if I didn't know better, he added to himself, I'd put your Durstin in that category, but he's probably just distancing himself from Mitra. In the day and a half they had been there, there hadn't been one definitive answer from the guy, just evasion after evasion. He was, in fact, incompetent and obviously the technology transfer had not been successful. That however, was not Tranngol's problem. It might be when that thickheaded idiot tried to build a unit on his own, but not now. The only question was if he possibly did anything creative in his weeks on his own, but there was hardly time.

"You've worked with Dr. Kael before then?" Trebur asked.

Not the way your dirty little mind is working. Mitra's got a clean record. Tranngol smiled pleasantly. "Yes, on a prototype when she first joined the company. The unit was tripping out at peak load. Definitely not what you want in a hostile environment - like you have here - losing your power routinely at -45° or so. The engineers couldn't find the fault so they called us in. We use analysis techniques they just see at university and aren't expert in. It's slow picky work, but we get there. It's like that fortunately, over 80% of our work is correcting design mistakes, not sorting out accidents."

He would swear that Auta's bland, polite bureaucratic face wasn't happy. Well, he wasn't either. Maybe now was the time to take the risk.

Tranngol turned his attention Rostin. "I must admit though that I was surprised when we got here to find we weren't working under independent supervision." That obviously didn't go down well. Diplomacy time.

"I'm sure there could be any number of reasons and Dr. Dellmaice obviously did not feel he had to explain to me why the analysis is being done exclusively in-house." He had noticed Rostin was heavy on formality and protocol.

Olan cut in smoothly, "Perhaps this is something we can discuss in my office Dr. Cebron." He pointedly ignored Trebur Auta.

Tranngol frowned. He had noticed the general din dropping in their vicinity and assumed Rostin wanted to cut any eavesdroppers out. The team had as much right to know where they stood as he did, and as far as he could see there had been a little too much behind closed doors talk before they came in anyways. Ari Dellmaice had better have some more sincere apologies than he usually did for those closed door talks when he was back on Pendrae, or Ari would be hiring himself a new Head of Risk and Safety. But right now he'd sort things out for himself and the team. The team was under enough pressure as it was.

Tranngol said easily, "Thanks, but there's no need. We're a team, and there's nothing you will say to me everyone can't hear." He raised his voice, "Dana, round everyone up whose hands are free."

"Including Mitra?"

"This has nothing to do with Dr. Kael. She can cool her heels out of earshot at the other end of the hall. That goes for Dr. Fallor too," Tranngol said peremptorily.

"Durstin?" Rostin was obviously offended at his being lumped in with Mitra.

"That's right. Neither are on the analysis team. When the technology transfer was complete he became project coordinator. All maintenance, modifications, and operations since Mitra left are his responsibility. That puts him in exactly the same spot."

Rostin didn't like that. You could see it on his face. Well, that was fine. A manager should back his staff. It didn't change the facts though.

Tranngol waited impassively until the analysis team was grouped around them, then he said to Rostin and Auta, "Would you please each select a team member?"

Rostin looked suspiciously at Cebron, then pointed arbitrarily to a young oriental man near him. "You."

Lloyd stepped forward.

Tranngol turned to Auta. "Dr. Auta?"

***

Trebur Auta regarded Tranngol with open suspicion. He had no idea what was coming next, and he sorely resented the fact that he didn't know. Behind his bland baby face, Trebur was a very unhappy man. It was not because he had landed himself right in the middle of a first-class mess. In his job he was always trying to prevent messes, or much too often, dealing with their aftermath. It was not because this particular mess involved fatalities. He had been through fatality inquiries before, although personally he considered that particular rockface collapse one hell of a way to die. It was also not because the Mining Guild in general and Olan Rostin in particular would go out of their way to block every move he made.

He was a realist like the rest of the staff at the newly formed Farr Sector Environmental Protection Agency. They knew perfectly well that the Mining Guild considered them a bunch of interfering bureaucratic so-and-so's whose only purpose in life was to poke around in their perfectly well run Guild and make life miserable. Trebur would even have sympathized with that attitude if the Guild had been well run on the environmental side, but in his opinion it wasn't.

The reason Trebur was unhappy was that if he landed himself in the middle of a first-class mess with legal implications that could run for years and with the Mining Guild out to hamstring him before he moved, he would have liked to know what the hell he was doing. He didn't.

As he did four or five times an hour, Trebur went over the events that landed him here. The newly created EPA was suffering from a serious staffing shortage problem. Trebur had this driven home daily by his workload. They all knew sooner or later something would bust itself and the EPA would inherit the aftermath, but they had gambled on later. In a few years they would hire someone like Tranngol Cebron.

They got sooner.

Trebur remembered the day the news of the accident came in. The problem had been dealt with the way every really serious problem at the agency was dealt with, in the coffee room over sweet rolls and cookies. The sensible thing to do would have been to admit their inadequacy and bring someone in from Outside to handle it. The drawback to this was that the Mining Guild would never let them live it down. That difficult side of their jobs would become impossible. So they had considered the not so sensible options, and generally had a good time doing it. These sessions were always fun, and Trebur had been enjoying that one as much as anyone else until he realized everyone was picking him as the prime 'not so sensible' option.

As far as he had managed to figure out on the flight to Drezvir, there had been three reasons for picking on him. The first was that only two other people in the agency even vaguely understood or tried to understand the analyses he did on waterborne contaminant transfer through amorphous aggregates. That seemed to have resulted in the general opinion at the coffee meeting that if he could do the math he did routinely, he could pick up that easier accident analysis stuff on the fly. The second reason was he was an Outsider and therefore could deal with the Outsiders comfortably. The third and probably most important reason was that he had the highest aggregate winnings in the after work weekly poker game, largely thanks to his baby face. The consensus was that this would all be over before anyone caught on to the fact he was bluffing.

Trebur had tried a flat refusal and been booed down. He had then made his big mistake. He tried a Serious Objection. He would not, could not, work in a situation where the Mining Guild was routinely making an end run around him to the Sector Judiciary. He needed support. Everyone had listened, and nodded.

The result had been a real management meeting behind closed doors in the boardroom, closed doors he was on the wrong side of. Trebur had also not been part of the three conference calls with the Sector Judiciary, although he knew they occurred because the secretary was giving him the play-by-play. He had been in his office worrying. The sector EPA was not yet well enough developed for a bureaucratic overlay. All of the administrators were senior technical staff, competent and creative. This worried him immensely, especially their potential for creativity.

The worry has been justified. At the end of the day his boss had approached him with satisfaction. The Judiciary was just as tired of mediating between the EPA and the Mining Guild as the EPA was of the end runs. The Judiciary had agreed it was time to teach the Mining Guild that the EPA had full authority over environmental and industrial safety issues. Therefore they were making him the Judiciary Representative as well. No end runs were possible, because the Guild couldn't appeal to him about him.

It was a tremendous coup for the agency. For Trebur it had spelt disaster. He now had two jobs he didn't know how to do instead of one, and a spaceship to be on in an hour along with a taciturn communication surveillance technician from the Judiciary.

***

Now, standing in this makeshift lab, as far as Trebur could guess, this Tranngol Cebron fellow was not particularly happy either. Trebur wasn't totally, no, let's be honest, even a vaguely sure why. Cebron seemed to be setting out for some kind of confrontation with Rostin though, which could prove interesting. He gave up on the idea of calling Dr. Kael back and finishing his business here then going back to his office to see if there was more than emergency hyperweb access yet. He decided, largely for the hell of it, to back this Cebron in whatever game he was up to.

Trebur looked at the unfamiliar faces trying to find the one he wanted. It took a moment because she was standing at the back and his view was blocked by two large men. "You, at the back. Did Dr. Cebron call you Dana?"

He'd picked her because as far as he could tell she seemed to be the number two on the team, and he may as well give Cebron all the help he could. If he'd been able to freely access the hyperweb, by now he would have checked out the Dellmaice Power Systems organizational chart and everyone's bios. This brownout was damned inconvenient.

The Dana woman came forward. She was a nondescript, mousy, quiet woman in her early 30s, and Trebur would guess extremely competent.

*****

Chapter 26

Interesting, Tranngol thought. Auta had not made a random choice. He'd looked for Dana, and Tranngol doubted it was because she had just done the errand. Maybe Auta wasn't that out of it after all. He put that aside and focused his attention on the two team members.

"You've just got volunteered to be team spokespersons. Honest answers please, no trying to second-guess me or you'll hear about it. Okay?"

Dana and Lloyd nodded in unison, unconcerned. Tranngol never came down on independent opinions. You couldn't in his job, could you?

"Would you sooner work with or without an auditor?"

"With one." It was unanimous, and there were nods in the background.

"Why?" Tranngol asked softly.

There was a hesitation, as the two volunteers looked at each other, the officials present, and Tranngol. He just stared back. They knew that look. He would stand there all day until someone said something.

Dana spoke first. "Because this is a fatality inquiry, it's a Dellmaice Power Systems unit at fault, and we are Dellmaice Power Systems staff. So there is too much potential for a cover-up. None of us would do that, but if no auditor is present we have no protection - no way to prove we weren't part of a cover-up \- if anyone questions the analysis."

Lloyd beside her nodded.

"Thank you," Tranngol said, and turned not to Rostin but to Auta. "I presume," he said dryly, "the Sector Judiciary is reserving the right to prosecute, depending upon the outcome of the investigation?"

Trebur nodded. "That is correct."

"Well," Tranngol addressed both men, "in my opinion my staff is right."

Rostin looked furious. He didn't want him so mad he wasn't listening, so Tranngol said soothingly, "As far as it goes, Mr. Rostin, the decision you and Dr. Dellmaice reached was a good one. There are a number of reasons why using an in-house analysis team is good, especially in a situation like this when you really have time pressures."

That seemed to calm Rostin down a bit. Well, with the winters they got here, he had good reason to want a secure energy supply, not to get bogged down with sorting things out, Tranngol thought.

"And I appreciate those reasons." Tranngol ticked them off on his fingers. "First we are immediately available, there is no waiting for us to finish another job. Second, although we haven't worked on the hybrid, a lot of the components are standard ones used in other Dellmaice Power Systems units. We're familiar with them, which reduces the learning curve. Third, we know the Dellmaice Power Systems documentation system. Again, no learning curve. And fourth, there is no delay negotiating NDA's.

"But it doesn't recognize those two problems \- the potential for a cover up, or our protecting ourselves from that accusation."

Trebur couldn't believe it, it was too good to be true. This Cebron was giving him the excuse to go out and do what he wanted to do.

It was too good.

Olan cut in a peremptorily, "I am sure the EPA is perfectly capable of monitoring your work, Dr. Cebron." He gave Auta a challenging look. "After all, you are continually telling us you're the experts on anything to do with risk and safety."

"We are," Trebur said blandly. Now what did he do? He was back in the original corner.

Aha. So he was with the EPA. That's clarified things a lot for Tranngol. Prior to joining Dellmaice Power Systems, he had worked both sides of the fence, and he knew that EPA's varied a lot. Since Auta obviously knew next to nothing about the engineered system risk and safety analysis game, he was probably some poor sucker from a different field that got volunteered. That meant they didn't have a risk or safety analyst for engineered systems, much less a team, or that analyst would be here. That meant this EPA was the broke kind. He'd worked for one of those for a couple years. It was a great way to learn a bit about everything.

He said as blandly as Auta, "I wasn't finished Mr. Rostin."

"I think you were."

Olan had just about had it with insubordination. Ari Dellmaice would hear about this little scene, and in front of the staff yet. They were crowded as close as was polite, obviously enjoying every word.

"I think we can hear Dr. Cebron out," Trebur said firmly. "Please continue."

"Thank you." Now, how did he get what he wanted and let Auta keep face. "As you know, there is hardly a planet outside the Farr Sector that Dellmaice Power Systems doesn't site power units on, so we have worked with pretty well every type of administrative approach there is. The one here, which was pretty much a 'build it and use it' one is at one extreme of the spectrum." And was no doubt the reason that Ari went with it. Ari needed the hybrid running.

"This," Tranngol said to Auta, "was no doubt because your agency wasn't in existence at the design acceptance stage of the project, and you decided to grandfather it."

Trebur nodded.

Tranngol continued, "As an aside, that leaves you at a disadvantage now, because you would otherwise already either have done, or have required us to do, a lot of the basics behind the analysis we'll do now.

"Anyway, mid-spectrum would be two or three years of preliminary analyses and hearings prior to licensing. At the other end, there are planets," he was thinking of the Plenata, "where we wouldn't even think of siting a new design because the environmental lobby has made the cost prohibitive. But usually it's mid-spectrum and the players are Dellmaice Power Systems and the licensing agency.

"Now, within this mid-spectrum, the approach of necessity changes when you get a potential conflict situation between Dellmaice Power Systems and the licensing agency. This type of accident is such a situation, and fortunately a fatality inquiry is a new experience to us. We're more used to the case where environmental standards are suddenly changed and we have to reanalyze everything, or occasionally where there's been an environmental release. Again, there's a full spectrum of responses.

"In sectors where we have had a good long-term working relationship with the licensing agency, the structure here may be the one used. But for it to be effective, it really does require that long-term trust. In some sectors where because the licensing agency has had serious trouble with other players, they aren't prepared to trust us. We are simply told to bring in a team of independents to do all the work, and we do so." That's got a flicker of what might have been interest from Auta.

"Midrange is the arrangement I propose here, the introduction of an independent auditor." He stopped, waiting for reaction. Then out of sheer spite, since Ari should have introduced an auditor to protect the team anyway, Tranngol added, "If either of you require this, it is of course a Dellmaice Power Systems expense."

That was definitely true for a full-blown analysis, since he couldn't think of an EPA that wanted that kind of cost every time they had an accident, but a single auditor tended to be negotiable.

Olan eyed Dr. Cebron coldly. If he, and that Kael woman were typical senior technical staff at Dellmaice Power Systems, he wasn't impressed. He was glad no further relationship beyond cleaning up this mess was planned. If Dellmaice had wanted this man's opinion, he would have consulted him prior to their making arrangements. Personally, Olan could see why Dellmaice hadn't. Cebron was talking totally unnecessary delay and expense, and a definite tilt in authority in favor of the EPA. Didn't he realize the client, the Mining Guild, was who he was working for?

"I shall certainly inform Dr. Dellmaice of your opinion," Olan said in a tone of pure ice, and started pointedly to leave.

I bet you will, Tranngol thought. Assuming the power rotation is supporting the hyperweb right now, I'd say I have about twenty minutes. Fifteen for you to blow off steam, and five for Ari to decide exactly what he's going to say to me. He watched the retreating back. Well, I tried.

Auta gave Rostin just enough time to have to make a fair trip back, then said, "Not so fast, Mr. Rostin. I think Dr. Cebron's idea has merit."

Olan stopped and turned around. Then, since neither Cebron or Auta were moving a millimeter, he retraced his steps. He was not going to shout for everyone to hear.

He said grimly, "I would like to discuss that with you, Dr. Auta. In my office."

Trebur's face was as bland as ever. "No doubt, but it is an EPA and Judiciary decision. You can," he added in an apparent attempt at placation, "give me your opinion on a suitable auditor."

Trebur turned to Cebron. "Have you a list you're used to dealing with?"

Tranngol gave him the list. "But don't be constrained by it. We can work with any of the independents, and any of the risk or reliability societies can give you a broader list."

Trebur nodded. That was fair enough. Cebron didn't seem to be selling a favorite.

Nothing more was coming out of Auta, so Tranngol decided a little gentle prodding was in order.

"Dr. Auta, do you have any objection to our collecting documentation and partially setting up the mathematical modeling - the portions that aren't accident specific - collecting failure information from suppliers and such in the interim?"

Trebur took his time thinking. "No, but I prefer the actual modeling wait until the auditor is present."

"And access to the reactor hall and the operator's room?" Tranngol really hoped Auta picked up on this one, or there would be one really mad auditor. Whoever it was would want the accident site intact.

"Nothing is to be touched until the auditor is here."

Trebur was thinking fast. Presumably the auditor needed things intact, but he realized the time problem was crucial. He didn't want to slow Cebron down if there was a lag in getting the auditor.

"Hands in pockets is fine, but," Trebur added, "I'll provide security staff to supervise all access."

Trebur wondered just who at the Judiciary had to approve that, then he remembered that he was the Judiciary. He modified the question to wondering how he went about procuring Security staff without Rostin catching onto his not knowing what he was doing. It was an interesting question.

To Olan this was the last straw. To have a Judiciary Security force on his planet? His planet? He would never hear the end of it from the Mining Guild.

Olan said firmly, "On planet security can supervise access."

Trebur's mind was largely on the problem of how to get Judiciary security personnel here. He assumed Rostin was monitoring transmissions just like he was, so he couldn't call up and say 'how do I do this'. He rather thought he would call the executive assistant to someone at the top and say 'I'm pressed for time, see to this will you?' and they would either say 'yes' or 'I'll have to ask whoever to call you back' and then he'd know the right person.

Trebur said absentmindedly, "You could, if I trusted the Mining Guild any more than I do Dellmaice Power Systems."

Rostin turned purple at the open, public humiliation, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Judiciary troops on his planet. His planet! It was all that Ken Kwan's fault. If he hadn't totally violated direct orders, none of this would be happening. There would be no fatality review, no EPA, no Judiciary, no auditor, and no damned Judiciary troops.

There would just be a busted reactor that was Ari Dellmaice's problem. Well, he might not be able to do a thing about the rest, but there was one thing he could and would do. He would make damn sure one Ken Kwan and was stripped of every last asset and benefit he had, and never worked for the Guild again.

His lips tightened. "If I am no longer needed -" He turned and strode away.

*****

Chapter 27

Mitra watched Durstin's approach with misgivings. Still, she told herself, I have to talk to him some time. She tried to decide what he was thinking, but all she could determine was that he looked dead tired and half ill.

"Durstin." Mitra didn't try to smile. She did try to say 'I'm sorry' but somehow it wouldn't come out. She heard herself saying in much too sharp a voice, "What happened?"

Now that he was standing beside her, she could see the haunted look in his eyes. He didn't answer.

At last Durstin said, "It shouldn't have happened - the rock face collapsing like that. Why did they have to be in an unstable zone when the power went? I knew every one of them."

He looked terrible.

Mitra said gently, "I knew them all too."

"Yeah, well you don't have to live here, do you?"

There was no answer to that, and Mitra didn't try. Durstin turned away, lost in his private grief. Mitra watched him for a moment, then tried to focus her attention on what seemed to be becoming some sort of group meeting at the far end of the shed.

After what felt like an eternity and was actually a minute or two, Durstin turned around again.

"I'm sorry. I still can't come to grips with things."

Mitra found herself liking him better than she had since she met him. "Neither can I. At least you know what happened. I've only had a sketchy report. Maybe you can walk me through it. Start just before with the fuel."

Durstin nodded. "Fred Szatt and I went over the fuel, and went over the fuel, and went over the fuel. Every possible test had been done, and we checked each test result several times. We were both really worried. After all, Fred has a good ore processing background, but he hasn't done this before. It was good work Mitra."

He looked at her beseechingly.

Mitra nodded. Szatt was senior, experienced, and responsible.

"I believe you. Then what?"

"Fred looked really wiped, so I said why didn't he pack it in. And he said not until everything was running. So, we both watched the fuel being loaded, and rode over with it."

Durstin looked off down the shed, not seeing it, but the reactor hall.

"Then the fuel crew started to replace the fuel while Fred and I watched. Rostin had ordered no work in the mines, so we knew demand would be relatively stable, between 35 and 45%. We did one canister at a time, stopping after each for me to check the measurements and - I suppose this is ridiculous - just leave it a while to make sure nothing happened even if the measurements were fine. I stayed in the reactor hall, taking my readings straight off the sensors, but I was in contact with the control room and they were seeing the same thing."

There was a clarity to the recitation Mitra had honestly not thought Durstin capable of. He had obviously had a lot of sleepless nights to go over and over every last move.

He continued, "Once a quarter of the canisters were replaced on the pattern you specified, I put it all on hold and went up to the operator's room and checked the full 3-D core map. The power density was essentially smack on the simulations. I did that again when half, and then when three quarters of the canisters were in. Then," he shrugged, "it was done. Fred and I stood around for ten minutes or so not quite believing it. Then he said he'd get that sleep and I went up to the operating room for one last look at the core map and the safety parameters."

He was looking at space again and Mitra wondered what he was seeing.

"The power distribution was good. The test results hadn't lied, the fuel was uniform. You couldn't see a thing on the overpower trip displays, we were running at such a low power, but the rate-of-rise was the worry anyway, and it looked right - tighter than on imported fuel. I asked the senior operator if I could change displays. I like that third one from Nemizcan best on rate-of-rise. He said it was a good idea, and I did it. I asked if he wanted me to change it back, and he said no. I called Rostin and said he was back in business in the mines and went home.

"I was wiped. It had been a long day and I hadn't been sleeping much either. I took a mild sedative the clinic had prescribed, but it must have knocked me out worse than I thought, because all of a sudden they were shaking me and -" Durstin turned away.

This time the words came out. Mitra touched his arm gently, "I'm so sorry Durstin. I'm sure it isn't your fault."

He didn't answer. What answer could he give? Durstin stared into space. It shouldn't have happened. The mine crew should still be fine, all alive.

To distract himself Durstin looked at the group at the far end of the hall. "What are they doing?"

"I have no idea."

"That Cebron fellow, is he good?"

"Very. He'll find out what's wrong."

As Durstin considered this in silence the group broke up, Rostin leaving alone in obvious fury. He supposed he'd have to go find out what it was and settle him down. He didn't want to. He watched Cebron and Auta approaching, trying to tell himself he cared about what happened next. He didn't.

***

"Dr. Kael," Trebur was trying to do this judicial stuff properly. "I have a document that I request you read, and return to me as the Judiciary representative. It requires your voice print and signature indicating you have read the document and understand it. It explains your basic legal rights as one of the major players in this accident."

Trebur produced a memory pac and gave it to Mitra.

"Thank you." She sure wasn't thanking him but what else did you say?

Trebur nodded gravely and turned to Tranngol. "I would appreciate your doing the same thing. I realize you were not a part of design or construction, but I think understanding it is essential for you to plan your investigation."

He hadn't done this when Tranngol arrived because he'd had to do a little fast research and thinking first. "If you intend to approach the analysis by focusing on finding the cause of the fault as quickly as possible, you will not necessarily treat the other aspects of the system thoroughly enough to prove they could not be a contributing factor. Under our jurisprudence that proof is necessary, or should we go to litigation, you will unnecessarily involve quite a few of your subcontractors."

Trebur had the satisfaction of seeing a very reassuring worried expression on Tranngol's face. "It's a subtle point, and I'm happy to discuss it with you once you've thought it out."

He produced another pac, half nodded, half bowed to Tranngol and Mitra, and left.

It was a subtle point, a very subtle one, Tranngol thought with appreciation and he would have to seriously rethink things. First on that list of rethinks would be Trebur Auta. He obviously wasn't as out of it as he had thought.

Durstin's voice startled them.

"Don't sign it," Durstin said wearily. Then as two sets of eyes focused on him he added, "What you have to do is provide a conditional signature saying you have read it but require review by legal counsel. That's what Rostin said to do."

Tranngol nodded. That was sensible.

Mitra looked at the pac in her hand like it might bite.

"What was going on up there anyway?"

"Auta is bringing in an independent auditor. He's also bringing in Judiciary Security to supervise access to the reactor hall and control room."

No wonder Rostin was livid, Durstin thought. He really should go talk to him. But first he had better think out what an independent auditor meant. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Mitra and Tranngol exchanged worried looks. The man looked terrible.

"Durstin." There was no reply and Mitra tried again, "Durstin, are you all right?"

Durstin kept his eyes shut and gave that serious thought. No he definitely was not all right. He opened his eyes and spoke not to Mitra but to Tranngol. It was an effort to find the words.

"If it isn't an inconvenience, Dr. Cebron," that had to be right, to be polite and formal, "since it will take time to get an auditor, I really think I had better get some sleep or I'm going to be very sick."

Durstin turned to Mitra. It seemed terribly important she understood. "You see, the grid went down. And I had no choice. I had to stabilize the situation in the reactor hall first. But the miners, they were there, trapped." He shut his eyes but that was worse. He could see the mine in his mind. "They couldn't risk more men down there until they could try to finish fusing and stabilizing the rock face. So I had to reconfigure the grid to route all the power there.

"But it was so cold, and the hospital had to have power too. So I had to get a rotating distribution going. There was no one else I could trust to do it. And with the batteries ... only enough for the small population... the people they had three years ago ... I couldn't keep the habitats warm enough for everyone to not get hypothermia. I ..." He looked at her pleadingly. "I didn't want to lose the hydroponics shed, but it was expendable. I ..." It was getting harder to be coherent. "I didn't sleep the first three days. Only snatches since."

Mitra looked at Durstin with real concern. She'd been so occupied with why the reactor overpowered she hadn't given the interval after the accident any serious thought. But it must have been terrible, so much to do, and so much pressure. It was a miracle Durstin had done as well as he had.

"You've been through a lot Durstin, and you did great. No one could have done better." Mitra meant it. "Go get that sleep."

Yes, he needed to sleep. But the hydroponics was stuck in his head. Rostin had been so furious about that. And all the people, not eating right as well as cold. "But I should have ..." Durstin faded out. "The food. . ." He'd better stop leaning on the wall. He'd better go to his room.

"Don't worry about that anyway." Mitra was wondering if Durstin should be standing up. "I've brought crates of food for the next few days."

"Did you?" He should try walking.

"Have you been eating?" Tranngol's voice was sharp.

"Thank you. I don't think it would stay down."

He couldn't eat. When had he, last? He couldn't remember. Durstin started to walk away. He sure it was impolite, but he'd better.

"I'm coming with you," Tranngol announced. Durstin was going to fall in his face.

"No. The legal junk." He kept walking.

Damn. He'd forgotten that, and the inevitable call from Ari. "Brenn!" Tranngol could shout when he had to.

"Yo!" Brenn looked up, and started over at the imperious wave. He wasn't quite Tranngol's size, but he had shoulders Andy would envy.

"Go with Durstin." Then quietly, so Durstin couldn't hear, "Take him to the hospital. He won't make it halfway down the first snake on his own. And stay there until someone tells you how he is."

Brenn nodded and caught up with the weaving figure.

*****

Chapter 28

Tranngol watched Durstin's retreating back with philosophical resignation. One site engineer was down for the count. He mentally apologized to the retreating figure. He'd been too hard judging the man. He was too used to a place the size of Dellmaice Power Systems where there was always a subordinate around. He'd forgotten what it must be like to take the brunt of a crisis essentially alone.

Abruptly Tranngol asked Mitra, "What's he normally like?"

"Durstin?" She was rethinking to. "I guess he's one of those people whose capability doesn't really come through until there's a crisis. I mean, to hold this place together \- I wouldn't have thought he could." Mitra hated to say something nasty now, but she couldn't lie either. "During the technology transfer he drove me crazy. Really dense."

Tranngol nodded. That was closer to his assessment. "Didn't that bother you - turning the rest over to him?"

"Not really. You see, he seemed like the kind that once something was finally drilled into him he'd retain it forever, you know the type. And once there was the technology transfer, the rest was cookie-cutter work." She sighed, "That's why it took forever though."

Tranngol nodded again. He'd met the odd one like that. They often even had good degrees to their credit, thanks to 80 hour weeks and no fun. Well, it was irrelevant now. Durstin was not a factor for the foreseeable future, but Ari Dellmaice was a major one in the very immediate future.

"Well, come on, we may as well read this together, and I can have Ari put Haran Barloth onto it when he calls."

"Ari is calling?" Mitra asked in alarm.

"Oh yes. If the hyperweb has been up for Rostin to call him, I'd give him about fifteen minutes, probably less. So let's do our homework."

***

There was definitely a lot of legalese for Barloth to plow through. But as far as Mitra and Tranngol could figure out, the main concepts were straightforward. In an industrial fatality the Sector Judiciary would automatically place charges unless the accident could conclusively be shown to be an "Act of God". These charges would be placed against all participants, not just the principals, unless they could prove conclusively they could not have been a contributing factor. There was absolutely no onus on the state to prove a thing.

"Haven't they ever heard of 'innocent until proven guilty'?" Mitra was outraged.

"This is the alternate approach to jurisprudence," Tranngol said absentmindedly. "They've obviously seen one too many accidents and decided they've had it."

He was thinking about what Auta had said about his analysis and innocent parties. This was going to make the analysis pure hell for the cases that could mathematically have caused the fault if that component failed, but in reality weren't a contributor because there wasn't a failure of that component. They were going to have to test the whole damned chain piece by piece in some way that could not be challenged, not to say 'hey, that's it' when they found the obvious failures. Damn!

Tranngol realized Mitra was just sitting there.

"Mitra, you okay?" That was all he needed, her crashing too.

"It wasn't an 'Act of God', Tranngol." Her voice was taut. That very legal looking document made Ari's threatening words all too real. She was going to face charges.

"You don't know that." Then in response to the look of total skepticism on her face, "Well, what else do you call a component that fails despite good QA testing? And don't tell me it doesn't happen," he added sternly. "This is my business. You were still in the wear-in stage of your bathtub curve for some components."

The reliability curve plotting the probability of failure against the component age was similar for most components. It was high when the component was new and manufacturing errors showed up or burn-in weaknesses could happen. Then there was a long interval, often as much as twenty five years, when the component was stable and the odds of failure were low. Then age and wear started to show and the rate rose again. In other words, it traced a bathtub shape.

Further argument was stopped by the buzzing of the communication unit in the corner adjacent to Tranngol's desk, the only full communication unit in the room.

"Here we go," he announced. "Eavesdrop if you want, but stay out of sight. His mood is going to be basic vicious."

Mitra hesitated, then went and leaned against the wall out of range of the cameras. Tranngol made the connection.

***

Ari's jaw was set as he stared stonily at the window wall of his office. He had just been forced to sit there for ten minutes with his mouth shut listening to a tirade from Rostin, then spend five minutes apologizing and calming the man down. Dammit, they were supposed to be keeping things under control. Cebron knew that, and what does he do? Bring in an independent, and trigger the arrival of Judiciary troops. No wonder Rostin was apoplectic.

Ari began without preamble. "What the hell you think you're doing Cebron? I want you -"

Tranngol cut in firmly, "I've got something to say first, Ari."

"Like hell you do. You've done all the saying you need to -"

Tranngol didn't raise his voice. "Ari. I'll break connection."

Ari was watching Cebron. Even without the jutting beard he knew the other signs. He meant it.

"It had better be good."

"Three points." Tranngol was moving fast. Ari had no patience. "First. Don't say a thing you don't want recorded."

That stopped Ari in his tracks. "There has been no notification." That was basic privacy law.

"Barloth hasn't done his homework. There's no notification requirement here."

Damn. What had he said to Rostin? Still, what difference did it make if Rostin heard it, or recorded it.

Tranngol read his face, "Not the Mining Guild Ari, Judiciary recording."

"Are you sure?"

"About hyperweb monitoring? No. This room is audio-visual monitored though, and all our rooms, so they'll get voice anyway." He added smoothly, "I know you won't withhold technical information, but you do tend to be free with opinions."

"Thanks." Ari grunted. Damn. What had he said to Rostin?

"Second. Ari! Are you paying attention?"

Ari forced himself to focus. What he had or had not said was water under the bridge. He nodded.

"We have a seriously unstable population here. This is no criticism of Rostin. He's done a really commendable job given the circumstances. But I was negligent. I didn't realize how much our crew would strain resources, especially the food supply. They've lost their hydroponics. Mitra, in one of her usual strokes of brilliance, showed up with a Genie packed with food, which will alleviate short-term pressure."

He might as well make it sound intentional. She needed goodwill with Ari.

"But I want you to reroute the freighter we used to the nearest spaceport and fill it up, at least with enough to feed us. It would also be a gesture of goodwill to bring in additional supplies. I realize contractually we only have to replace power. When I get back I'd like that rethought in this kind of situation."

Ari nodded appreciatively. It would go a long way to placate Rostin. "Done."

That woman was good at thinking on her feet. She must have thought that out within hours of hearing of the accident. Why the hell did she have to screw up? She was one of his best.

"Third. Auta just delivered a legal warning of our rights to Mitra and me. We have to sign them but Barloth should review them first. The fine print if you don't mind," Tranngol added dryly. He shouldn't have had to warn Ari about everything being recorded.

"Transmit it. Now, if that's it -" Ari still wanted a few words about that bringing in an auditor stunt.

"No." Tranngol was peremptory. "Barloth was an aside. I want your full attention and think of this from the Plenata perspective. The fine print needs Barloth, but I've got the main idea. Unless we can prove, to both the EPA's and the Judiciary's satisfaction there was no possibility a component contributed to the accident, every last one of our suppliers is in this up to their eyeballs. Now," he added softly, "count to ten and tell me if an auditor is a good idea."

It took Ari longer than a count of ten. The preliminary approval on Plenata had come through just two weeks ago, and they were all just gearing up. That was why they had to minimize this accident. If any of their sub contractors got dragged into this when it had nothing to do with them, they could get cold feet. It came and went in historical cycles, but right now everyone was seeing too many legal costs. Contractors tended to just cut the risk of legal problems. He didn't want to be the risk that got cut. He'd worked damn hard to keep Dellmaice Power Systems first class and keep the best suppliers loyal. There was no sense in shooting the messenger Ari reminded himself as he tried unobtrusively to ease the tension in his shoulders.

At last Ari said in a tired voice, "Who are they bringing in, Tranngol?"

"I don't know yet. Auta asked for a list of who we'd worked with before, but he's obviously not bound by it."

"Do you see it as a major delay?"

"I don't honestly think Auta will be one. He moves pretty decisively. As for the independent -" Tranngol shrugged. "Their schedules are pretty heavy."

Ari nodded gloomily. Well, there was nothing they could do about it. "Anything else I should know Tranngol?"

Tranngol thought for a minute. "The site engineer, Durstin Fallor, just collapsed. Brenn took him to the hospital. I'd say he's out for three or four days, maybe a week."

Terrific. "Is Kael in decent shape anyway?"

Tranngol nodded.

"All right. Transmit that document when you can. I'll have Barloth talk to both of you directly the next window the hyperweb is up." Ari knew he couldn't hurry it, but he'd be glad when Martine was done.

When the connection was broken Ari sat for a long time thinking. This was going to require very careful handling to not have repercussions for the Plenata project. He was glad he'd minimized the information he passed on to the subcontractors so far. Cebron was good. With any luck, he'd conclusively clear the vast majority and they wouldn't even have to know about it.

*****

Chapter 29

Tranngol looked at Mitra leaning against the wall. She was pale, and the posture was much too reminiscent of Durstin's.

He asked with real concern, "Are you okay?"

"Ari could have at least asked to talk to me. All he cares about is if I can answer questions now that Durstin is unavailable. I'm just a commodity." An expendable one, she added to herself.

Tranngol gave her a twisted smile. "If you're expecting a crisis to bring out new qualities in Ari, forget it! He is going to be his usual lovable self, only more so. Now," he looked around, "as far as I can see today is pretty well shot, so let's get you settled in. Have you got a room yet?"

"No, but that's fine. If Brenn is tied up at the hospital, I can work with someone else."

She didn't want to see one of those rooms again. Or Lilla, and she had told herself she had to see Lilla before she went and hid in her room. Otherwise she'd never get it over with.

"Mitra," Tranngol wasn't buying it, "you're looking almost as rough as Durstin. If you want to ignore the fact we're friends, damned if I'm having two sick engineers on my hands."

Mitra dug in her heels. "Tranngol, I've just about had enough today. I'm staying here."

Tranngol's eyebrows went up. "Getting a room is that bad? You just deal with some harmless little secretary type, not Rostin." He had noticed the way Rostin was treating her.

"No, getting a room is not that bad," she snapped. He could get off her back any time.

"All right, what is?" Tranngol asked patiently.

"Tranngol, there's work to do."

"Try 'no', Mitra."

This was ridiculous. Besides, he wanted her stuff out of his room. It was cramped enough already. Usually Mitra was reasonable, so what was her problem? Oh, maybe -

Tranngol asked softly, "Have you been to see the miners yet?"

She was too tired to fight. "Yes, but not Lilla."

"Lilla? Is that the dead miner's wife, your friend?"

Mitra nodded, eyes firmly on her feet.

"You can't avoid her forever. She's holding up as well as can be expected - I've talked to her already," Tranngol said matter-of-factly. "So how about I come along for moral support. We can go to the hydroponics shed first. Then," he added trying to sound cheerful, "you can collapse. And then, would you please, please get your junk out of that closet sized space that is supposed to be my room?" Keep her distracted and get her walking. "I mean, I've seen some good-sized men in the cafeteria. How do they manage? I can barely turn around, the bed is too short, and the shower ..." He stuck out his elbows. "Ouch."

Mitra had to smile. When she thought about it, she couldn't imagine Tranngol in one of the showers here. He was right. Just get it over with.

***

Now, what had he said? Mitra frowned, then shouted to be heard over the sonics the wind was generating in the snake, "What junk of mine do you have?"

They were single file Tranngol leading the way. She had to strain to keep up to him, but that was normal with Tranngol.

He said over his shoulder, "All the clothes Elin packed. I'd really sooner get them out before we ruin our reputations."

To Mitra he didn't sound the least bit worried though.

***

"Mitra!"

All the concerns and rehearsals about what to say were irrelevant. Before Mitra could open her mouth, Lilla was smothering her in a trembling, teary hug. Lilla had always been slender, and now if felt like she hadn't eaten since the accident. Her fair complexioned face was almost colorless.

"I've been waiting for you. Word came you arrived. Have you talked to Ken?" Lilla added, nervously patting Mitra like she was a dog.

Mitra nodded, trying not to cry.

"Now Mitra," Lilla held her at arm's length. "It was an accident. Don't feel bad. The crews know there can be one any time they go down. It can be their fault, or their best friend's. All you can do is your best. You always did that, okay?" Lilla gave her little shake, then released her. She wanted to, had to, leave thinking about the accident behind. Grief was a luxury she only indulged in alone, in the middle of the night. There was too much surviving to cope with, and Tessa.

"Did you ever get that holiday on Gingezel?" Lilla asked a little too brightly, her blue eyes filled with tears as well.

"Yes." Mitra forced herself to talk. "I was telling Ken and the crew about it."

"Oh." Lilla's face fell.

"Is something wrong?" Mitra asked in confusion.

"No ... no, of course not. I just wanted to hear first. You'll just have to tell me too. Maybe at supper?"

"Of course. Want to meet at the caf when your shift ends?"

The offer was forced. Mitra wasn't sure she didn't want to just stay in her room when she got there. Then Mitra realized that Lilla was only half paying attention to her answer. She kept sneaking looks at Tranngol, who was off a ways talking to the hydroponics foreman. You could see their puffs of breath.

"Yes. The cafeteria is good." Then in a rush, "Mitra, are you and he - you know." Lilla blushed.

"Tranngol?" Mitra was shocked. "Where did you get an idea like that?"

Mitra couldn't be pretending to be that surprised, Lilla decided. Now she was really embarrassed.

"Well, Mrs. Green, you know, she does the cleaning. She said there were a bunch of women's clothes in his room, and they were so tiny they had to be yours."

And, knowing Mrs. Green, all Drezvir knew now. Mitra caught Tranngol's eye, and raised her voice.

"You're out of luck Tranngol, your reputation's already ruined."

"How?" He started to drift towards Mitra.

He still didn't sound the least bit concerned, she noticed.

"The cleaning lady. Which," Mitra's brow furled, "raises an interesting question. What was she doing in his suitcases?"

"Oh," Tranngol sounded virtuous. "I hung everything in my closet."

"Tranngol, what in the galaxy did you do that for?" Mitra demanded. She noticed the rest of the workers in the shed were finding reasons to drift into earshot.

"Elin told me to." He turned to Lilla. "She's the one who packed stuff for Mitra, and she's one of those sweet motherly types that scare the living daylights out of me. What she says, I do."

Lilla was suppressing a desire to giggle. He looked too big to be afraid of anything. She heard a snicker off to the back, but didn't dare look.

"Oh well," Mitra tried to shrug it off. "It isn't like there was anything intimate."

"Well -" Tranngol drawled in a fair imitation of his fiancée, Martine.

"Tranngol - what -" Mitra was getting embarrassed.

"Well -" He was having fun teasing. "There is this really sweet little nightie." He turned to Lilla again. "You're going to have to help a poor bachelor. It's some kind of fuzzy stuff, it's green, with cute little blue flowers and lots of lace."

"Flannel," Mitra supplied through clenched teeth. What was Tranngol doing?

"Flannel," Tranngol added the word to his vocabulary. "You see," he announced to the general crowd, "I usually sleep buff, so how would I know?"

Mitra gave him a look that could kill. The other female looks were much friendlier and definitely assessing. In his way Tranngol was handsome.

He paused. "And there's real cute little blue slippers." With a pleased look he announced, "I know those. They're shearling." To Lilla he added, "We get fairly nasty raw winters on Pendrae, but nothing to match yours."

"Are you quite finished?"

"Mitra," Lila interposed, trying with diminishing success not to laugh, "it's cold here. You'll be glad of warm things."

"Too true," Tranngol agreed. "Martine made a quick stop at the mall and got us both thermal pj's. I swore I'd never wear them, but I got up about 2 A.M. last night and put them on. I was frozen." He shrugged. "At least that changed problems from being cold and trying to sleep to being toasty and so uncomfortable I couldn't."

Lilla gave up and laughed. He was a likable man. "Who's Martine?"

"My fiancé just to set the record straight. The one installing the batteries and fuel cells."

***

As soon as they were out in the snake Mitra rounded on Tranngol. "How could you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Embarrass me like that."

"Come on Mitra. Since when are you so thin-skinned? Besides," he added gently, "it seems to me you started it, saying my reputation is ruined."

"Yes." She was still angry. "But you didn't need to describe my nightwear in detail! That'll be all over the site."

"So?" That was Tranngol's intention.

Why was he being so dense? It wasn't like Tranngol.

"It doesn't exactly seem appropriate in the circumstances."

"Mitra, if you hadn't got all huffy, you'd have seen how funny it was. Everyone else did. Your friend Lilla was having a terrible time not laughing, but she didn't dare with you looking like a thundercloud."

By her expression, Tranngol would say she was missing the point totally. He said quietly, "Look, there hasn't exactly been much to laugh about here lately. If we're the source, does it matter?"

No, she supposed it didn't.

"Sorry Tranngol. I'm too tense." Mitra tried to smile. "Can you relax by sheer willpower?"

***

Mitra looked around her room with a mixture of resignation and depression. She had never, never, been going to come back to the colony on Drezvir, and already it felt like she had never left. It wasn't the same room she'd had before. In that room the colored panel behind the little foldout table - the only color in the room - had been apple green. This time it was pale pink, a color she detested and one that would probably look terrible in the reddish Drezvir daylight, not that it mattered. She didn't intend to spend much time here. But otherwise every feature and color - namely beige - of the cramped space was identical.

She was finally finished for the day. A little bit of work had actually been done for Tranngol, supper survived, and her clothes moved. Durstin was definitely in the hospital for the indefinite future, lightly sedated and not allowed visitors until he caught up on rest. Tranngol said they'd better all take that as a warning and balance how hard they pushed, which was nice in theory, but he had Martine to relax with.

That thought brought her to Dreen. Mitra had tried to keep him out of her mind, because first there had been no easy way to contact him en route, and then there had been all the stresses of arriving here to get through. But what would he think with her just taking off like that? Would he be furious, or concerned? Both she decided. It would start out concerned, but he tended to get angry when he was really worried.

She should try to contact him if there was a hyperweb link at the moment. She really should get a schedule for the rotating brownouts, if Martine had a schedule that is. She had no idea what kind of handoff there had been between Martine and Durstin, or if Martine intended to keep his schedule. What did it matter, she was just stalling. Mitra went to her compad and tried to access the hyperweb. No luck. Well, she'd try again in a bit.

Walking to the other end of the room, Mitra unfolded the bed. Outside, the larger moon Sinnia was just rising, as beautiful as she remembered it. She stood there for a while watching, then went back to the little table.

Where should she try if Dreen wasn't still at the hotel? She had no idea where he might go next. Why hadn't she at least found out a business address? Mitra knew why. Those lovely, lazy days had felt like they would last forever, and there had been no hurry. Tomorrow was always soon enough. Stupid! But it was too late now. The only other approach she could think of was Joran. She wondered just how hard it was to get access to the famous Anton. Pretty hard, she guessed.

Enough! She was stalling again. Mitra tried to make the link. No luck again. Then the lights dimmed. Brownout time here, she assumed. Then they went totally out. Oh-oh. She hoped that was planned. There was nothing else to do. In the dim red light of Sinnia she found her flannel nightie and chenille robe. She got into the nightie and spread the robe on the bed as an extra blanket. It was cold enough already that she hoped the outage wasn't long. Cheap habitats did not have superior insulation. Climbing into bed, Mitra curled up in a ball, and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. Much, much later she gave up, turned on her back, and watched Sinnia climb the sky.

*****

Chapter 30

Chett's natural sensitivity to mood had been well honed by years of running the Nemizcan Computing hubs. He could usually judge what he was walking into within minutes of his arrival. The mood on Drezvir was definitely not good. Even if he allowed for the fact that this crowd was never going to be the fun and games type, it was grim, somewhere between tense and funereal. Chett had no idea what was wrong either. His attempts first at general conversation, then at a bit of open fishing had been rebuffed. Oh well, he'd see Rostin, apologize for lousy timing, get his business done, and leave the citizens of Drezvir to their problems.

The lights in the corridor went out, and the young man who had been providing him with transport swore and froze. Since no emergency lighting was coming on and there was only a bit of dull red light through doorways to offices with windows, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do. In a few minutes they came on, dimmed, flickered, then went out again. Now that his attention was on them, the lights were dim at their brightest. The place was damned cold too. He was going to freeze in his all season suit. As always, Chett could be mistaken for a fashion model with his latest style suit, perfectly groomed blond hair, slender build, and boyish looks.

"Having a few grid problems?" Chett asked as the lights came on, and stayed on.

"Yes, Mr. Linderson."

They were at Rostin's office now. The young man opened the door, saw him walk in, and disappeared. Talkative crowd. The squat middle-aged secretary was sitting staring at a blank screen of a terminal that, if the little power hiccup he'd just been through was typical, probably hadn't been up for a while. She had a what-to-do with-myself-now look on her face.

"Chett Linderson," he prompted.

She came to life.

"Oh, Mr. Linderson. The spaceport told us you were here. We weren't expecting you for three weeks or so."

"I had to accelerate my schedule. I hope I'm not inconveniencing you."

"Oh, no. Mr. Rostin is expecting you."

It was unconvincing.

She took one last look at the terminal then rose and led him to the office.

"Mr. Linderson, sir."

Olan rose, hand outstretched. "Mr. Linderson."

"Mr. Rostin."

Chett was looking for clues here, but Rostin was a hard man to read at the best of times. Right now he looked rather like an aging grave bank manager reviewing an overdrawn account.

"Please, sit down. I wasn't expecting you, but I'm glad you're here. I've heard nothing but good words about your interface. We're looking forward to using it on our other units."

The lights flickered again, and Rostin came to a halt apparently waiting to see what happened next. Well, if they were happy with the interface, at least he wasn't on Rostin's list of problems. Better to make a few tactful noises and clear out.

"I seem to have come at a bad time. Grid problems?"

Rostin nodded. "Dellmaice Power Systems can't seem to bring the fuel cells online."

Fuel cells? What were they doing with fuel cells? Chett said cautiously, "Have you changed your strategy then?"

Olan was weighing what to say. Nemizcan Computing was a reliable company, and their product was necessary for the additional units. He had hoped to have all this cleared up before Linderson arrived. As it was, he wanted to minimize any concerns Linderson might have since he definitely did not want Nemizcan pulling out of future projects. Still, Linderson was no fool, and he wouldn't appreciate game playing. The straightforward, don't make a big thing out of it approach was probably the best.

Olan said, "Actually, we've had a problem and the hybrid is down. I'd hoped to at least have it sorted out, if not up and running, before you got here. As it is -" he shrugged as the lights flickered again. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

A problem where Dellmaice Power Systems was shifting the colony to fuel cells, not bringing the hybrid back up, was not a minor one. Chett said bluntly, "How bad?"

"I can assure you, it isn't a problem for Nemizcan."

Rostin could get stiff necked. Chett hesitated, wondering how to get around this. He wanted to judge for himself if this was, or wasn't, a problem for Nemizcan. As he hesitated, the grid went down. This time it didn't come back. In the queer reddish light from the window Rostin looked grim.

"Look, the last thing you need is me cluttering your office," Chett said in a soft voice as he stretched out his long legs. "But I do need, for my own peace of mind, to know what happened."

He did his best to make it look like he intended to sit there until he found out. It worked. The need to get rid of the visitor and cope with what was obviously a major problem overcame Rostin's discretion.

"There was an overpower incident. A pressure tube blew."

Then this was definitely not a minor problem. Rostin meant a serious accident, not something found out of spec in routine maintenance. Chett wasn't a power systems man, but he suspected blowing a pressure tube took some doing. His mind went into overdrive trying to assess if, despite Rostin's assurances to the contrary, there was any way the Nemizcan interface or the equipment it was implemented on could have contributed. In his early days working instrumentation and control he'd done a long stint as a troubleshooter. He shifted to that mode now while he kept his calm, easy-going exterior and asked the next question.

"Any injuries?"

He wasn't going to be stupid and ask about damage. Chett had toured the reactor hall in various stages of construction. If there was just a rupture, it was bad enough. If the pipe had sheared, there would be one hell of a mess.

Olan nodded.

"What injuries?"

It was putting Rostin on the spot, but Chett had to know. His private assessment was coming up with two answers already that he didn't like on the Nemizcan interface equipment contributing to an overpower. His eyes met Rostin's in a silent battle. He won.

"They were fusing a rock face when the power went. It was unstable. Two were killed. Eight are in the hospital."

Chett whistled under his breath. "Look, Mr.Rostin, it's a wonder you even found time for me. Please believe me, I'm truly sorry for your troubles. That is a tragic loss anywhere, and you must really be feeling it in a tight community like this."

Again Olan nodded.

For the first time Chett wondered how old the man was. He looked tired, and very, very, old just then. Within five or six years of retirement maybe. What a terrible last memory.

"Look, the additional units must be the last thing on your mind, if you're even going ahead -"

"No," Olan cut in. "Actually this accelerates our schedule. I'm confident the mistake will be found and fixed, but this means we need one more unit than we thought. I had hoped to talk to you about that on your scheduled visit."

That was a damned hard line to take, Chett thought. Still, he supposed that was what this man got paid for. Deal with the problems, keep all these people going, and collapse in privacy later. Chett thought of the bitter cold. The worst of their winter was coming fast, so Rostin didn't have the luxury of grief. Chett comfortably managed the Nemizcan hubs, but the idea of managing a whole planet staggered him.

He said sincerely, "I'm sure I only have the vaguest idea of what you're coping with right now, but that's enough to make me glad it isn't me. I expect on your immediate priority list I'm right about seventy-eighth or so, so what I'd like to do is clear out and stay out of your way. I'll put myself at your disposal, but you set the timing. I would say I'll do what I can to help, but I'm not coming up with much. If you do, tell me."

Olan nodded. "Thank you." Linderson was a sound man, easy to deal with. He started to close the interview. "It may be as late as tomorrow before I can see you. You're welcome to our hospitality in the meantime." He gestured in frustration to the series of dark habitats visible across a small courtyard. "Such as it is."

"Thanks. The schedule suits me. In the mean time, I want to talk to whoever is running the accident post mortem."

Olan was firm. "I assure you it's some kind of engineering hardware problem, nothing to do with your computers."

Time to stop being nice. "Mr.Rostin, I'm not telling you how to do your job, don't tell me how to do mine. I worked hardware before I worked software. I know the possible interactions. I hope you're right. I sincerely hope I stay number seventy-eight on your list, but to put it bluntly I wouldn't bet on it. If I hear that from the analyst, if they've already ruled a software interaction out, great. But that's the person I deal with. Who is it?"

Olan didn't like it, but Linderson's position was fair enough. He'd probably do the same thing. "Dr. Tranngol Cebron. He's from Dellmaice Power Systems, their Head of Risk and Safety. I can have you taken there."

"And I'm seeing the damage. Starting with the mine, then the injured men, then the reactor hall."

Olan was rapidly revising his opinion of Chett. He was the type where if you gave in at all he pushed for all it was worth.

"That is out of the question."

"Suit yourself. I can go see this Cebron fellow first, and he can tell me I've got a problem. Then I can come back and ask you again. I assure you he will, Mr.Rostin. I came up the tech side, not business management like you. I've a pretty good idea he'll say that Nemizcan software is high on the list of likely causes of the accident.

"But he won't have the authority to allow me access the mines." Chett continued in a soft drawl, "I don't deal with a problem until I've looked at all the aspects and assessed the implications. I'll just be back here making the same request, at what could well be a less convenient time."

He stared out the window while Rostin thought that one out. Chett preferred not to be pushing the man this hard at a time like this, but the more he thought, the less happy he was. He tried to put a curb on that. He was getting too far down that road and he'd pre-form conclusions that might be wrong. He thought instead about the lights. That up, dip, hold, then either back up or completely out pattern they were having on the grid. That timing was familiar.

***

Chett was at that moment singularly unpopular with Olan. Olan had no doubt that, if Linderson was right and Nemizcan was dragged into the analysis, the scenario would play out exactly as he had said. Linderson would be back and sit in that chair until he got what he wanted. The question was, was he right? Olan had no technical background. It had never occurred to him that those truly impressive displays from Nemizcan could in any way be implicated in the accident. He wished he could ask Durstin, but he was sedated in the hospital. One thing was certain, Linderson thought he was in trouble. Well, if Linderson liked being blunt, he could be too.

"The mine is unsafe."

"You're sending crews down. Odds are I'll come up again." Physical risk didn't bother Chett.

"Only reasonable odds. That's all. They'd be a lot better if there was a decent atmosphere on Drezvir and the mine wasn't running on its auxiliary power. That acts up and there's no backup. My miners are trained professionals. The auxiliary goes and they know how to survive without power and air - for a while, not long. You don't."

That much of a risk was enough to slow Chett down. He said gently, "I see," as he returned his stare to the window. He sat for a moment then turned to Rostin. "Any reports of recent problems with the auxiliary power?"

"No."

"Then I'll call it by the shift foreman. If he's nervous or says no way, I'll listen. Otherwise I go down. If you want I'll sign a release for any liability."

"You'll do that all right." Olan was grim. "You won't like what you find."

"I don't expect to."

*****

Chapter 31

Chett hesitated at the entrance to the snakes. "Can we get to where they're installing the fuel cells from here?"

It was his guide's turn to hesitate. "I thought I was to take you to the mines."

"And a series of other stops. I'm just changing my itinerary. I had an idea that just might get those lights back on."

It was a winning argument.

In the doorway of a large shed-like structure Chett wrinkled his nose at the familiar fused electronics smell. A statuesque black woman was standing with her back to the door, hands on hips, doing her best to ionize her immediate environment as well. She was obviously in charge; she wouldn't be that angry otherwise. The woman had quite a vocabulary.

Chett listened appreciatively for a few moments, then stepped forward, raising his voice, "Hello there!"

She turned on him, eyes narrowing.

"Who the hell are you?" Martine was seeing a tall slender blond, handsome to the point of being pretty. He was in an immaculate, expensively tailored all-season suit, and he looked like some bloody fashion model.

"Chett Linderson. And," he raised a hand, "I'm not sightseeing. I checked in to see if you've been spending your time fusing some Tranus Dynamics STC-1027s."

Her hands went back on her hips and her eyes widened. "How'd you know that?"

"The rather interesting timing sequence you were putting through the grid before you blew each one. I've had a rather checkered career, and one much too long stint was troubleshooter in QA at Tranus Dynamics. I've fused quite a few myself. An STC-1027 wasn't what went last time though."

"No," she drawled the syllable. "Now it's back to square one."

Chett nodded. "Getting any joy from Tranus Dynamics?"

"Not much. I contacted the -" She hesitated on the adjective to use in front of a stranger who had worked there.

Chett provided a few suggestions from his best space flot vocabulary. That almost got him a smile, which was an improvement.

"Yes, well, they sent me the full specifications and said they'd put someone on the problem. That was yesterday."

Chett didn't expect much more. Tranus Dynamics was a conservative little company that had served the same market, and often the same customers, for over a century. What they did, and what the customer expected, simply didn't change. Serious trouble would throw them.

"Well, it's a good enough unit, but it only accepts a very narrow operating envelope. By the way I don't know your name."

"Martine."

"I assume, Martine, you're outside that envelope?"

"Oh yes."

"Just how much?"

Martine told him. Right now she'd take suggestions from the janitor.

"Martine." Chet was reproachful. "You can't seriously be expecting to get away with that."

"We've done the best we could," she said defensively.

"Well, it isn't good enough." Chett was taking over without realizing it. "Don't you think it's time for a little team meeting to look for the tiny wins you might have missed going for the big stuff? And, if there are any units left, I'll take a look if you don't mind."

She pointed to a stack of crates. "Help yourself."

"You were expecting trouble then?"

Martine nodded. "This mess of a grid isn't our design, and it isn't made to tolerate our cells. If we'd had the brains and the nerve, we'd have stopped at the competition en route. As it is, I've stepped down and done what I could to bring each bank on real soft. The additional batteries weren't bad, but the fuel cells ...." She shrugged her frustration.

Chett was starting to appreciate her situation, despite his unfamiliarity with power systems.

"Well, see what you can do, even if it's a fraction of a percent, and I'll see what I can do. Give me their current specs, and have you any brawn I can borrow?"

"At least that's no problem." Martine called over a few muscular young men in Mining Guild coveralls.

"Help him - it's Chett isn't it?"

Chett nodded, heading for the crates, Martine's compad in his hand.

"Hey, Chett. You going to work like that?"

Martine watched in amusement as Chett looked in mild surprise at his suit, took off the jacket, and casually threw it on the pile crates.

Listening as he worked, Chett didn't really understand what Martine and her team were saying, but they sounded like they did, and they worked well together. He didn't expect less from Dellmaice Power Systems though. He got the first STC 1027 unpacked and worked through the specs. No changes, the dummies. The cost of the changes he'd recommended were nominal and would have doubled the operating envelope so people like Martine wouldn't have problems.

He interrupted Martine and her team when he was part way through looking at the unit. "Want to see exactly where you're hitting trouble?"

He showed them where the materials problems were, and gave what he remembered of the lecture on why. It probably made no difference, but it couldn't hurt. Then he turned to his helpers.

"Now we unpack the rest."

The brawn looked at the small mountain of crates.

"All of them?" they asked in unified disbelief.

"All of them."

***

He was standing there with his hands on his hips rather like Martine. It may have been too many years ago; now he'd find out if he'd lost his touch.

When Martine finally returned, about one-third of the crates were unpacked. Most units were lined up in an empty space, a few were off in a corner.

"Well?" Chett turned to Martine and his helpers took the opportunity to become invisible.

"We got a few wins. This is the best we can do," she told him.

Chett shook his head. "You're still outside the envelope. Got a plan B.?"

Martine gave him a slow look. "Oh yes."

It was an attractive drawl.

"Well?" he prompted.

"We can contact our freighter. It's probably a third of the way home." Martine hadn't heard yet of Tranngol's request for a food run. "It can be diverted and refueled, sent to the competition, and when they stop laughing, stocked and sent back. That should only leave these poor people freezing in the dark for three or four extra weeks, assuming," she gave Chett a resigned look, "I can get Rostin and Ari to sign off the RFQ this afternoon. The odds of that are just about zero. In fact, just offhand I'd lay higher odds on not blowing one of the next 15 of those STC-1027s going at it the way we were before."

Chett raised his eyebrows. "I'd think Rostin and Dellmaice want operations back to normal at any cost."

"I can't speak for Rostin. What Ari wants is for this not to get out. Period. The competition would spread it as fast as they could and never let us live it down." Martine was trying to figure out the expression on Chett's face and gave up.

"There's even a plan C," she volunteered.

"Is there?" Chett asked with a grin. There was something in her tone that made him suspect he'd like this one. He was starting to like this Martine woman.

"Oh yes." It was the same lovely drawl. "I can go tell Tranngol that I don't give a damn about that accident analysis he's doing, and my team and I are going into the area the Judiciary has sealed off, and we're taking apart whatever we have to, then plugging the power from the geothermal extraction unit back into the grid.

"After all, the geothermal unit wasn't damaged so the base power is still there. What's damaged is the coupling to the hybrid and the grid in the reactor hall. If," she added with a grin, "you're proud of your vocabulary, arrange to be in the background when Tranngol tells me what he thinks of that. Then I'd have to tackle the Judiciary rep."

Chett smiled back. "Definitely plan A?"

"Or B," she said realistically. "It depends on what you've been up to." Martine looked at the unpacked units.

"Trying to find what I haven't so far," Chett said. "I told you I used to work QA at Tranus Dynamics. Unless their manufacturing process has changed, and I sincerely doubt anything changes with that crowd, somewhere between 9 and 12% of the units come in over-spec, quite possibly high enough over-spec to work with the new figures you gave me."

"Would you be able to tell an over-spec unit if you saw one?" Martine asked bluntly.

"Good question," Chett answered. "I used to be able to, but that doesn't count. What I can tell you," he pointed to the units separated out, "is those are total crap and should have received rejection slips. When you have time, send them back." They weren't a priority, but Chett didn't approve of overlooking errors like that. "If you're busy anyway, I'll keep going."

Martine nodded. "Fair enough."

***

Chett and his reluctant helpers were pretty much finished by the time Martine returned.

"Well?"

Chett pointed to two units put aside. "Those should let you bring two banks up anyway."

"How can you tell?" Martine was sincerely curious.

Chett shrugged. He couldn't explain the dozen subtle differences that spelt 'better than good'.

"Just in case I'm right, do you need to practice new techniques on regular units before we risk them?"

Martine nodded.

"Then pick one at random from the pile I think is average." He smiled. "You may get lucky."

She almost did. It held, then just when everyone was starting to breathe, failed. But Chett still had his eye. They tried one of his picks, and it held.

"Okay." Chett was quite pleased with himself. "You're in business."

Martine was smiling now. "I don't know what you normally are, or what you're supposed to be doing instead of helping me, but why don't you stick around? I can use your caliber of help."

"Thanks for the compliment." Chett meant it. "But normally

I'm V.P. of Field Operations for Nemizcan." He said it totally casually, because he was no more or less proud of that position than any of the others he'd done well at, including the starting ones that were well below the level Martine was at.

It threw Martine. She figured maybe with the fancy clothes he was some kind of salesman who'd started out on the technical side and got tired of getting his hands dirty.

"You're what?" There was a note of accusation in the question.

"Vice President of Field Operations, Nemizcan Computing. That translates into I'm the road man who keeps all the hubs going." Then smiling at the expression on her face, "Does that mean you're taking the complement back?"

"No, but -"

"But if you'd known who I was, you wouldn't have let me get my hands," he looked down, "and pants for that matter, dirty? Then what? We'd all still be walking around in the dark.

"Forget it Martine. For that matter, I'd stick around, but today isn't getting any younger and," the smile faded, "I still have to see the mine, and the survivors, and the reactor hall. I assume the hall is one hell of a mess?"

She nodded, not smiling now either.

"Then I have to have a long serious talk with this Tranngol Cebron fellow. Do you know him?"

She owed him one, and Chett would just as soon not walk into that interview blind. He didn't get the reaction he expected. A warm smile transformed her face, and she held up the left-hand where he had noticed a simple engagement band.

"I had better know him."

"Congratulations. He's a lucky fellow." And obviously not short on self-confidence. The man who took on Martine would be taking on quite a package. "Have you any objections to giving me the two-minute resumé - who Tranngol is and such?"

Martine didn't mind. "Tranngol is head of Risk and Safety Analysis. It's kind of a funny position, because even though it isn't that big a group, it's stand alone. At Dellmaice Power Systems we have several large divisions with vice presidents running them, but you don't want the risk and safety people in any of them - in case they have to come in and sort out trouble."

"Like now."

Martine nodded glumly.

"So who does he report to?"

"Straight to Ari."

That was interesting. "And his background - is he technical or an administrator?"

"Technical. His degrees are engineering physics, risk, then applied mathematics."

"It is doctor then?" He thought that was what Rostin had said.

Martine nodded.

"No offense, but is that background typical? This is a new game to me." This Tranngol sounded like an academic.

Martine considered. "I don't think there is a typical background. You get a real mixed crowd working risk and safety, and a lot don't stick it out. In Tranngol's case, he decided early on he liked it. By the time he decided to take a break from working industry and do his doctorate, he was heavily into the mathematical modeling side, and the professor willing to take him on as a grad student just happened to be in the Faculty of Mathematics, so now he's a mathematician."

Since Martine seemed to find this intensely amusing, Chett risked,"But he can do hands on work in a pinch?"

"As well as you can. Don't they brief you before meetings?"

"Usually, but when I got here I didn't know there had been an accident, much less that a person called Tranngol Cebron existed. I'm playing catch up."

That got him a snort of the general isn't-that-the-way-it-goes category, but no comment.

"So," Chett continued, "let's get you some nice over-spec units, and I'll be out of here. Do you by any chance have an organization chart from when you tried your luck earlier?"

Martine called it up and handed it over, pointing to the group she'd tried. "I tried these guys."

Chett made a face. Talk about a moribund company. Those guys had been dead wood when he was there.

"No wonder you didn't get any joy there. Let's see ..." His finger slid over the rest of the chart, and stopped. "Well, well, well. Look who's here. Milton Trave."

He hadn't thought of him in years. Milton had been a good first boss to have. He'd done well too, very well. Milton was now high enough up he could butt into what was none of his business without anyone opening their mouths.

"Okay Martine, he's your man, and here's what you do. Give this guy a call."

She peered over his shoulder. "Milton Trave?"

"That's right. We used to work together. To be accurate, he was my first boss. Tell him I told you to call him because you weren't getting any joy from the other group. Feel quite free to use that rather charming vocabulary of yours. It will establish your bona fides as a dissatisfied customer.

"Then tell him you spent the last day and a half blowing STC-1027s, lost some other equipment as a consequence, and a whole mining colony is freezing in the dark thanks to that. Then tell him you need - double whatever you need - of the STC-1027s that are over-spec, and only the ones that are over-spec because the rest of their stuff is garbage.

"Then tell him that you expect those packed, and on an Interstellar Courier Express Genie in eight hours or less." That got him a stunned look from Martine.

"Don't worry. They can do it with a double QA shift doing nothing else. That place could use a little excitement." Chett smiled. "At his expense of course, otherwise you bill him for the lost time and equipment as well. On no account mention how far out of spec you were - quote those figures you're achieving now if anyone asks. If they'd any sense they'd have met the larger envelope years ago, but keep that out of it."

Chett shrugged. "There'll be a bit of screaming, but Milton is as good as anyone at kicking butt." He looked at Martine. "Can you do all that?"

She did not look happy, and he realized belatedly that Ari Dellmaice was probably quite good at kicking butt too, and probably would not take well to employees who totally ignored the hierarchy. He was getting used to being at the top of the heap.

"Yes." Martine was bracing herself.

"But you'll hear about it for bypassing line management?"

Martine shrugged. "It has to be done."

"Look, how about I do the intro, then if Ari has anything to say, it's to me. I haven't talked to Milton in years anyway. You have to take the technical discussion though - it could be a long-term liaison."

"Thanks."

"Then let's get it over with if you haven't totally knocked the hyperweb link out. Have you established visual access for yourself?" Chett knew the limitations on Drezvir all too well.

Martine nodded.

***

Chett had expected a runaround, but in next to no time he was looking at Milton. He hadn't lost one tenth of a kilo, and he wasn't any handsomer either, but the smile was one of the most welcoming Chett had seen in a long time.

"Chett Linderson, where the hell have you been? I've never seen anyone drop out of sight so well."

"I'm with Nemizcan Computing now, their road man. I'm essentially on a permanent tour of the hubs."

"The secretary you just scared the life out of said V.P. of something or other. Well, you always did have the makings of a good piece of space flot. Now me," Milton patted his amply padded bulk. "I like the comforts of home."

"You always did. You haven't done so badly yourself."

"Not bad, not bad," Milton agreed. "Nothing spectacular like you, but about as good as I'm likely to around here. So, how can I help you? I assume this isn't a social call."

"No, it isn't, but before we get busy, how about supper next time I'm on planet - meet halfway or whatever."

"I'll give you a tentative yes, but I have to check it with the Mrs. at the time - and you'll lose out if it's the grandkids' birthday or whatever."

"In that case we'll talk for hours on the planetary web," Chett said smiling. It would be good to remember old times. "But now, what I was hoping is that you could help a woman here from Dellmaice Power Systems who is having serious trouble with one of your components, and she's getting no support in the appropriate section. I told her I'd do the introductions and you were really good at kicking butt and problem solving. Martine." He turned to where Martine was waiting.

"Not so fast Chett."

Milton knew Chett very well. He was going way too fast, and laying on the charm and smiles with way too heavy a hand. That meant he was furious. Milton had expected to be told in that same light voice and with that same easy smile exactly how they had screwed up, how Chett expected it fixed, and what would happen if they didn't. It wasn't too bad a process as long as you didn't miss the cues, and were saying 'yes sir' before he finished. He'd seen Chett perfect that approach on subordinates as he worked his way up the company. If the smiles had you missing the content, you got hit so hard and fast your head spun for weeks. But it hadn't happened. All there was was a lady with a problem.

Chett refocused. "Yes?"

"I can read an identification tag on the call as well as the next guy. You're on Drezvir. Does the lady with a problem have something to do with the reactor that's temporarily down? Because if she does, I thought we'd set up lines of communication on that."

Temporarily down. Well, that was one way of putting it. "Dellmaice has been in touch with you then?" Chett's voice was tight. Of course, he would have been. Tranus Dynamics had always supplied a lot of components for Dellmaice Power Systems.

Warning bells were going off in Milton's head. "Yes, briefly. He said the hybrid is down and they didn't know why, and that some questions might come back to us while they sorted it out, and would we answer them ASAP, they wanted to get it back up. What," he asked Chett bluntly, "should I know that I don't?"

Chett said lightly, "Now, now, don't raise your blood pressure. At least you got a call. I walked into this," he almost used a few words from his more expressive vocabulary, but simply settled for, "mess blind on a routine field stop."

"You're losing me, Chett. Where does Nemizcan come in on the hybrid at all?"

"We did the control room operator interface."

Milton was incredulous. "You're going head-on with ContSaft? Since when, and more relevantly, why?"

Nemizcan Computing didn't need that market, Milton thought frowning. Computing equipment for critical applications was a small, expensive, and highly specialized market. It didn't make sense. Nemizcan wasn't geared for it. They did interfaces for the large business market.

Chett shook his head. "Nothing heads on. Call it a friendly cooperation. The current ergonomic theory is that multiple screens reduce operator stress and therefore reduce the human error factor. Dellmaice has been at us for some time, and when the hybrid came up we agreed to give it a try. ContSaft still did the critical stuff, we're an overlay."

"Oh ..." Milton put that aside to think about later. "So try reconciling 'mess' with 'temporarily down' for me would you? I think I heard the adjectives you didn't use."

Chett grinned. Milton was a pleasure to deal with. He didn't miss a thing. "Well, it all depends on your definition of temporary, old friend. They've got an overpower incident that was severe enough to sheer a pressure tube. Martine here is in the process of installing enough fuel cells and batteries that the colony can function on them indefinitely. That's because it's enough of a mess that they can't access the geothermal links to reestablish base power." He smiled his lazy smile again. "It's all a matter of definition, isn't it?"

Milton was very glad he wasn't Ari Dellmaice. Dellmaice was obviously going to be the victim of Chett's charm in the very near future.

"Anyone hurt?" With luck no one was in the vicinity, but you never knew.

That took the smile off Chett's face. "In the mines. The rock face they were fusing was unstable and collapsed on them when the power went. I'm en route down, but two are dead, eight in the hospital."

Milton was considering a few adjectives to describe Ari Dellmaice himself, but he didn't know where this Martine stood in all of this. Instead he said in his slow ponderous voice, "We would have appreciated knowing that."

Chett met his eyes. "Just a smidge heavy-handed on the damage control techniques?" he suggested.

"He can't seriously expect to keep that hidden."

Chett shrugged. "Drezvir is the middle of nowhere, and he's obviously having a shot at it." A pause, then, "I really should go."

Milton was watching Chett. "Okay, I can see why you're in a hurry. But I'd appreciate knowing what you just almost said and didn't."

Chett hesitated. "I don't want to be crying wolf, and it's just something nagging at the back of my mind. But you might want to check the legals for this sector. I think they're queer somehow, but it's escaping me right now."

He knew there was something important he and Dreen had quarreled about, but he'd read the legals for every damned planet in the galaxy at one time or another, and right now his brain flatly refused to dredge up Drezvir's.

Milton nodded. "Will do. Now, how can I help Martine?"

She stepped forward. "It's the STC-1027s -"

Chett turned on his way out, and called back, "Remember - he's sending the replacements at his expense."

"Linderson, I thought you were gone!" But Milton was amused. Chett hadn't changed a bit.

*****

Chapter 32

Chett stood for a moment surveying the large dimly lit shed full of equipment no one was using. People were working singly and in clusters at desks. He was looking for anyone he knew, or failing that hoping to be noticed by someone in charge, but no one was paying any attention to him. No, he couldn't seem to see Durstin. Then a motion in the far back corner caught his eye. It was hard to tell at that distance with the dim lighting, but there weren't likely to be two women that size wearing blue.

For the briefest moment Chett felt that surge of pleasure he always did when he saw Mitra, then reality intruded. Mitra must have been at Head Office and shipped in with Martine and the analysts. Well, that made things easier and harder. She was a lot more likely to know what was needed of him than Durstin, but she must be taking this really hard. There was a man with her. Maybe that was this Tranngol fellow. Chett headed for the back corner.

Mitra was the first of the two to notice him. "Chett! How did you get here so fast?" she asked with real pleasure.

He tried to smile reassurance, but he expected he was doing a lousy job. The mine had really thrown him.

"Because I didn't even know there had been an accident. This was just a routine swing through." That got him some funny looks, especially from the man. "How are you holding up, Mitra?"

Chett was trying to decide. In a way she looked better than the last time he'd seen her. She wasn't so skinny, and she had obviously picked up a tan somewhere. In fact, she looked a lot like she had in that brief interval when they were lovers. But the strain was there, especially around the eyes.

After a moment, when it was obvious that Mitra wasn't going to answer him and was off in some reverie, Chett focused his attention on the man.

"I'm looking for a Dr. Tranngol Cebron. Is that you by any chance?"

Tranngol nodded, rising. He extended his hand. "And you are?"

Chett took the hand. "Chett Linderson."

This Tranngol fellow was a big brute. Chett hadn't been sure. He'd thought it might be an illusion sitting beside Mitra. But he rarely had to look up to meet anyone's eyes and he did now. There was nothing small about Tranngol either - bones, features, build, and he was strong. Chett was no weakling, but he wouldn't want to take apart something this man had put together 'finger tight'.

There was no sense relying on Mitra for an introduction. She never had any idea precisely who anyone was. She knew their faces, their first names, and what they were good at. That was all, it was all she was interested in. So conversations tended to run like 'Who we really need to talk to is Angela, you know, that metallurgist with the red hair. She's the expert on titanium alloys.'

You were lucky if Mitra knew if the person worked in industry, or at a university. For the Drezvir installation Dellmaice had obviously recognized and dealt with the problem by assigning a facilitator to work with her. He'd been a nondescript young man with a pleasant manner and an encyclopedic memory for organizational charts. He also had a refreshingly realistic acceptance of personality differences and likely productivity. He was nowhere in sight, however.

Releasing Tranngol's hand, Chett took the initiative, "Chett Linderson, Vice President of Field Operations for Nemizcan Computing, and I'm the man responsible for the operator interface software used here.

"That means our computer products used on the hybrid were installed under my supervision and are exclusively my responsibility. I also oversaw all stages of software development and testing, and wrote some code."

He'd thought he'd done a good job too, until now. Now he was wondering if he'd slipped up somewhere someone with a formal computing background wouldn't have. It was not a pleasant thought.

Chett smiled mechanically. "When I talked to Rostin -" he looked at the time on his wrist cuff. Was it that long ago? "- quite a bit earlier, he said he didn't see potential Nemizcan involvement in the accident assessment, but he's administrator. I told him I sincerely doubted you held that view, so I'm here to place myself at your disposal. I assume," he added dryly, "I'm right and Rostin's wrong?"

Tranngol nodded. He was trying to get a feel for this man. Smooth, very smooth, but there was something ...

"Yes. Well," Chett's smile disappeared, "I don't like walking into problems blind so I insisted that before I saw you I went down the mine and to the hospital. I hoped to see the reactor hall, but was denied access. That's what I've been doing, except for what must have been a couple hour stint helping Martine. I didn't think it had been that long."

That brought Mitra out of her reverie. "You know Martine? Is that why you're a mess?"

"Thanks Mitra. Is that an I-told-you-so for not wearing coveralls?" Chett asked as he made a face at her.

He'd done what he could to repair the day's damage in the Men's, but it hadn't helped much. Mitra had always liked to tease him about his tendency to wear business suits for everything. He got a faint smile back, but no answer. That wasn't good. Mitra definitely was not quiet by nature.

"No, I don't know Martine. I know Tranus Dynamics STC-1027s. I used to troubleshoot for their QA department. There was something about the way the grid bounced that seemed familiar, so I stuck my head in. So, while she got herself closer to their operating envelope, I found some over-spec units for her, then we arranged for her to get more."

Mitra was frowning. "Martine isn't managing the right envelope even after stepping the cells down?" This was something constructive she could do. She continued eagerly, talking to Chett, "Surely she could -"

Tranngol cut in firmly. "No Mitra. You have enough here. Don't even think about it. Martine will manage."

Mitra flushed and found she couldn't keep meeting Chett's eyes. She knew, and Chett would know, what Tranngol was saying; that she was grounded. Logically she understood it, but it hurt. It was hard to go from being in charge and problem solving to just sitting here in this corner and having her competence questioned.

Chett was watching her and the sudden near tears. She wasn't stupid and Cebron didn't have to come down on her like that.

"Hey, Mitra." Chett's voice was gentle.

She didn't respond. She was totally fascinated with a scratch in the desktop and was blinking a lot.

"Mitra."

Without even thinking, Chett put his hand over her tiny one, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She looked up at that.

"Don't take it so hard, huh?"

His voice and eyes were so sympathetic, the first real compassion she'd met. That did it. The tears threatened to spill over and Mitra had to look down again.

Chett recognized his mistake. Damn that Tranngol, Mitra didn't need this. He released her hand and shoved his fists hard in his pockets. He shifted to a light, almost bantering voice.

"So, they grounded you, hmm? Well, it's nothing personal. I expect in the next few days a few dozen other people, including me, will be keeping you company under suspicion. So," he tried to make a joke of it, "it's a good thing I stopped in at Martine's first, before I checked in here."

Chett shifted his focus to Tranngol. "Right, Dr. Cebron?" Chett's voice stayed soft and light and exceedingly polite, but he made no great effort to school his expression and hide his distaste.

Inwardly Tranngol sighed. One of the real hazards of this job was the way people reacted to your just doing what you had to do. As a whole he was inclined to say Linderson was taking things reasonably well. He hadn't come in here hostile, denying he and his company could in any way be implicated. Linderson had taken that as a given and offered full support. He'd also gone down the mines, which was rather surprising.

Tranngol was also more inclined to like than dislike his defense of Mitra. It was going to make things a lot easier if all the suppliers didn't say 'if there's a problem, it's her. I just did what she told me to'. Finger-pointing didn't help. All the same he could not accept open challenges to himself or how he ran things. Life would be difficult enough for everyone before the analysis was finished without that.

Tranngol said evenly in his equally soft voice, "That's right Mr. Linderson. It's an unfortunate thing about this sort of investigation, but at the front end the potential for blame lies pretty evenly over a number of individuals. In most, and quite possibly all cases it will be unjustified, but that has to be proven. It's my job to do the proving. Right now, Mitra could have caused this accident. You say you were responsible for the Nemizcan interface, then so could you."

Tranngol watched Linderson carefully as he said this. There was no surprise. So Linderson had figured that out on his own. "I don't know what impact that will have on how you run your business, and that's up to you. But when you, or I presume your representative, are here that person will answer questions and support my analysis in any way they can. But you will not tell me how to do my work.

"As for Mitra, she works for Dellmaice Power Systems. I have more control there, and I have the authority to keep her off other projects until this is sorted out. I've done that." Tranngol concluded softly, "Do we understand each other Mr. Linderson?"

They stared at each other.

Chett dropped his eyes first. Tranngol was right. He'd been out of line.

Chett said, "This is sincere. I apologize Dr. Cebron. You're just doing your job, and I'll do everything I can to support you."

There was a sudden smile that startled Tranngol.

"Besides," Chett continued, "being realistic, I'd probably be coming down on people just as hard or harder if there was a major screwup at one of my hubs. It's just that Mitra is one of the best engineers I've ever worked with, and the defense was knee-jerk. I should have realized you didn't mean anything personal and kept my mouth shut."

Tranngol relaxed and nodded. The man had been sincere. "Apology accepted." He could believe it too, that Linderson came down hard on mistakes.

There was now definite amusement behind Chett's smile. "Shall we finish sorting out our working relationship?" After all, that was what this little skirmish was about. "You seemed to assume someone else from Nemizcan Computing would be assigned to assist you."

The smile disappeared totally and Chett's face was hard. "I have never in my life delegated trouble, and I am not starting now. I will make sure you have the technical support you need, without delays on our side. But you deal with me."

He concluded softly, in exactly Tranngol's tone, "Do we understand each other Dr. Cebron?"

Tranngol laughed. "You come down fast as well as hard. I take it that was my first mistake? I apologize as well. I've learned not to assume access to senior management, but believe me, it's appreciated." He looked at Chett, and held out his hand again. "Let's try this over. I'm Tranngol to the people I work with."

Chett took the hand. "Chett." The big man certainly wasn't short on self-confidence. He'd do just fine with Martine.

"I think while I'm at it, you'd better get a blanket apology in case I don't handle myself well in the immediate future. I'm trying to focus, but to be honest this has been a lot to absorb in a very few hours." Chett instinctively looked towards the mine and got a nod of sympathy from Tranngol. Then Tranngol jerked his head ever so slightly in Mitra's direction, then shook his head.

So Mitra hadn't seen the mine? Perhaps that was just as well. Chett continued, "So you may see some mistakes I don't usually make. Do me a favor, call me on them."

Tranngol nodded. "No problem. But I'm glad you brought that up. That's the second time you've implied the accident is news to you."

"Because it was. I was due here in about three weeks, but I got a request to accelerate my schedule to get back to Head Office earlier. I hadn't bothered to call ahead until I cleared Customs, since they expected me sometime anyway, so I surprised Rostin. I don't think he'd have said anything except the grid was down but I got pushy as to why."

Tranngol frowned. "Rostin isn't my worry. Dellmaice Power Systems Head Office was supposed to contact all suppliers to be prepared to support the investigation. I couldn't. First I was in transit, then here the communications have either been lousy or nonexistent. Mitra tells me the basic hyperweb access isn't great, but Martine's playing hell with the grid certainly hasn't helped.

"I realize communication mistakes can happen, but they're not good." Tranngol's frown deepened. "I hope you're the only one who got missed." He looked at Chett. "There's no chance a message went astray with your revised schedule?"

Chett shook his head. "I don't rely on the hubs. My space yacht is my permanent office and all messages go there with a duplicate to the next hub."

Chett hesitated. Dellmaice Power Systems wasn't his company, and he might be crossing the line again. He wanted this sorted out though, and so did Tranngol.

Chett said carefully, "It's possible it wasn't a mistake."

"Elaborate."

Looking up at the bigger man Chett said, "I was just talking to Milton Trave at Tranus Dynamics. He's upper middle, not senior management, but he's positioned where he would have heard everything about the accident. All they were told was the reactor was temporarily down, and that Dellmaice Power Systems was trying to sort out why, and if questions came their way, please answer them ASAP to facilitate getting it up."

Chett watched Tranngol carefully. He had the expression of a man counting to ten, then doing it again.

Tranngol gritted his teeth. Damn Ari Dellmaice! Was that man trying to make his life totally impossible?

"Thank you," Tranngol said grimly. "That will be rectified immediately. What I'd like to know is why. We all want to sort this out, and fast."

"Damage control," Chett said succinctly. That got him a look from Tranngol, but no comment.

Mitra scowled. That stupid Ari, was he out to shaft everyone? How did he intend to deal with them in the future?

"All Ari Dellmaice cares about -"

"Mitra!" It was Tranngol again, his voice sharp.

She gave him a mutinous look. "Are you going to shut me up every time I open my mouth? How you intend to get any work done?" she asked acidly.

Tranngol was totally unperturbed by the outburst. "I intend to get work done because when it comes to technical things you're expected to say everything you know, and," he added, "you know damned well you'll hear from me if you don't. What I'm trying to do is keep you from adding a lawsuit for libel to your problems."

Tranngol looked at Chett. He'd noticed that while Chett was quite candid, he seemed to naturally pick words that were slightly ambiguous. He expected that came from never being on your home turf. That would teach you to be careful. All the same he might as well spell it out.

"Mitra is having trouble getting used to the fact everything is being recorded by surveillance cameras and audio monitors. They were quite open about installing the equipment.

Chett nodded. It was no particular surprise. "Rostin?"

"He may get copies, but no. This was Trebur Auta's technician."

"Auta?"

"Sector government, specifically EPA and the Judiciary. By the way, if you're taking advantage of the hospitality, your room is probably audio and possibly video monitored. I can lend you the equipment to check, if you don't travel with any."

Chett's eyebrows did go up at that. "Isn't that an illegal invasion of privacy?"

"Invasion yes, illegal - not in this sector."

"Thanks. I'll just assume monitoring." If I stay, Chett added to himself. He was seriously rethinking that.

They both became aware that Mitra was totally ignoring them and typing away furiously on her compad.

"What are you up to now?" Tranngol asked

"Just practicing my typing skills." Mitra said sweetly. She kept typing for a moment, then handed the compad to Tranngol.

"What do you think of the new font?"

He read 'Some BASTARD who will remain nameless is only out TO SAVE HIS OWN ASS, and he doesn't give a damn who gets hurt in the process. And don't tell me I'm exaggerating. You missed the last half of my interview with said BASTARD.'

Tranngol suppressed a grin. "Nice font, good use of capitals too."

"Let's get Chett's opinion."

Tranngol hesitated, then shrugged and passed the compad over.

Chett read it, then took a good look at Mitra. "I don't like it. Delete it. Erase the record. Totally. Permanently."

Mitra's nose was out of joint. "It's true."

Chett said gently, "I believe you. That's why I don't like it. Now get rid of it," he added preemptively.

Mitra started to say something, then thought better of it. Chett was certainly in a foul mood, not that any of them were in good ones. She held out her hand for the compad.

"There. All gone."

*****

Chapter 33

"Since I've interrupted the two of you anyway, I'd appreciate hearing in language I can understand just how likely it is that the Nemizcan system contributed to the accident." Chett looked from Mitra to Tranngol. "Then I'll need a detailed list of the technical support you'll need from us, but to be honest that would be a waste of time right now. Before that I need to go somewhere and sit and think for a while." He tried unsuccessfully to smile. "Since I missed lunch, I think I'll do that at the cafeteria. They ought to at least have tea and cookies." He doubted much else, but this wasn't the time to complain about that.

Turning to Tranngol, Chett continued, "So, if you can try that lecture, I can decide while I'm eating what went past me and you have to explain again."

"Sure. Would you like to go to the office they've assigned me?" So far Tranngol had only opened the door, looked at it, and headed for the analysis shed. Still, it would give Chett some privacy though conversation was monitored there too.

"Why? Mitra supervised my work, so she'll want to hear what I say." Chett looked around. "Can we steal a chair though?"

He expected if he stood much longer his legs would start shaking, and not just from the cold. Reaction was starting to hit. He looked with envy at Mitra and Tranngol's ski jackets.

Tranngol raised his voice. "Sam, can you bring that chair?"

***

"Chett, this is Sam Ieono. He's my software reliability expert, so he'll be the one to talk to you later on about our needs there. Sam, this is Chett Linderson, Vice President of Field Operations, Nemizcan Computing. He will personally be our contact there. So go start a list of what you need and have a preliminary one ready for - say an hour from now?"

Sam nodded to Tranngol.

Chett extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you Mr. Ieono."

"Mr. Linderson." Sam hesitated then said, "You're after my time, but I was around Nemizcan at the startup stage. I don't know if that helps. I may know some of the people on the project." He added, "I haven't looked at the Nemizcan work yet. I've been reviewing ContSaft's work."

"Do you know Jann Denari?"

A broad smile lightened Sam's homely face. "She did the interfaces? These aren't the circumstances I'd like," Sam's smile faded, "but it will be good to see her again. We worked well together. That's important." Nodding with satisfaction Sam headed back to his desk.

Tranngol watched him go. "See the redheaded woman two desks over?"

Chett nodded.

"That's Jennifer Harken. She handles computer hardware. I'll introduce you later. Sit down." He looked at Chett, trying to decide where to start and what he could say without totally overwhelming the man. Chett was suddenly looking exhausted.

"Do you have any background in safety, risk, or reliability?"

"Not in the way you'd like. I did my stint on the factory floor as a technician doing troubleshooting. Then I moved to QA for a while. I can still read a suppliers tech spec and schematic, and give me a few days to bone up and I can probably remember how something simple like a reliability block diagram goes, and what a failure rate really means."

"That's not a bad working basis," Tranngol said. "When you actually hit a malfunctioning instrument, you had two ways to go to sort it out. One was to say what happens if this component of the instrument failed. Could it have caused a problem? And you worked through all the components methodically."

Some ancient memory surfaced in Chett's mind associated with damned boring meetings. "Criticality analysis?" he hazarded.

"Not bad, and you said you were rusty. That's inductive logic, and if you've ever done one for an instrument you wouldn't much like to do it for anything with the complexity of the hybrid. You spend too much time considering things that don't contribute to the problem."

Chett nodded.

"We use the alternative, deductive logic. Start at the fault, in this case the rupture, and trace back through the system everything that could have contributed. The names have changed over the centuries, but it's usually called some kind of tree, or some kind of probabilistic assessment. The basic idea has held, just the complexity of systems that can be analyzed and the math needed to support that complexity have changed."

Tranngol stopped to see if Chett's eyes had totally glazed over yet, but Chett nodded for him to continue.

"If we do that at a very superficial level here, the first problem is the pressure tube. It blew. But it's possible the tube manufacturer is in less trouble than you'd think, if there was a gross overpower. It was specced to tolerate quite an overpower, but run any tube enough out of spec and it - or something else - will blow. So, first we have to confirm the degree of overpower, and whether or not it should have held. If it should have -" He shrugged.

"But even assuming there was a gross overpower, there is still the question of why that pipe was the weakest link." Tranngol looked uncomfortable. "I'm honestly not sure what will happen to the tube manufacturer. The legals here are peculiar.

Chett interrupted, "That has been nagging me. I know there's something queer here, and we set up a lot of checks in our work as a consequence, but I don't remember what." He rubbed his face. "It's not the kind of thing I forget, but -" Chett nodded towards the mine. Then feeling shivers that had nothing to do with the cold starting, he crossed his arms on his chest.

Tranngol braced himself slightly and said matter-of-factly, "The onus is on everyone involved in the accident to prove to the state's satisfaction they could not have contributed. There is no onus on the state to prove guilt."

Chett nodded. That was it, reverse jurisprudence. He and Dreen had been through that with the lawyers, had them research the Farr Sector. Pretty much tripled the paper work. He'd suggested to Dreen they say no on the project, but Dreen wanted to go ahead.It had been one hell of a nuisance administrative thing. Now he seriously thought about the consequences. He should have said no louder.

"It's pretty hard to prove a negative like that - that you didn't contribute."

"If you were a potential - I stress potential \- contributor to the fault," Tranngol said. "Fortunately the analytical techniques can eventually show a lot simply couldn't contribute, but it will change my analyses to do that. So, going back to the obvious list of potentials, nothing else intermediate went, so that puts us back at the reactor with the question of what contributed to an overpower.

"Top of the list is Mitra's design. Its performance is still largely theoretical - based on models and simulations. Elin our safety system designer's approach was the standard one, to make sure that what were believed to be the worst cases were handled and assume the safer ones were within the safety envelope. But the hybrid could have gone into some unanticipated state the safety system wasn't designed for."

This was pretty blunt, and Chett was now wishing for Mitra's sake he'd had this conversation in private. But when he looked at her she seemed to be taking it in stride. She really was professional he thought in admiration.

"Assuming the hybrid design was right," Tranngol continued, "what else could cause an overpower? Next is the wrong fuel. They had refueled not that long before the accident without a problem, but they were at low load at that time. The problem might have not shown up until they ramped when the miners started fusing that rock face.

"If the fuel checks out, what next? The control system could have asked for too much power. In theory at least, the safety system should have caught that overpower once it happened." Tranngol looked off into space and continued, largely talking to himself. "That will take some thought. Is there any way a control system fault could have ramped too fast for the safety system to catch it? After all, there isn't a history of operation to go by. We'll check that, and the control system and its instrumentation."

Chett interposed, "That means ContSaft and Tranus Dynamics?"

"And one other supplier. Then," Tranngol was watching Chett carefully now, "the control system could have performed correctly, but been told to do something unreasonable - human error."

"And," Chett said, "human error puts us right up there on the list, if one of our screens mis-displayed data." He was starting to shiver again. This all season suit did not include an unheated shed in Drezvir winter.

Tranngol nodded. Chett had the right attitude. "I assume if anything didn't 'feel right' the operators had the traditional ContSaft display to use?" He knew the answer, but he was testing Chett.

Chett said, "Yes, but don't count on them using it. They don't like it."

That was upfront. Tranngol continued with a nod. "Going back to the safety system, and the fact that the hybrid went right past the set-points like they weren't there, the question is did the safety system malfunction? Did a sensor malfunction, or were wrong set-points provided?

"Once again ContSaft, Tranus Dynamics, your other supplier, and us."

Tranngol nodded.

Chett was silent a moment. "Moving into my jargon, I think you're saying that if everything worked, you've got a garbage-in-garbage-out scenario, and the set-points Nemizcan provided were the garbage."

Tranngol nodded again. "Now it's my turn. The set-points - control or safety - are they your only feed into the critical systems?"

Chett nodded. "Other than the set-points there is only contact in the other direction. We tap a duplicate stream from ContSaft's equipment display."

Tranngol frowned a moment. "Can you give a reasonable assurance that the set-points can't be corrupted?"

Dreen was going to feel terrible since that had been his design work. But the answer was no.

Chett said quietly, "Only an assurance of what was judged reasonable risk at the time. Your analysis will have to decide if we were wrong."

"Elaborate."

"I'm not sure I can. I'm not qualified at that level, and I wasn't involved in the early design discussions with Dellmaice Power Systems and ContSaft. They predate the hybrid being chosen as the target machine you see, and that's when I came in." Chett shifted his gaze to Mitra. "You may have been involved Mitra, were you?"

"No. I got involved with control room issues the same time you did. At the time Ari explored the alternate displays he was targeting another reactor." Mark's reactor.

"Okay, then I'll do the best I can, but don't hold me to the details. The initial idea was to run our style of interface on ContSaft equipment and use their custom computer operating system, but it simply couldn't be done without a total redesign from square one by both sides. That's way too expensive. The approach adopted was to use standard equipment, but adopt guidelines from ContSaft for our software development to minimize potential software and hardware reliability problems. The operative word is minimize. It was judged that with these practices the risk from computer malfunction was so small compared with the reduction in operator errors from the better screens that the risk was acceptable."

Chett stared into space wishing he couldn't see the mine in his mind. He ran a hand over his face, trying to erase the image. "I really hope that wasn't a tragic mistake.

"So can I guarantee no quantum effects? No. We tried to minimize the chance, but it's commercial equipment. How reliable is our software? It's the best we've ever done, and our business reliability is the best around, but we don't have a custom operating system to work with like ContSaft. So ..." Chett shrugged. It was a complicated issue.

Tranngol waited, then when nothing more was forthcoming said, "Thank you for being candid." They could get more details later.

"I didn't exactly take myself off the list, did I?" Chett asked with a wry smile.

It was Tranngol's turn to shrug. "Don't jump to conclusions please. Every now and again it's something simple like a loose connection or a corrupted contact causing all sorts of grief that looks more complicated than it is. And believe me, we'll look at this one down to the wires. The work will be slow, but it has to be done. Now, you look like you could stand that food."

"Any chance of seeing the reactor hall first? I promise to keep my hands in my pockets."

"Sorry, but I don't have access to it either without permission. You have to ask Auta. He closed off the control room too. We can look, but we can't touch anything."

That didn't make sense. "So how are you supposed to work?"

Tranngol hesitated, thinking. He couldn't see anything Chett couldn't know. "It's temporary until they can put an auditor in place to oversee me."

That seemed damned insulting. "Isn't that hard on you?"

A small smile played on Tranngol's lips. "Actually it was my idea. I expected an auditor to have already been set up, and when it hadn't been I spelled it out to Auta that it was his prerogative. Then I told him where to go find an auditor, and gave him a list if he chose to use it." He added quietly at Chett's expression, "Otherwise it was professionally untenable."

"How?" Chett was missing the point of this game.

"Two reasons, maybe three. My team wants to solve the problem, not get tied up in legal hassles. An auditor provides a buffer between us and the Sector Judiciary and the Mining Guild. Also if there's ever a question of our work not being done professionally someone will have been here who can judge." Tranngol bit his lip. "Then too, when you're essentially working in-house tempers can get pretty thin on both sides." He grinned. "It's amazing how a stranger improves manners."

"Most likely," Chett agreed dryly. "So where do I find this Auta?"

"He's been underfoot here all day, and he just stepped out before you arrived. I'm surprised he hasn't come back by now."

Which was the polite way of saying either he was on a coffee break or using the washroom or both. Auta was probably the chubby little guy who came into the Men's while he was leaving.

Chett said, "Let's give it a couple more minutes. Do you know anything about this auditor yet?"

Tranngol nodded. "I found out this morning. He's got Azlo Mirelle, Mirelle and Tyne Associates on Tamara."

"Sorry," Chett shook his head. "Should I know them?"

Tranngol shrugged. "It depends on whether or not you've been involved in this sort of thing before."

"What's their reputation?"

"Excellent," Tranngol said. "From my perspective it's rather interesting though. First off, it means someone isn't hesitating to spend money."

Auta had made a point of telling him that the EPA and the Sector Judiciary, not Dellmaice Power Systems, would be covering the costs. As a consequence Tranngol was rethinking a lot of things. Since the EPA was broke, it had to mean the Sector Government expected a prolonged litigation where the expense of the auditor was negligible.

"They are expensive, and to get Mirelle himself on zero notice must have both cost and needed some pull. He's been in the position to pick and choose for a decade or so.

"Their corporate specialty is litigation. Oh," Tranngol raised a hand at the objection Chett was obviously about to make, "they aren't ambulance chasers and they've never been anything but fair, but they will take cases where a long lawsuit is obviously in the works, where some other independent analysts will decline the case to not get bogged down."

Well, Chett thought, if he'd needed more sobering thoughts, that was a good one. He asked Tranngol, "Do you know this Mirelle at all?"

"Azlo? He's all right. We co-chaired the plenary session at the Galactic Engineering Risk Symposium two years ago. It was about perceptions on the need for various levels of risk analysis. He was representing public opinion, me industry, and we had a few politicians along to round it out."

Chett was impressed. So Tranngol was big time too. He was about to comment when Tranngol stood up.

"Here comes Auta. Let's see what we can do."

On their way across the room Chett asked, "How much of a delay will there be waiting for Mirelle? It might affect my plans." You couldn't get someone like that instantly.

"He said he'd be here in 7 to 10 days, depending on how fast he can clear his desk."

Travelling from Tamara that was pretty close to instantly. Chett raised his eyebrows.

Tranngol nodded. "Impressive, isn't it?"

***

As the two men shook hands after being introduced, Tranngol said, "Dr. Auta, Mr. Linderson was hoping to see the reactor hall. He's already been down the mine and to the hospital."

Trebur nodded. "I don't see why not. I can take you there now. Just keep your hands in your pockets."

Chett was taking his cues from Tranngol and being very formal. "I'm sure you have more pressing things, Dr. Auta. I can find my own way if you could provide an authorization."

"I assure you, it's no problem." Trebur wanted a chance to assess this newcomer. "Also, I would like to speak to you in my office for a few moments."

"Then I thank you."

***

That conversation had been short and to the point. Chett fingered the memory pac in his belt pouch that spelt out his legal rights. How the hell did you prove software or computer hardware couldn't contribute to the accident? You didn't, so he was facing charges. Dreen was facing charges. Nemizcan Computing was facing charges. Think about it later. Get through this last stage of the nightmare.

As they walked the last few steps to the reactor hall, Chett said in what he hoped was a conversational tone, "I understand things are waiting on Azlo Mirelle's arrival." He hoped he sounded like he knew about Mirelle.

Auta nodded.

Well, that didn't go anywhere. Chett's assessment of Auta was that he was the standard bureaucrat, but an unhappy one, and Chett wasn't quite sure how to get the information he wanted out of him. Still, bureaucrats tended to be pretty thick skinned. They just ignored you if they didn't like what you asked. So maybe he should just ask. Does Mirelle automatically mean you're prosecuting?

Trying to sound nonchalant, Chett braved his question, "I take it, then, you don't think it's likely that the accident was the result of an honest error?"

Trebur took his time, trying unsuccessfully to gauge the man beside him. Oh well, there was presumably no harm in letting his position be known.

"I'd rank that probability two or three orders of magnitude below an Act of God."

*****

Chapter 34

Chett looked at the cold, totally deserted cafeteria. The dull reddish natural light from the windows did not penetrate to the center of the room. He shivered.

"Thanks for coming, Mitra." He would have been pretty grim company for himself.

Picking up a tray Chett put a small plate on it and a thermal beverage container, the kind the cafeteria used for everything. He scanned down the unstaffed aisle. He was obviously going to have to get by on a baked good, nothing else was out.

Mitra picked up a dinner plate and utensils and added them to Chett's tray.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Space glop." Mitra nodded at her bulging bag. "I picked it up when I got you the sweater and toque."

Chett had gratefully abandoned his suit jacket for a bulky oversized green sweater of Tranngol's. Mitra had expected Chett to balk at the toque as he was always so elegant. He had just said thanks and pulled it on. Mitra slanted a sideways look at him. He looked good, but different, more rugged. But then Chett looked good in anything - or nothing. For a moment Mitra's mind strayed. Very good in nothing. She slanted another sideways glance at him, but he was totally focussed on heating water for tea.

***

"Appetizer first." Mitra handed Chett a vacpac of smoked fish and a package of crackers. "Then the main course." She offered him another vacpac.

Since Chett wasn't taking the grain and protein mix, Mitra put it on the table. "And to keep those brownies company I have this," She fished out two apples, putting one on each plate. The brownies actually looked good. The chef had obviously dug into her supplies.

"I was pretty upset when I left Gingezel." It felt so good to talk to someone she was close to. "Apparently I told the lady at the spaceport to stock the Genie with whatever she could. The bulk supplies I donated to the cafeteria. A few things I kept for myself and Dellmaice Power Systems staff," Mitra's eyes misted, "and the crew in the hospital."

So that explained the bowl of apples and oranges Andy was so happy with in the hospital. Chett has assumed it was a loving off-planet relative, although it did seem like largesse from anyone in the Mining Guild to have treats flown in.

"So you supplied the goodies for the hospital ward? Ken Kwan is offering roasted nuts to all comers."

"Try your vacpac," Mitra said, embarrassed.

"Mitra," Chett picked up the main course and tried to give it back. "I can't take your food." He didn't say dare say 'who knows how long you'll be here'.

"Sure you can. Tranngol has diverted our freighter to bring more - now eat."

Chett didn't argue, he needed to eat. He unwrapped the crackers wishing he had something 80 proof, not just tea. He poked at the tea bag. The brew was good and black, and he was used to the Farrese idea of tea by now. They put in a herb indigenous to their main planet Estoff, and it took some time to get used to the bitter taste.

Mitra read his mind. "Sorry. I forgot."

This took a little more digging. She handed him an individual serving of whiskey. This was not from the spaceport lady, she had taken the 'no booze' seriously. This was from Kim.

"You really are into miracles aren't you? I think I'll save this for the brownies though."

He could wait now that he knew it was there. Chett ate a cracker and sipped some blessedly hot tea. When the food appeared to be going to stay down, he opened the smoked fish and tried some. It was delicious, which wasn't surprising if Mitra got it on Gingezel.

"I'll repay in kind when I get back."

"You're leaving them?" Mitra tried unsuccessfully to hide her disappointment.

"Well, the ultimate decision will depend on my next talk with Tranngol, but right now I think so. There's a real problem that has me going back to Head Office. I'm obviously not going to be able to help with that problem after all, but it's easier to sort out what to do instead if I'm there."

Chett had no idea what would happen on marketing now, but he and Dreen had to talk out the Drezvir problem in person. Chett rather suspected that talk would not go well. Dreen would insist on taking responsibility since it was his basic design, and coming to Drezvir. He didn't like the feel of that - Nemizcan run from Drezvir with minimal, recorded, communications.

"And I want a long personal - not hyperweb -" and definitely not recorded, "talk with the design team. And I want to put together two duplicate systems to experiment with. One for me, one for Tranngol's analysts."

It was starting to feel like a depressingly long list. Chett tried to focus on his food.

"But ... but you are coming back?" It just kind of slipped out. Now that Chett was here she couldn't stand the idea of him leaving. Mitra covered her face.

"Mitra!"

Chett moved a hand to smudge a tear with the tip of his finger, then patted her hair, letting that reassurance turn into the briefest caress. Was this what he'd been waiting for \- a sign their relationship was no longer on hold? He suppressed the desire to hold her, to kiss her, and find out. This definitely was not the time or the place. Or maybe it was. Maybe they were wasting their lives. He was feeling very mortal at the moment.

Controlling himself with effort Chett said, "You know I won't desert you."

"I'm sorry," Mitra was embarrassed. This was Chett after all. "It's just that I'm starting to feel exactly that \- deserted."

"It's just that you're the only one here right now. When your design team shows up, you won't feel so much on the spot."

"No one is showing up, Chett."

Well, after some of Auta's comments, he wasn't going to let his team come here either. He'd keep them safely on Tranus and use the hyperweb, such as it was to Drezvir.

"You're going to work with them over the hyperweb once it's up again?"

Mitra shook her head. "The team's all split up, off on new jobs. You're looking at Dellmaice Power Systems."

"That's ridiculous, Mitra. The communications here are lousy. I'm sure once they're up you'll find everything set up at the other end." One person couldn't remember everything, much less provide all the support Tranngol would need.

"Yes? Then why did Elin - remember, she's my safety system designer - have to take a leave without pay to rework the shutdown system design?" Mitra's face clouded over. "She's like me. No matter what Tranngol finds she's not going to be happy until she's reworked the design."

Chett filed the comment about unpaid leave away to think about later.

"I know what you mean," Chett stared off into the gloom. "I was so pleased with how the software design turned out and I really enjoyed it. But now I keep wondering what I might have missed that someone from the R&D side of Nemizcan would have got right."

He started when Mitra touched his hand.

"Tranngol said don't jump to conclusions. You did a good job, Chett." Now, how did she get her mind to buy that for herself?

The thought was written all over her face. "And so did you Mitra."

Chett watched her make a bitter face of denial. The food was helping. He was starting to feel better, and to be able to think. He was realizing a large part of his shock was because the accident simply shouldn't have happened. Chett was no idealist. He was totally aware of the sort of shoddy workmanship or management that could lead to this kind of disaster. But he hadn't seen the signs of it here. Mitra was damned good, and she'd done a remarkable job of getting the Drezvir crew to work up to her standards.

He wasn't sure he was any more inclined to believe in honest accidents than that Auta fellow, and he definitely didn't believe this was an 'Act of God'.

"Mitra," Chett asked softly, "are you sure you didn't get shafted by one of the suppliers?" He was thinking of the two Tranus Dynamics STC-1027s that would have never got past him on QA.

She looked like he'd hit her.

"Chett! You're talking about suppliers we've used for years, and some like Tina that I worked with as closely as you."

"I wasn't thinking about Tina and ContSaft. She's as good as you are. I was thinking about hardware. QA certification has been faked before, and," he held up a hand in defense, "if you swear by everyone you used, someone could have shafted them. Even someone like ContSaft that does custom design has to buy their wires and casings and such."

Watching Mitra's face, Chett realized there was no way she could handle the idea right now. Well, he didn't think the big man back in the shed was the least bit naïve, or incompetent. And it sounded like this Azlo Mirelle fellow had probably seen anything Tranngol hadn't. All the same, sitting there watching Mitra, Chett felt incredibly protective. He'd seen some dirty business moves in his time that Tranngol or Mirelle might not have, and he just might have the contacts to check that out. Now, though, he had better undo his damage.

"I'm sorry," Chett said. "Low blood sugar always brings out the cynic in me. But I'm feeling better now." He gave Mitra his most seductive smile and stretched a long leg under the table to run an ankle up hers. "If I promise to behave will you tell me about Gingezel?"

As he thoroughly expected, he got kicked for his efforts with a sturdy turquoise safety boot. They'd teased each other like this since their romance had been on hold.

"Is that your idea of behaving?" Mitra was smiling though.

"Definitely not." His eyes were teasing. "But it proves you can still smile." This time he slipped his shoe off and tried a foot, not an ankle, running it well up her leg.

Mitra gave up, laughed, and gently pushed the foot away. Chett could be impossible.

"All right, I will behave. So tell me about Gingezel. And why," he gave an exaggerated sigh, "does everyone in the galaxy but me seem to be going there?"

"You mean they don't have a Nemizcan hub?" Mitra was surprised.

"We are in the middle of establishing one, and the hub manager I selected is there, but I haven't been at that end of the galaxy since it all got going." He shrugged philosophically. "So, what do I just have to see when I get there?"

Mitra didn't hesitate. "The historical cities." Chett would love them. "They aren't just theme park sort of things. They're reproductions of whole cities, and people live in them, as close as is reasonable to the way people did. It's incredible. And they all have museums full of artifacts from the actual cities."

"And did you have a good time?" Chett raise an eyebrow.

"I loved every one of them."

"Mitra Kael, you honestly expect me to believe that after Drezvir you spent your holiday wandering through museum cities by yourself? I asked," he caught her eye teasingly, "if you had a good time."

"Chett!" Why did he always make her want to laugh? She pressed her lips together. "Of course I did." She thought of Dreen and those weeks before they went exploring.

She looked lovely, a mix of amused, exasperated, and rather starry eyed. Had she ever looked starry eyed with him? Chett said softly, "You met someone special?"

Not quite meeting Chett's eyes, Mitra nodded.

Very special obviously. She wouldn't be so embarrassed otherwise.

"I'm very happy for you, Mitra."

Chett meant it too. She deserved someone special. All the same, he was glad it wasn't anyone he knew, or anyone in the same room. He suspected his reaction would have been appallingly primitive. Not, logic told him, that he had any reason to be anything but happy for her. Mitra had never led him on. When she had decided she just wasn't ready to explore a relationship, she'd said so right up front. They had been 'on hold'. That gave him no right to exclusivity.

And what the hell did logic have to do with it, Chett asked himself? He found an excuse to not meet her eyes by opening the whiskey. And why the hell hadn't he made sure he knew where she was going, joined her on Gingezel, and had the holiday of a lifetime? Why had he given her that breathing space she said she needed before they rethought their relationship. Well, it was obviously too late now.

Chett tried to focus on Mitra, to put her first, to be happy for her. "That must be helping, Mitra, having whoever he is behind you."

She studied the brownie crumbs. "He doesn't know."

Chett stared incredulously. "How, or for that matter why, did you manage that?"

Tears were sparkling in her lashes. "He was away on business when I got the call, and I didn't manage to reach him before I had to leave. And since -" She shrugged her frustration.

"Martine and the grid. Well -" Chett tried to be encouraging. No wonder she was so down. "That can't last much longer. Meanwhile, you know I'm your friend."

"Thanks, Chett." Mitra tried to smile and lighten things up. "What about you? Any new attachments?"

"Oh, you know me. Permanent space flot," he said lightly.

Mitra smiled more sincerely. "One of these times you'll meet the right woman, and slow down."

"One of these times," he agreed and poured the whiskey. Now he really needed a drink. He was staring at the right woman.

*****

Chapter 35

Ari dutifully read the next entry on the invoice for the Genie rental. The comptroller had been outraged, not by the cost of the Genie, which both of them expected to be high, but by the foodstuffs. Ari had to admit he'd have never thought you could cram so much into one of those things. Someone at the spaceport must have been a miracle at spatial geometry.

So far he had read through the items that only had the comptroller mildly upset. Boxes of fruit, tins of fruit, vacpacs of almost every meat imaginable, rounds of cheese, that sort of thing. The only complaint the comptroller had there was the price and the duty. A query had confirmed that that was the going Gingezel price and the Genie supplier had only passed it on. Well, Ari thought philosophically, what else could you expect for prices on Gingezel? It had been worth every kilo in goodwill with Rostin. The man had been as close as Ari had ever seen him to emotional when he'd thanked him - although he hadn't waived a credit of the duty.

Ari moved on to the first item that had the Comptroller apoplectic in the luxury items. Smoked fish had been fine, but caviar? He noted it was in a restaurant-sized crate. Champagne truffles. He knew that brand, he'd bought them once for Naura about two years ago as a peace offering when his temper had been at its worst over the Plenata fiasco. A carton of 24 boxes, of a dozen truffles per box. He had bought Naura six. Cream cheeses. Fancy single-serving handmade jellies, each with a different exotic liqueur.

Ari couldn't help it. In his mind he was suddenly sitting in the cafeteria on Drezvir with toast on that terrible industrial dishware they used, spreading these jellies. It struck him as hilarious. He kept reading through the list, imagining each item's use. He started to laugh. He needed to, he hadn't laughed since he had heard the reactor overpowered.

Wiping his eyes, Ari called the comptroller. "Pay it."

"All of it, including the luxury items?" the Comptroller asked, his lean dark face one frown.

Ari couldn't help it, he started laughing again.

"What's so funny?"

"You've never eaten on Drezvir! Pay it."

The Comptroller was only giving ground one step at a time. "And the holodramas and simudramas?"

"Sorry, I didn't get that far."

The comptroller said repressively, "There were three hundred seventeen purchased." His face was firmly set in distaste. "That includes twenty-one that have been banned as too erotic on most planets."

If it weren't so damned unsafe to get near Drezvir, it would be worth being there to see Rostin's face when he got word of that. He was more of a prude than the Comptroller.

Ari said soothingly, "I doubt that was intentional, but since they are undoubtedly going the rounds on Drezvir, we had better pay for them."

The comptroller gave him a sour look. "Yes, Dr. Dellmaice."

Ari broke the connection, and started laughing again. Rostin wouldn't know what to do. He knew he should get back to work, but he was curious now. He recalled the invoice and found the holodrama list.

*****

Chapter 36

Joran's eyes flicked up as Bojo approached, then returned to his keyboard. He had moved it out here to the atrium where a shaft of moonlight through leaves dappled the keys in silver. He hoped it might help him capture the right mood but he honestly wasn't sure.

Joran finished playing and looked up. "Well?"

"It's good." Bojo's voice was flat.

"Damn," Joran said in disgust. "I'm just not getting there."

"No, the melody is good." Bojo slumped into a chair and stared at his feet.

"So what's your problem then?" Joran looked a little harder at his friend. Bojo was looking rough. "More bad news from Ennup 10?" Bojo and Brys were starting to be comfortable with each other, and Bojo was composing, so that was all Joran could think of going wrong.

"Witieral has agreed to promote my line of running shoes."

Joran nodded. Witieral was a top hurdler. "Do I take that as a change of topic? Getting him to do an endorsement can't be bad news." In fact, it was a coup. Witieral didn't do endorsements.

"I'm not changing topics. Witieral competes frequently on Ennup 10 and he's there now. So while he's there he's going to spend a few extra weeks visiting family and friends, then touring around promoting for me. And that includes visiting the factories."

Joran stared. "That must have taken some fast talking - conning Witieral into helping." As far as he knew Witieral had nothing to do with Ennup 10. He was a Surana-born black. "Wait a minute - did you say he has family there?"

Bojo nodded. "Two great uncles, a great aunt, and all the resulting cousins. I never knew any of them. I guess they are what you could call middle class. His grandfather emigrated when the trouble started. When he's there he tries to keep up the family ties."

"And I could ask if you can trust him, but since he never says three words to anyone I suppose you're safe." Joran shrugged.

"It isn't a matter of trust. I have to do something." Damn. He couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice.

Joran rose in concern and came to crouch beside Bojo. "What's wrong, and try to be coherent."

"I have names." Bojo's voice was trembling again, "I have the names of who was arrested."

Joran stared up at his friend. "How the hell did you get that?"

"I didn't," Bojo was still talking to his shoes. "Brys was all upset. She e-mails her family twice a month, and twice there hasn't been a reply. I gather sometimes there isn't if there's no news." He sighed. "I just can't get used to that level of frugality." Another sigh. "But this time she got upset - I suppose because of the work she's doing for me on the albums. Anyway, she decided to be extravagant and e-mailed a friend to find out what's going on.

"A dozen are arrested now, and one of those arrested is a cousin, and he and her brother are close friends. Brys figures her family is really keeping their heads down for a bit. The friend sent the names of everyone arrested - it's big gossip in their class."

Bojo slumped down to rest his neck on a cushion and stare at the moon. He wasn't seeing it though. He was seeing the police headquarters, a massive black building with every aspect chosen to intimidate from the rows of windows like eyes watching you to the blood red supporting metal columns. "It's a 50-50 split - half innocents. Hell!"

"Bojo." Joran was trying to be reasonable, but it was hard. He had a lump in his throat too. "They would all be in - or out - of trouble with or without you. Money and food to eat can't be bad."

"Can't it? I wish to hell I knew what I was doing. That's why I talked to Witieral. He's a pro."

"Hold it right there!" Joran rose abruptly. "I do not want to hear what you definitely are NOT going to say next."

Bojo straightened, frowning. "What gives?"

"I flatly refuse to hear something I could accidentally repeat and get someone in trouble. I knew about you and the four arrests because you had to tell me to get Dreen to help. But beyond that Bojo, you're making a big mistake. Okay?"

But already Joran's mind was working. Witieral was a government agent? For who? Joran watched holodramas of that sort now and again. But in reality did they exist? At national levels? Planetary levels? Interplanetary levels? He had heard a news report once saying the Interplanetary Judiciary used them. He'd shrugged, saying laughingly that they wouldn't find anything wrong on Gingezel. Most likely it was a Surana activity and Bojo conned him into helping even though he didn't have any interest in Ennup 10 politics. Joran tried to remember exactly where on Surana Witieral was from.

Bojo watched him and sighed. "Joran, are you sure it wouldn't be easier if I told you the truth? It would take less energy."

The night he and Witieral had talked for hours on the Surana space station had been an education. Until then Bojo had thought he was working solo as an outsider trying to change anything on Ennup 10. At the time he hadn't seen how Witieral could help, but they had developed a code. If he ever got in a tight spot, call and ask if Witieral had changed his mind on that endorsement.

"No!" Joran shook his mane of curls. "Imagining is one thing. Knowing is something I don't want." He stood there a moment looking at Bojo's haggard face. "Are you going to be able to sleep?"

"Probably not." Bojo was getting used to that.

"Why don't we just get out of here? I wasn't getting anywhere." Joran gave his keyboard a dirty look.

"Sure." Bojo made no effort to move. "It's a nice night for a walk."

Joran shook his head. "No. What I mean is out of here." He waved a hand. "Out of Crescent Bay."

Bojo turned suspicious eyes on Joran. "Out of here - to where?"

Joran shrugged. "I don't know. Look around until somewhere looks good for the concert."

He knew where they'd end up though - at the Performing Arts Center that was built for him. Joran had been thinking of nothing else all day. He had been visualizing the acoustic curves of the structure, the walls shaded from Anton blue to green, imagining the sound. That was why he couldn't settle down and compose.

"Well?" Joran demanded.

"Sure. Why not?"

Bojo did not return to his room to pack. He left the hotel, shivering slightly in the chilly night air, but it wasn't too far to the Sandy Cove hotel where the Nemizcan offices were. He needed to talk to Brys.

***

They were regulars now in the lounge. They both preferred a quiet dark corner there to the Nemizcan office where Brys' work area was in full view of the night customer service staff. Bojo nodded to the manager on the way in. To his relief the place was deserted.

"The usual please."

The usual was a plate of mixed appetizers for them both supplemented by the day's soup and a sandwich for Brys.

Bojo seated Brys with her back to the room. He wanted to watch for eavesdroppers and at the same time see her face.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked in concern as soon as Bojo was seated.

His angel picked up on too much. Still, he had learned she could hold her mouth. She was smart too - altering the albums was going very well.

"Nothing is worse. But I have to talk to you. " She didn't like that. He could see it in her eyes. "After you gave me the names, I called a friend. No, please Brys, listen for once! Please, start trusting me." She looked ready to leave again.

She might have left too. Bojo shouldn't have talked to anyone! But the waiter appeared putting a momentary end to conversation. Brys reminded herself that so far she had been too hard on Bojo every time.

"This friend?" she asked warily when the waiter left.

"His name is Witieral. He's the Suranan champion hurdler."

Brys couldn't suppress the gasp.

"Do you know him?" Please be honest Brys.

"Not him. My aunt cleans for his uncle."

*****

Chapter 37

Mitra couldn't believe it. The hyperweb link was there. Her private room didn't support visual any more than her other room had, but the link was there. Hurriedly, hardly daring to breathe, she contacted the Gingezel hotel.

There was an intolerable wait, then an unfamiliar voice said, "I'm sorry, I don't understand why I can't get a visual. My apologies. How can I help you?"

"This is Dr. Mitra Kael. Could I please speak to Dr. Dreen Pendi?"

"Could you please spell that name?"

With a sinking heart Mitra did.

"I am very sorry. There is no Dr. Pendi registered here."

"Thank you." Mitra abruptly broke the connection, telling herself she had expected it. All the same, she had a lump in her throat. Idiot, keep moving or you'll lose the link. She called Joran's hotel. This time the voice was familiar, that of a young oriental man.

"This is Mitra Kael, Dreen Pendi's friend." She had decided in advance on the strategy of using Dreen's name to get past any protectors Joran might have. "Could I please speak to Joran Lantonnel?"

"Since there is no visual link, could you please transmit identification Miss Kael?" the voice asked formally.

Slightly mystified and cursing the waste of time, Mitra did.

The voice became confidential, "Sorry Mitra." He remembered her. Who was likely to forget the M in M's song? "But ever since word of the Anton concert has started going around, we've been warned to screen everything. It didn't seem likely the press had made the connection between Anton and Joran Lantonnel, or your name to M in M's song either, but I had to be sure."

"There's going to be a concert?"

"In a little over two weeks."

That was news. "Is Joran there then? Can I talk to him or is he too busy?"

"Sorry, but he and Bojo left late last night."

Damn. Galaxy only knew where this concert would be, and how she'd get past the defenses there. At least the hotel Joran stayed at knew her.

She forced herself to ask, "Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Oh, in four, maybe five days. They're just checking out concert sites and doing some PR I'm told. Can I record a message for if he calls back?"

Mitra panicked. It was too personal, too complicated.

"No, I'll try again then. Thanks."

She broke connection and stared at the baby pink wall. That was stupid. Stupid! Stupid! She should have left a message. Any message, even just her contact information. She knew that in four or five days she'd never make the call. Already she was exhausted and it was getting too hard to simply get through each day. She put her face in her hands. She couldn't call back. Maybe when this was all over she'd try again. Maybe.

*****

Chapter 38

Meetra, Meetrah, Metra, Metrah, Mitra, Mytra, Mitrah, Mytrah, Mietra, Mietrah, Kael, Cael, Kayle, Cayle, Kayhl, Cayhl, Kaehl, Caehl, Kayl, Cayl, Kale, Cale ...

That was a lot of permutations in a lot of databases, and he was timing out. Dreen knew he should be settling down and starting his work day, but he remembered Joran's words. 'You've got two weeks, then I do it my way.'

Dreen's jaw tightened as he stared at his terminal and rubbed bloodshot eyes. Too damned many permutations. Too damned many databases. Too damned many worlds. And now he was being forced to admit there was one major weakness to his plan. What did you do with the thousands of Mitra Kaels that still remained after the filters were applied, and who had no visual ID available to the general public. Some did; he'd seen a two month old, and a 97-year-old, Mitra Kael. But most didn't.

So what did he do. Call them all? And say what? That was what stopped him. What did he say? It was time to decide. Did he keep collecting that daunting list of names, or brave a first call to one of them? And then what, get sympathy or get reported to the police as a stalker?

Dreen turned to look out the window as the first light started to penetrate heavy overcast. The clouds were so low they were hanging on the smoke filtration towers of Pendi Industries. What was he going to do? He had to either get on with it, or settle down and run the company. There was a lot of company to run with Rodd in a coma the doctors couldn't explain, much less predict if he would ever come out of it. Rodd had been so confident, so reassuring in the half day they had spent together. Now he realized that was all bravado on Rodd's part just to spare him worry when Mitra was missing. Hell, what else could go wrong?

So, did he make a first call or not? Dreen was spared that dilemma by a call. Gali. He answered, relieved at the distraction, "Gali. How's it going? Are you or the hacker winning at the moment?"

Gali smiled. "Let's be charitable and call it a draw. We keep reestablishing the system and he keeps taking it down. Or should I say she? Brys has me so convinced the hacker is male I automatically say so. Anyway, it's his turn now. We got back up about 20 minutes ago. Do you think they have any idea how useful they are at debugging the system for us?"

Dreen actually smiled. "Let's hope they don't figure it out till we're finished." He was missing Gali's sense of balance.

"Anyway, that isn't why I called. What I need is some advice on how to deal with our own hacker."

Dreen's stomach knotted. He didn't need this right now. "What has Brys done?"

"Brys?" Gali looked at him in astonishment. "She's no problem. I just make sure I've had enough coffee to be wide awake when I walk in the door. The problem is Evrit. He's impossible. I can't get two lines of code out of him a day."

"Evrit?" Why the hell was Gali bothering him with Evrit? "He's one of the most docile employees we have. All you have to do is clearly define his work and he does it, Gali. So why are you bothering me? Just take the time to define his assignments."

Gali was about to ask Dreen just how stupid he thought he was, when he saw the telltale tightening of Dreen's jaw. Dreen was picking for a fight.

Gali said mildly, "I do. I think maybe it's a personality thing."

"Gali. I haven't time to help you out with the basics of employee management!"

"Excuse me!" Gali blinked. Then he said very calmly and deliberately, "Dreen, I don't know what your problem is, but don't make it mine. Call me back when you intend to practice those basics of employee management yourself."

Gali disconnected.

***

Dreen stared at the blank space. Never, never in their years together had Gali disconnected or walked out on him. What had he done? Dreen sat there, but he didn't come up with any answers. After a bit he got up and walked over to Lindy's office. She was working and didn't look up when he came in.

"Lindy."

"Yes?"

For once her elegant coil of platinum blond hair was less than perfect, and her expensively tailored navy suit jacket was tossed haphazardly on a chair. Lindy didn't bother to look up. She was busy doing the umpteenth revision to the R&D plan they didn't need anyway since Dreen never used them. She'd stopped counting at the third draft. Now Dreen was just going to come up with some change so she had to do it again.

"Am I in a bad temper?"

"Yes."

Lindy kept working without looking up.

Dreen looked in bewilderment at the set of her shoulders under the invariably low-cut cream silk blouse, and ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair.

"Are you mad at me too?"

"Yes."

Curiosity got the better of Lindy and she looked up. "Who else had the nerve to say they were?"

Who else? Did that mean everyone was?

"Gali. He told me off and disconnected a call on me."

"Good for Gali!" She went back to work.

Dreen watched for a minute, then gave up, ran his hand through his hair again, and went back to his office. Maybe Evrit would be reasonable.

***

"Dr. Pendi," Evrit said with pleasure. He had started to wonder if nothing was going to happen about his project after all. Now, there was a gleam of excitement in his too close set eyes and his young rather narrow face was animated.

"How's your idea shaping up, Evrit?" Dreen needed desperately to lose himself in something technical. Anything technical.

"I hope all right." Evrit wasn't sure, and it showed.

"Well, tell me about it." Dreen smiled encouragingly.

After a couple false tries Evrit got going. And after about five minutes Dreen had to admit he was so exhausted he wasn't following a word of it. He sincerely hoped he'd be able to get away with some platitudes at the end of the recital, such as 'You've really worked on it. Send me any notes you have.' With luck he'd be able to focus enough to read the notes.

His luck ran out a few minutes later when Evrit asked him a question, a real poser, then sat there with a look on his face that made it clear that of course Dr. Pendi would know what to do. Dreen didn't, and he had no intentions of alienating Evrit with a lie now that he was finally opening up.

"I'm sorry Evrit. I think I understand what you're asking." He paraphrased the question and got a nod. "But I don't see a solution off the top of my head, and I don't think there is one. I think it will take some work. And, to be quite honest, I'm so bogged down right now, I don't think I can tackle it."

"Yes sir."

Evrit's face retreated to the polite expressionless drone mask Dreen hated.

Damn. "Look, Evrit. I was sincere that we need to get this going. I just told you the truth because I don't want to slow you down waiting on me. Have you run it past Gali?" It sounded like one Gali would love.

"Gali?" Evrit was surprised back out of his expressionless mask.

The total disbelief wasn't lost on Dreen. "Yes, Gali. He'd love that one, I think."

"But he's a hardware man!" It slipped out before Evrit could stop himself. His question was very theoretical, and he needed help, not more problems.

So that was it. Dreen was tired, but not so tired he couldn't add two and two. Obviously Evrit thought Gali was essentially a senior screwdriver type. And that made Dreen suddenly feel old as well as tired. There was a time when Gali's name was well-known galaxy wide as a theoretician and coder, but it obviously wasn't by Evrit's generation. He'd never thought of that. He'd just assumed Evrit knew who Gali was.

Dreen said, "At the risk of sounding dated, Evrit, there's a book I want to know if you've heard of - assuming it's still around." He named the text Gali had contributed to. They had always meant to find time for him to do more writing, but it never seemed to happen, although he had co-authored the odd paper with co-op students.

Evrit nodded. "The book is a classic. I haven't used it - it's aimed at Ph.D. students doing pretty fancy theory." It had a reputation for being really tough, only for very serious coders.

Dreen winced. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Gali, who was only a few years older than him after all, being a classic.

"Is there something useful in it?" Evrit asked hopefully. He could always give it a try and see if he understood.

Dreen said, "Not in the way you're thinking, but yes. Gali wrote two of the chapters, so you see he isn't just a hardware man."

***

Well, Dreen thought with satisfaction, at least that went well. Evrit had left the call keen to talk to Gali. Poor Gali. Had he really been that hard on him? Dreen picked up the sheet of names and felt a surge of total frustration and futility. Quite probably he had been that hard on Gali he decided. He'd have to watch that. Dreen sat there irresolute. He should do his work, but Joran had given him two weeks and he was well into day thirteen. He'd lay odds that Joran meant he'd do it his way at 12:01 AM on day fifteen, even if that meant waking up Ralin, the Head of Gingezel Security. That gave him how many hours?

The door to his office opened and Lindy stood just on the threshold, platinum blond head tilted, the coil restored to perfection.

"Is it safe to come in?"

"Just barely. Have I really been that bad?"

"Yes." Lindy came in and sat down. "Dreen, I called Gali to see if he had any idea what's wrong and he didn't. So I called Joran."

This was slightly inaccurate in the interest of saving time. Lindy knew it was a total waste of time to call Joran since he never answered calls. So she had called Bojo who said he'd get Joran to call her which happened in five minutes or so. Bojo had also warned her that Joran was on the last kilo of a diet, so she had expected him to act peculiar, but still ...

Lindy looked at Dreen and continued carefully, "He said you were upset because and I quote 'you lost your girlfriend and can't find her, and if you haven't by the end of tomorrow he will.'

"Dreen - what's that about? Even for Joran on a diet that's a peculiar thing to say, and when I tried to push him, he said to go bother you, he was composing between vocal practice sessions for a concert." She sighed. "A concert is good news anyway, or at least I hope so."

Squaring her shoulders under her elegant jacket, Lindy said firmly, "So I'm bugging you."

It was Dreen's turn to sigh. Lindy had obviously decided to sort things out, and if he didn't satisfy her she'd just go back to Joran, and then he'd hear about it from Joran. So, feeling incredibly stupid, he told her the basic story, how he and Mitra had enjoyed the ideal holiday romance until she just disappeared.

***

For a long minute Lindy just looked at him, then she shook her head. "I'll restrain from comments of the of-all-the-stupid-things-to-do type. But you've lost me on one thing Dreen. What's this to Joran? Is this one of his well meant but misguided attempts to help out?"

Dreen didn't answer immediately. He went and stood at the window, watching the rain sheeting down from clouds that still shrouded the industrial smokestacks across the way.

At last he said, "Have you listened to M's song?"

"Yes, but I stopped. It's too sad. I mean, there are the two story lines. The one where he's lost Maillie is bad enough. But there's the second where it's like she just walked in the door, but he can't have her." Lindy shook her head. "Poor man. Won't he ever let go?"

Dreen said to the window, "He's let go Lindy. There are two women in M's song. One is Mitra, and he can't have her because by the time he wrote the song she and I were already lovers."

Heaven help us, Lindy thought. She said carefully, "And if he finds her, is it for you?"

Dreen turned and said reproachfully, "He's my best friend Lindy!"

'And what good did friendship do Johnnie Sun when Joran went after Maillie?', Lindy thought, but she kept her mouth shut.

"So what have you been doing to find her?"

***

It was a relief to tell someone, and Dreen elaborated on his database searches, and the few filters he was occasionally able to use, like age. Stopping at last, Dreen was looking forward to a little sympathy on the difficult job, and praise for the progress he had made.

Lindy just stared. "Dreen, there are times when I wonder if you are the stupidest man in existence."

"And you'd do better?" He was more than offended. He was angry again.

Lindy chose to ignore the warning signs.

She said in exasperation, "Dreen, you run a computing company with a hub on every developed planet worth mentioning. You have database experts in each hub, and they're bound to know more about the quirks of the local databases than you do. Put them to work and they'd have been done in an afternoon."

"This is not Nemizcan business," Dreen said repressively. He didn't use his company for his own whims.

"So what? On any given day you shut your eyes to up to half a dozen homers just here at H.O."

That was totally different. Those were employees acting on their own, and they were reasonably good about keeping the home stuff to coffee breaks and lunch hours, or occasionally a group would spend an evening or so on something. Lindy was proposing that the boss actually delegate a large number of employees to do non-Nemizcan work. By the look on her face though, he didn't think he'd get anywhere giving her a lecture on morality.

Instead he tried appealing to her practical side. "Lindy, even if I did that - and I really don't think it would be right to - there is still the problem of identifying the correct Mitra Kael. I would still be the rate limiting step calling them."

And how did he do that? He suspected that while most - well, make that some - women he called would be sympathetic, a finite number would report him as a nuisance call, or worse still a potential stalker of some Mitra Kael. If even a few complaints collected, he'd be in serious trouble.

Lindy gave him a pitying look. "Dreen," she said in a tone she occasionally used on her learning deficit grandson, "you must have a hologram of her. So, have the hubs do the calling. We always have some kind of market research going on, or promotion. If not, I can come up with one by morning coffee. If they hit a Mitra Kael they think might be yours, you can do a follow-up call."

It sounded so easy. It avoided the thousands of cold calls he was already dreading, and probable legal trouble. It gave a legitimate reason to call. It would be fast. And morally it was right up there with Joran's scheme of get Mitra's address out of the Gingezel data base. Lindy, why are you tempting me?

She saw him wavering. "Look Dreen, why don't I get us coffee." Then she played the winning card. "And some of my chocolate chip cookies." She'd hidden them two or three days ago when she'd got really mad at him. "You can show me your vacation holograms while you think it over." And while I think of some more arguments. We have to sort this out, or no one's temper will recover for months. "Okay?"

Lindy smiled sweetly and left in search of cookies.

*****

Chapter 39

"Is Dreen alone?" Chett barely nodded to Arla, Dreen and Lindy's secretary, and he didn't slow down.

Chett had started tensing for the meeting when he walked into Head Office. He knew perfectly well he should have called Dreen when he left Drezvir to give Dreen as much time as possible to plan and think. That was exactly why he hadn't called. Give Dreen time to think, and he would have marshaled enough arguments for why he, not Chett, should go back to Drezvir that there was no way to win. Chett did not intend to let that happen. He intended to use the best weapon he had, surprise. Dreen would know damned well that was what he was doing and be furious, but so what? It was going to be a nasty little fight anyway.

"Lindy is with him Chett," Arla called to the retreating back.

***

"Chett! What are you doing here?" Lindy asked.

She was sitting in a chair pulled around beside Dreen's, and they were both obviously having coffee and looking at something on a monitor he couldn't see. Chett carefully shut the door behind him, and as Dreen started to rise to greet him, he waved him back into his seat. Dreen had better get this one sitting down. He noticed with a certain bitter satisfaction that Dreen looked as pleasantly surprised as Lindy. So that bastard Dellmaice hadn't had anyone make those calls Tranngol requested, much less gone out of his way to make personal contact.

Chett walked about three quarters of the way to the desk and stopped. There was no easy way to lead into this. Looking straight at Dreen he said, "We've got a serious problem on Drezvir, Dreen. The hybrid blew up. I wanted to discuss it in person - that's why I'm back so quickly."

He stood there, watching the animation drain out of both faces to be replaced by shock.

Dreen had rarely seen Chett like this. The smile was gone, and he looked wary, not self-confident.

"How bad?" Then before Chett could speak, "Sorry Chett, sit down." Chett looked exhausted and Dreen suspected he was going on nerves.

"Thanks."

Chett pulled one of the visitor's chairs up to the desk. There had been plenty of time on the way back to rehearse. He wanted things concise, dealt with, and to be on his way back.

"They are about as bad as they can be." He wasn't worried about going too fast, Dreen wasn't a slow study.

***

Chett finished his blunt recital.

There was a pause, then Dreen asked, "When was the accident?"

"Twelve days ago."

Twelve days ago. That was one hell of a day, Dreen thought. Mitra got her call from wherever and took off. Rodd got his bad news. I learned what real trouble was from Bojo. And now this.

"Why haven't I heard a thing about it?"

"Because Ari Dellmaice is one son-of-a-bitch," Chett said with real venom.

Lindy raised her sculpted eyebrows. She'd never heard Chett use a tone like that before.

"Do I get to use the same description of you? You must have known at least six, maybe more, days ago." Dreen forgot he had promised himself to get his temper under control.

Chett smiled his old smile. Here we go.

"Sure."

"And exactly why didn't you call in?" Dreen demanded.

"It would have given you too damned much time to figure out why you were going back to deal with the overpower, not me. So I cheated. Do you want the fight now, or shall we save time and focus on the problem?"

"You get a temporary deferral at best," Dreen said grimly. "But I want to know about Dellmaice." The acid hadn't been lost on him either. "I take it he did contact you, and you just conveniently forgot to pass on the message?" he concluded sarcastically.

"No."

It was obvious that for some reason Dreen was picking for a fight. That wasn't going to help.

"I walked into it blind, on my routine swing through Drezvir." Chett's voice was taut. "If the grid hadn't gone down while I was in Rostin's office and he hadn't let slip Dellmaice Power Systems was having trouble installing batteries and fuel cells, I might still not know. As it was, I got pushy.

"Once Rostin finally admitted the accident, he tried to say it had nothing to do with us. Crap! So I insisted on seeing the guy running the Dellmaice Power Systems accident analysis. He is, by the way, one very angry employee."

Dreen raised his eyebrows. "How?"

"He figures Dellmaice is screwing him too, acting like he wants a cover-up, not a clean investigation. This guy - Tranngol Cebron - I take it he's pretty high up in his field and for all of a gentle manner definitely doesn't take any nonsense. He's going to get to the bottom of the accident, and that's that.

"Apparently Dellmaice should have either had an independent team do the analysis, or an auditor overseeing it and didn't. So," Chett smiled a twisted smile, "apparently this Tranngol got an auditor brought in himself."

"Who?"

"Azlo Mirelle." Chett expected this to mean no more to Dreen than it had to him but Dreen's expression got grim. "You know him?"

"Of him." Then as Chett looked concerned Dreen added, "Oh, he's good I hear. But he usually means trouble. Big legal trouble."

Dreen remembered every detail of the jurisprudence in the Farr sector. Damn! Why hadn't he told Ari to pick another reactor to try the interfaces on?

Chett nodded. "I was getting to legal issues. Shall I finish on Dellmaice first?"

Dreen nodded in turn.

"Tranngol is also mad that suppliers hadn't been warned at the time of the accident and weren't en route. He thought I was the first arrival."

"Either this Tranngol has a big mouth, or you got chummy awful fast," Dreen observed sourly.

"He's very careful with his mouth. The whole place, including bedrooms, is under Sector Judiciary surveillance," Chett announced cheerfully. "I'm going by his expression when he found out about me. All he said was that it would be rectified, by him if need be."

"Was there somehow a slip up with us?" The question was Lindy's first contribution.

Chett shook his head. "I was talking to Tranus Dynamics and they were only one baby step ahead of us. They knew the reactor was down, but not that there was an accident."

It didn't make sense whatever way Dreen looked at it. He had come to the conclusion of just how much trouble they could be in a lot faster than Chett had, and was feeling half sick just at the thought that the decision to go ahead without a ContSaft platform was the possible cause. They needed all the lead time they could get to check it out.

Dreen said with a frown, "It doesn't make sense. Why is Ari doing this?"

Ari was as sound a businessman as they came, and totally on top of his technology. He had to know that they couldn't contribute to the accident inquiry without their resources in place.

"My guess is damage control. I've had a long trip back," Chett raised a defensive hand at the glare that got him, "to check on Dellmaice Power Systems. They have a major project going on Plenata where timing is crucial to get final licensing. If he can keep the lid on this for even a few extra days, it could make a big difference.

"But I could be wrong." Chett shrugged. "Mitra says he's just out to save his own ass and he doesn't care who gets screwed. She knows him better than I do."

Chett's jaw tightened. "And talk about getting screwed, you think we're in a tight spot? At the time I left, he had Mitra trying to provide solo support for the whole analysis team, and I mean solo. The site engineer is sedated in the hospital."

Dreen was staring at him with the queerest expression on his face. Lindy's was a close match. Chett paused, confused.

Lindy broke the silence. "Mitra?"

"Mitra Kael, the Project Engineer. I don't know if your paths have crossed Lindy. I know she's never met you Dreen. Lindy, you'd remember her if they had. She's a tiny thing, the size of a minute. All energy."

***

Chett was smiling, staring off into space. He'd spent a lot of time on the trip back thinking and fantasizing about Mitra. That trip had been the strangest time of his life. He kept doing the worst-case arithmetic and getting the same bottom line. Executed. It seemed, from hour to hour, to randomly produce one of three results. Sometimes he took a long look at his life, and what he should have done with it. That was where Mitra came in.

How the hell had he reached his age without a serious relationship? Chett couldn't think of anyone else he'd sooner be serious with. Then inevitably he moved on to why he'd let Mitra talk him into that cool-off-and-see-if-we're-right-for-each-other interval. He should have taken leave and gone to Gingezel with her, proved to her he wasn't like the S.O.B. she'd been involved with at Dellmaice Power Systems. At least those parts of the trip back had been good, the fantasies of how he'd win her now from whoever the new man was.

Sometimes laying there on the way back, he went over and over the software implementation wondering what the hell he'd done wrong technically. And sometimes he tried to decide exactly what he'd do to that bastard Dellmaice, and how he'd do it. He knew how, too. He'd need help, and more research, but Dellmaice would never run Dellmaice Power Systems again.

***

Right now though he was thinking about Mitra. "Dark hair, these incredible blue-green eyes -"

"Chett!" Lindy's voice was sharp.

Chett looked up, startled to see her drawing a finger across her throat. He stopped in confusion, still half in reverie.

"Are you talking about the woman Dreen is marrying?"

First the words didn't make sense, then that primitive reaction he'd feared set in. It couldn't be! He clenched his fists at his side. Logic surfaced a few seconds later. Oh yes it could. Mitra was on Gingezel. Dreen was on Gingezel. Mitra never had the slightest idea who anyone was.

Chett said in a carefully neutral voice, "You're going to have to tell me. Am I?" He looked at Dreen, but Dreen apparently wasn't seeing or hearing anything.

It was Lindy who rotated the monitor, and there was Mitra the way Chett had never seen her looking, but had imagined she could look. She was sitting at a table in some harbor side café, wearing a barely there little sun top, a breeze ruffling her hair. She was smiling, and relaxed, and she had the same look on her face Chett had caught a glimpse of in the cafeteria on Drezvir. She was in love, and the man she was smiling at was Dreen. Chett wondered irrelevantly who took the hologram. Joran he supposed. Dreen was obviously equally in love with Mitra.

Face expressionless, Chett carefully tore up all those silly dreams and lovely fantasies he'd been desperately holding onto. He tried to suppress the question of what the hell he would replace them with, and just get on with it.

He said softly to Dreen, "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have found out this way, but I didn't know."

Mitra? Dreen stared unseeing at Chett. Mitra? Mitra was in this mess. That was the call she got - Ari telling her the reactor blew and he'd been having that stupid, stupid lunch with Joran. She'd been through hell all alone. Galaxy, Dreen thought miserably, when he fucked up he really fucked up. No wonder she had been frantic before she left. Could she forgive him? How could she forgive him?

This was no good, Dreen told himself. Put Mitra aside. You've got a business to run. No, don't put Mitra aside. Your business right now is to make sure she gets all the support she needs from you. He was still not accepting the fact she was a Project Engineer. He was still thinking in terms of the holiday. Well, he'd wanted to find and help her - so help her! That thought helped. He could feel himself starting to focus. All he could do was go, apologize, and earn her forgiveness.

Dreen raised his eyes to Chett. "Do we still have that fight?"

"No," Chett said softly, but he couldn't meet Dreen's eyes. He spoke to the rain driving into the window. "She needs you."

*****

Chapter 40

"May I be the first to congratulate you? Lindy Mikel, Vice President of R&D. It sounds good."

They were in Lindy's office, giving Dreen time to think. Chett tried to put some enthusiasm into his voice. He knew he would fail completely if he tried to put a smile on his face. He was tired, too bloody tired, and the morning had just started. It showed in every line of his pretty-boy face, and his shoulders were slumped inside his perfectly cut suit jacket.

"Oh that," Lindy was dismissive as she waved Chett to a chair and sat down at her desk. "I would have seen it coming if we didn't all have the crazies around here lately. Having me work up five drafts of that damned R&D plan instead of simply saying 'Lindy, bone up. I may have to take off and you'll be running the show'." She was disgusted. "But no, Dreen has to pick now to do his strong silent I'll-take-the-whole-world-on-my-shoulders bit. There are times when I could shake the man."

Chett was not at all perturbed by this outburst. He'd heard her sound off before. He knew the real affection between Dreen and Lindy.

"And speaking of wanting to shake people, just how well do you know Mitra, Chett?"

This time the smile he hid behind came out of it's own accord. "Like I said Lindy, we worked together. Drezvir has been my special project. Mitra is Project Engineer. I've been her link with the company, and I did a lot of the project design on those operator screens we installed."

That thought took the smile off his face as he spiraled into depression again. Was it his part of the design that allowed the reactor to overpower to the stage where a pressure tube sheared? The operators should have seen the overpower and implemented a manual trip, but they swore everything looked normal on the screen - the Nemizcan screen. Chett forcibly put that worry aside and focussed on the more pressing threat - a too curious Lindy.

"Drezvir is just a small colony on a remote mining plant in the Farr sector, and there weren't that many of us Outsiders there. They don't socialize with Outsiders much. So we saw each other a lot."

Lindy looked at the handsome, boyish face smiling easily at her. Chett knew how to use the charm.

"That isn't what we're talking about, and you know it. That isn't why I gave you the kill it sign talking to Dreen a moment ago, and that isn't why I've never seen you look so relieved in your life. And by the way," she added sweetly, "it's a damned good thing Dreen was in shock from the news of the reactor accident, because he's usually pretty fast on the pickup on things like that. You could be talking to him, not me." She finished bluntly, "You've been sleeping around with Dreen's fiancé."

Chett looked at Lindy with real resentment. Resentment that she had the nerve to butt into his personal life. Resentment that she didn't have the taste to let the matter drop when she knew perfectly well he'd got her message and backed off. Resentment that she was somehow making him feel guilty about something healthy and natural. But then Lindy's opinion of his sexual morals had been low for some time, ever since that time he had decided that the twenty year or so difference in ages didn't matter and made a pass at her. You'd think as a grandmother, she'd have a better sense of humor. Well, never mind. Focus on the now.

Biting out the words Chett said, "I have not been sleeping around with Mitra as you put it. If you must know, I slept with her on one visit." He was watching Lindy carefully. "That was more than two years ago Lindy. It was a case of consenting adults. That's it."

Except it hadn't been for him. Chett thought back to those magic nights, to Mitra. Tiny, brunette, pretty - just slightly more pretty than cute - intense. He'd been in love with her before the first night was over. And Lindy with her overdeveloped perception had picked up on it. Now she obviously didn't intend to accept a word of what he was saying.

"C'mon Lindy, Drezvir is one ugly rock pit of a plant in the middle of the great beyond. Mitra had already been there a year and she was getting bored in a big way. She made an offer I had no intention of turning down. It turned what could have been a lonely boring stay in a little habitat cubicle into a very pleasant couple of days. She also made it very clear when we parted that the next time we met we would have both forgotten it ever happened. It's been strictly business since then."

Again, that was totally true from Mitra's perspective. She had strictly been Dr. Mitra Kael, power system engineer.

Chett continued, "I'm pretty used to those rules, Lindy." His aggression was gone now. "I've been touring our hubs more years than I want to count, and that's the way the space flot game goes. I reached the stage a long time ago where I started to hate waking up in an empty portel bed or on the Exec, and I accept the fact most women want nothing long-term to do with my lifestyle.

"I won't pretend it wasn't a lark at first being space flot, but I'm at the stage now where if a really nice woman wanted to try a different set of rules I'd be happy. I won't deny it, I would have been very happy if Mitra wanted it that way." His face softened into a smile much like Dreen's face had worn thinking of Mitra. "She's special Lindy. But she didn't want it that way."

The keep-the-galaxy-at-bay smile was back. "That's life." He met Lindy squarely in the eye. "Do I hear about the rest too Lindy?"

She shook her head. To Lindy's surprise she actually felt sorry for Chett.

"No. I just wanted to make real sure there wasn't trouble coming between you two, Chett. I've seen Dreen through a fair list of women since I hired on as his executive assistant, but you saw him. Judging by just the few minutes he was talking to me before you arrived, this is a whole different game. I don't think I want to test his reactions. Not now, not with all the trouble we're in.

"For sure we're all way too close to disaster if you two have that fight you almost had a few minutes ago. So don't slip up on those space flot rules of yours."

"Don't worry." Chett started to rise, but Lindy waved him back. "What now?" If Dreen wanted to leave for Drezvir today to deal with the reactor accident, they should start pulling the resources together and fast.

"Did you get stupid Chett, out there on the periphery?"

"Lindy, you're playing games."

"You don't think you missed the big one, the one we'd better talk about and you had better get used to?"

"No."

"Do you want to bet you're right?" There was a challenge in Lindy's eyes.

It was an old game they played. "What odds?"

"I'm right and you missed a beaut, I get two dozen long stemmed Calixan rosettes. One dozen here, a dozen at home." She adored their fragrance. "What about you?"

There was no hesitation. "When this day, which has every potential for being right up there on the worst-ever checklist, is finally over I get to go back to your place. I get to veg out in front of the sports, you keep those damned grandkids at bay, and I get to sleep in your guest room."

He was talking to the dark wine abstract on the wall now. "You don't know how desperately I need to not wake up to room service."

All the way back to Tranus thinking about the worst-case scenario if Nemizcan Computing couldn't prove it was not at fault in the reactor overpower had been too much for Chett. Trial, prison, possible execution. He couldn't face that in an impersonal portel. Chett didn't keep a flat anywhere. If he was on Tranus for more than a couple weeks he sublet a condo or moved into an apartment hotel.

The way the light was hitting him, Lindy saw lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn't been there last swing, and the beginnings of what would probably be a permanent crease from the nose to the mouth. She suddenly wondered just how old Chett was. The years slipped sometimes.

She said gently, "Is the constant interplanetary travel finally getting to you?"

He tried to shrug back into the light mood but it didn't work. "I'm sure it's just this run, Lindy. First off, everyone and I mean everyone seemed to have developed terminal cases of the stupids since I was there last. Then there was that call from Rodd -"

It suddenly hit Chett he had been so focused on the reactor accident that he hadn't even asked, "Lindy, how is he anyway?"

"What do you know?"

"Nothing but the one call. He was going in for some unexpected surgery. Rodd was cagey, but he's a private guy. He said to come back as soon as I could and relieve Dreen of the desk work on Marketing."

Well, that would account for part of Chett not seeing the situation accurately, Lindy decided. "It was a brain tumor Chett, in a bad spot. Rodd is in a coma and they won't be able to assess the degree of possible recovery until he comes out." If he comes out, she added to herself.

Chett was staring at her in horror. "I'm an ass, Lindy! I should have asked the moment I got in the door. But he acted like it wasn't much ..."

"He wanted you to finish the swing of the periphery, Chett."

"Yes, that damned swing," he said bitterly. "So, good little Chett cuts his schedule tight and heads for Drezvir." He looked at Lindy with haunted eyes. "I made them show me everything you know. The reactor hall, the collapsed mine. I talked to all eight survivors in the hospital too. And the widows of the two miners that were killed."

"Since then I've only been off the Exec long enough to round up an extra pilot and we've flown straight here, no layovers, no downtime." He shifted in his chair. "So I'm dead tired \- one hell of a case of spacelag. But I fail to see how I'm stupid."

"Basic arithmetic Chett. The same kind that caught me. Look at an organization chart and count on your fingers. You only got part way thinking it out."

That was oblique enough it took in a minute. She could see him thinking it out. She also saw the moment it hit.

"Bright boy. No Dreen, no Rodd. I fill in for Dreen on R&D. Celise fills in for Rodd on Marketing. You find someone to fill in for you. Chett does not go back to the hubs in a few weeks like he thinks he is going to."

"Dreen couldn't expect me to run things Lindy!" He couldn't run Nemizcan Computing. Not under these circumstances.

"Wanna bet?"

"What florist do you like best?"

Chett slid down in the chair, put his head back, and shut his eyes. Never, never again ask yourself what else could go wrong, Chett Linderson, he told himself. Never! He had made that mistake on the way back.

*****

Chapter 41

Dreen waited until the door closed on Chett and Lindy to swivel the monitor back so he could look at Mitra. Now he was just sitting there staring at the image. He couldn't help it, he knew a grin was plastered all over his face. That was why he had waited until Chett and Lindy left to look at the image. The reactor accident on Drezvir, and the possibility their operator displays had caused it, was not a smiling matter. But he'd found Mitra. He hadn't been able to think or sleep for the last twelve days with her just taking off like that, and now he'd found her.

Dreen didn't like to see images of himself at the best of times since he knew perfectly well he wasn't handsome, and he liked it less since he was graying and had acquired a few wrinkles and wasn't even forty yet. All the same, he had picked this one to show Lindy because over these last twelve days it had become his favorite of Mitra. The hologram was taken about halfway through the time they had spent in Crescent Bay, and they were sitting at a table on the terrace of Joran's hotel with the lake behind them. Somehow, he supposed pure luck, Joran had captured her the way he liked to remember her, carefree and laughing. A breeze was ruffling her hair, and she was wearing one of those little next-to-nothing tops she liked.

Well, she sure wasn't carefree now. Dreen deliberately did not let himself go back into the how-could-I-have-done-this-to-her spiral. It got nowhere. He hadn't been there when she needed him, and that was that. A frown replaced the smile. What he had been doing was having lunch with Joran with his call tone turned off. But at least now she was found, and he could go from there.

Mitra was found. That fact was slowly sinking in, and he was finding he was filled with an elation that was totally inappropriate given the circumstances. Dreen made a face; especially given the circumstance that when she saw him she probably wasn't even going to speak to him the way he'd let her down. Mitra had a temper. But they would get past that - he hoped.

Dreen looked at the image again. So Mitra Kael was one of Ari Dellmaice's hotshot engineers. His mind had to try that on a few more times to accept it. It wasn't that he couldn't believe it. Now that he knew, it seemed quite reasonable. It was just that he'd been so off-base in his speculations. So that was her little secret, why she wouldn't tell him who she was. She was one of Ari's power system engineers sneaking a little R&R at the end of a project. There still had to be a lot of family money somewhere though. Even on Dellmaice's generous pay scale you couldn't afford a long holiday in Crescent Bay on Gingezel, the most expensive site on that luxury resort planet. But she was an engineer.

Why hadn't she told him? Probably, Dreen thought realistically, because she had equally wrong ideas about him and didn't want to turn him off. But she was an engineer. She wasn't a computer scientist, but that was all right. He could still talk to her, like he talked to Joran at the end of the day. Joran wasn't a computer scientist either, he was a mathematical physicist, but even once he became a pop star he didn't lose his interest in technology. And now there was Mitra. When he came home, she would actually care what he had been doing, and he would care about what she'd been doing. He could imagine suppers and long walks through the park talking things over. And when they needed to, they could just put it all aside like they had on Gingezel.

Dreen let those romantic memories run for about five minutes, savoring their times to together. Then he shook himself out of the reverie. All those fantasies were for some distant future that was not going to happen unless very hard decisions were made, and some sensible plans implemented in the next few hours. He had done a lot of what-iffing when Mitra took off, but none of his plans had covered this possibility. Dreen knew he was only partly there absorbing the consequences of the reactor accident. The next step had to be to reread the legals.

***

All right, it was a bad situation. It was bad enough that the loss of power had caused a rock face to collapse in the mine and kill the miners. That couldn't be changed. But looking at the future, how the hell could he possibly prove a Nemizcan display did not contribute to the accident? That's what those documents confirmed had to be done. There was no onus on the Farr Sector Judiciary to prove guilt. They had to prove innocence. Right, piece of cake. Just prove no software fault, prove no hardware fault, prove no hardware-software interactions, no quantum effects.

Dreen could understand why Chett had arrived in such a strung-out state. Chett was like he was, he didn't dodge trouble; but that didn't mean the man could have liked the idea of going back to Drezvir - even though Chett had obviously intended to fight that it should be him returning. Well, the personal element, Mitra, changed all of that. He was going to Drezvir and seeing her through this mess.

Wasn't he? Dreen swiveled to look out the window. The smoke scrubbing towers of Pendi Industries were just visible through the driving rain. Surely Mitra was more important than all this. And surely, staying safely here to run things was doing exactly what he didn't think he did, dodge trouble. Put the ancient past behind, he told himself as old memories of a prison cell surfaced. Do what you have to do.

Well, at least they could make the decisions quickly today. It would be a nightmare to act quickly if Nemizcan Computing was not privately owned. Dreen's mind went back to the two days that made it possible.

***

Those days had been the first time Dreen had been seriously worried about launching Nemizcan Computing. The programmers were all happy enough. They had developed their idea of custom templates that were more than cosmetic to where they were all sure it would work - eventually. They knew that the idea of hooking them into the calculation engine was feasible - eventually.

'Eventually' was the problem back then. The templates and the resulting ability to almost instantaneously customize screens for function as well as cosmetic purposes was the best idea they'd had. For that matter, they had become the foundation of the company's success, but the templates had not been in the initial plans. Dreen and his chief programmer Gali had costed a totally different idea down to the last microcredit, and he had been a looking at money problems - like flat broke.

Dreen knew the team hadn't been worried. By then they had figured out he was Oren Pendi's son, and made the connection to Pendi Industries. They had applauded his independence, but had been sure if worst came to worst he wouldn't throw all their work away.

The mist and rain shifted, and Dreen could see the Pendi Industries logo on each of the cracking towers. Would he have thrown it all away? Dreen searched his soul on that. Time and events had softened the animosity between him and his father. But back then? Yes. He would have walked away and got a job as a manual laborer before he so much as spoke to his father.

Blessedly it hadn't come to that. Keya, Gali's wife and Nemizcan's chief cheerleader, had called saying she'd found a businessman to beta test. Dreen remembered his mixed emotions about that. If he was meeting a potential investor back in those recession years, he would have preferred to rent a room and make a formal pitch. The crowded windowless single room the five of them worked in had been a dump. There had been no choice though, so he had shrugged.

Dreen smiled to himself remembering his shock upon opening the door and seeing megadeveloper Nevin Pennell, his father's best friend. Dreen had figured that was the instant end to his independence and dreams. However Nevin had stayed, asked a lot of questions, and the next day proposed coming in as an angel investor. He had given Dreen the best advice he had ever received - to consider staying private. Dreen knew that wasn't what every company wanted, but Nevin had been a shrewd judge of how he would want to run things. He had blessed him for that innumerable times, and for being the investor that made that possible. Now he was blessing him again.

*****

Chapter 42

Chett was still for so long Lindy wondered if he'd forgotten they had to go get Celise, or if he'd fallen asleep. She said gently, "Chett?"

"Mmm?" he didn't open his eyes. He was thinking.

"It's time to go talk to Celise."

Chett opened his eyes and looked at his wrist band. "Not yet." He shut his eyes.

"Chett." Lindy was persistent

"What?" There was irritation this time.

Was he deliberately being stupid? "I really think we should go talk to Celise before Dreen calls us." No response, he was deliberately being stupid. All right. "She needs warning and time to think."

"No way, Lindy. She finds out the way you did, from Dreen."

Chett got up and headed for the cabinet that disguised Lindy's refrigerator. He opened the cabinet, then the refrigerator and started snooping around, pushing things this way and that.

"You know as well as I do that Dreen won't care."

"All the same, all we're doing when we collect her is saying tough breaks about Rodd. Give her more than three minutes at that and she'll want to start briefing me to fill in for Rodd. Then I have to say no, and either lie and say I'm headed back to the periphery, or spill the beans."

The canister he opened didn't contain what he wanted. He put it back and continued to search.

"Chett," Lindy was trying to be reasonable, but she didn't know why Chett was being so scrupulous about Dreen. "You haven't been here through Rodd's surgery. You don't know what it's been like for her. She's stretched taut, she's brittle."

Chett paused his search, but didn't bother to turn. "She might crack if you hit her with a shock like Dreen leaving right now with no graceful lead in? I'm not stupid Lindy. I work with her, not you, when I'm here."

The elegant dark haired Celise was Rodd's executive assistant and he got her on loan.

"I can guess what she's like. That's why I want to see Dreen hit her with it. Now," he was staring into the refrigerator in total exasperation, "what the hell have you done with the chocolate chip cookies?"

Chett almost got his hand caught in the refrigerator door. He had been too intent on the cookies. As it was, he was pretty sure they heard the thud two offices down the hall as the door slammed.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Lindy headed for the door.

Chett let her go six steps, then he said very, very softly, "If you think there is even a one percent chance of those rosettes tomorrow Lindy, I wouldn't take one more step towards the door. You do and it will be the shortest promotion in history."

She stopped, but that was it. He got a view of an immaculately cut navy suit, long legs, a coil of platinum blonde hair, and a rigid back.

"Turn around Lindy, and come back here and sit down. I'm not talking to your back."

She turned, and with a sarcastic gesture waved him towards the chair behind her desk.

***

"Ladies first." Chett perched on the arm of the chair he had been sitting in and waited until she sat down.

"I'm not deliberately being cruel, Lindy."

Chett waited for the crack that remark asked for, but all he got was raised eyebrows. Good girl. Lindy was the best.

"This is going to be a tough haul Lindy - you can handle it, but I'm not sure about Celise. It is not going to do Celise any good if we cushion her through this one, set her up in authority, and a big surprise comes from outside." Don't even think about what you know that could be Chett told himself. Don't start that worst case spiral down again.

"What if she cracks then? I won't be able to play pickup at a time like that. If she's going to crack, it may as well be now in the privacy of Dreen's office when we all have some lead time to recover."

Chett was watching Lindy. She wasn't giving a micron, but she wasn't walking out either. He said gently, "Lindy, I know you're the softest touch in the galaxy but you can't babysit everyone. This is going to give you all you can handle plus a bit, if we aren't lucky. You won't be able to protect her."

No response.

"Okay let's try it this way. Hear me out and if you still think I'm wrong, go up there yourself. It's an honest difference of opinion at that point. You won't hear about it tomorrow."

"And what is it now?" She was sarcastic.

He ignored that. "You've had less than half an hour to absorb things Lindy. I've had a long haul back, and very good reasons to think of every last detail." There wasn't even a flicker at that, Chett mentally noted to himself.

"Dreen is putting himself in a very real risk, and he needs his business in complete order back home." She agreed to that, he could see it on her face.

So, Lindy saw this as a short term problem. Distressing yes, but they were only setting up an interim structure. It hadn't crossed her mind that this might be permanent. So there was a chance of that soft bed after all.

Chett suddenly smiled, startling Lindy. "I'm not the only one with the stupids this morning. Let's do it again Lindy. I still want that bed. What's the bet on your side?"

"A bottle of Celestial." It was the most expensive perfume in the galaxy and she was furious with him. "But I don't see what you're getting at."

"I know. That's why I've got a soft bed." He grinned again. "Like you said to me Lindy, count on your fingers. Only don't think Head Office exclusively, think the big picture, the Drezvir picture. Leave Dreen's personal relations out of it too because I didn't know about that. Leave Dreen here running things and figure out why Chett had one really interesting depressing flight home."

She was good. It didn't take long, but she hadn't seen the magnitude of the problem until then. He had that bed.

Lindy's eyes went wide and she said with conviction, "Dreen wouldn't do that, Chett, set you up to take the fall." Chett was implying the problem was really serious. Could he be right?

"Not voluntarily," he agreed. "He'd do what he's doing right now, say if anyone at the company is going to be at risk it's going to be him. Then we'd have had the best fight we've had to date. But in the end I would have been the one to go back. After all, I'm expendable."

"Dreen would never say something like that. Or see it like that," Lindy protested.

"He didn't. I did. Come on Lindy, do you think I could come up with the ideas he does or attract and keep the talent? Don't make me laugh. Besides, when it comes right down to it, while Dreen was the one Dellmaice talked to, and Dreen agreed the project was something the company could do, I'm the man responsible for the deliverables. It's my signature on every item.

"I went into this with my eyes wide open, probably more so than any of us. I'm the one out there roaming the galaxy, I hear the stories. I deal with the different sectors. I knew the history of the Farr sector and the Mining Guild. So," Chett concluded simply, "it really is my fault. I should have insisted Dreen not touch it.

"And I intended to have Dreen see it that way." He smiled a tight little smile. "But I was also scared and I intended to make sure I was getting about 1000% support back here. It didn't turn out that way because of Mitra. I didn't even think of a possible personal side. But she changes everything. So I'm going to make sure Dreen gets 1000% support and more. That includes Celise."

"Does it have to change?" Lindy asked slowly, "This sounds like I'm putting your head on the block Chett, but you were doing it yourself anyways. Could Dreen stay here?"

"Not if he's as far gone in love as you say Lindy. If I was the lucky guy, I couldn't see Mitra in that kind of risk and not be there. It would tear me apart."

"Spell it out Chett, slow and simple. You didn't get a chance to elaborate in Dreen's office. How bad a position are we really in?"

"It's pretty simple. We're one of the top five contenders to have messed up. I hope it wasn't us. I need to know it wasn't us. The scary part is that in the Farr sector you have to prove innocence. That's damned hard to do in computing. I spent a lot of time on the way back wondering how the crowd at ContSaft sleeps nights." He knew they did. Critical computer systems were their living, and they were good at it. "When we get over this, I'm going to see that Tina and Andrai come in as consultants and tune us up. My comfort threshold has really shifted.

"But that's an aside. As it is, we are a roughly one in five contender for a manslaughter charge. Mitra is the one in real trouble. As Project Engineer, no matter what happens, she's in for charges unless it's an Act of God, or there's been deliberate fraud by a supplier."

Lindy digested this, then asked, "What's an Act of God in this case?"

"Something like a fault in a pipe that all the modern testing equipment missed."

"Not likely?"

"Nope."

"And the deliberate fraud?"

"The same pipe maker skipped the tests and signed the QA sheets anyways. But even then Mitra would have to prove she didn't know, or she'd at least be an accessory."

Lindy asked carefully, "And what does manslaughter bring out there?" She didn't like the way Chett was sitting there, legs stretched out in front of him, talking in that quiet voice of his to the wall somewhere behind her.

"They aren't in a good mood in the Farr sector. They have the death penalty, and it's an option judges can exercise."

"I see." Lindy was trying to be a matter of fact, not horrified. She doubted she was managing. "And otherwise?"

"It depends on the case Lindy."

"Don't dodge the issue, Chett!"

He sighed. "Let's put it this way. If they haven't already started a family, she's not likely to get out before she needs a fertility clinic to help. And if Dreen is having fantasies about twins in college when he retires, he'd better rethink in terms of elementary school."

Lindy stared at Chett. He'd been prepared to volunteer for that? He was right. She'd been stupid, focusing on Head Office.

She said softly, "I'm so sorry Chett."

He brushed that aside. "Forget it. Now, where are those damned cookies?"

*****

Chapter 43

As Celise stepped into Arla's office Chett touched Lindy's arm.

"Give me five minutes with Dreen will you? I think I've figured out an angle that will force him to give Plan B serious consideration. He'll still have to make up his own mind, but I'll give it a shot."

The angle had come to him eating his second cookie. He'd refined it in the lavatory, then totally focused on the trip up to collect Celise. Chett still didn't know what to think about her, but he'd find out soon enough. She was making it obvious she was not particularly happy about what she saw as a delay in briefing him about what Rodd expected to be done to keep his empire in order, so he'd learn how fast she could rethink life.

If it didn't work, Chett already had two names in mind for Acting Vice President of Marketing. Both were planetary hub managers. But he would sooner keep one or both of them free to take on his position of Vice President of Field Operations if this dragged out. And any in-house moves at Head Office would have to wait until he knew people better. Then too, they would cause a ripple effect. So he was hoping for the best and not counting on it.

Lindy nodded, and by the time he had opened and closed Dreen's door Lindy, Celise, and Arla were well into a rehash of gory medical details.

***

"Dreen, there's a lot to get through in not many hours. I want to make the case for a major rethink, and I'm not looking for a fight. I'd like you to simply hear me out. Then I'll go study the view, you make the call, and we carry on. Okay?"

Dreen was watching Chett with interest, noticing the changes since he'd left the office. He was already making independent decisions, calling his own shots. But then Chett always reacted fast and figured things out fast too. It would make life easier in the long run.

"What do you have to say?" Dreen gestured to a chair.

"First, let's clear who should morally go to Drezvir right off the table. You think you should go because you're President, you're responsible for the early design and the decision to deal with Ari Dellmaice, and you aren't risking the lives of any employees. I'm Vice President of Field Operations. I handled the design implementation, testing, and installation. I also made a serious mistake knowing the Farr Sector and not throwing up a lot more red flags than I did, and I'm no more risking someone that you are. That puts us close to a draw, slightly weighted on my side since I could have vetoed the project."

Chett continued, "Legally, we both have about the same number of signatures on key documents, even if they're different documents. I expect the lawyers can easily make a case for total responsibility resting on whichever of us goes. So that's off the table too."

Dreen nodded. So far he was thinking like Chett.

"The technical issues can go off the table too. Neither of us saw this coming or we would never have installed the software. Neither of us thinks we did a thing wrong. But neither of us wants to spend the rest of our lives with the nightmare of uncertainty that we might have slipped up, so we are both going to want to be a lot surer than any investigator that we didn't blow it. But that making sure doesn't demand on-site testing like for the pressure tube. That making sure is going to be in your head, and my head, and the heads of the people on the design team that we both intend to keep safely here at Head Office.

"So the deciding issue is Mitra. I know her, I like her. I worked with her through the final design installation. I don't believe she's capable of more than an innocent mistake, the same kind we might have made. And I don't want to see her shafted. Until I knew about her and you, I'm not sure how much farther than that it went."

That little lie flew quite well, so Chett continued, "But I'm quite prepared to take on protecting her." At Dreen's raised eyebrows he added, "I'm not being melodramatic and saying I'd risk my life for her. I'm not taking a fall in this for anyone including you. But there are good odds in this one that someone cheated and she's too nice to have caught it because she can never think of doing less than the best herself."

Dreen nodded. Chett was right there. Mitra would be totally blind to fraud.

"If that's the case, I'm the right man to be there, not you. I play dirtier than you do, and I've knocked around more. I'd smell fraud a lot faster than you would." Chett rose. "Think it over."

***

Walking across the room, Chett stood at the window. At least the rain largely obscured the ugly cracking towers, stacks, and other industrial structures associated with the chemical plants next door. Their own site was large enough Dreen could have had a view of their treed meditation park, but Chett knew he liked to remember his roots.

The chemical plant was one of a number operating under the name of Pendi Industries. Until Dreen's father had died four years ago, The Old Man as Dreen called Oren, had run them. Although it was way before his time, Chett knew that their current location had originally been owned by Dreen's father and targeted for expansion of Pendi Industries. His understanding was that when Dreen decided to start Nemizcan Computing, Oren made him a gift of the land and financed the buildings needed so Dreen wouldn't start out with that expense hanging over him. The only other intervention Chett knew of was to suggest Dreen consider Rodd Turpene when he was looking for a marketing man. Rodd was the nephew of Oren's off-world partner.

When Oren died, Chett knew the employees had transferred their rather touching faith in The Old Man to his only child, Dreen. This had been a problem. First, Dreen had no interest in the chemical business. If he had been interested, this site would have been another hydrocarbon cracking plant. Second, unlike Nemizcan Computing, Pendi Industries was a public corporation and the shares Dreen inherited weren't enough to call the shots. Rodd's uncle had made a takeover offer that was both reasonable, responsible, and good for the employees. But he hadn't been the only player. There had been two other approaches, both good. While Dreen and the directors of Pendi Industries had been trying to make the best decision, there had been another decidedly hostile bid from a company with the reputation of takeovers where they stripped the assets, and sold the pieces off.

At that point, Rodd and Chett had closed ranks behind Dreen. Rodd because his family was involved, Chett because this was the kind of dogfight he loved and a chance to use all the skills he'd perfected working with Hoffner. Ah yes, Hoffner. Skills that were going to come in damned useful eliminating Ari Dellmaice.

***

Chett had started out on the technical side at Tranus Dynamics. There had been a time when there wasn't a thing there he couldn't take apart, put back together, and improve in the process. But it had become obvious he was bored as a technician, so he'd been given some responsibility, then more responsibility, with training at every stage. Before long, whenever serious problems arose needing competence at both a managerial and technical level, it was Chett who inherited them.

He kept working his way up. About the time he became the junior member of their senior management team, Tranus Dynamics had decided they needed additional capability for a cautious change of direction. They were a very cautious company. They had done their research, they knew just the firm they needed. Unfortunately for it, the target firm didn't see it that way at all. Rather to the Board of Directors' collective surprise, Tranus Dynamics found themselves mounting a hostile takeover. This wasn't going to be a buy it and strip it. They seriously wanted the capability and one way or another they intended to get it. Management at Tranus Dynamics knew this wasn't their game, and they brought in professional raiders, Hoffner Associates, to do the dirty work. Chett had been fascinated. He had learned every vicious trick in their book, and suggested a few of his own that were specific to this technical sector.

The takeover was finished almost before it started. Tranus Dynamics had one dazed new company on their hands. But Tranus Dynamics was now overextended themselves, both financially and at a managerial level because most of the managers in the taken-over firm had walked. Also one subsidiary of the company they had taken over had problems. Tranus Dynamics couldn't afford to support a non-crucial subsidiary that seemed incapable of recovering from the shock of the takeover. If the subsidiary didn't get its act together fast they would have to sell it.

Then someone had the bright idea that maybe it was time to let Chett have a try at autonomous management. He was given six months to bring the subsidiary around. If it wasn't at a break-even point by then, they would get rid of it. They were pretty sure Chett could do it, but since he tended to lose focus over the long-haul, they thought it would be a good idea to add a little performance incentive: if the subsidiary went, so did he. They could always change their minds later, but they didn't intend to tell him that.

If the subsidiary was still spinning from the takeover, they found out what a real shock was like when Chett arrived. But within six weeks everyone knew what was expected of them and how to do it. By the end of the first quarter they were breaking even and Chett had developed his management style for life. By the end of the second quarter they were showing a profit, and it was all one happy family - except for Chett. Life was now boring. Boring. He hated his desk.

When a few months later there was a discreet inquiry from a headhunter firm asking him if he would be interested in the position of Vice President of Field Operations for Nemizcan Computing he jumped at the chance. Being on a continual tour of the hubs, as Nemizcan Computing called their central facility on each planet, was his idea of perfection. There were new faces daily, were new problems at each hub he visited; the whole galaxy was his playground. Above all, no desk.

Now, as Chett stood watching the rain and reviewing his history, he decided that neither Dreen nor he had any complaints with the way it had worked out. Dreen hadn't even objected to his little hobby. Chett had never enjoyed anything quite as much as those few weeks working with Hoffner Associates on the takeover. He didn't want it as a career. Dealing with that spinny little company and its employees had soured him on the aftermath of a lot of what Hoffner and his associates did. But he loved the strategy side of the takeovers, and sat in with them a few times a year. Now he thought with satisfaction, that experience was going to pay off. He would let Dreen make his decision, then they would have a little talk about Ari Dellmaice.

*****

Chapter 44

Dreen sat watching Chett's back. There was something to what Chett said, but Dreen knew he had to be the one to go to Drezvir. He had known that even while Chett was making his case. But he was glad of the time alone with Chett to make sure of what he was doing next. Dreen studied the tall slim figure. Chett was a strange one.

There were no doubts in Dreen's mind that Chett was perfectly sincere in his bid to go back to Drezvir, a mess most people would have kept distancing themselves from as fast as they could once they had the chance to get away from it. If you asked Chett he'd say he didn't dodge trouble, or he liked a good fight. But when it came right down to it, for a guy who claimed upfront he hated responsibility beyond a certain level, Dreen had never seen anyone take those same responsibilities so seriously. The bottom line, for all of Chett's let's-take-this-off-the-table talk, was that Chett figured if anyone had screwed up it was him. So Chett was going, or had intended, to go back. Past tense. Mitra changed that.

Dreen asked himself, did he feel like he was possibly taking the fall for Chett if he went back? That did not change his going, but it would change Chett's position here. Dreen had asked himself the question right after he read the legals, and now, looking at Chett's back, he asked it again. Both times the answer was no. The only thing Chett might have tried but hadn't was a flat-out veto early on. He had raised objections. But Dreen knew he wouldn't have listened to a veto any more than he had listened to the objections. He had been too restless back then, looking for a new direction for the company. As for handing off the software development stages to Chett, Dreen had monitored that a lot more closely the Chett would ever know. Chett had made all the right moves.

It was time to step into the future.

"I'm sorry Chett. You may be right, but I simply can't do it."

Chett turned around. He was disappointed, but not surprised.

"All right, I said I wouldn't argue."

He took a step towards the door to call Lindy and Arla, then hesitated, and came back to Dreen's desk and stood with a hand on the chair he had been sitting in.

"Dreen," he said seriously, "don't be a nice guy on this one. You tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. Please ..." Chett hesitated. "If you even only think something is a little off, tell me."

"Believe me," Dreen said flatly, "I'm not feeling vaguely like a nice guy right now."

"No," Chett gave Dreen a searching look, "I suppose you're not."

"Now, before we go any further," Dreen's voice was hard, "just exactly what is Dellmaice doing to Mitra?"

Chett let himself breath a little more freely. "This is strictly my assessment Dreen, not hard fact."

"I sat here for twelve days and never heard a word. That is hard fact." Dreen's voice was ice.

Chett nodded. "The way I see it, either the Sector Environmental Protection Agency or the Sector Judiciary is out to make an example of this accident. They are going to go for management - either at a project manager level or higher. I'd say Dellmaice is making damn sure it stays at the project management level.

"Shall we say slightly overdeveloped survival instincts?" Chett raised an ironic eyebrow. "Ari has a lot on his plate right now, so I wouldn't question his absence if Mitra was getting support. But she isn't. All the support - and it isn't much \- is to the accident analyst Tranngol. The planet manager Rostin treats her like she has the plague. At least Auta - he's the EPA and Judiciary rep - is impartial. He merely mistrusts the whole galaxy on sight."

Dreen asked, "Has Mitra said anything to you about how she sees it? There may be support you aren't seeing back at Dellmaice Power Systems Head Office."

"Oh, there's support all right," Chett said grimly. "Elin - she's the safety analyst - has taken leave without pay to recheck her work. The rest of the team is dispersed and hasn't been reassembled."

Chett didn't expect Dreen to like that, and he didn't. Their eyes met in total accord. Then Chett raised one eyebrow in question and gave a little half smile.

Dreen didn't doubt Chett's intent for a minute. They knew each other too well. Ari Dellmaice was finished. On Chett's side this wasn't about Mitra. He was furious about personally being set up by not having been told about the accident immediately. The fact there had been a delay could be crucial in their defense of themselves. Chett was the get-even-but-good type. Well, it suited Dreen just fine.

Dreen simply asked, "Can you do it?"

"Yes."

There had been the long trip back from Drezvir to take apart and put back together every piece of Ari Dellmaice's business empire he could legally find out about.

"Good," Dreen nodded. "Then we'd better move it. I want to be out of here before the end of the day and at the spaceport."

"Oh ..." Chett frowned.

"Problems?"

"I hadn't counted on your leaving that fast - your leaving at all I guess I mean." Chett rubbed a hand over his tired face. "I told Angus and Jodi they had twenty-four hours to catch up on sleep, so I'd better call them. They can arrange extra pilots for the first shift. We've gone flat out." Angus and Jodi were his pilots.

Dreen shook his head. "Keep the Exec. You may need it. The Allegro is here on three hours' call." Dreen still didn't know if he thanked Joran for that loan or not, but the Allegro was probably the fastest spaceship in the galaxy.

"Jon must love that."

"Climbing walls," Dreen agreed indifferently. Chief Pilot Jon Melcrist's problems weren't high on his list of priorities right now. "I assume," he asked Chett dryly, "you spent at least some of the trip home figuring out what's going to be needed in technical support?"

Chett nodded.

"So the main thing to do is get things in order here so I'm not missed. We can talk to Lindy and Celise about that in a minute."

Chett nodded. "And we have to set it up on Drezvir so the communications work." He wished he knew what had been going through Dreen's head for the last half-hour. "The trick will be to be able to communicate any doubts you have with no one being the wiser."

At Dreen's questioning look Chett added, "Assume the place is monitored end to end, personal quarters too. Audio, visual, plus hyperweb communications. I thought the easiest route would be to set up our own hyperweb link like we do with the hubs but use your Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb beta software if it's stable enough. I understand you've persisted on the screwdriver part and can more or less put one together."

"More or less." It was a good idea, one he'd missed.

"I'd been thinking of me," Chett said, "but we'll really need it now for you to keep me briefed on what you want done."

And that was what's going to be pure hell, trying to balance keeping Dreen in control of the company without it interfering with his focus on the Drezvir problems. Chett felt tired just thinking about.

"Except that's not what's going to happen."

"All right," Chett said slowly. "Lindy said I'm stupid today. Spell out what you want really carefully. I'm sorry if I missed an alternative."

"Sit down." It was obvious Chett thought he had technical objections. "I don't mean the hyperweb. It's a good idea and I'll get Freidi on it in a minute. I meant the structure you propose."

Chett rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the fatigue. "Sorry Dreen, I'm just not getting there. You'd better stick to simple words too."

"Long trip?"

Dreen could believe Chett hadn't slept much. He would have worked out every last detail of the support he needed here, and of how to take Dellmaice out.

Chett nodded. "Long enough. Mostly though I'm paying for getting up early enough to rehearse for what I thought would be one hell of a fight."

Shrugging, Chett gave an apologetic smile. He had thought he was on enough adrenaline he would get through the day, but the Mitra twist must have really thrown him.

"Then it serves you right. You're still pretty unpopular you know, for that not-calling-in-instantly stunt. The question is can you focus enough to follow me?"

"Keep it simple and I'll follow you. I'm just not anticipated things, and that bothers me. But we'll have to live with it."

Dreen nodded. "Okay. It's pretty simple anyways. The way you're thinking isn't fair to either of us. If Mitra hadn't entered, and you were going back to Drezvir - which by the way wouldn't have been a given ..."

Dreen set his jaw and Chett grinned. He almost missed that fight.

There was a pause, then Dreen continued, "I assume you had no intentions of continuing to manage the hubs. I assume one of the first things you did was think of who you would get to cover for you."

Chett nodded.

"And," Dreen was watching him, "I assume the choices were people you could trust to function on their own. You wanted to be free to focus."

Chett thought he was starting to follow Dreen, but if so, he must be tireder than he thought. Dreen would never turn over Nemizcan.

"I need the same freedom you would, Chett. Also, what you proposed isn't fair to you."

He knew Chett's style. Fast on his feet, fast with his decisions. Independent decisions. Introduce a lot of delays, remove that independence, and Chett would be off-balance. The last thing Nemizcan would need in this mess was the man at the top off-balance.

"You don't work well unless you call the shots." Dreen was trying to judge, but Chett's face was too guarded. "So, let's play it like you did on your proposal. A simple question and you say yes or no. You say no, I go with another plan."

The other plan was to make the same request to Joran. Dreen was sure he'd accept and, Dreen thought uncomfortably, thoroughly enjoy tuning the place up for him. Still, with Joran all psyched up to go on stage again he hoped he wouldn't have to ask.

Dreen gave up wondering how to not overpressure Chett, and simply asked, "Are you willing to run Nemizcan? Not for me, doing what I tell you. For yourself. I totally resign and we legally transfer full fiscal and managerial control to you. We give me some nice meaningless title for status on Drezvir - that's it." He stopped, watching Chett.

Chett felt like a 200 kilo weight had been lifted off his back. Since he was pretty sure that was all over his face he simply said, "The answer is yes. But can you really do it Dreen? I mean give both of us a list of twenty decisions to make, and odds are we won't agree on ten." There was a flash of the old smile. "Like my not calling in from Drezvir."

"That," Dreen said decisively, "is why I want totally out. Try watching over your shoulder, and I'll drive myself to distraction. I know you aren't me. But I know from the way you handle the hubs - and we went through one hell of a string of VP's there before you settled in - that you'll be fine left to yourself."

"And when this is all over?" Chett asked. "I don't hard want hard feelings when things go back to the way they were."

"There won't be if you accept a few guidelines."

"What are they?" Chett asked warily.

Dreen was amused. "You're suspicious already that this handoff has strings? I think you can live with them."

"So," it was Chett's turned to be amused, "spell them out."

"First, Rodd's job stays open as long as he has the remotest chance of recovery."

Chett nodded. He wouldn't do anything else.

"Next, use Lindy as much as you can. We both know she doesn't have the technical background, but your main handicap will be that you don't know the people here, and she knows the place inside out."

Chett nodded again. So far so good, so where was the catch? Or was the catch that Lindy didn't have the technical background?

"Dreen, I couldn't really raise this issue with Lindy around, but will the programmers accept her as Vice President of R&D?"

"Probably not," Dreen said. "What they'll do is accept her organizing this place like she always does, and ignore her and do what they want on the technical side. That isn't a problem for now. If this drags out," he suddenly looked very tired, "I honestly don't know. I think she'll cope."

Chett didn't answer in a hurry. At last he gave a slow nod. Lindy would find solutions and they would be creative and viable.

"Third, on any technical issue trust Gali 100%. Give him as rough a ride as you want first, I always do. It's my way of sounding things out. But when he starts to really dig in, believe him. He's always right."

Dreen thought of Brys and that damned holiday bonus that almost got him sexual harassment charges when Brys thought meeting with Joran and Bojo was a 'string' attached to the bonus, not a legitimate meeting to discuss software. If Bojo hadn't figured out she was freaking because they wanted an informal discussion in the lounge and lounges equalled prostitution on her planet, they'd be in the courts right now.

"Hear him out on management too." Dreen rubbed his nose in embarrassment.

Chett grinned. "I take it you pulled a beaut recently and he told you so?"

"More or less. Don't waste our time fishing - get it from him."

"Okay. So far this is too easy. What's the catch?"

"If there is one, it's the last request. At no cost lose Brys. She's the most important employee I've hired in years. And by the end of the first day, read her P3."

Oh oh. Chett frowned. There was a problem with her psychological profile. Chett tried to to remember Dreen's young hacker. He thought he'd only seen her twice. A rather sweet faced girl hugging the wall and wearing what was probably a uniform of baggy sweatshirt and pants. The only feature he remembered was quite a mane of blondish hair pulled back in a ponytail. He decided he was way too tired to try to reconcile that memory with a bad P3.

In a careful voice Chett said, "Dreen, I'm tired. Skip the games. What's the problem?"

"Not a problem. A couple wrinkles."

Dreen didn't usually play games with words. Chett's frown deepened. "Okay. What are the wrinkles?"

"One you'd expect. She's enough off scale bright that they got some strange responses. You'll find that too. Every now and again technically she wants to try what seems like a real weird approach. Let her."

"Okay. She marches to her own drummer. Kid gloves?" He was remembering her better now. She seemed half scared of life, insecure just walking down a hall.

"No, she's well past that stage." Dreen suddenly realized how much he missed his daily scrap with Brys.

"She likes a fight?" Well that made life easier than a touchy employee. "And?" Chett would swear Dreen was looking smug.

"She's totally amoral."

"She's what?!"

"Amoral. Want me to spell it?"

Chett shook his head.

"So," Dreen was sure Chett would love this, "you just inherited possibly the best hacker in the galaxy with absolutely no inhibitions about what she does."

"And you hired her?" Chett was incredulous.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Oh yes." Chett thought of the possibilities, not necessarily related to Nemizcan. Like destroying Ari Dellmaice. He wouldn't have thought they would appeal to Dreen though, but he did look positively smug.

"Oh yes," Chett repeated softly, and started to laugh.

*****

Chapter 45

"Damn thing!"

Mitra reached out to turn off the alarm. She didn't mind that it disrupted her trying to rest since she'd been awake for almost an hour. What she minded was having to put an arm out of the warm covers to turn the alarm off. She not only had to reach, but she had to roll and stretch full arm's-length. Having the alarm almost out of reach had become necessary four days ago when she shifted to a new sleep pattern of waking up around 4 AM then falling heavily asleep just before the alarm went off. She needed to do that stretch, and disrupt her nice warm nest to wake up.

Not today though. Mitra sincerely doubted she'd slept at all. She had tossed and turned and worried about the fact the independent auditor was arriving in two days. She knew that was best for Tranngol's team, and she was sure he was fair, but it scared her. And Dreen wasn't here, strong and calm, reassuring her it would all be fine. Dreen would never be with her again no matter how much she loved him, and it would never be fine. Mitra admitted that now as she shivered and pulled the blankets close.

She had absolutely no idea how to find Dreen on her own, and with the concert coming the defenses were up around Joran so well that she had no way to even leave a message asking for help. Tears stung her eyes. She'd been an idiot to not leave a message for Joran the one time she'd got through to someone who remembered her at his hotel. Now no one would take messages, she didn't have his personal number, and after the concert it would be worse. He'd be the superstar again and forget all about Dreen's 'Pretty Lady'.

Mitra snuffled, reached out again to grab a tissue, blew her nose, yawned, and wiped tears from tired eyes. Well, maybe she had slept a few snatches, because she did remember waking up and wondering why she'd put the alarm way over there. If she hadn't been unable to reach it without getting cold, she would have turned it off and tried to go back to sleep and with any luck slept all day. Granted the stretch wasn't quite as cold now with the habitats being heated up a bit for the day, but she would swear in the middle of the night you could see your breath.

At least another shipment of Tranus Dynamics STC-1027s were arriving today by Interstellar Courier Express. That would let Martine bring another two banks of batteries on line and they could get out of this rotating brownout pattern.

Reluctantly Mitra started to toss aside the mound she was sleeping under so she could get up. There was a ski jacket on top, her heavy sweater jacket next, then her chenille robe, and finally her silk robe. She didn't linger under the Mining Guild issued thermal blanket - it was too thin to be worth it. She simply rolled out, pulled off her flannel nightgown and grabbed her clothes fast. They were the same heavy ski pants and turtleneck she'd worn the last four days. They needed cleaning and reeked of sweat, but so what - so did she. The colony would not be bathing until that freighter with water Ari was shipping to the colony arrived.

Mitra still didn't understand that largess on Ari's part, but she was grateful for it. On the night of the accident, the colonists had been forced to drain the water to avoid burst pipes in the habitats that were abandoned to conserve power. But there apparently had been a very slow leak in the shutoff valve between the occupied and unoccupied units. It wasn't discovered until the day before yesterday, and now the remaining reserves were dangerously low and water was rationed to personal consumption.

Dressed, Mitra walked the four steps between the sofa bed and the kitchen/sitting area. It was blowing again, and the dawn light was an ugly red from the particulate dust. Still, there was enough light to sort through the space rations for a carbohydrate protein pack that would do for breakfast. She didn't want to waste power turning the lights on. Bless what-ever-her-name-was on Gingezel who had packed the Genie full of food for her. Every bite was a treasure and a pleasure. They were Gingezel quality, not Mining Guild crap.

Mitra looked critically at the glass of water she had poured herself. Had she drunk enough to avoid serious dehydration? Because if she had, there was half-a-fingers-width left in the bottom, and it was so tempting to just to wash her face ...

***

That was infinitely better. The cloth was still damp so Mitra turned her turtleneck down and wiped her neck too, then wrists and lower arms. Lipstick? Mitra looked at the tube indifferently and turned away.

No, that was wrong. She remembered Chett's parting words. "Mitra, you know I'll be back - I would never leave you in a mess like this. So in the meantime, keep your morale up. I'll be back in ten days." His finger had traced the line of her cheek so gently, then had finished the sentence soundlessly, mouthing 'my love'. Mitra smiled at the memory and traced the line of his touch.

No, Chett wouldn't approve. Resolutely Mitra opened the tube and applied a dab of soft apricot gloss. She flatly refused to look in a mirror to see if it was on evenly because she was not going to look at her hair. It had just grown out during her holiday on Gingezel, and now it was one centimeter bristles again. And she was not going to think of the exhausting day waiting for her with the endless stream of questions and demands on her from Tranngol and the analysis team.

She would think about Chett. He said he would be at Nemizcan Head Office today. Knowing Chett, he'd hit that place - wherever on Tranus it was and whatever it was like - like a whirlwind, wanting a million things done at once. A frown creased Mitra's brow and she swallowed hard. The Nemizcan software team had been such a good group, and Philomena with that soft heart of hers would be taking the accident so hard. Well, at least now Chett could reassure them that the survivors were hanging in.

*****

Chapter 46

The discrete chime on Arla's desk indicated Dreen and Chett were finally finished. And it was about time Celise thought. Those five minutes had been more than half an hour. Wasn't that just like Chett? Drag her down from her office then leave her here wasting time. It wasn't that she didn't like Lindy and Arla's company, but this was not a break. With Rodd gone there weren't enough minutes in the day, much less enough hours. But did that matter to Chett? Oh no, he was the most self-centered, disruptive, disorganized man she knew. So what was he doing as soon as he was back from the hubs? Disrupting not only her, but Dreen and Lindy as well. Mouth pursed, she followed Lindy into Dreen's office.

Sprawled in the visitors chair, legs outstretched, Chett watched Celise enter the office. He saw a well bred, slender, immaculately groomed brunette in her late 30s. Her suit was similar enough to Lindy's that they could use the same boutique, but while the style was a rather sexy on Lindy, on Celise it looked severe. Her features were just short of being strong, what fashion magazines called sculpted. Her hair was a sleek shoulder-length cap. Chett knew that somewhere there was a husband and a son, but he had never even seen holograms of them. He wondered if she turned this persona off when she walked out of the doors of Nemizcan, or if she had their lives as organized as she had her little empire here. There eyes met. By her expression she wasn't pleased with him. What else was new?

"Celise, Lindy, make yourselves comfortable." Dreen waved at chairs. When they were seated he addressed himself to Celise. "Celise, I know you've been expecting that when Chett got back from this swing he would take over part of Rodd's workload for me."

Celise nodded. She'd be expecting it all right, but with about zero enthusiasm. Calling Chett back had not been a good move on Rodd's part, if you asked her, not that you could fault Rodd. At the time he'd been reeling from the bad news. And for reasons she had never understood, he and Chett had ended up real chummy when they worked together preventing the Pendi Industries takeover. Ever since then Chett could do no wrong in Rodd's eyes. But it was still a bad move. She was coping just fine under Dreen, and even though everyone knew he was only happy doing software, he was organized and capable. They didn't need Chett.

"There has been a change in that plan."

Celise's expression brightened. Chett was going back to the hubs. Good. Goodbye and good riddance. She looked up to find Chett watching her, a mocking half smile on his lips. She pursed hers firmly again and transferred her attention to Dreen.

Oh Celise, you are not going to like this Chett thought as he studied her.

"There has been a serious problem on Drezvir." Dreen decided he would elaborate later.

Trust Chett to bring another problem for Dreen to worry about, poor man. Celise gave him a sympathetic, encouraging look.

"I'm going to take care of it myself, and Chett will be taking over here."

"Pink at the office, red at home," Lindy told Chett with a smile.

Dreen raised an eyebrow in question.

"Just one of our bets," Chett informed him lazily, then transferred his attention to Lindy. "But you didn't get it quite right either."

"How so?" Lindy didn't see what there was to get wrong.

Chett looked at Dreen and got an almost imperceptible nod to continue and to be the one to break the news.

"I'm not just sitting at Dreen's desk and implementing what he says to do from Drezvir. He's transferring full administrative and financial control." While Chett was watching Lindy, he was paying more attention to Celise beside her. "So I'm your new boss a little more than you expected."

Chett wasn't much surprised: that stopped Lindy in her tracks completely. Celise paled visibly.

Then Lindy found her tongue. "No offense to Chett," she looked at Dreen, "but aren't you overreacting - assuming things won't work out and such?"

She realized that Celise has no idea what they were talking about and turned to her. "A power system on Drezvir blew up and killed people. It may be our interface."

To Chett it looked like Celise took news of the accident better than the fact that he was taking over. Not to his surprise she turned to Dreen, not him with her question.

"Just what is involved with the accident on Drezvir and sorting it out?"

Dreen hesitated. It was getting later by the minute. "If you can wait a few minutes more Celise, we have to go over it with the design team. What I want to do now is sort out the management issues."

Celise nodded. She had absolutely no intention of trusting her tongue on the number one management issue who was sitting there watching her like she was a specimen in a zoo. She was inclined to put things a little stronger than Lindy. Dreen wasn't overreacting - he was insane. Her methodical mind was having trouble getting much further than that.

Dreen turned his attention to Lindy. "I think that it's the only thing that will work Lindy. You know as well as I do that Chett only functions with total autonomy, and it isn't like we're talking days. Assume a quarter year at least, and some of these messes have dragged for years. Quite frankly I don't want to be watching Chett and worrying about what he does, and he doesn't need supervision."

Lindy did not nod acquiescence. She said bluntly, "You're bound to not like a lot of what he does." To her surprise, Dreen smiled.

"So Chett told me. I'll live with that. Now, was that a major objection or simply a caution?" He raised an eyebrow.

"A caution. Chett and I'll get along fine. I just wanted to make sure this is a conscious decision."

"It is." Dreen's smile broadened into a grin. "Cheer up. You could have got Joran. He was option two."

"Heaven help us!"

Lindy made a face and Dreen surprised himself by laughing at her expression. That got him a look from Celise that made him suspect she thought they were all crazy. Dreen knew she was very competent and Rodd trusted her completely. But why did she always make him feel like he had to have his best boardroom manner? He suppressed a sigh.

"Moving on, Celise, I don't know if Lindy has told you. I asked her to take on the position of Vice President of R&D, including responsibility for the program decisions."

"No." Celise smiled with real pleasure. "She hadn't." She turned to Lindy. "Congratulations."

She liked Lindy. Celise knew perfectly well they were different temperaments, but they got along. More importantly, it was about time Nemizcan had a woman in senior management. She knew there were women team leaders as often as not, but to Celise that didn't count. It was the title and the office that mattered. So at least Dreen had made one sensible decision today.

Dreen continued. "Chett will appoint someone from the hubs to take over his current responsibilities."

Celise suppressed a sigh in turn. That killed any hopes that Chett would at least be out from under foot part of the time. Well, at least his attention would be split - he would be driving Arla nuts as well as her.

"Which brings us to Marketing." Dreen paused, feeling like he was doing the proverbial treading on eggs, not knowing just how much more Celise could handle. "I know from the briefings you've given me that Rodd has things well planned for this quarter and next."

"That's right," Celise said firmly. And we do not need you, Chett Linderson, messing up those plans so Rodd has who-knows-what to cope with when he gets back. She flatly refused to believe it was 'if he gets back'. She was surprised when she shifted her gaze to glare disapprovingly at Chett to find that he was looking more sleepily amused than ever.

"Under those circumstances, do you think you would be willing to temporarily take his position? We would arrange for someone you recommend to take your position of course." Dreen hadn't offered support to Lindy. In his mind she was irreplaceable. Besides, if she needed help she'd bitch until she got it.

Celise's good breeding failed her. She sat there open mouthed.

It was unbecoming. Chett felt obligated to help her out. "Come on Celise, don't tell me you don't go around half of the time sure you'd do a better job than Rodd."

It worked. Her mouth shut with an almost audible snap. "That," she said icily, "was a singularly inappropriate remark with Rodd in the hospital."

"It was, wasn't it?" Chett agreed. Come on Celise, let's get everything out in the open. "What's relevant though is if it's true."

"We are a team," she said, the ice thickening.

"A concept that I don't understand?" Chett asked softly. "So take Dreen up on it, and let's see who's right."

Chett shot a quick quelling look at Lindy who looked prepared to object to this open baiting and she subsided. He returned his attention to Celise.

"Believe it or not, I have nothing but respect for Rodd. And I know you worked very well together. But as of tomorrow you'll have to work for me. So the question comes from me as well as Dreen. Can you honestly do his whole job?" Chett wasn't baiting now. "Don't say what you think we want to hear. If you aren't comfortable, Dreen and I will take your recommendations for who would be better suited. Or I can come up with a manager from the hubs, and I wouldn't suggest one you couldn't work with. All the same, you are most familiar with what Rodd was planning to do and you are least likely to reshape his vision. So take your time and think it out."

She did, surprised and grudgingly grateful to Chett for spelling out the options. She wasn't sure she would have thought she had a choice otherwise. Celise mentally went over the plans Rodd had made while Dreen and Lindy had some low pitched conversation and Chett kept watching her.

At last she said to Dreen, "I think I can do what Rodd would, to the end of the next quarter anyways. I'd be happier though if we went over the key points with Chett before you go."

Dreen nodded, relieved and turned to Chett.

"No problem," Chett agreed. She had taken that rather well. Better than he had expected. The question was, was that good or bad? Chett thought regretfully of the replacement from the hubs he would have preferred. Well, time would tell.

"Good." Dreen rose.

Now came the part he dreaded, telling the design team. A career of designing business interfaces didn't exactly prepare you for potential manslaughter charges.

*****

Chapter 47

It was the final test. Joran stood for a moment in the wings, eyes shut, aware of Bojo's eyes on him. His slender frame was taut, his handsome black face strained. Not opening his eyes, he ran a hand through his shoulder-length mass of black curls. He knew that if he opened his eyes and turned and looked, Bojo would have that carefully expressionless look on his face. Fair enough, but it didn't reduce the pressure. Could he do it? Could he actually pull off a comeback?

Without ever having set foot in it before, Joran knew every millimeter of the theatre. He should. It had been designed for him. He and the architect had planned every detail. He and Maillie had chosen the material for the inaugural concert. And then, and then -. Joran forced himself to finish the thought. Then Maillie died. He opened his eyes and looked at this stage he had sworn then he would never set foot on.

He turned to Bojo. The expressionless mask he had expected was not there. If anything, Bojo's rugged deformed face looked tenser than his must. Then Bojo half turned away, his unruly shoulder length blond hair hiding any expression.

"Here goes." He gave Bojo what was meant to be a smile and only missed by a light year or so.

***

Joran walked to center stage, followed by spots. The hall lighting dimmed as it would for a concert. He could see, hear, feel the audience that would be there. He stopped, looking around. The design had come off perfectly. It would be a great hall to play.

He turned to the sound control booth and gave a thumbs-up and a better approximation of a smile. The opening chords of their recorded instrumental version of 'M's song' filled the air. Joran took a breath and started to sing, softly, almost to himself at first, then in full voice. The song seemed to last for an eternity. At last though he heard the final chord die, and felt Bojo's strong arm around his shoulders. He hadn't heard or seen him come up at all.

"Are you all right?" There was real concern in Bojo's voice. Joran was drenched in sweat and shaking.

"Yeah." Joran accepted support for a few more moments, then shook himself free. "I mean it! I'm fine."

Bojo didn't answer immediately. He studied Joran's face in the strong spotlight. Finally satisfied with what he saw, he said, "Then the concert is on?"

"It's on. Call the band. I just want to be up here for a while alone."

***

Call the band. Well, he might as well do worst first. Bojo placed his call.

"Paulo. It's on."

The eyes that regarded him were dark and brooding. Paulo was bare chested and his mid-back length dark brown hair was more of a tangled mess than usual. His lean and angular Latino features looked strained.

"Can he do it?"

"He stood on the stage and sang 'M's song' note perfect."

"With no audience," Paulo said bluntly.

Bojo had suddenly had it with guitar virtuoso Paulo Zoual and his prima donna attitude.

"Look Paulo, why don't you do us all a favor and just walk out now, before rehearsals this time, not on stage. You know as well as I do that any one of six calls you could place would have you a solo album contract in five minutes."

Before joining the Anton Band Paulo had established himself as a superstar in his own right, recording instrumental jazz albums on his native planet of Azuramer. Bojo had been surprised he'd agreed to join Anton. He had not been surprised that Paulo had instigated the walkout on Joran over drugs.

The two men glared at each other, neither giving a micron. Then suddenly Paulo laughed, a sincere laugh that changed his whole face, the dark broodiness temporarily lost to mirth.

"Because amigo, as you well know, when he's sober and clean Joran is one of the nicest guys in the galaxy. He used that to sucker me to join the band just like he suckered you, and we both love him. Would you want to play anyone else's music? No. Would you hurt him? No."

The smile was gone, replaced by a look almost of pain. He and Bojo had never talked out why he'd bullied the rest of the band into an on stage humiliation of Joran, and it was obviously going to stand between them.

"Bojo, please hear me. We love him, but differently. You owe him. I don't. I could see that he was killing himself. You just tried to support him. I was the one strong enough to say 'No Joran. Enough.' Someone had to."

"If you love him, support him now that he's clean and willing to try again." Bojo's face was hard.

"Not if it breaks him, going onstage. His music is his life. If he can't perform, he can compose," Paulo said, anger rising again. "You don't see things Bojo. You're too close to him. He's pushing too fast. Why now? We have time. Wait a month, a year. None of us has walked yet. We'll wait. But I mean it \- love him or not - he really screws up on stage again, and I leave. I have a life too."

They were glaring again.

"Oh please! Don't fight. Not now." It was a female voice, sweet and clear. "I want to get back on stage! I want to play horns - that's what I do. I'm the galaxy's worst steel drum player and that's all we're doing while we wait."

That was the truth too. Kori didn't have the slightest percussionist instinct. She played one sweet horn, but handle drumsticks, no. Both men's expressions lightened with amused smiles as they remembered Kori's impatience with herself when she simply could not get the hang of the drums. Joran had eventually had to make special, simple arrangements for her to play while the rest of them were soon improvising. When she couldn't play even these, they voted her offstage as band manager.

"Come over here woman," Paulo commanded. "Bojo doesn't want to stare at a blank space trying to see you."

Paulo was joined by a gentle, pretty, tallish blonde in her mid-20s. Kori, Maria Korikofsky, had pale hair that was a match for Paulo's mid-back length and it was a mess. She was wearing one of Paulo's sweaters, presumably the one he had taken off. It hung high on her upper thighs, and Bojo would guess this was all she had on.

Bojo wondered to just what would happen when Joran stopped being blind to the obvious. Kori was the first female member of the Anton Band. It wasn't that Joran was a chauvinist. He had a lot of friends amongst female musicians in the galaxy. It was simply that, as he put it, he didn't need complications on tour. The kind of complications Bojo was looking at right now.

But when Joran had started the drugs and wild partying after Maillie died, their second horn player had quit on pretty much zero notice. Joran had asked Uth, their primary horn man, if he had a friend who'd come and fill in temporarily - or permanently if they worked out. Uth said he'd ask around, and mentioned the fact to his family.

Within an hour there had been a call from his granddaughter Maria. Could she audition? That had really startled Uth. Maria was sweet, quiet, withdrawn. A wonderful horn player to be sure, but he'd seen her as a studio musician, or perhaps with a philharmonic. But center stage with Anton?

Maria had persisted, and Uth had shrugged. She'd auditioned along with a dozen or so others, and at the end of the auditions there was a band consensus. Kori could outplay any of them.

Joran had reluctantly accepted her on one condition - she was grandpa's problem. Life on the road was rough at the best of times, and he'd been a realist. It hadn't been remotely the best of times, and he'd had no intentions of toning down his wild lifestyle. He would keep his hands off her when he was sober. Grandpa was to keep her away from his parties so his not being sober wouldn't be a problem. And the rest of the guys had to speak for themselves.

***

Bojo said, "So, you want to get back to work do you Kori?"

He was fond of her - they all were. She had amused them from the beginning. Like her name. She'd been asked, as all the band except Paulo had, to choose a stage name from three or four letters of her real name. She'd chosen Kori, then had them all laughing by saying 'please, please just call me that all the time. I'm so scared I'll never get two names right, and the sound booth or a reporter will say Kori - and I'll look around for Kori. Besides. I've always hated Maria!' So Maria Korikofski had become Kori to them.

"Absolutely drooling," Kori said.

Neither Paulo or Bojo could imagine her doing anything as inelegant as drooling.

"You'll hate rehearsals you know," Bojo said.

"I'm not afraid of work!"

Paulo and Bojo exchanged looks.

"It's not that, Kori," Paulo said. "It's Joran."

"He's nice to me. Even when he had all his problems."

"Don't count on it this time, Kori," Paulo advised.

"It's the last half kilo, Kori," Bojo added. She looked mystified, so he elaborated, "Joran likes his stage weight about three kilos below what's his natural body weight and he has a terrible time losing the last kilo or so. If you think you've seen bad moods, wait till you see his then."

"Oh!" Kori looked truly appalled. "I had a roommate at university like that."

"Good," Paul said. "You know what to expect." He drew her to him, nuzzling her neck. "Bojo. Don't you have more calls to make?"

Bojo took the hint.

*****

Chapter 48

With the Korikofsky family in mind, Bojo called Uth, known on stage as Papa Ikof. It wasn't Uth who answered though. It was Maria senior, Kori's grandmother. Like her granddaughter she was a sweet, gentle, kind woman. She was also an accomplished jazz keyboardist, still much in demand as a studio musician.

"Bojo, I can guess by your face. The concert is on!" Her face dissolved into wrinkles as her smile spread from ear to ear. "I'm so happy!"

"For Joran, or Uth?" Bojo was smiling back.

"Both of course, but to be honest I was thinking of Uth. He's like an old war horse, impatient to get back to battle." She giggled, sounding not unlike Kori. "Not that I know what that means. I've never seen a horse, much less a war horse, or a battle. I just read that once and it stuck in my head.

"Do you need to talk to Uth? He's taken his horn and walked down the beach to the headlands to practice." Uth had found a spot he felt truly inspiring and hiked there every fair day. "And I know he will have his call tone turned off." She sighed. "I do wish he hadn't picked up that trick from Joran. I can go get him, but ..."

"But you have chocolate chip cookies in the oven?" Bojo asked hopefully. Hers were almost as good as Lindy's. Uth and Maria had rented a lovely house on the beach rather than stay at the hotel, because as Maria put it, she could practice with sound to her headset only, but a horn player needed distance from his neighbors.

"Raisin spice, half mixed up, not in the oven yet. Will that do? I can save you some." She was used to feeding the band and any other musicians that were around.

"Wonderful. Don't interrupt yourself. Just tell Uth when he gets home."

***

"Is it on?" Fredrico Moore's small intense face was alive with excitement.

Even after all these years of playing together, Bojo had trouble thinking of this small nervy man as a bass player. He should be a percussionist pounding away for all he was worth, or maybe a keyboard player like himself, always trying to get his fingers to move faster, to conquer a new complex passage. But Fredrico, Ico to the galaxy, was a bass player, and as soon as he picked up an instrument he was a different man. His eyes half closed in reverie as he gently caressed the strings, coaxing out sweet, low notes like no one else. He was the only Anton Band member to routinely record with other bands. A dozen or so of Joran's friends had at one time or another convinced Joran an album was impossible without Ico.

"It's on."

"Great -"

"Daddy!"

"Dad. You said we were going down to the pool."

Fredrico's two boys appeared in swim trunks. Like their father they were small and skinny with darkish hair and strong featured olive faces.

"In a minute. Say hi to Bojo."

"Hi Bojo," came the dutiful chorus.

"So when do rehearsals start?" Fredrico asked.

"As soon as we get back."

"Rehearsals?" asked the teenager suspiciously. "You finished that album."

"We're touring again."

"Do you have to?" whined the eight-year-old. He loved staying in a hotel on Gingezel with his father. Touring obviously meant going back to home and routine life, like school.

"Save it," Fredrico rumpled the lad's hair. "We'll be here at least until the first concert."

"Great!"

The older boy had more serious reservations. He remembered closed doors and his parents' raised voices. His mother cried the entire night they all walked out on Joran.

"Have you told Mom yet?"

"Of course," Fredrico lied.

"You'd better now," his son advised. "We'll go swimming by ourselves."

***

"Okay Larry, you can relax."

Lawrence Lampery, known on stage as Pery, was the only surviving band member from Joran's student days. He went back to the time when, depending on how bookings were going, the band might be practicing in, or all crashing in, the apartment Joran, Jutarr, and Dreen shared. His coloring marked him in the eyes of his fans as an exotic Terran Celt - blue-black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, but in reality he was a native of Rujjipet. Joran had heard him playing drums for another band in a near campus bar and lured him away. He and Joran had fought incessantly from day one and loved every scrap. Neither could imagine playing with anyone else.

Larry had an uneasy relationship with Bojo though. Larry always felt he had let Joran down refusing to help with management, even though he'd have been lousy at it. Every time he talked to Bojo who did help, the guilt surfaced.

On Bojo's side, he interpreted Larry's discomfort as resentment or jealousy, that somehow Larry felt he'd taken his place in Joran's affection. Since that wasn't true, Bojo was offended.

"He was all right then?"

It was essentially the same question Paulo had asked, but Bojo knew it came from a totally different direction. Larry had been even more upset walking offstage on Joran than he'd been.

Bojo told Larry the truth. "He sang M's song, but by the end he was in a cold sweat and shaking."

Larry considered, then shrugged. "We'll be lucky if he isn't crying most of the time he tries to sing that one, and Bernie will end up singing it. But if that's his way of working things out, that's okay with me."

Bojo nodded agreement. Personal differences and a worse temper than Joran's aside, Larry was a good guy.

There was another pause while Larry looked at Bojo. At last he said, "Has Bernie talked to you yet?"

Hell. What now? Bojo could guess. Bernie was his closest friend in the band, and if there were any ultimatums coming the rest would leave it to Bernie to deliver them.

"No. What's up?"

"Talk to Bernie. I just wanted you to know I'm one hundred percent behind Joran."

"Unlike Paulo," Bojo said dryly.

"Paulo's Paulo," Larry said. "We won't change him. But actually," he forgot talking to Bojo was Bernie's job, "we're all nervous. I mean, the steel band stint had a real good feel. Like old times. And recording that album," he made a face, "old times too. Twenty takes on everything and get it done yesterday. Why the hell a perfectionist has to get in a hurry I'll never know." He shrugged, "But that's Joran.

"But the last week, week and a half, you can't get near him. And if you do, you might as well not be there. I mean, I know he's composing and he's the ultimate pain in the ass when he's composing. But not like this. And," Larry waved a hand at Bojo, "don't say diet. I've been through more of Joran's diets than you have. He's weird - and we're getting nervous."

"He's been having a few problems."

"Yeah." Larry stared into space and sighed. "Well, tell him I'm 100% behind him."

Bojo believed him. Larry had almost cost himself a fifteen year marriage over that, and his relationship with his wife was still strained.

Bojo hesitated, then decided he had to speak. "It's not drugs Larry. It's personal."

"Sure." It was a tone of total disbelief. "Then why are you there steady like before - doing your nursemaid thing? Why did only you go to see the theater. We'll all play it." If we play it.

Because he'd have choked with all of us there Bojo thought, but he didn't dare say that. "I was doing the PR setup crap he hates."

"Yeah." The bitter guilt was there again with its hint of temper. "Don't feed me a line of shit, Bojo."

Hell. He was going to alienate Joran's last true ally. Bojo made a fast choice. Larry might not like him, but he was loyal and kept his mouth shut.

"You got it backwards Larry - I've got the problem. Joran is helping me."

Larry was immediately contrite. "Shit. We were all sure your head was okay once and for all. I'm sorry Bojo." He was too. The head injury Bojo had recovered from had been appalling. "But why didn't you just say?"

"It's not quite that Larry. I'll tell you, but keep your mouth shut. Okay?"

Larry shrugged.

"Not good enough, Larry."

Resenting the pressure but curious now, Larry agreed. "All right, all right. It's shut. But what's the big deal?"

Bojo told him. About Ennup 10. About the missing friends. About the police crackdown. About trying to rework the one album so that it would possibly work as a sound mask against state surveillance. The long hidden truth that his head injuries were not from a GV accident, but from a beating in a riot. Larry listened in total silence.

The silence continued while Larry communed with the wall. "Good for you Bojo, but you are headed for big-time trouble."

"I won't dodge it."

"No. I know that. Let me think. You say your idea sort of worked but you're stuck? You can mask voices but the sound quality is off enough someone could tell the album has been doctored, and you don't know how to fix it? And Timoth can't fix it either?"

Bojo nodded. Brys had called. The progress they were both so pleased with had been a dead end. The necessary digital changes showed.

Now Bojo waited. He knew the look on Larry's face and right now he'd take ideas from anyone. He'd asked Timoth, their Sound Master and arguably the best Sound Master in the galaxy. Timoth didn't have any ideas, so they had a serious problem.

"Send them to me. I'll lay odds that a change in the percussion tracks will get you there, and Joran's no help. He's worse than you at percussion."

The minute either Joran or Bojo brought a new composition for the band to hear, Larry was all over the percussion line, changing it totally, usually for the better. The reactions he got were totally different. Joran immediately dug in his heels, telling Larry he didn't know what he was doing - he hadn't written the song, had he? They then spent a couple three weeks fighting it out, measure by measure, both loving the stimulation. Bojo invariably took the criticism with concentrated silence, focusing on every word. He'd then go away and agonize over how to improve the song.

Bojo hesitated though. Sending the album was active involvement in something dangerous, not just giving him some ideas, and Larry had kids. "Larry, I can't drag you in."

"Why not? You dragged Timoth in. Besides, I volunteered."

"There was no choice on Timoth, and if he'd said no I'd have scrapped the idea."

"So, you don't have a choice on me either if you want it fixed."

Bojo hesitated.

"Don't you trust me?" Larry's face darkened, bitter again.

"You're insulting me Larry. I wouldn't have opened my mouth if I didn't. I'm thinking that if this blows up you've got a wife and cute kids."

Larry made a face. "And I never was a hero type either, but send the albums. I don't know why, but send them. And I see now why Joran's been weird. That's enough to throw both of you."

Since they were actually getting along, Bojo decided to run one more thing past Larry. "That isn't all."

"There is a worse?"

"You tell me. You know that Dreen took off."

"Yeah. Rodd's sick. Tough breaks." Like the rest of the Anton Band Larry knew most of the senior people at Nemizcan. But he was mildly puzzled about what Rodd's illness was to Joran since he couldn't stand Rodd.

"Well, Mitra's gone too."

"You mean with Dreen." That was inevitable. But maybe a relief.

"No."

"What does 'no' mean?"

"It means she just took off."

"Dumped Dreen?" Larry was getting a sick feeling.

"No one knows. Dreen is trying to find her. Joran," Bojo stared at the ceiling, "gave him two weeks. Then he's going to find her." Bojo's mouth twisted.

Larry just stared. He knew more of the early days than Bojo did. He might have been somewhat on the periphery of events, but he'd been there. His mind went back to their university days. Dreen and Joran and Juttar had shared one of the cheap apartments off-world students seemed to end up in whether their parents were well off or not. Dreen's were well off. Joran's weren't - he was on a scholarship. Juttar's were middling, both professionals. The three had been inseparable. Now and again Joran and Dreen had gone after the same girl. It had been friendly rivalry though. Neither had been remotely in love. In lust maybe, in love no. Joran had tended to win.

Then Dreen had fallen madly in love with an architectural student. Larry couldn't remember her name or face. Just that she'd changed the pattern. Suddenly there were four roommates. Dreen and the girl had claimed the good double bed that had previously been claimed by whichever of the three guys had a hot date. Everyone had adapted after a week or so, and life had carried on. Larry hadn't paid much attention - his focus had been on the band.

Then there had been trouble, serious trouble of some sort and Dreen was gone. Just dropped out of sight. He'd never known where or why. But Jiane, yes, that was her name, had stayed on rooming. And she had married Juttar, not Dreen like they had all expected.

About the time Anton was going galactic Dreen had resurfaced on Tranus, launching Nemizcan Computing, and after that he and Joran were as thick as ever, just like there had been no problems. But Dreen had never had much to do with Juttar after he married Jiane. Joran and Juttar had stayed relatively close, as close as a rather stuffy lawyer and a rather flashy musician could be. But Dreen and Juttar iced each other.

Larry's mind jumped to Johnnie. Superstar crooner, Johnnie Sun, was Joran's closest musician friend outside the band. Maillie had been Johnnie's fiancé when Joran meet and fell for Maillie. Maillie ended up Joran's wife. Joran and Johnnie had stayed friends of sorts but that in part had been Maillie. She was a special woman. But it had cost, and Dreen wasn't easy-going like Johnnie, who had a live and let live approach to life.

Larry looked back to find a Bojo looking at him with what could only be called pleading eyes.

"Tell me we aren't in big trouble, Larry. Dreen is his best friend."

"How about we talk about something nice and harmless, like those albums you're doctoring?"

*****

Chapter 49

"What's up, Bernie?"

Bernard Anseldes, known on stage as Des, raised his eyebrows. "And who saved me a job?"

Bernard was a slender, mid-height man with café-au-lait coloring, pleasant if not memorable features, and close-cropped hair. He had joined the band on one of its tours as the second strings player. He also sang harmony with Joran and that was the main reason Joran had hired him. But that could have insulted Bojo, who had sung harmony before his accident. So Bernie was officially an additional strings player who just happened to sing on most songs. They had met him opening for them on Calixa. He had been lead singer in a boy band that had split up. He had the voice, an excellent tenor, but not the personality or the drive to take things big time. When Joran had first invited him to fool around with the band after the show, then offered him the position, he'd jumped at it.

"I wouldn't say saved. Larry just gave me the impression the band has cold feet again, and Paulo's the instigator. But he said talk to you."

"Well, you're half right and dead wrong."

It was Bojo's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Okay, what is going on then?"

"I honestly think all of us, including Paulo, want this to work. What we are, Bojo, are realists. No one, including Joran, has the slightest idea whether or not he can pull this off." Bernie's voice was gentle, matter-of-fact as he added, "We'll know when the last note's sung." And I'll probably do the last half of the concert Bernie thought resignedly.

"But being realists, none of us can afford to stay in limbo if he messes up again. So we've agreed that if he can't pull it off, we split. No hard feelings, just reality."

Bernie hesitated, "I know you'll stay with him Bojo. Both you and Joran are great composers and you aren't all that comfortable onstage. But that's where the rest of us want to be. Not cooling our heels and doing a bit of studio work for friends like Fredrico does."

His own wife had been quietly but persistently selling the idea they go back to Calixa and he try a solo career again. He'd matured and learned a lot in his years with the Anton Band, and he thought he could pull it off. Not galactically, but at a planetary level - the big fish small pond thing.

Bojo took his time thinking about it. "Fair enough. I pretty much expected something like this. I suppose I'm expected to talk to Joran?"

Bernie shook his head. "No way Bojo! Like I said, we want this to work. Don't risk putting him on tilt. We can all make up our minds after the reviews are in. There's no hurry."

That was better than Bojo had expected. "Thanks."

Grinning Bernie said, "Don't thank me, thank Paulo. He's the one who laid down the law to give it at least a week for the dust to settle even if it looks like a screwup. As long as Joran stays clean, we can stand him falling on his ass now and again. It means he's trying."

"This doesn't exactly sound dire. If we're talking a week or so after the concert and we aren't even rehearsing yet, why am I talking to you?"

"Because I'm party coordinator and I need to tell the caterers how many they're feeding."

"You are what?" For a moment Bojo couldn't process it. It was too far from his worries.

"Party coordinator."

"I take it," Bojo said carefully, "that Larry is overreacting to a perceived threat to Joran again?"

They all knew how it went. He and Joran could be at each other's throats and the band was to stay out of it. Anyone else so much as a slighted Joran, and Larry freaked out.

"I didn't hear what he said, but most likely," Bernie agreed.

Bojo relaxed. Life was definitely getting back to normal. He could stand some normality.

"So what party?"

That was better. Bojo worried too much.

"When you and Joran get back and he's doing that fancy interview, we thought we'd rent a yacht, spend the afternoon out on the lake, and have a barbecue on shore. The whole wives and kids thing."

***

Joran had decided that if he was going ahead with the concert he would start the publicity with a very selective interview. No manic hype, no videos. Just walking and talking on the beach, the dreamy M soundtrack in the background. Controlled questions. The networks had outdone themselves bidding for one simple reason. For the first time the billions of Anton fans in the galaxy would see what Anton really looked like. The makeup would be gone.

No makeup mask was a move Joran had agonized over. It would cost him a lot in privacy. As it was, he was rarely recognized, and never mobbed except inside a theater. They wore the stage makeup coming out. Going in they simply rode in with the crew in the trucks and no one but Anton crews were allowed around until their makeup was on. But it was a risk he was taking because he was tired of both on and off stage hype. The band's new look had only enough makeup to not look washed out under the spotlights. Joran had worried about Bojo - no mask anymore. But Bojo would be hidden at the back in dim light. So if he was going to face the galaxy Joran had decided he had better start.

***

Bernie continued, "I didn't know if you could come, or if Joran would have you tied up." This gave Bojo a polite out. He quite often dodged social events.

Bojo hesitated. The guys were used to his deformity, and the kids all seemed to take him as he was - another nuisance of a grown-up to either avoid, or be polite to if you couldn't avoid. But a couple of wives had been way too sweet and solicitous since his accident. It made him self-conscious. Still, it was the last time they might all be together like this, just having fun.

"The sailing sounds good. I might pass on the barbecue." Somehow the meals were always the dangerous time with the wives.

"Great. More snacking stuff for the boat, no extra steak." Bernie made a note on his compad then hesitated. After a moment he asked, "Why don't you bring your pretty blonde? It's Brys, isn't it?"

This was definitely putting Bojo on the spot, but Bernie couldn't resist. He and the rest of the guys had seen Bojo having breakfast on the beach with the shy blonde girl that worked for Dreen. Timoth had volunteered that her name was Brys, but Bojo had made no attempt to mention her, and they were all intensely curious.

Bring Brys? Bojo froze. Then some part of his mind replayed Bernie's words 'your girl' along with the look on Bernie's face. It wasn't remotely true of course. Brys wasn't, would never be his girl, but it had been a long time since one of the guys had treated him like he had a girl. Why not? Brys would probably jump at the chance to go sailing with the whole Anton Band. Wouldn't she? He was never quite sure what Brys would like. But why not ask and find out?

"I'll have to check her schedule. Her work's been pretty frantic lately, but I'll ask."

"Great."

*****

Chapter 50

To Dreen's surprise, Jon Melcrist answered on the second ring.

"Hello Dreen, what's up?" Jon's tanned triangular face was concerned. He was a small, muscular, and athletic with brownish hair and bright blue eyes.

"Can you be ready to leave planet today?"

"Of course. Joran told us to stay on three hours notice." Jon didn't bother to ask if there were problems. One look at Dreen's face had told him that. "Where are we headed, and when do you want to leave?"

"I wish I could say now, but there's a lot to get off my plate here first. Optimistically, mid afternoon but it could be closer to late afternoon."

Jon nodded. "That's plenty of lead time."

"As to where, we're going to Drezvir."

Jon shook his head. "You've got me there. I'll be accessing the star charts."

"Do, to get it exactly, but I can give you the rough coordinates," Chett said as he moved into view. "It's way to hell and gone at the edge of the Farr sector."

"Linderson." Jon's face broke into a smile. "How come every time there's trouble you're around?"

"Talent," Chett said returning his friend's smile.

"So when did you get in?"

"5 AM local time, on a straight run from Drezvir. By the way, on that straight run we picked up Anjie as the extra pilot. She's probably still at the portel." Anjie and Jon were an off and on couple, and lately it had been on when their paths crossed.

"Thanks a lot, now that I can't do a damn thing but call and say hi! 5 AM would've been more useful."

"So? I didn't know you were here."

"Not that that would have made a bit of difference," Jon shot back, then transferred his attention to Dreen. "Dreen, I know whatever is going on is none of my business and I won't ask questions. Joran made it quite clear my job is to be here and keep my curiosity to myself. But I want to ask a question that is my business."

He didn't really know how to read Dreen all that well, but Jon could read Chett like a book and something was seriously wrong behind that smile. Jon hesitated, searching for the right words.

Dreen mistook the hesitation. "Jon, it's all right. I didn't realize Joran hadn't told you what was going on, much less to butt out of my life or I would have told you myself since you've all been killing time for the better part of two weeks on my account."

"Well, I'm not going to stop you." Jon grinned. "I might even win the three-way bet we have going, but that truly wasn't the question."

"I'm quite sure I don't want to know the bet. It's simple, and -" it was Dreen's turn to stop, embarrassed.

"He misplaced the contact information for his girlfriend," Chett volunteered. "She hit a crisis and took off on him and he's been trying to sort it out."

"Oh." Jon's face was totally blank. None of their guesses were even vaguely in that direction. How did that have them on three hour call and Joran in a snit? And - well that was one question he could ask.

"So where do you fit in Chett? You look as stressed as Dreen."

"I found her. She's built a nice little power system on Drezvir that just blew up in everyone's face. It might be due to a Nemizcan interface. Dreen is going to sort it out and I'm chained to his job."

That last bit about taking over Dreen's desk job would explain Chett's looking terrible Jon decided. "My condolences on being tied to a desk, Chett."

Once again Jon transferred his attention to Dreen. "By what I'm hearing, and given that Drezvir is a long run, my question maybe even more important, Dreen. Just exactly how do you want us to fly you there? Joran gave us a lecture that you're a white knuckle flyer, and to behave ourselves, no risks while you were on board. But there is a long way between the sedate way we came here and the sort of," he hesitated, then deliberately used the word, "suicidal stuff we do with Joran. Do you want to start trading off time for speed?"

Dreen hesitated. He wanted to be on Drezvir yesterday, but -

Jon was watching his face. "Please Dreen, we have to be blunt on this one. I can probably pick up a day or so on that length of run without excessive risks, but that's no win if you're on sedation when you get there. Is it a true phobia?"

"I honestly don't know. I know I hate space travel as a whole, and no offense Jon, but I've been avoiding the Allegro. But I just know it's part of life so I tell myself tough and do it."

"Hmm." Jon was thinking. "That almost sounds like it may not be a real phobia. I'm no shrink, but I know the user side. I've got one with dogs. I know it's ridiculous - I mean usually I'm a thrill seeker - but the minute a dog looks at me wrong, much less growls, I'm out of there if I can be. If I can't, I'm behind someone and I don't care if it's a three-year-old. The dog doesn't matter either - yippie little mutt the size of a shoe or a big bruiser.

He made a face. "I tried therapy. I learned a tremendous amount about dogs and non-threatening postures and such. But there was one weak point. Dogs can smell. And get me near one and I'm reeking of fear. So it was a total loss."

Chett and Dreen exchanged looks, trying to reconcile this with the mountain climbing, sky jumping, whitewater canoeing Jon. He saw the look.

"That's what I mean. Phobias are irrational." Jon paused thinking.

"Seriously Dreen, it could just be lack of control. I mean you are exposing yourself to the most extreme conditions there are in a piece of equipment where you know nothing about the design or maintenance, and to top it off you're giving control to a group of pilots who you know nothing about on a commercial flight. Or," the grin flashed back, "worse still, you do know, like Arn and Rhea and me. Chett has it easier. He knows the Exec inside out and he and Angus and Jodi have been flying together for years now."

Dreen shook his head. "Sorry Jon, I think I see what you're saying, but I honestly don't know."

"Before we give up, let's try a simple question. Do you drive a GV back and forth to work?"

"Yes. I'm quite happy there."

"And will you ride in one with Joran driving?"

"Not on your life!"

"I'm with you there. When I first hired on, I thought Bojo and the guys were exaggerating. So I accepted a lift somewhere or other. Well, we did get there, but as soon as my feet were on solid ground I told Joran I was taking public transit back. Talk about insulted. He didn't speak to me for weeks. But I didn't care. No way was I getting back into anything he drove.

"So my guess is control, and," Jon smiled, "right now you probably think you're taking off into space with three Jorans. Fair enough. I'd white knuckle that too. So, the question is, do you have fifteen minutes or so now to help you get comfortable and pick up a day or so in transit time, or shall we leave it as it is?"

Dreen turned to Chett asking, "I think we can make the time?"

Chett nodded. He wanted to get things going here, but he knew Dreen was desperate to be on Drezvir.

"Great. On the safety side, let me put a fast call in to Rhea and Arn so they don't go doing anything creative. I haven't kept them on as tight a leash as I have myself. I'll call Rhea first. She'll be the other pilot on the first leg of the run. Arn will come in on the second shift."

Jon did not like the pilot/copilot arrangement. He liked whoever sat beside him to have the same experience he had. So the three Allegro pilots had worked out a complicated staggering of shifts where two were always on the bridge.

Jon placed the call, then started obviously counting "... four, five, six, seven, eight." He broke off with a grin. "Well, well. Let's try Arn."

Arn, like Jon answered on the second ring. Dreen knew Arn the best of the pilots. He was a good four centimeters taller than Dreen was, and about the same weight. His hair was somewhere between blonde and brown. Dreen liked his good natured easy-going personality, the same personality that probably accounted for a less spectacular record than Jon's on the race circuit. Arn had the requisite background in astrophysics, plus enough AI and circuit theory to help Jon out with bright ideas on circuit redesign.

Jon said, "Fly time. I'll meet you at the spaceport, and guess who isn't answering on eight rings."

"Great! Then I can pilot first shift."

"You definitely can not! We had that out when you went whitewater canoeing the day before yesterday. She'll have her reflexes back by mid afternoon. So head out and get final checks going. It's a long run to some place called Drezvir in the Farr sector."

Arn grumbled, but not much. He liked the idea of a long run and going somewhere he had never been. They went over a few details then disconnected.

Jon consulted his watch. "She's had five minutes." He called again. This time Rhea answered in two rings. "Sorry to interrupt Rhea, but it's fly time. So send your friend home and head to the spaceport. Arn will have the coordinates. It's a long run."

"Do I have time for a fast shower?"

To Chett it looked like Rhea had lost a kilo or so, but she was still a stockily built blonde. She said all the looks in her family went to her married sister. Her hands were as beautiful as Joran's though, and right now the left one was smoothing down her spiky hair. Her and Eli's racing record as pairs still hadn't been topped, and her astrophysics degree was with great distinction.

"Make it real fast."

"Right." She disconnected.

"At the risk of slowing things down," Chett said, "what was all that counting stuff and such with Rhea?"

"Oh. Well, Joran is impatient at best, and his temper has gone downhill the last eighteen months from basically foul to impossible. We came up with a scheme to keep him happy. We assigned a special ring to him and calls to each other relaying a message from Joran." If Chett had been alone Jon would have told him the sounds they assigned, but Joran's best friend Dreen was listening and might not be amused.

"We try to answer in two rings even if it means no visuals because you're in the shower or whatever. But up to eight are allowed, because you might have your hands busy. If there isn't a pick up on eight, it means tough luck Joran, try someone else on the team. We don't push our luck on that, but for example Arn whitewater canoeing the other day could truly have been unable to answer. But," he grinned, "we both knew Rhea wasn't out anywhere so it doesn't take much imagination to figure the other time when for a few minutes anyways you don't give a damn if you get fired.

"We used the system unofficially until we got Joran on a day when he was in a reasonably good mood and not too scrambled. Then we ran it by him. When he stopped laughing about the sort of predicament Rhea was in - because Arn spelled that one out nice and carefully in case Joran wasn't as focused as we thought - it is something Arn and Joran have had words over a few times - Joran bought in and we snarl at each other a lot less now. We agreed to keep in practice with you, Dreen."

Once again Jon turned his full attention to Dreen. "So, if I'm trying to give you a sense of control, first you want to know if you're heading out with three Jorans right?" Jon's triangular face was all one amused smile.

"Right," Dreen said firmly. As far as he was concerned, while Jon was being easier to talk to than he expected, he was still a suicidal nutcase with all his daredevil pursuits, and it showed in Dreen's face.

"Well, it's up to you whether you believe us or not. But if you ask us, each of us would say no. I know I like the thrill of risk-taking, but I keep the wild stuff to my hobbies. To me, flying is my profession. I won't pretend; the reason Joran hired us is because we are all professional risk takers, ex-racers. But the word to emphasize is professional. With Joran, I truly think he does the crazy things he does simply to find out how it feels. With us it's different. We love our technology, and we want to see how far it can take us with a reasonable chance of getting back in one piece. And, believe it or not, we do veto a fair number of Joran's bright ideas. That," his grin broadened, "is usually Rhea's job. She's the feistiest of us, and you should hear her and Joran go at it."

That was news to Dreen. He had assumed Jon and the rest went along with Joran. But then Joran wasn't likely to have mentioned any ideas that were shot down, not with the mood he had been in for the last few years.

"All right. I'll accept that distinction."

"Then," Jon continued, "there is the Allegro itself with its nice unauthorized mods."

"Yes ..." Dreen's anxiety resurfaced with a vengeance.

"How much do you know?"

"As little as possible. I worry enough about Joran killing himself without knowing."

"That is an insult," Jon said forcibly. "We are as competent and professional as any of your staff."

"Ahem, Jon," Chett intervened. "First off that's no guarantee of no problems, and secondly, under the circumstances it's completely the wrong argument to use."

"Oh." Jon belatedly recognized his blunder. "Sorry. Are you guys serious you might have blown up a power system?" he asked Chett.

"Sure as hell not on purpose, but the guy in charge of the mess - and he's first-class - says we're in the top five he's looking at. And," he gave Jon a hard look, "we are professional and competent."

"All right. Let's try it this way." Jon scratched his head searching for a fast description that would still be accurate. "We have extended the Allegro AI design to minimize the odds Joran kills us all off with his stunt stuff. The regulatory bodies have ignored this -and yes - that means the work Vmooxa Robotics did is not inspected by any regulatory agency. But it sure as hell was by all of us. It's our lives at risk. The Interplanetary Judiciary has ignored it because most of the mods made to the system were completely customized for Arn and Rhea and me." It was not a good idea to tell Dreen that Eli had recently been added to the list. Eli wasn't on this flight. Dreen would just say Eli was as crazy as Joran, which was true. "No one else can use them, so they won't spread. Essentially, we've enhanced the normal AI assist to an almost think-and-fly system. Mercan named it "Think There". It cuts the response time tremendously which gives us more maneuverability, plus get-the-hell-out-of-there capability on some of Joran's stunts."

Dreen rather wished Jon hadn't brought up Vmooxa Robotics and Mercan. Mercan was a great Octagla player, and his father Bruce Oondo was one of the galaxy's most respected robotocists. But Mercan and his partner Vi Xaemre, the partners in Vmooxa Robotics, were renegades at the best of times, and Dreen shuddered to think what had happened when Joran gave them a free hand.

"What that means though in ordinary flight is that we're a lot less prone to pilot error than any other Genie flying simply because of how a part of the enhanced system implemented monitors our response capability. If the pilot drifts outside very tight bounds - fatigue, illness, lack of focus - Think There won't let the pilot fly and shifts to the second pilot. That's why Arn is out of luck. He'll still be too stiff from his canoeing today."

"What happens if you all get a virus?" Chett was honestly curious. "Do you just sit there in space 'till you all recover?"

Jon shook his head. "If the second pilot doesn't check out, the alternate pilot is woken. If it's no luck on response there either, all the responses are analyzed and what we are allowed to do is cut back to fit the parameters. We would only be allowed very safe, routine maneuvers and we would be restricted by the system to certain safer regions of space."

In all honesty it sounded reassuring to Dreen, and not much like the picture he got from Joran. But then all Joran ever told him about was what Jon called 'the suicidal stuff'. He was about to say so, but Chett was still curious and got there first.

"So, why did Arn try to say Rhea couldn't fly?"

Jon made a face. "Joran bloody near cost himself three pilots over that. We never did find out who's bright idea it was - his, or Mercan's, or Vi's, or one of the physiological response experts. But they decided as well as exercise stats for response recovery they really should have sexual data too."

"That sounds interesting," Chett prompted.

"Yes, well satisfying that bit of curiosity will cost you a five-star dinner at the restaurant and the planet of my choice."

"Spoilsport. We could use a laugh right now."

"Will prime ribs at my place do?" Lindy's sudden participation in the conversation made all three men start. She had moved over to a chair by the window and had been largely ignoring them as she made notes of who would have to do what to survive the day.

"Is that the fair Lindy eavesdropping?" Jon asked with a smile.

"Who else?" She joined Dreen and Chett.

"Well, it only counts if you promise a cloudberry meringue too."

"You're on." She smiled. "Next time you're in town?"

"Sure." Even Lindy was looking grim. Chett wasn't kidding they could all stand a little tension relief. Jon relented.

"Actually you can have the short version now I guess. The problem you see," he gave been exaggerated sigh, "was that when the sex clinic researchers - Mercan and Vi chickened out and outsourced that part of the project - when the sex clinic crowd figured out that no one had a problem and this was all in the interests of good old scientific research and not only that, but we were all degree physicists who, of course, understood the interests of science ..." He paused for breath and noticed amused smiles started on all three faces.

"Well, I think they had one nice long extended coffee break and said, 'Great! Now we can even the score on that damned boring quantum physics professor who dragged us out of bed for the 7 AM lecture we couldn't skip if we wanted our minor in nano tech'. I mean, the part that's none of your business wasn't too bad. But take about two breaths and the door opens and in trots someone with bloody cold hands and a few dozen contact probes to place anywhere not already plastered with sensors. Talk about negative conditioning!"

Jon noticed that even Dreen was trying not to laugh now. "It was months before any of us felt normal. And, to save you the trouble of asking Chett, yes we are all reasonably normal. The only surprise was that Arn is the most responsive, not what you'd think with his being such a laid back guy. And apparently he pays for it with one hell of a case of the sleepies.

"And if any of that choice of scientific data hits the journals in any form," Jon added grimly, "even with the names of all of the study victims suppressed, I'm personally hunting for Joran. Now how do you want to fly Dreen?"

Dreen laughed, "I'm sorry Joran is so trying. I'd like to get there as quickly as you can safely manage." He reflected this was the longest and certainly the most relaxed conversation he'd ever had with Jon.

"Good." Jon hesitated again. "Dreen, it's going to be a long run to sit in a cabin and brood. Would you like to come up on the flight deck? There's an extra seat with a full console for Joran. You might like to watch how Think There works."

That was thoughtful, something he wouldn't have expected from Jon. "Thank you. After what you said I'm very interested, but would I be in the way?"

It was a Jon's turn to laugh. "I doubt it, compared to Joran. And there's nothing you can do wrong. The console has outputs only. We weren't going to set it up where Joran could handle anything."

"Then thank you."

Suddenly Jon frowned. "Oops. I missed a step there. Are you agoraphobic? I don't want to go back on the offer, but we all like to fly with the shielding retracted from the transparent ceramic. It's fantastic. It's like your seat is just suspended in the starfield. But that can give some people the screaming creeps. Ico tried it once and totally froze. Bojo and Joran had to come and pry him out of the chair and carry into the lounge."

"You mean like a really good planetarium, only real?" Dreen had a look of childlike delight on his face.

"Better," Jon assured him. "At this point I really can quit tying you up. You'll need to wear a SecondSkin on the flight deck. The ceramic is inadequate shielding for some fields. Have you ever worn one?"

Dreen shook his head.

"Well, to save time, have your secretary have your tailor send measurements to the Space Port Authority. We'll have one waiting that way. When you decide to come up front, Arn or I will show you how to put it on. Or Rhea, if you're relaxed about such things. She is. She and Joran change together all the time. They're always too busy fighting to separate. They're each afraid the other might use the time to come up with a winning argument. But with the waste handling you do have to strip to the skin."

"I'll stick to you or Arn thanks." Dreen smiled. "And seriously, thank you for the offer."

*****

Chapter 51

"So, what's next, Dellmaice?"

Dreen nodded. He was getting impatient. Today was taking too long, and there was still way too much to get through.

Lindy perked up. She had slumped noticeably during the session with the lawyers, but she had been wondering off and on what Dreen and Chett were up to with Ari.

Dreen noticed her. That was why Lindy was so good. She had great instincts for when something was going on. That was why she hadn't left except to use a bathroom. Celise tended to show up when she had something important she wanted done. That was why Celise was in her office busy getting ready for their meeting with the staff. Celise was valuable. Lindy was invaluable.

Chett noticed the sudden interest too. He said quietly, "Lindy, don't you have followup work on the legals?"

"Nothing that won't wait."

Chett said just as quietly, "Don't you think you could find something that won't wait?"

Dreen looked at Chett in alarm. He knew Chett was exhausted and he was making allowances, but this was not the way to get off to a good start with Lindy, and he wanted him to use Lindy.

But if Dreen had missed the gleam of humor lurking at the back of Chett's eyes, Lindy hadn't. She said good-naturedly, "That depends on how much you want that bed for the night to be on the cold hard floor."

Chett laughed. "Do you want to go double or nothing? I'll bet you don't know what we're up to."

Lindy shook her head. "I don't take bets that are a guaranteed loss."

Belatedly, Dreen realized they were teasing each other and tried to un-tense. A random thought surfaced. "Chett \- what are you doing after tonight at Lindy's?"

"Haven't thought about it."

"Use my place until you do - or indefinitely, I don't care. It's linked to our hyperweb."

"Thanks. You sure that's not pushing the invasion of your territory too far?"

Dreen had a comfortable apartment in one of the fancier, fashionable downtown condominiums. Chett knew Dreen hadn't chosen it for address though. He'd chosen it for the gym on the second floor, and the fact you could get both housekeeping services and decent catering. It was furnished in bachelor shabby, largely with items he'd swiped from the family house over the years, and he'd resisted all efforts from various girlfriends to have it decorated. Chett liked it for all the same reasons, although the colors were a bit dark and drab for his taste.

Dreen shook his head. "It's fine."

"Do I still have to babysit tea roses?"

"Get the condo staff to. They did while I was on Gingezel."

Chett nodded. He'd probably kill the things. "So, how do we play it?"

"I think he deals with me first. The irate business partner, that sort of stuff. You come in second. But Chett," Dreen was firm, "right now I don't want Dellmaice diluting effort. Take him out later."

"Relax. I signed as many documents as you did, and I assumed I was going back. Dellmaice is finished, but I've got my priorities straight." Chett looked as grim as Dreen.

"Finished? Even if he apologizes and cooperates?" Lindy's voice startled them both.

"Those who-know-how-many days it would have been if I hadn't stumbled onto Drezvir could cost me my life. Who knows what the delay that has happened will cost Dreen." Chett frowned. "The son-of-a-bitch didn't even have the decency to come visit the survivors."

"Lindy," Dreen said in a tone that was totally inflexible, "if you're staying keep your mouth shut and stay out of sight, no matter what."

"This should be real interesting," Lindy observed as she moved her chair out of the visuals zone.

As Dreen expected, he got Ari's secretary. "I need to talk to Ari, right now."

"I'm sorry Dr. Pendi, he's in a meeting right now and can't be interrupted. Is there someone else I can get, or can I have him call you later?"

"There isn't a meeting that can't be interrupted if you hit something urgent enough and you just hit it. Get him. And set up a full conference call, not just visuals." Dreen wanted to see Ari's whole body language.

She hesitated, then said, "Will you please hold for a moment Dr. Pendi?".

***

Ari looked around the table with satisfaction. They were plowing through the necessary formalities well. Another two days at the outside and the Plenata power multi-unit project would be off the ground. As it was, another couple hours would see him and his off-planet partners who had come to Pendrae for the meeting at the point where they could have their next conference call with the Plenata Environmental Authority. Then they had all earned a good supper.

When the soft chime sounded, he did not consider himself interruptible. But Greg Piyn, his equivalent of Lindy was, and he discreetly left the room.

"Dreen, what can I do for you?" Greg was a pleasant, competent young man in his early 30s.

"Greg, if I wanted to talk to you, I would have asked for you. Go get Ari." Dreen was firm. "And I asked for a full conference call."

Greg suppressed his surprise. He hadn't seen Dreen in this mood before. Dreen was usually easy-going and polite. "Ari really is tied up right now Dreen, finalizing the Plenata deal. I'm sure I can arrange what you want, or Ari can get back to you when the session breaks, I'd guess in a little under two hours."

Dreen been waiting all day for an excuse to really lose his temper. "And I can have the Pendrae hub discontinue your service in less than five minutes!" He broke the connection.

***

"Dreen, what can I do for you?" Ari's expression was politely inquiring, his voice carefully neutral. Greg was right. Dreen was furious. They had the full conference call, and Ari could see Dreen's whole body was tense.

"You can start by telling me why the hell it's been twelve days since the Drezvir accident and you haven't found time to call."

Drezvir? How did Dreen get the wind up on that all of a sudden? With Tranngol's announcement that analyses were essentially on hold until the auditor arrived, Ari had pushed that problem to the back of his mind and concentrated on getting Plenata going before something else went wrong.

"Dreen, relax. I assure you whatever you've heard, that it's not a problem for you." What was hitting the grapevine anyways? At the stony silence he was getting Ari added trying to be reassuring, "We've had a problem, yes, but it's under control. I haven't -"

"Not a problem?" Dreen cut in acidly. "Do you call being in the top five contenders for having caused the rupture not a problem? I'm telling you Ari, if I hit trouble on this one, you go down with me. Your signature is on as many of those early System Requirements Documents as mine."

What was Dreen talking about, being right up on the list to have caused the problem? Damn. He had to get back to the meeting too. "Look, Dreen, I'm sure we can sort this out. I truly am tied up, but say in an hour and a half, two at the outside -"

Chett moved into view and nodded to Ari as he took his seat. He said soothingly, "Dreen, I think Ari here is spreading himself too thin. He isn't staying on top of everything." He turned his attention to Ari. "I'm just back from Drezvir."

"Hello Chett." Ari was regarding Chett with mixed emotions. Although he used the trick himself, he didn't like the idea of someone else just out of sight hearing and watching conference calls. Also, although he appreciated the attempt to calm Dreen down, the choice of words wasn't the best. Still, he didn't really expect more of Linderson. He was adequate, and that was about it. A pretty face and a smart suit to go around gladhanding the clients at all of the hubs. He didn't fault Dreen. He knew the trouble Dreen had had getting anyone to stay in that position. And Ari understood Chett had managed the Drezvir design fine, but he knew Jann was the real team head and that Dreen had personally checked all of the work on the quiet. He had been nervous about Chett, and had asked Dreen.

"If you've been on Drezvir, I'm sure Rostin has assured you everything is under control." Damn. He had to get back to that meeting, and Linderson was stretching out those long legs of his like they had all day.

"Rostin tried to," Chett said quietly. "But I prefer to believe Tranngol. I saw the mess Ari, all of it. Which is one hell of a lot more than you've done."

The last was an open challenge and Chett saw for a moment the shock on Dellmaice's face before it was hidden.

"I'm taking personal offense at the way you handled this, Ari. The legals there said we have to prove - prove damn it - we aren't implicated. Try that with a complicated computing system. Those extra days count Ari."

Ari turned his attention to Dreen. "I'm sure you're overestimating the -"

"I'm talking to you, Dellmaice," Chett said curtly, "and I'm not finished yet. You are now, and I repeat now, not when your little meeting breaks, going to make sure all of the support we need is in place."

This was ridiculous. He would not have interrupted the Plenata succession for this Linderson, Ari thought bitterly. Starting to feel a bit short tempered himself, he said, "Dreen -"

Chett cut across him. "Dreen, I don't think Ari is hearing me."

"Pity," Dreen said solemnly. "Listen to him Ari."

They were playing a game he didn't understand. He looked at Chett with distaste. "Well? Make it short because I'm going back to my meeting in about two minutes."

"I wouldn't unless you want one hell of a lot more trouble than you're ready in," Dreen said.

"All right." Ari started to rise. "You've sounded off Dreen, and I will get back to you. But I'm not going to sit here for idle threats."

"Sit down!" Dreen's voice was preemptory.

Ari sat. He wasn't sure why.

Chett said gently, "Now Dreen, Ari is just not focusing. That was no idle threat Ari. I think you don't really recognize me," he smiled sadly, "but some of your managers will. The ones you picked up as fallout of that Tranus Dynamics takeover." He listed four names.

"Do you remember that one Ari - fast and brutal? Hoffner did the dirty work." Chett noticed he had Ari's full attention now. "But they needed a man in the industry, working for Tranus Dynamics. Me, Ari." Chett smiled coldly. "I enjoyed that. Not enough to make a career. Just, shall we say, a profitable hobby?

"It was one hell of a long trip back from Drezvir, Ari. Lots of time to look at your little empire piece by piece." He shook his head. "I'd always heard you were the best, but there are three ways I could take you by myself. But I won't. It's so much more fun as a team sport. I'd bring in my friends at Hoffner's."

Ari could feel a cold sweat on his back. Linderson might or might not be shooting off his mouth, but he remembered that takeover, and he knew Hoffner's reputation.

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Chett leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxation. "Let me give you a little summary of part of what I know. Part only Ari. First, you have five weeks left in the quarter. Brokerage houses have warned you that if there isn't a turnaround in your quarterly balance, they'll put a warning out on your stock. One of those houses is already quietly pulling their major clients."

How the hell did he know that? Ari remained impassive.

"So the question then, is can you do it? You are counting on the Mining Guild's investment in Mitra's hybrid to keep things stable. But right now, with the power replacement and analysis costs you've got to be showing a net loss. And personally, I wouldn't want to be the one negotiating the rest of the units with the Guild. I realize," Chett said in the tone of the tired, disappointed teacher, "this is probably why you went overboard on the damage control, but there is such a thing as costing yourself friends.

"Then there is the cost of the hybrid itself. Your bookkeeping there is very creative Ari. Very creative," Chett said with real appreciation. "Nothing illegal I've found so far, but you've made sure it takes a lot of effort to sort the real picture out. I'll admit I'm not finished there yet, but here's a start." He reeled off the figures.

They were close, damned close. Linderson was better with books than he thought, Ari realized sourly.

Chett was watching him. Total impassivity. There could have been a reason there for outrage. Yes, Dellmaice was cool.

"Then there's your new project. The huge units you're designing for mega-city grids. Its proprietary right now, isn't it Ari? All discussions are on NDA's. The project's at the preliminary design stage. By the costs I've seen, it's going to make the hybrid a drop in the bucket." He turned casually to Dreen. "I do expect this is why Mitra is finding her resources diluted. Everyone is on this one."

Ari's eyes narrowed slightly. Someone was dead meat for breaking an NDA. No one, but no one, was supposed to know about the mega-city units for at least four months.

Ari said indifferently, "Are you finished?"

"Not quite. You needed the cash flow yesterday Ari, and your ongoing revenues won't do it. You need Plenata, and as of twenty minutes ago you haven't filed yet."

"Is that why you're slowing me down with this bloody meeting?" Ari could believe that. Linderson wanted him weak. "Put him on a leash Dreen," he said threateningly.

"I'm sorry Ari. I can't do that."

"Dreen, what kind of the game are you playing? First you pull that disconnect your services stunt - which is one damned unprofessional thing to do by the way -".

"It was, wasn't it?" Dreen agreed. He suddenly smiled. "I rather enjoyed that." Then at the look of total shock on Ari's face, "Come on Ari. You're no saint. It's been one of those days - you know - I was here before 6:30. By 8:30 the way things were going I'd totally had it and was just looking for someone to really screw up. But everyone has been giving me a wide berth, a real wide berth. Greg made just the mistake I was looking for, not making sure you took this call."

Ari relaxed. He knew just what Dreen meant, and he'd taken a few like that out on other people too. It definitely would not be the day to hear about Drezvir.

Ari said charitably, "Fair enough. I've had a few myself. But I do assure you that we can work things out. Later today, or tomorrow if you need a good night's sleep. And," he tried to smile placatingly, "maybe tomorrow putting Chett on a nice short leash will look more attractive. After all, we are partners at the moment, Dreen."

Dreen shook his head. "Sorry Ari. You're flat out of luck. When I said I can't, I did mean can't not won't. The operative word is can't. By the time tomorrow you're talking about, I'll be working for Chett, not Chett for me. So you're on your own there."

Ari was sure he was sitting there with his mouth open, was sure he was looking stupid. He said very carefully, "I beg your pardon?"

"We scheduled you right after a session with the lawyers. It's all signed. I'm heading for Drezvir and I want a clean plate. By this time tomorrow - actually, by the end of work today - Chett is President of Nemizcan with full control of my stock."

"So," Chett said in his light, cheerful voice, "let's try a little cooperation Ari. With me. We're going to have a conference call now, with Tranngol, or I'll consider you real uncooperative. You have two minutes to call back."

Chett broke the contact, and stretched to ease tension in his shoulders. Then Dreen caught his eyes, and they both grinned.

"Well?" Chett demanded looking at Lindy.

"Two minutes isn't much time."

"No, but it tests how scared he is."

"What if this Tranngol is in the men's or their hyperweb is down again?"

"Then Dellmaice has a problem."

*****

Chapter 52

Ari sat staring at the suddenly blank space. He had to consciously suppress the urge to stand up and walk out, to go back to his meeting, and say Dreen and Chett could go to hell. That would be unwise. Very unwise. Linderson had just gone out of his way to prove he was a very dangerous man. There was no way he should have even known about the mega-city unit, much less the details he did. And no doubt if Linderson knew that much, he knew more. At least until he found out where the leak was he'd play along. He would think about Dreen's queer moves later, but right now he had a conference call to set up.

He got Tranngol away from his desk. At least the system was up!

"Tranngol, I'm setting up a conference call."

Drezvir was not set up for full 3-D conferencing, but at least at Tranngol's desk they would have the limited visuals Drezvir allowed.

"Ari, we got permission two hours ago to do some nondestructive testing on one fragment of the pressure tube and -"

"Now Tranngol! No mouth, and I'll brief you as you walk."

Tranngol shrugged and pulled his toque off his ears so he could hear better. "Okay, but remember it's all recorded." Ari sounded absolutely livid. Brenn, his nondestructive testing expert, couldn't help but overhear and grinned.

Damn, Ari thought. He kept forgetting about those privacy problems. What could he say that was repeatable? He mentally cleaned up the language he had intended to use and settled for saying, "I've just been talking to Dreen Pendi and Chett Linderson at Nemizcan Computing. They want to sort out their position, and they see some urgency to it. As it is, they hauled me out of a Plenata meeting and I want to be back there, so cooperate."

Tranngol was back at his desk. He settled his large framed body on the too small chair and activated the monitors. He expected to see Chett, and this Pendi person on the screen, but just Ari was there, not looking at him and obviously timing himself on his wristcuff.

"Thanks," Ari grunted. Two minutes and 15 seconds should be about right. He closed the contacts.

"Tranngol, I hope we didn't interrupt you," Chett asked with more than a trace of concern. Tranngol looked dead on his feet, and black stubble was threatening to turn into a beard.

"Not at all," Tranngol lied as Ari had instructed. Be polite. He noticed Chett was looking distinctly better than he had on Drezvir, fresh and clean and in an impeccable suit. Looking like a bloody fashion model as Martine had said. Unfortunately that description was going to stick in his head, and resurface every time he saw the man.

"Have you met Dreen before?" Chett was taking the role of host away from Ari just for the hell of it, although at the moment he had a grudging respect. He kind of liked Ari's two minute and 15 second touch. It said I'm jumping, but not very high.

"No, but I know who you are." Tranngol transferred his attention to Dreen. "I'm pleased to meet you, Dr. Pendi." He saw a middle-aged man with graying hair, a slightly above-average height, and a solid build. This stranger looked like he was in a mood that would have done Ari justice on a bad day.

"Dr. Cebron." Dreen took control of the meeting. By the look on Ari's face, Chett was pushing it too far. "I do apologize for taking you from your work, but I wanted to discuss three things with you. First, I wanted to tell you that I will be coming to Drezvir, not Chett."

Then at the frown that Tranngol couldn't quite hide, Dreen smiled slightly and added, "And I'm not burdening you with a nervous manager when you need technical support. The arrangement here is pretty much like the one Tina and Andrai have at ContSaft. And in this case, I think I was more likely to have been involved in the areas that could cause you problems than Chett. You see, I was the one that worked with Ari and Tina and Andrai to set the requirements. Then I took our team to the Detailed Requirements stage, and in the few places where there were serious architectural questions I breadboarded trial systems myself until we got one I was comfortable with. The final breadboarded system was used to refine the detailed requirements. Then we all archived the project until Drezvir came along and Chett's team took over. Chett, of course, will be available for questions on the implementation. But for now I think it is most useful if I come, and he stays here and runs the show."

Tranngol relaxed. "Thank you, Dr. Pendi. That would be very useful, and to be quite honest more than I expected, sir." Until the man looked happier he was being very formal.

Mitra wasn't going to like this though. Tranngol suspected she was counting the hours, not the days until Chett came back. She had slumped visibly when he left, and Tranngol hadn't missed their unconscious handholding either. He was not going to mention the handholding unless she did. She was very fragile emotionally now that it looked like Nann wouldn't make it.

"Do you think you could possibly skip the Dr. Pendi - sir - bit? Right now I've got a young coder driving me crazy with it. I'm used to Dreen."

So Dr. Pendi was a wrong move. Tranngol mentally shrugged and said, "Whatever you're happy with. As for me, my staff all call me Tranngol, so I'm more comfortable with first names too."

"Okay Tranngol, I'm glad you don't mind my coming." Dreen could feel the huge knot in his stomach relaxing a little. He had been afraid Tranngol would raise technical objections he couldn't counter without explaining his relationship with Mitra. And given everything Chett had said about the situation on Drezvir with the Interplanetary Judiciary he did not intend to advertise that relationship.

"We can go on to the next point. Chett has briefed me on our likelihood of having potentially been your problem, and of our legal need to prove we couldn't have - if indeed we weren't the problem. But I would like your version please. You're the expert."

That was fair enough. Tranngol went through what he had with Chett.

When he finished, Dreen looked straight at Ari. "Do you want to continue saying I don't have a problem?"

Oh. A light went on in Tranngol's head. Obviously Ari has been minimizing the problem, and this Pendi was upset.

It was quite honestly much worse than Ari had expected. Dreen had every right to be furious. He said, "I'm sorry. I was wrong."

"Yes," Chett intruded coldly. "Now, just on the off chance this isn't your only mistake, let's have Tranngol list the other suppliers who should be having a nice little chat with you."

Tranngol gave a nervous glance at Ari, but he just got a curt nod. He gave the list.

"Now," Chett said adopting the tone of a teacher encouraging a difficult student, "I'm sure you can manage that within the next day, can't you Ari?" His tone shift to hard. "And we'll have a nice review of those calls in two days just to make sure, won't we?"

Tranngol was sure he was staring at Chett in shock. Given that Chett knew perfectly well the conversation was recorded, that was publicly humiliating Ari. Tranngol waited for the explosion.

All that happened was Ari gave a tight lipped nod since he didn't trust himself to open his mouth.

Dreen watched Ari for a moment, then turned to Tranngol. "We won't keep you much longer. I just want to make sure there aren't any afterthoughts on what you'd like to see on support at this end. By the time I'm leaving tonight there will be a duplicate system of the hardware and the software ready to bring with me, and full system setup here as well, so we don't need to disturb anything there for testing. I'll have a full set of documentation with me, and the design team knows this overrides all of their current work. Right now they are seeing how far they can get on looking at the design from the perspective of causing the accident before I leave. After that, they will be available anytime for hyperconferencing."

"That hyperconferencing is one change," Chett added. "Given the, umm, limitations of the hyperweb access there, we decided to bring along the equivalent of one of our hub servers with our own hyperspace relays, and use our dedicated web. That will mean unlimited capability after as far as this kind of analysis is concerned - the volumes are nothing compared to a hub - and we use our own security protocols." There was no sense not saying that upfront. That Auta bureaucrat from the Sector Environmental Protection Agency and Judiciary would figure out there was a different security protocol as soon as he tried snooping. Good luck to him - he shouldn't be able break it since what they intended to install was the security system for the Gingezel Ultrasecure Hyperweb, Chett thought with satisfaction. "I assume Martine will have the power grid stable by the time Dreen gets there?"

Tranngol nodded. "We hope so." He did not sound enthusiastic.

"We'll work around that, bring our own primary and backup power. We do that for a lot of hubs," Dreen said. "So are there any other things we can do for you?"

"No." Tranngol was bemused. These guys really moved when they wanted to. He smiled. "Not unless you have another spare hub server." He meant it as a joke, but Dreen and Chett were staring at each other in real concern.

"Damn! I'm an idiot!" Chett was mad at himself. If they were going to have problems, Tranngol's were worse. "Can we do it?"

Dreen hesitated. He was already hating every minute of delay. Each minute meant another minute more before he saw Mitra.

"Hey, I wasn't serious." Tranngol tried to get their attention, but Dreen and Chett were still staring at each other.

"What volume of web traffic are you talking, Tranngol? Just 3-D teleconferencing between a few sites plus document transmission, or distributed simulations?" Dreen asked.

"You're serious?"

Dreen nodded. He would do what he had to even if it meant not leaving until tomorrow.

"Any or all of the above. We have assumed we were limited to simulations here - but access to Dellmaice Power Systems and some of the distributed systems in the hyperweb cloud would speed the analysis up a lot."

"So, give us the requirements." Dreen mentally crossed his fingers as Tranngol reeled off the volumes. Compared to the routine communications load on a hub server, it was nothing.

"I'd prefer not to delay leaving to assemble another hub server exclusively for you, but I can partition this one to handle your volume, no problems. That gives you full control of your own hyperweb space. The only difference you'll see from the regular hyperweb use would be that the transmission is on our dedicated hyperweb through the central server here on Tranus to the Pendrae hub, and," he grinned at Ari, "along to Dellmaice Power Systems with your regular downloads from our server. If you aren't accessing Dellmaice Power Systems, you will just get routed to the closest server."

Tranngol didn't know what the joke was there, but Ari seemed to find it funny too. Tranngol said, "Thanks Dreen. It's definitely in the 'above and beyond' category."

Ari was trying to decide if things were improving. Dreen's bad mood seemed to be easing up by the minute, and he was so obviously pleased with the cutoff-of-service threat that it was funny. Ari sincerely doubted Dreen had ever done anything like that in his life.

He ventured cautiously, "If that's everything -"

"Not quite," Chett said.

Ari's optimism vanished.

"While you're focused, I'm sure you'd like to go over with Tranngol what resources he needs pulled from you-know-what to support Mitra."

Ari most definitely would not voluntarily have this conversation and definitely not where it could be recorded. He and Chett stared at each other, then he grudgingly said, "Who do you need Tranngol? Elin full-time," and don't you dare mention she walked out, "and who else?"

Tranngol looked cautiously from Chett to Ari. There was definitely some kind of power struggle going on there, and Ari was losing. But he was going to hear from Ari, not Chett if he handled this wrong.

Tranngol said, "Really, it's nothing we haven't discussed."

"And agreed to," Ari interjected smoothly mentally daring Tranngol to disagree.

But Tranngol had no intentions of questioning the sudden agreement. "So, do you want me to pull up the document and review it again? Or just a short verbal review?"

Dreen intervened. Chett had obviously won, and none of them had time to waste. Besides, push Ari too far and he might cancel this sudden agreement. "If it's all under control, I think we have more pressing matters to deal with, Tranngol."

Tranngol nodded with relief. He felt like he was walking on quicksand. "I'll see you in five or six days then."

"Three max. I have contacts at AntonCorp and I've borrowed the Allegro."

"Jon Melcrist?" Tranngol asked. "It must be nice," he sighed. "Your own hyperweb, friends like that. Well, I'll see you whenever. Chett." They nodded. "Ari. Want me to call later?"

"I'll call you. I can't guarantee breaks."

"Ari. I need to talk to you on that when Tranngol is off this link." Chett was firm, no smiles now.

Ari nodded and Tranngol disconnected. His image disappeared leaving the three seated at the gleaming black plane of the virtual conference table. "What the hell now, Linderson? I'm tired of your games."

"Plenata. You haven't filed yet. How long?"

"Do you think I'd give you the time of day on that?"

"Suit yourself. I haven't time for games on this one." Chett was businesslike now. He'd had his fun. "Free advice. Do whatever you have to and file ASAP - work through on no sleep if necessary - because you're courting disaster."

"From you?" Ari was scornful.

Chett shook his head. "No, lack of homework again Ari. C.C. Windegren. He's on Drezvir and how the hell you got this far without him splashing the accident from one end of the galaxy to the other I don't know. I assume he's off somewhere remote and not checking in. But that can't last."

Ari felt sick in the pit of his stomach. C.C. Windegren had it in for the Plenata project. He and the eco-freak crowd he ran around with would do anything to stop the Plenata project being licensed.

"You sure?"

Chett nodded. "I heard them throwing the name Windegren around as terraforming Drezvir in the cafeteria. So when I saw Rostin before I left I said I'd heard he had a Windegren doing the terraforming, and was it the mother or the son. He said the son."

Ari looked at Chett for a long time, then said, "I don't understand you Linderson. Why the help?"

Chett grinned. "How attractive is Dellmaice Power Systems bankrupt? Good luck." He broke the contact.

Ari sat staring at the empty space, then he placed a call to Olan Rostin, the man he had thought had total control on Drezvir. That damned Linderson was right about one thing. He's been slipping up on the details. Well, he'd start correcting that, and first of all he'd make sure Linderson wasn't lying about Windegren.

*****

Chapter 53

What in the galaxy was Tranngol doing? He must have been sitting there at his communication center talking for a couple hours now. Mitra realized his team couldn't do a lot until the auditor Azlo Mirelle arrived, but they did have permission for nondestructive testing of the pressure tube fragmement. Brenn had been set up for over an hour now, but when he'd gone over to Tranngol, Tranngol had just waved him away. Then later when curiosity got the better of her and she went to ask Brenn what was up, he'd grinned and shrugged those overdeveloped shoulders of his and said stay away. It was Ari that Tranngol was talking to, and his mood wasn't angry, it was livid.

Mitra stole another look at Tranngol. He was hunkered down, but it was cold enough she couldn't tell if that meant something, or if he was just trying to keep warm. With that silly toque and pom-pom and his overstuffed ski jacket you couldn't even swear from her angle that it was Tranngol unless you knew.

She shivered, wondering herself if it was just the cold or nerves. Mitra wished she hadn't asked Brenn what was up. After all, what could have Ari angrier than he already was? He should be home having supper with Naura and the kids long ago, not yelling at Tranngol. The time differences were a problem. They had all just come in after the ridiculous early breakfast the miners ate and started work when the first call came in from Ari. Then there had been barely a long enough break for anything to have happened and Ari called back. She supposed it was a good thing Martine kept the grid stable. Maybe not. Tranngol must need a break.

Mitra pulled her little knit turquoise beret further down over her ears so it didn't look like a beret any more but a shapeless sack. But it was warmer this way, and it shifted where the band hit. The beret had seemed so soft when she was just walking across the grounds at Dellmaice Power Systems, but now it itched. Maybe that was because she had only been wearing it for ten minutes or so back then, not hours. Or maybe it was because she'd had long hair then. Or maybe the beret being in a box for three years hadn't done the fabric any good. It sure was musty. Everything Elin had packed was musty. But at least the clothes were warm, and she had better get used to smells because there was no way to clean anything now, including herself.

Mitra called up another screen showing another tomographic slice of the pressure tube at installation time. Just what you'd expect. Not even any interesting artifacts - just that tiny one in the lower quadrant and that artifact had shown up intermittently on every tube. She checked the non-tomographic tests - nothing. So that's exactly what it was, an uninteresting artifact, the same minute uninteresting artifact she had checked all day against the other tests. One of those false anomalies that only exist because the software that reconstructs the images from the data isn't quite right.

Was there any chance though that there could be a real anomaly just where the artifact showed up? What would the software model it as? Would the artifact look any different, or just disappear and the tube look perfect like it did in some slices. Had she seen any variations in that artifact from tube to tube? Should she look for variations between the slices showing the anomaly and other tests, and the slices not showing the anomaly and other tests?

Mitra had been staring for an hour or so now, so she wasn't sure what she had seen. She could superimpose images and look for differences, see if the software really would change the modeling for a real anomaly, but there wasn't necessarily a real anomaly, was there? Mitra rubbed her tired face. She wasn't making sense even to herself. She would have to talk to whoever made the tomographic reconstruction algorithm to find out - if they even knew. After fighting that artifact for a few months they might have given up. So maybe superimposing was best. But how in the superimposing did she allow for the non-tomographic tests -

"Okay everybody!"

Tranngol's voice made her jump. She must have got involved in what she was doing, because he wasn't at his communication center anymore. He was in the middle of the shed, looking rather pleased with himself. So what else was going on she wasn't allowed to know? Mitra bitterly turned her eyes to the screen.

"Mitra! You too." Tranngol raised his voice. She needed cheering up, and if this news - well, the edited version of this news - didn't do it nothing would.

Me? Mitra rose alarmed. What now? But Tranngol was giving her a reassuring smile. He really did look pleased.

Tranngol surveyed his team, all capped and heavily jacketed. At least Martine had enough power on-line now that you didn't need jackets, just heavy clothes, in the residential habitats. Here you couldn't actually see your breath like a couple days ago when the wind was really howling as another cold front came through.

"Good news and good news," Tranngol announced in his soft voice. The reaction that got him was pretty much a collective uh-huh. They were all getting cynical about this job way too early on.

"I mean it. First, I've been talking to every supplier who wasn't shut down for the night. They know exactly what we need, and most will have something enroute within 24 hours along with the necessary staff. Some may take longer to pack equipment, but they'll all have staff on call for us to talk to as of now."

"If we could contact them," Sam Ieono said. He knew Tina and Andrai would have answers to all of his questions or do the analysis needed to get them, and give the information freely. But what use was that with the pathetic Drezvir hyperweb link and calls timed in minutes, not hours. Still, knowing someone was coming was something, and if he hadn't learned patience by now he never would.

"I'll get to that in a moment," Tranngol said. "But first things first. The places where there is a timing problem will be called first thing their morning time." He couldn't suppress an urge to grin. "So in a week or less this place should be a traffic jam. And I've warned everybody about the marginal conditions here, so they are bringing their own supplies. All that were using their own freighters said they would stock any spare space with food."

Dana tilted her head to look up at Tranngol, her plain features a mix of amusement and confusion. "Tranngol, how did you manage that?"

Dana, the number two on the analysis team, knew how frustrated he'd been getting with the lack of progress. She and Tranngol had typed and deleted messages back and forth on that topic. The less said aloud for the records the better. Tranngol had been trying to decide whether or not to just leave it to Azlo Mirelle and look incompetent, or to threaten to quit. The problem with the latter had been that in his current mood Ari, could well say 'fine, quit'. Then she'd be responsible for this mess.

"I don't think I get credit," Tranngol said slowly. He looked at Mitra. "What kind of temper has Chett Linderson got?"

Mitra had been about to say he was easy-going and fun, but then she remembered one day when Durstin had been more trying than usual. At the thought of Durstin her eyes misted dangerously again. Oh, why wasn't Durstin here to help her out? She couldn't blame him for collapsing. She couldn't begin to imagine what it had been like for him with the power out and a red blizzard rolling in at temperatures below minus 40 degrees and a colony to save. But the hospital had said there was no improvement at all. If they backed off sedation he got delusional and suicidal.

Forget all that, Mitra told herself. Focus on what Tranngol asked. The day Chett and Durstin had squared off, there had been one stupid question after another. Mitra had been resigned by then, and just kept answering them. But Chett had only taken it for about an hour. Then in the softest, iciest voice she had ever heard Chett had suggested that if Durstin was coping with a bad night and couldn't focus, everyone might as well break until the next day. And in the meantime Durstin might try to be focused by then and not bloody waste everyone's time. Mitra had expected Durstin to explode, or at least get all huffy, and she would have to mediate. But all that had happened was he and Chett stared at each other, then Durstin had apologized and said he'd see what strong coffee would do. They had taken half an hour's break, and Durstin had been on exemplary behavior for the rest of Chett's visit.

Mitra said cautiously, "He's okay, but I'm not sure if you can push him, why?"

"I get the feeling he got back to Nemizcan Head Office and started kicking butt, Ari's in particular."

Chett was back on Tranus already? Then he'd be here a day or so before she had counted on. A look of relief and pleasure spread across Mitra's face. It was really going to help having Chett here as a friend as well as colleague. There would be someone totally on her side, and he was smart too. He'd see things she didn't.

Tranngol was watching her face. Well aware of the box of tissues on her desk and it's mate in her tote bag, and of her red eyes, he decided that he'd better get through the rest of the good news fast before he made a verbal slip about Chett not returning. When the Allegro docked was soon enough for Mitra to know. Maybe she would be a bit better by then.

"Now, the second good news." He gave his analysts a broad grin. "When the Nemizcan ship is loaded, they're putting the full equipment for one of their hub links on it." A couple faces look mystified, so he explained, "They apparently have their own hyperweb galaxy wide because they transmit so much data." He paused triumphantly. "And they're partitioning the system for us to use - unlimited access galaxy wide - they will just route our calls to the local planetary web from whatever hub we want. No more having only short conversations with suppliers, we can have unlimited distributed computing - we'll be fully back in business."

Tranngol frowned. The smiles were not matching his. "Okay Sam, why no smiles?" Sam's software reliability models were some of the heaviest duty numbercrunching they did, and he preferred software only available on an application server basis either from certain reliability societies or certain companies. They had talked about how to work around that - which amounted to settle for limited modeling. So Sam should be thrilled.

"I'm thinking about the grid," Sam said and as if to back up his point, power flickered.

Tranngol made a face. "Martine has to replace a couple batteries today." Like everyone else, he stopped, waiting for the power to fail. When it didn't, he continued, "No problem with our power. Nemizcan will set the system up to be independently powered." He looked with mock sternness at Sam.

Sam smiled. "That's sure a change from when I worked there!" He couldn't help it. His mind was thinking of that little five person startup office.

Tranngol turned to Jennifer. "And they're bringing a duplicate system - full hardware and software for you to mess with. Is that good enough?"

Jennifer gave him a grin, her green eyes showing her pleasure. "I'm impressed. I'm impressed! Mostly, I'm relieved. I need something I can take apart without Azlo bitching." She knew Azlo from a course she'd taken from him two years ago.

So things were going to start to happen. Mitra shivered and hugged herself to get warm. She was pleased. Of course she was pleased.

*****

Chapter 54

Dreen leaned back and flexed his shoulders. That was it, except for presenting the new situation to the Nemizcan employees. There was the inevitable delay before the lawyers finished the filing of appropriate documents of course, but from Dreen's perspective Chett now ran Nemizcan. Dreen was firmly denying any reservations and not allowing second thoughts. He took a slow look around his - Chett's - office. There was about half an hour until the meeting, and they were alone. Lindy was off setting up the meeting.

"Shall I clear out and let you catch your breath, or do we need a strategy for the meeting?" Chett asked. "If it was with the hubs I'd have it all laid out when I walked in, but your crowd here is pretty unruly. I expect you're just going to play it as it comes."

Dreen nodded. "That may take some getting used to on your part."

"I'll survive. Lindy will keep me in line."

Dreen nodded. She would too. She knew everyone and how they reacted. But ... He got up and walked over to the window. The rain had backed off to a light drizzle and he stood looking at Pendi Industries. He trusted Chett, he told himself. He'd better. The fact that Chett would play things totally differently than he would honestly didn't matter to him. But ... A serious reservation Dreen had been denying forced itself up. Chett was smart and capable, and given the facts he would make decisions that worked even if they were different decisions. But would he always have the facts? Lindy knew the people. Gali knew the technical side. But was that plus the R&D plan he had driven Lindy crazy with enough? Dreen really didn't think so.

Chett watched Dreen's back, wondering what was coming next. Dreen wasn't happy, but what was there to be happy about? What was relevant was that Dreen was obviously working himself up to something. Chett watched and waited. Whatever it was, he had better let Dreen get it right in his head. They were running out of recovery time fast.

Eventually Dreen turned back to Chett. "Chett, I hope you don't mind. I've decided there is one thing I want to change."

"What?" Chett asked bluntly. They had covered so much ground so fast he had no idea what Dreen was fixing on.

That brought the ghost of a smile. Chett was all right. "Not your running things. I just want you to have all of the resources you need available - especially if I end up hard to access or unavailable." That last had been ridiculously hard to get out, but standing there looking at Pendi Industries the past had started to surface. He couldn't bring himself to say 'in prison again'.

Dreen continued, "I know I told you to use Lindy and Gali, and I'm not changing that. There's just someone else I'd like to line up and ask them to be available if you need someone to sound things out with."

"Yes?" Chett asked cautiously. He was pretty sure what was coming. Still, Dreen was implying it was his choice whether or not he used the resource. Then as Dreen seemed to have dried up, "Who?"

"Nevin Pennell."

"Nevin Pennell?" Chett was totally at a loss. "Where does he come in?"

Dreen didn't answer. He'd been watching Chett's face and seen the relief amid the confusion. Instead he asked, "Who did you expect?"

"You're too damned fast on the uptake Dreen, even when you're exhausted." He grinned. "Joran."

"After some of the ideas he and Rodd came up with for tuning up the place? I really would leave worried then." Dreen smiled. "Seriously though in a way you're right. Like I said earlier, if you had flat turned me down, I would have taken the risks and turned to Joran. But as it is, no. He has his own problems - the concert is on - and more importantly I can't see you two collaborating."

"That's a relief. I know you like him, but I can't see us working together either." As far as Chett could see, now was not the time to be anything but blunt. "So where does Nevin Pennell come in?"

"Do you know him?" That would simplify things.

"Of him, yes, who doesn't? But to date our paths haven't crossed."

"All right. You'll need the full story then. Nevin enters in several ways. First, he's an old family friend. For that matter, he was executor of my father's estate. That's one reason I thought you might have met him, over the Pendi Industries attempted takeover."

Chett shook his head. "You and Rodd handled that side."

Dreen nodded. There had been so much going on then he couldn't remember all of the meetings.

"Well, that's the family connection. Personally he has been my mentor from the time Nemizcan started, and he came in as our first and only backer, an angel investor at a rough time. Now I'm experienced enough to realize just how much difference that really deep pocket and good advice meant. At the time," Dreen made a face, half rueful smile, half embarrassment, "I was just shocked he wanted in because it was at the time my father was totally disgusted with me over the hacking. Nevin was essentially risking losing his best friend."

Chett's eyebrows rose. He knew of Dreen's hacking experience, and the criminal proceedings that ended up with his working for the military in lieu of a sentence. Dreen had told him before formalizing hiring him. But this business history was all new to him. He waved a hand at the luxurious office. "I thought the Old Man backed you from square one."

"No." Those were the sorts of things Chett would conceivably have to know. "From the time of my arrest until Nemizcan Computing had its first prototype, my father and I literally only spoke to each other twice. Once was over another hacker, and once was when I got out of the military. Both were very nasty scenes.

"I tried to intervene to not have another hacker go to prison for the same thing I did - hacking into that military database. When that failed I paid for him to have a better defense. I did this anonymously, and the Old Man thought I was crazy and said so bluntly. The day I got back to Tranus, he presented me with the bill and told me I could spend the next roughly a decade paying him back working at Pendi Industries. That time I was the one to tell him to go to hell, and I walked out and started Nemizcan Computing. It was Nevin who eventually arranged a reconciliation. But he'd come in to back me before that. As far as I know, he never told the Old Man, and for sure I didn't.

Dreen continued, "So, you see, he's the one who knows all of the reasons for the quirks in the Nemizcan structure. I don't know if you'll ever need advice on that, but it can't hurt to line him up."

Chett nodded. "Before you call him, what kind of a backer was he? Did he just transfer credits, or was he the heavy-handed kind?"

"Neither. He only intruded once. He advised me to think seriously before I ever went public. He didn't think it would suit me and he was right. But I tended to end up talking things over with him. Even then he was big-time on the planetary scene, but he tried to give me all of the access he could."

"And personality?" Chett asked.

"Quiet, soft-spoken, observant, a good listener. He goes out of his way to be good to people." The smallest smile quirked Dreen's lips. "But every now and again he gets it into his head he just has to do something. Anyone who's smart gets out of his way then."

"Like the deep space station?" Chett had heard a fair bit of gossip questioning the wisdom of that move. Obviously Interstellar Courier Express would be delighted to be able to service their Genies there, but it was debatable whether or not it could ever be built for a long list of technical reasons. And it was the first megastructure to be built outside the galactic plane.

Dreen nodded. "By the way, that ties him in to Drezvir."

"How so?"

"He's been trying to drag me into the deep space station from square one. Tina and Andrai told him right up front that nothing ContSaft has could handle the density of input from the Genie traffic he wants coming to the space station. It's a serious case of operator overload on their displays. So Nevin wanted us to have a shot at a collaboration with ContSaft. I was already negotiating with Ari at the time, and we all still thought there was a chance we could use a ContSaft platform. So Nevin and the space traffic regulatory experts sat in for a few sessions. Unlike the Mining Guild, their regulators were feeling much more conservative and cooled him off." Dreen made a face. "I should have listened to what those regulators said. Still, it will make explaining about Drezvir easier. Shall I call him now?"

Chett nodded.

***

"Dreen." There was a smile of real pleasure on Nevin's quiet face. "I heard you were back on planet from Gingezel, and I hoped it wouldn't be too long before I heard from you."

Dreen had been lucky to catch him at his desk. Ever since he started trying to fly the deep space station project, Nevin felt like his life was one long string of frustrating meetings and callbacks.

"Tough luck about Rodd. He's a good man." He and Rodd had made a point of getting together once or twice a year ever since they'd met over Pendi Industries.

Dreen nodded agreement, wondering how to start, but Nevin saved him the trouble. The smile gave way to a quiet assessing look and he said, "So what's wrong? Bad news about Rodd?"

"Rodd's no worse than before. He's stable but there is no sign of the coma breaking. The problem is here at Nemizcan. Do you remember those discussions you sat in on with Dellmaice Power Systems?"

Nevin nodded.

"Well, eventually we went ahead and implemented an interface for a reactor on one of our usual platforms. They decided to test it on a mining planet called Drezvir. The reactor blew, and there's a good chance our interface was the problem."

Nevin did not insult Dreen with platitudes. He simply asked, "Did you call because you need someone to listen, or is there anything practical I can do?"

"Practical if you don't mind. For various reasons I'm headed for Drezvir later today, and Chett Linderson is taking over here. I'd like to introduce you. I've told Chett you know Nemizcan business philosophy as well as I do, and things may end up where I'm not accessible."

That did not sound good. Nevin tried to remember what he'd heard about a place called Drezvir, and what it was like. For that matter where it even was, and his knowledge of the galaxy was pretty good. "Gladly. Is he there?"

Dreen nodded, and Chett seated himself at the teleconferencing table.

Nevin saw a tall slender blond with boyish looks but at the moment he did not look boyish at all. High strung, he'd guess, stretched taught.

Nevin said, "Hello Chett. I've been hoping our paths would cross and I could both thank you for your help with Pendi Industries, and tell you I was impressed. I'm sorry it's taken so long, and it's under these circumstances. But you don't seem to be on planet much."

"Space flot," Chett agreed, relaxing some. Dreen was right. Nevin was easy to approach. "And now thoroughly dreading a 9 to 5 job and a desk."

Dreen's amused look made it clear he wasn't worried about Chett's objections, which reassured Nevin.

"So, Chett, I'll repeat the offer I made to Dreen. I don't know how I can help, but I'll do what I can. Dreen talks things over with me, and you're certainly welcome to. To be honest though, I don't like the implication you might not have access to Dreen." He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Drezvir is on the periphery, in the Farr sector," Chett said. "Does that clarify things?"

Nevin stared at Dreen. "I realize it's a little late now, but what the hell induced you to try an experimental system there?"

"Ari swore that the Mining Guild was autonomous."

"They thought so too until the Sector Judiciary showed up with troops," Chett added. "I just happened along shortly after that, then headed back here."

"How bad?"

"The reactor hall is a mess, they are on auxiliary power assuming Dellmaice Power Systems has it up - they implied they didn't earlier today, and it's in the dead of their winter. There were deaths in the mine because they're were fusing a wall when the power went."

Chett observed in a detached sort of way he was getting better at that recital with practice. His stomach didn't knot anymore.

"I see."

Nevin did. He totally avoided the Farr sector, not because his crews didn't do good work, but because it was easier to leave it to the firms that had evolved there and were used to the jurisprudence. Now he eyed Dreen with real concern.

"Dreen." Nevin stopped, not sure how much he could say in front of Chett. He tried obliquely, "Are you sure you can handle the implications emotionally?"

Their eyes met. It was the first time all day anyone had mentioned his brush with prison, but then not many here knew, and only Nevin had seen him go through it. Nemizcan had come later. He also suspected that behind the calm, quiet face Nevin was wondering how much it would count against him if worst came to worst. Dreen knew he was worried about that.

Nevin glanced at Chett, then back to Dreen in implicit question.

Yes. Dreen saw the questions coming into Chett's eyes. That was part of the history Chett had to have the full story on. From him.

"When I hired you Chett, I told you I got in trouble hacking and ended up doing service in the military in lieu of a sentence."

Chett nodded, forcing his tired brain to try to focus.

"That was true, but not complete." He was watching Chett 's face carefully. "They weren't stupid enough to hire a possibly malicious hacker no matter how hard the university pulled strings. So I was in prison for the months it took for a full psychiatric assessment. That tore me up."

He turned his focus to Nevin. "You're worried about that, aren't you?"

Chett was chewing his lip meditatively. If he'd known the full story, he just might have been able to win. Push things to a fight and get really dirty. Press the aspect of imprisonment hard. Well, it was too late now. As it was, he was starting to see the full risk Dreen was taking going there. The time in prison had to come out eventually.

Nevin asked, "So, can you handle it Dreen?"

"I'd better be able to, hadn't I?" Then, because he'd never lied to Nevin, "How the hell do I know? I'm scared, but I haven't a choice. I'm just focusing on putting my house in order here. Which is why I called you. And," Nevin had to know this, "part of why I am not just having Chett fill in for me. I've signed Nemizcan over to him."

That got a raised eyebrow, that was all. Then Chett was treated to a long appraising look.

Chett waited passively until Nevin was finished then he asked, "Do I pass?"

Nevin smiled. "I think you did that when you pitched in at Pendi Industries and didn't have to. What I was doing was reconciling the reality with the image I'd built up of you."

Chett nodded. He knew what Nevin meant. He had been doing the same thing. This Nevin wasn't much like the impression he'd formed from holocasts. He expected they would get along. Maybe.

Chett turned to Dreen. "I think there's one thing I had better go over with Nevin before he commits himself that we get along."

"What?" Dreen was totally blank.

"Ari," Chett said softly.

Oh. He'd never even thought of that. Dreen ran a hand over his face. What other slip-ups had he made today?

"It's all right Dreen," Chett said just as softly. "I'm making allowances for us both being exhausted. I just don't want to set your friend up."

Dreen nodded. "Thanks."

Nevin had no idea what that was about, but he liked the chemistry he saw. They seemed to be comfortable and support each other, and to almost mind read, like a good team should. That made him feel better about the handoff.

Chett turned to Nevin. "Don't think this in any way reduces my gratitude for your offer of support, but we have real problems if you're a friend of Ari Dellmaice's."

Nevin took his time thinking about that. At last he said, "I've know Ari for years. After all, all my mega structures use his power systems. I admire him. He's a good businessman. But friends - no, I actually couldn't say that. I suspect it's very hard to be Ari Dellmaice's friend. Why?"

"Because that son-of-a-bitch did his best to set Dreen and me up on this one, and once this is over, he's finished."

Nevin believed that Chett truly meant it, but he personally would not lay odds on the outcome of that kind of a confrontation. He expected they were well matched opponents.

He said neutrally, "And the reasons?"

Rather to his surprise it was Dreen who answered him with a set to his jaw that was very much like Oren's. "I'll give you twelve of them. It was that many days ago the reactor blew. Chett has dealt with their technical man handling the accident there, but that was only because he arrived on Drezvir unexpectedly. I personally had to call Ari today. And even then I had to use threats to get him to come out of a meeting. Think about how you'd like that Nevin - if somewhere there was a serious problem with a power system in a megacity you built, possibly due to your construction, and Ari tried to cover it up and didn't call you. And think about what those days - more if Chett hadn't lucked out - could mean to proving innocence if the Farr Sector Judiciary gets in a hurry to charge someone."

Nevin did, and he didn't like it.

He turned to Chett. "Are you using Nemizcan resources?"

Dreen said grimly, "He's more than welcome to."

But Chett shook his head. "That would be a dangerous dilution when it will be a very long time before we can be sure this is truly over, even if Dreen looks clean. I'll go to Hoffner."

Nevin nodded. "Well, I can't pretend I like what I'm hearing, but I appreciate your situation. And," he smiled a small grave smile, "thanks for the warning. I'd better start thinking of alternates to Dellmaice Power Systems for power for my ventures."

Chett shook his head. "This is personal - Ari and me. A lot of good people work at Dellmaice Power Systems. I want control, and Dellmaice out on his ass, and then he can watch someone else run his empire."

Vindictive creature, aren't you? Nevin thought. Still, fair enough. It wasn't his fight and he wouldn't say anything more about it until he'd done a lot more research. "Well, he won't hear about it from me."

Chett grinned. "That's all right. He already has from me. You see," he elaborated at the obvious confusion on Nevin's face, "besides cutting us out, he wasn't focusing on Drezvir. I used it as a threat - focus or else - and threw him enough financial analysis he knows I'm not bluffing." He shrugged. "If he's stupid enough to think jumping will help, that's his problem."

Nevin knew Ari was not stupid. "Isn't that a dangerous game Chett?" he asked bluntly. "He could equally well decide to turn the Drezvir accident against you and just cut his losses. Leave the blame to you and move on."

Chett shook his head. "He literally can't afford to. He will come out this quarter with a stock derating by the major brokerages, and if he loses the Mining Guild contract for royalties on future units the derating will be more than one level down. He has to come out of this smelling like a rose, and there are way too many documents showing he's the one who brought us in. So we have to smell like a rose too. I think he was literally just hoping the problem would go away."

Nevin was unconvinced, but it wasn't the time to argue something that might not even happen. Dreen had a flight to catch.

"Well, I think this is the point to wish you well Dreen, and say I won't keep you. I'll just ask you one last question. How is your mother taking this?"

Dreen looked uncomfortable. "I haven't told her yet. I was going to call from the spaceport."

"Dreen. That isn't good enough!"

Dreen's jaw set. "Was I supposed to call her this morning when I didn't know how things would go and have her worry all day?"

Nevin sighed and nodded reluctant agreement. Gemma had been vulnerable since Oren had died. "Dreen, how about I call her, and have my driver go pick her and my wife up and we'll all see you off at the spaceport? You have to give her a chance to say goodbye."

It was exactly what Dreen had hoped to avoid. "Thank you, Nevin. It's very kind of you." He thought about saying 'you needn't bother' but it wouldn't work. Instead he said, "I'm sorry. I don't know where they have the Allegro. I've got a loan from Joran."

"We'll find it."

Chett had honestly not even thought about Dreen's mother - or his own family for that matter if he'd been the one going back. But now that he thought about it, he was inclined to side with Nevin. He liked Gemma. She was a shy, kind, reticent woman and whenever he was in town for more than a week or so made a point of inviting him out to the house in the country for the day. He always enjoyed that. Sometimes he tended to forget what anything but cities and spaceports were like. To entertain him she usually put him to work helping her with something or other in her greenhouse, which was very relaxing, and she always tactfully never mentioned the plants he'd probably killed on the visit before.

Now he made what he thought was a useful suggestion to ease the farewells. "Dreen. Why don't you take any of the holograms of Mitra that Gemma hasn't seen? She has to be excited about her future daughter-in-law."

By the look that got him from Dreen, Dreen hadn't even told Gemma, and he definitely did not see this as a way of improving the situation. Nevin however perked up immediately.

"Now, what's this little secret?" he asked Dreen brightly. Then, as it became obvious Dreen was totally preoccupied with just exactly what he'd say to Chett in private later for that creative contribution, Nevin shifted his attention to Chett. "Well?"

Dreen waited to see how thoroughly Chett embarrassed him.

But all Chett did was say, "That's the personal reason why Dreen is going and we're calling you, rather than still having a nasty little scrap over whose responsibility it is. Dreen bowed out of the Drezvir project before the reactor was chosen, so he never got to know the project engineer. But Mitra headed for Gingezel for a little R and R after the Drezvir project and met Dreen and -" Chett smiled and shrugged.

"Mitra?" Nevin prompted.

"Mitra Kael."

Nevin turned back to Dreen with a beam. "Not Chelan's girl?"

"That's right," Chett answered for a speechless Dreen. "Mitra's parents are Chelan and Roween - the biophysicist. I think her father is an academic of some kind."

Nevin's smile was delighted. "Chett's right. Gemma will be just thrilled. She always thought Chelan was a dear, but Roween intimidated her even then. But Dreen, why haven't you told her?"

Dreen ignored that question and asked one of his own, "Are you telling me you and mother know Mitra?"

And here I've been searching the galaxy for her. Dreen looked at Chett, just daring him to mention that point. But Chett had obviously decided this little venture into family dynamics was a mixed success at best, and he'd dried up. So Dreen's mind moved on to the next question. Where the hell did this fiancée bit come from? His memory of Chett's arrival was hazy from the shock, but he'd swear he told Lindy he'd been going to propose. Not had. Not had been accepted.

Nevin answered with a regretful shake of his head. "Not Mitra. She wasn't born until Chelan and Roween were back on Plenata. They had a cute little boy, Niki, though. He was a few years older than you. Mm," he tried to remember back, "I think you had just reached the terrible twos." Nevin smiled. "I remember Chelan used to tell Niki these long involved stories about ancient cities, and you'd crawl up on his lap and listen to every word. I have no idea if you understood.

"Our paths recrossed a few years ago and I caught up on news. That's when he said Mitra was at Dellmaice Power Systems."

Dreen nodded, not much the wiser, but sure he'd hear more about it at the spaceport. And now he was feeling pressed for time. "Can you tell me the rest at the spaceport, Nevin? We're due at a company meeting at 4:00."

"Of course. Will I meet you there Chett?"

Chett shook his head. "Sorry. I think I've got a very late night here, then I'll crash at Lindy's."

"I'll call you for supper in a few days then, unless you need me before then. I'll make sure you have priority access on your calls, and my secretary will make sure Arla has my schedule."

A nice man. "Thank you," Chett said sincerely.

*****

Chapter 55

It was five minutes to four, and pretty well everyone was in the big meeting hall on the third floor of the Nemizcan Computing building. A few were seated, but most were standing around in groups and talking in subdued voices trying to piece together what was going on. Depending on where they worked and how good their connections were they had varying subsets of the following information:

\- the prognosis for Rodd Turpene was not good. His surgery had apparently been as routine as brain surgery ever was, but he had lapsed into a coma and not come out yet.

\- Dreen had been back for twelve days now, and his temper had deteriorated daily. It'd reached the point where everyone, including Lindy, was avoiding him.

\- Lindy's temper was pretty much on a par with Dreen's. She made no secret of the fact he was putting her through at least the fifth draft of an R and D summary document that he had suddenly decided the company needed, after never having had one before. She also let it be known that she would have humored him through two drafts on the grounds of Rodd making him feel mortal, but five was beyond paranoia, she was furious, and stay out of her way.

\- five minutes after the start of the working day, Gali called from Gingezel, lost his temper, and hung up on Dreen. (You had to have an in with Arla to know about Gali hanging up on Dreen. Dreen had left the door open talking, and Arla had eavesdropped.)

\- about five minutes later Dreen visited Lindy's office, then called Evrit.

\- while Dreen was talking to Evrit, Lindy called Gali. Lindy then called Joran by way of Bojo.

\- Lindy and Dreen were then closeted in his office. They had been there about 15 minutes when Chett had arrived. He did not, as was his usual form and would certainly have been expected now, go to the Marketing VP office and check in with Celise who doubled as his assistant when he was at H.O. He went straight to Dreen's office and Dreen, Chett, and Lindy were closeted behind closed doors.

\- Chett and Lindy left Dreen's office and had another long closed-door conference in hers.

\- from there they finally went to see Celise. There was a short discussion in Celise's office and they all returned to Dreen's.

\- Chett and Dreen then had a roughly half hour conference while Lindy and Celise cooled their heels talking to Arla.

\- during the time Chett and Dreen were together a call was made to the company lawyers.

\- Freidri in Systems Engineering received instructions from Dreen that he was to assemble all of the necessary parts, plus certain spares for a hub hyperweb installation. He was told to upload and install some of the beta version Gingezel Ultrasecure Hyperweb software on it.

\- the company expediter was told that if all of this was not through customs and on the Allegro, not the Exec, by 4:00 PM he was in deep trouble. He was also told that if anyone found out it was the Allegro, not the Exec, he was fired. No one took that last part seriously. That was the usual threat where Joran was concerned and they all operated on the assumption only talk outside Nemizcan counted as talking.

\- Lindy and Celise joined Dreen and Chett.

\- Dreen sent for the Drezvir design team. They spent a little over an hour in his office. They came out, walked down the hall to the tiny executive boardroom, went in and shut the door. En route they didn't so much as make eye contact with anyone.

\- Celise returned to her office. You didn't try to get gossip out of Celise.

\- a call was then made to a number temporarily on the local exchange, assigned to Jon Melcrist.

\- except for whatever was going on in Dreen's office and calls to the lawyers, there was now a lull in activity until a group leader eventually decided to go looking for two of his analysts who had walked out and had never come back. It took a while to find them, since, and this was rare, no one was answering calls up in Dreen's suite. When, rather cross by now, he walked into the board room he was told curtly by Jann to turn himself around, get out, shut the door and not come back. The only information he gleaned from this exchange was that everyone was dictating for all they were worth into their compads except Philomena, who seemed to be on a crying jag and was reduced to typing.

\- Dreen made a sealed beam call to Dellmaice Power Systems, Pendrae.

\- Freidri was then told to make a major change and partition the hyperweb system. This was fifteen minutes before the expediter was due to pick it up. If you thought that Dreen and Lindy were hazards to avoid the last two days, it was a bad idea to even be on the same floor as Freidri.

\- thanks to the changes, the expediter arrived at transport twenty five minutes late. They said they thought they knew his full vocabulary. They were wrong.

\- Chett and Dreen visited Celise.

\- at precisely 3:30, a general announcement was made to politely ease visitors out, saying that all non Nemizcan staff would be going home at 3:45, and that at 3:50 the visitor check in and call routing center would be shut down and the building doors would be locked. At 4:00 there would be a general meeting and all employees were to attend - no excuses.

\- Chett and Dreen returned to his office and called Nevin Pennell.

-at 3:35 Lindy gave last-minute instructions to the catering staff and ensured that indeed all contract employees really would be out of the building by 3:45.

\- at 3:40 Lindy called the call routing center and informed them that as of 3:50 the only incoming calls were to be from Ari Dellmaice, the expediter, the spaceport authorities preparing the Allegro, Jon Melcrist's temporary number, the planet Drezvir, and local civil authorities responsible for evacuations. As Nemizcan was sited just on the edge of a heavy industrial zone and they had been through two evacuations already, Lindy wasn't pushing her luck any further today.

\- Lindy then informed the call routing center than they were to record a message for all other incoming calls that due to computer and technical difficulties Nemizcan was unable to take any calls and to please try again on the next business day. When it was politely suggested to her that this might not be the best message for a computing company to post, Lindy said she was flat out of ideas and that they had five minutes to come up with a better one and clear it with her - otherwise post it. They couldn't and posted the message.

Whatever subset of facts they had, everyone was reaching the same conclusion. They weren't going to like this meeting.

*****

Chapter 56

"All right Dreen, we all understand you. But what happens if things go sour?" The question was from Freidri. Freidri had not heard a word to improve the foul mood he'd been in since that last minute request to partition the hyperweb unit.

The question had to come. Dreen didn't want it to, and he didn't want to answer it, but it had to come. He consoled himself with the fact he had guessed right. He figured there were about five employees with the nerve to ask, and Freidri had been right at the top of his list. He looked at the jutting chin, the still clear blue eyes, and the graying reddish blond curls. For Freidri life didn't have many gray zones or compromises.

"I'd like to think that won't happen, Freidri."

"So do we all, but yesterday none of us saw this coming either. What if worst comes to worst?"

"What is the worst that's worrying you?" Dreen knew, but he wanted it said in Freidri's uncompromising style.

The chin jutted out a little further. "You end up in jail, or maybe worse still, embroiled in an endless lawsuit, and Rodd stays a vegetable."

There were visible winces and a few audible gasps at that. Then you couldn't even hear breathing.

"Freidri, I have complete faith in the team that did the Drezvir design, and Rodd is a fighter." That had to be said, but both he and Freidri knew that was no guarantee of anything.

"You're dodging, Dreen!" Freidri gave him an uncompromising glare.

"No." Dreen found he could actually meet Freidri's eyes calmly. "But you're asking the wrong man, aren't you?"

Glancing to where Chett was seated between Lindy and Celise, Dreen found he had no reservations. There was no twinge in his stomach telling him he was making the mistake of his life, no sign Chett wanted out at the last minute.

Chett was to all appearances relaxed, legs stretched out, apparently as content to listen as he had been at the outset of the meeting. It was a posture that on sight had knotted the stomachs of all of the hub managers that had picked up the feed during working hours. The ones that had been dragged out of bed by their night staff had already been in a cold sweat before they got an image.

"Are you saying that if things go sour, Chett stays running Nemizcan?"

This time Dreen took more than a quick glance at Chett. Chett, this is your last chance to back out. He got an imperceptible nod. "That's right. He's agreed to, and I wouldn't have signed control over I didn't have total confidence in him."

Chett listened to this final, to him irrevocable, commitment with a rather peculiar sense of detachment. Not exactly shock. That had come in Lindy's office when he'd first thought the situation out. Not numb resignation. More a sense of waiting, with the first hints of excitement, like just before reading the first page of a crucial exam, or before stepping onto the playing field for the final game.

"And what about below Chett?"

"That's up to him, but I did give him two guidelines." Dreen did not want to dilute Chett's authority, but he did not want needless worrying either. "His arrangements on the hubs are up to him, but I've asked that as long as there is the slightest chance of Rodd's recovery, Celise's appointment be temporary. I want Rodd to know he comes back at the top if he wants to." He looked straight at Freidri. "You'd want to know the same thing about your job if it was you."

This was met with general assent. "But even if Rodd does recover, he and Hannah may be rethinking priorities. If so, he may want to come in lower down and take it easy, or even retire. So on the marketing side things may stay loose indefinitely.

"The R and D side is trickier. We all know I've never been good at handing it off there. Lindy will do a good job in the short term. But I think it would be best there to split administrative and technical planning functions in the long term. Keep Lindy as VP running the administration. But as for the top person on the R&D planning -" Dreen shrugged. He truly didn't know.

"You've advised Chett to go outside then," Freidri said bluntly and not at all pleased.

"Not a chance!" That misinterpretation shocked Dreen into equal bluntness. "In the first place I didn't build this place to give it on a platter to some stranger. In the second place, I don't think anyone outside would understand the way we work."

He knew most of his competition personally and while he liked and admired many of them, there wasn't one he wanted near Nemizcan. And as well as the ones he approved of, there were some real SOB's too.

Dreen's eyes swept the crowd. "There are at least half a dozen of you that could perfectly well replace me. Where I haven't the slightest idea is how Chett would decide who it would be." He smiled. "I suppose if it comes down to that, it would be a matter of volunteers and consensus, but don't get in a hurry. I'm not about to hand off the long term R and D until I have to."

Freidri ignored this. "Come on Dreen. In-house we all know Gali is the inevitable choice. He's been plateaued at the top for years. It's the only way he can go and we all know he's unhappy."

This was also a problem for Freidri, Dreen knew. His progress was stuck under Gali. Not that he was suffering other than psychologically. Dreen paid both of them more than he paid himself, and well above what they would get anywhere else now that he could afford to do that. Nevin's early advice of hire the best and keep them happy was well ingrained by now. Dreen also knew that Freidri was shifting into his worry things mode, and when he did that he could waste hours, hours Dreen had absolutely no intention of spending.

He said firmly, "Freidri, I have absolutely no intention of discussing the hypothetical case of who would replace me, because I intend to keep it hypothetical. As for Gali, he, not you, makes his career decisions for him. But there's one thing to set straight. I know as well as you that Gali was bored, but he's made a lateral move to software development."

"Riding herd on your hackers for you." Freidri was dismissive.

"No." Dreen was curt. "He and Brys have made the case for one of the most innovative software developments project we've seen in years. I've given them full authorization to take it to the proof of principle level. At that point we - Chett," he kept thinking he was doing things, "will assess the feasibility \- which by the way looks very good now. Assuming it's a go, then he will assign the resources for finishing the job. Gali will be the main coder. Brys hasn't the experience to pull this size piece of software together. She'll focus on a few key algorithms. In addition, another equally important new project is on the horizon - an idea Evrit has. It may take even more manpower and innovation."

This almost shut Freidri up, but not quite. "But Gali hasn't coded for years."

This was said more cautiously. Freidri had the feeling he was treading on dangerous ground. If Dreen knew him, he knew Dreen just as well. He'd hired on in the second wave of Nemizcan employees, in time to help define the hardware lab and equipment assembly requirements for this building.

"That's right Freidri." And I'll kill any potential criticism or lack of support for Gali right now and save Lindy a lot of trouble. "But the entire younger crowd here have used the classic graduate textbook where he wrote two chapters on computing techniques for numerical analysis."

Dreen mentally thanked Evrit for putting him straight on the fact the book, and therefore Gali, were classic. It seemed convenient now, not insulting and dating as it had seemed only earlier this morning.

Dreen continued, "And you know perfectly well that it was years after you joined us before Gali shifted from software design to much system work. He made that shift because system work interested him. Now software does. That's the way it goes here, right Freidri?"

Definitely dangerous ground. Freidri nodded.

But Dreen wasn't finished. "But you and I are different generation Freidri. Do you remember way back when the military came up with that first hyperweb-stable trace to locate hackers?" Dreen asked blandly.

Very dangerous ground. Freidri was one of the handful that knew part of Dreen's secret. He kept his mouth firmly shut and nodded.

"Well, that was just a challenge for hackers to dodge the trace, wasn't it? Gali wrote one of the first dodges." Dreen wondered idly if Gali would be furious at this coming out, but the whole staff on Gingezel knew by now anyways. And this idea should work.

"Gali was a hacker?"

This was Loana Sirken, a thirtyish midrange programmer. She had a real mane of rich brown hair, golden skin, and was in some complicated way a cousin to Philomena. As far as Dreen could tell she was halfway between astonishment and incredulity. He lets his focus shift her.

"That's right Loana. He and Brys have been comparing notes. With his knowledge of the handshakes used between equipment at various links on the hyperweb for communication protocols, and her, err, experience," Dreen saw that bring a twitch of amusement to Loana's lips, "they think they can develop an algorithm to make it impossible to dodge a trace."

That brought a whistle from somewhere, and Dreen scanned the crowd, but he couldn't find who it was. The reaction though was the one he had hoped for. Everyone on the programming side was starting to think about how you'd do it, and the systems crew were obviously trying to see where handshakes between equipment could come into it. He gave it a count of five.

"Okay! Everybody! Lindy only took this job because I promised her the R & D side was stable. We're going to keep it that way, okay? No mass exodus to help out Gali. Current projects get priority. But," and he was smiling, "anyone who makes what Gali considers a significant contribution to the problem gets an extra week's vacation," he paused, "on Gingezel."

That broke the silence. There were general mutters in the 'all right' zone. Dreen knew it was pure opportunism on his part, but it wasn't a bad idea. Or at least he hoped it wasn't as bad an idea as it had been with Brys. Shit! He should have thought of that before opening his mouth. That fiasco almost ended up with a sexual harassment lawsuit when she thought that there were strings attached to the generosity, and he was procuring for Joran. Dreen firmly put that disastrous night out of his mind. Surely the staff here was more sophisticated than Brys?

Anyway, it was one hell of a lot better if everyone was all fired up and sneaking in some overtime for Gali than sitting around worrying. He turned to Chett and got a smile and a thumbs-up from the hand the crowd couldn't see. This was probably as good a note to close on as he'd get. It was time to get out of here.

***

"Excuse me, Dr. Pendi, sir?"

The voice came from the second to last row but it took a moment to locate the speaker. It was a young man from data management, slight build, dark hair, fair skin, dreamy eyes. Dreen was pretty sure he entered marketing statistics, the computing equivalent of routine secretarial work. All you had to do was be able to talk or type and use a couple programs.

"Yes?"

"Is the competition only open to professional staff?"

Brys. He was another Brys. Dreen kept his voice neutral. "Not necessarily. Why?" Dreen was desperately trying to dredge up the young man's name.

"I've -" He swallowed. It had pretty much taken all his nerve to interrupt the company president. No, that was wrong. The other man was president now. He tried again. "I've written a dodge of my own. But I've never thought of how the dodge might be used against itself as it were. It might be fun."

There was a real sparkle in his eyes as he said the last. Brys, Dreen thought. Another Brys, sitting here all day boring himself silly entering data. Dreen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Steady, he told himself. You're jumping to conclusions. He gave memory one more try. Dark hair, fair complexion, even features, slight build. Nothing memorable but those blue eyes. No name came.

Dreen said casually, "I'm very sorry, but I don't remember your name. I know you're in data management and have been here a little over three years, but your name isn't coming to me."

"Vennbir Kaladay, sir." Vennbir was surprised Dreen even knew where he worked.

"Well Vennbir, I'd like to have a little talk with you. It should be in the privacy of my office but I'm leaving from here to the spaceport. Do you mind if I have it here and now?" Dreen had no intention of letting this hacker slip away, and he equally had no intention of returning to his office where Freidri or someone else could corner him.

"What ever you'd like, sir."

Vennbir obviously did mind, but equally obviously did not consider his feelings in the matter relevant.

"All right," Dreen said, "here's how this is going to go. By what you said, I'm assuming you're a hacker of sorts." Oh galaxy, if you wrote your own dodge, even if it reproduces an existing one, do you know how good you are? He looked at the young guileless face and doubted it. "From my perspective there is no particular harm in being a hacker, unless it's done maliciously. A lot of people have a shot at it. But it's a funny sort of game, because if you're good at it you don't get rewarded. You have the possibility of ending up in prison. Now, I'd like to know how good you are, and I assure you no harm will come from my knowing.

"But this is a public place and I'd just as soon the majority of the people here have no idea what you've been up to. So I'm going to ask you some questions about dodges that will let me know if you reproduced a known one, or if it's a new one. That way you and I'll both also know what database or site you tried to crack. But they'll be very specific questions - nothing anyone but another hacker would understand."

Dreen looked around the part of the room where the majority of his coders were sitting. "And if any of you understands what we're talking about, we're going to have a nice little chat sometime about why I don't know about your hacking already." Dreen didn't seriously expect to find anyone. They would have tried his challenge for work on the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb.

Dreen turned his attention to Vennbir. "I know the common dodges. Stop me if I hit the one your using. If you have one I don't know about, just say so when I'm finished - don't say what it is okay?"

Blessing Brys for her recent lessons, Dreen started working through the common trace dodges, cryptically mentioning a key feature of each dodge. He got head shakes on the first three, a yes on the fourth.

"I hope you aren't offended that your dodge isn't unique. I'll tell you now though, you wrote one of the trickiest." That got him wide blue eyes and a smile. "Now you and I both know where you've been playing." It was the database for the Interstellar Stock Traders. "Now let's see how far you got in." Dreen thought for a minute, then suppressed a smile.

"Let's say I'm past the third level of security and I give this command." He quoted a macro. He was watching for any subtle change in expression, but the effect wasn't subtle. Vennbir was shaking from suppressed laughter.

Dreen caught his eye. "Let's make one thing clear. That wasn't my idea. That's from a, shall we say 'friend', with a slightly twisted sense of humor. Tell me what happens, not -" he raised a warning hand as Vennbir was about to speak, "in general terms. Tell me in terms of fields in the database what happens without saying what the fields do."

There was no hesitation. "You're going to scramble the fourth field and delete the seventh."

Vennbir knew it was rude to be laughing like this with Dr. Pendi watching, but he couldn't help it. Scramble the fourth field and the identifiers for the traders on each transaction got scrambled. Delete the seventh field, and the links to the associated trades were gone, and there was literally no way to re-create the data short of reentering every piece of data. As a security measure the traders never stored trade-trade information in a simple pattern. They used a semi-random number generator to create the encryption key and the seventh field allowed you to reproduce the links if you had the key. No seventh field, no reproduction. With their volume of trades, depending on how backups were done, it looked like some poor guys like him would probably be working double shift for ages.

Dreen took a fast look at the rest of his coders. Three had surprised him by following the early part of the discussion. He'd lost two now. One was still with him, and it would have to be Klarak, wouldn't it? Damn. Dreen put that aside for now.

"Vennbir."

"Yes sir?"

"Why didn't you try my challenge for the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb - or did you and you couldn't crack it?" And please tell the truth.

The smile was wiped out. "I was trying, sir, but you mounted it just before midterm at the online college I was taking courses from." His head went up and his shoulders unconsciously squared. Vennbir wiped a lock of fine hair from his forehead. "I'm trying to upgrade to a degree so I can apply for the company training program."

Chett knew that look, and the way Vennbir was studiously not looking at the high-priced help that Dreen tended to hire for R & D. Without even looking at Vennbir's files, he would bet Vennbir hired on straight out of school and that the college he was using wasn't great. You had to start at the very bottom sometimes, and it took a long time to get far from the bottom. He knew that game. Chett's interest sharpened.

Vennbir continued, "There were three heavy assignments all at once, two days before the competition closed. I couldn't risk my status." He looked straight at Dreen. "So I guess I couldn't crack it." You didn't make excuses for yourself. He'd said too much already, but he didn't want Dr. Pendi to think he hadn't tried.

Oh Vennbir, Dreen thought. Talk about mixed up priorities. Crack that challenge code, and you'd be on Gingezel and enrolled in the university of your choice, if you wanted that. Brys hadn't.

*****

Chapter 57

Oh Vennbir, Chett thought. What absolutely rotten luck. But what else could you do? At the very first you can't take risks. You have to consolidate every millimeter of progress you make.

"Do you think you could crack the challenge if I repost it?" Dreen asked.

"Sir?" It was incredulous. And then Vennbir was beaming. "Yes sir!" Vennbir had thought a lot in the last couple years about how he could have made more progress than he had, and even when the challenge was posted he'd been sure he had the solution. But now that solution was elegant.

"Good. You have three days starting the end of work tonight. One to remember what you were doing, and the two you didn't get. And no shirking your work here either - it's on your own time."

Dreen had no doubt the second trial would go faster. He scanned the R & D crowd and caught the eye he wanted. "Repost the challenge before you go home please."

The man nodded and Dreen moved on to his next problem. The three surprise in-house hackers.

He turned to Lindy. "It looks to me like I have three of my R & D staff that I'll have to talk to once I'm settled in on Drezvir. Do you know who I mean?"

"Oh yes." That had been rather interesting.

"Then set up the interviews, will you?"

Chett started to unwind himself out of his chair. "I'll handle this for you, Dreen," he said lazily. "Let me just make sure in private I have the right faces." He started to head at an unhurried pace for the privacy zone of the stage where there were no cameras or sound pickup. As he passed Dreen, he asked casually, "Was that gibberish you were talking really funny?"

Dreen grinned. He suspected that Chett would find it hilarious. "Ask Vennbir."

"Good idea." Chett stopped and turned. "Vennbir, how about coffee in my office tomorrow morning?"

Vennbir swallowed. He was getting in deeper by the minute.

"Yes sir."

"Can the sir. I don't like it any better than Dreen does. I'm Chett. And who is your line manager?" He had no idea.

A woman in her late twenties stood up. "I am, Beth Grey." She hesitated then added, "Chett."

He smiled approval at that. "I'm sorry that I don't know everyone's name and position, but I will by the end of the week."

He would too. Chett intended to spend the majority of the time it would take Dreen to get to Drezvir doing just that. Chett had learned from his first unhappy little company that no one calms down until the boss isn't a stranger, and he doubted anyone was going to go home even vaguely calm tonight. He'd also had plenty of chances with the hubs to experiment with all of the little tricks that helped people be more than names and faces to him.

"Right now Beth, can I ask you to be in my office ten minutes before Vennbir to go over his file, and please assume he isn't back at work tomorrow until he gets there."

The woman nodded and sat back down. Chett transferred his attention back to Vennbir who looked like he was seriously considering coming down with a virus and fever by morning. Maybe he'd scared the young man by moving too fast. Chett knew some people reacted to him that way.

"Relax Vennbir. You haven't done anything wrong. I'll be reviewing everyone's file in the next day or so. You just caught my interest by talking to Dreen."

Vennbir was not at all convinced. At least Dr. Pendi was a known quantity. Other than hello once or twice in a hallway, he'd never spoken to him, but Dr. Pendi was around. This man was a total stranger, and he expected him to come to his office to talk. What was his office anyways? Dr. Pendi's old one?

Chett was watching Vennbir, but he was also watching the hacker who had known what Dreen and Vennbir were talking about. He was obviously enjoying seeing the upstart ending up in a position where he was now squirming.

Chett continued in a soft clear voice, "You see Vennbir, I think you're like me."

That got him a puzzled look, but Vennbir had obviously decided he wasn't opening his mouth again, thank you.

It was a good time to end a lot of speculation with everyone here. "I started out getting a technician's diploma from a B-grade college. We chose it because it was the cheapest in the city my family lived in, and it was close enough there wouldn't be any rent because I could live at home. I was lucky. It was only about an hour's fast walk, so that was my exercise and I saved on transit in the mornings. After class there wasn't time to walk - I was always holding down any job I could because we needed the money. Usually it was manual labor, dirty stuff they couldn't robotocize so it paid well." Chett expected quite a few were trying to reconcile that image to his designer suit.

"My first job when I graduated was assembling and testing at the lowest possible level at Tranus Dynamics. Dead boring - hands for what robots couldn't do. But it gave me lots of time to think and learn, and within eighteen months they didn't have a thing I couldn't take apart and put back together." He shrugged. "And the rest ..."

The range of expressions this history got was interesting enough Chett decided to keep going. "I worked up through the ranks until I was president of a small subsidiary. Tranus Dynamics had acquired it during a takeover, and it was having trouble. A lot of the management had walked, and the company didn't really fit the Tranus Dynamics profile. The parent company they had acquired with the takeover had integrated well, but I was told when I took over the subsidiary that if it couldn't be turned around in six months they'd dump it."

He turned to Freidri. "For your benefit, I didn't go outside for talent. There were still plenty of competent people at various levels. It was mostly a case of reorganizing, winning back the clients they had lost, and showing a positive bottom line. But once we got things under control, it seemed a good idea to develop at least one product that was important to Tranus Dynamics itself. It would make Tranus Dynamics a lot for less likely to keep thinking about dumping us every time they had a cash flow problem themselves.

"We didn't have the resources to do anything major, but after a lot of long meetings and even longer coffee breaks we decided that we could make a small reliability improvement on one of the couplings Tranus Dynamics was buying from another company and using for hyperlinking. Since Tranus Dynamics bought them, they would be glad to vertically integrate the product. Also, there was a fair market to sell to outside Tranus Dynamics. But if we went to the trouble and expense of gearing up, we needed to stay ahead of that other company." He caught Freidri's eyes. "So there I did have to hire out. We got a bright young post doc and she's still there, running that aspect of R & D such as it is.

"And that," Chett shrugged again, "brings me to here. Because that's how I met Dreen, and Gali, and you Freidri, and the rest of you." He aimed a general smile at the crowd. "Because we came here with a sample of that improved component. It needed hyperspatial testing, and you have the links and a large enough dedicated system to care about that small reliability win. And you were willing to assist with a test."

That cleared the confusion from a lot of faces. But a handful were still distinctly unhappy, and Freidri led that lot. Chett didn't want the bad mood to have all night to brew. The ones he didn't know, he couldn't help, but he suspected he knew Freidri's problem. Freidri was a hardware man, and as far as he was concerned, Chett may have been once, but now he was strictly a management type in a pretty suit. Dreen didn't seem to be getting the fidgets too bad waiting, so Chett decided to give it one last try.

He shifted his gaze back to Vennbir. "It's funny how some of those early things you learn you never forget. I've never thought about it, but there must be STC-1027s down in the basement here, and at all of the hubs to shift to emergency power." He shifted his gaze back to Freidri raising an eyebrow. He got a suspicious nod of confirmation. "I did assembly of those units as my first line job, then later on I did their QA. When I was on Drezvir a very nice lady called Martine was blowing an STC-1027 about every forty five minutes trying to bring additional power on line."

Chett suspected this was probably the first time Martine had been called a very nice lady. She had no doubt had complementary descriptions like smart, competent, and from Tranngol sexy, but never that particular one. Chett meant it though. He liked her, and her hands on her hips way of losing her temper.

"She was trying to come online way off the spec - no choice. So I decided to try to help out and see what I remembered. I showed her what she was fusing, so she could try to give the units a softer ride, then unpacked a whole wall full of crates of the damned things. About one in ten used to end up over spec and still does." Chett smiled with real pride. "I found I could still spot them and I singled the good ones out. And I found three pieces of absolute crap they should never have shipped."

That got a nod of grudging respect from Freidri. He volunteered, "I've had the same complaint with Tranus Dynamics lately. Their QA is slipping."

Chett nodded, satisfied. He turned to Dreen with an apologetic smile. "You were going to confirm if I spotted the right hackers?"

They stepped into the privacy zone. This was going to have to be fast, or everyone would tense up again. At the same time, Chett knew this sort of issue had to be seen to be handed off to him.

"Is Vennbir another Brys?"

Dreen nodded.

"Even if he doesn't make the challenge?"

"He will," Dreen said with certainty. "I just reposted it to be seen to play fair."

It was Chett's turn to nod.

Before he could ask his next question, Dreen had one of his own. "Why the sudden self revelation?" Chett was usually very reticent about his past.

"To save everyone's time checking up on me." Chett grinned. "And to give us a fighting chance that some work gets done tomorrow. After all, until now they've just seen me as the hubs' problem. Now I'm theirs."

His smile disappeared and he added, "But mostly I was trying to take the smirk at Vennbir's expense off Mr. Hacker With An Attitude Problem's face."

Oh oh. "You didn't manage."

"I noticed. The other two first. One was the woman you called Loana earlier. She got lost early on. Harmless?"

"Totally. Her full name is a Loana Sirken, and she would just be having fun."

Chett nodded. "Next sitting two away from her. Stocky guy in a lurid green sweater. Followed a bit further."

Dreen nodded. "Jim Ushnel. He's a surprise, not a problem. I didn't know he was that creative, that's all."

"Then there's Mr. Attitude Problem. Center aisle, fifth row, two in, expensive suit. Dark hair with an expensive cut to go with the suit."

Dreen nodded. "Klarak Vorth."

"He's good?"

"Very." Dreen deliberately kept his face neutral at the flicker of disappointment on Chett's face at his answer.

"As good as he thinks?"

"No one could be that good," Dreen said dryly.

There was just something in Dreen's tone. Chett asked, "More trouble than he's worth?"

"Frequently."

"Good." Chett was still half missing the fight he'd geared up for. "Let's go."

As Dreen followed him back to the center of the stage and continued to his chair, he wondered if Mr. Attitude Problem, as Chett called Klarak, realized how close he was to making a serious mistake. He also wondered in a detached, disoriented sort of way if he cared. He decided he didn't. He was getting incredibly tired. All he wanted to do was to be on the Allegro. Chett was welcome to any problems he wanted to tackle.

***

As he went past Lindy, Chett announced cheerfully, "Got them right." Then he faced the crowd. "Okay. First, a policy statement. Vennbir, my three hackers, Brys, Evrit, and Gali, and any as yet un-discovered talent at the hubs, pay attention. There will be no more hacking until Drezvir is sorted out. Period. No excuses, no sneaking. I do not need that kind of potential problem on top of trying to support Dreen. Understood?" He looked at Vennbir, who nodded seriously.

"Gali," Chett spoke to the cameras, "you're responsible for Brys and Evrit. And at the hubs -" he smiled, "I doubt there's anyone there stupid enough to be tempted to cross me on something like this. But if there is, the hub manager goes as well as the hacker. Which brings me to the three individuals here who can stay unnamed."

He caught Loana's eyes. "Any problem?" By the wide-eyed, embarrassed confusion, Chett guessed she'd never thought of her amusement as a potential problem. She shook her head seriously, and he got a very audible 'no problem', which got Loana stares from the immediate vicinity. As Dreen said, harmless, and rather cute. His gaze moved on to the stocky man. He simply quirked an eyebrow and got a curt nod. They would get along fine.

It was Mr. Attitude Problem's turn. Their eyes met and Chett got a casual nod, and an infinitely superior expression that said 'how the hell would you know what I'm doing anyway.'

Chett said in a soft, almost casual voice, "I'm not totally sure you understand me. I'm dead serious. I don't give a damn how good you think you are. There won't be any risks of legal problems, not now. And don't bother to nod when we both know you aren't buying in."

The superior expression only changed slightly. There was a bit more contempt in the mix.

Chett's face hardened. "All right. It's your choice. But you're not going home until we decide if we can work together. Lindy, I want the file called up on my desk by the time I'm back in my office. I'll need twenty minutes to review it." He looked hard at Klarak Voroth. "I strongly suggest you spend those twenty minutes deciding just how much you have to pack on your desk, and whether or not you want your friends to find that desk empty in the morning."

That brought a surge of anger to Klarak Voroth's face. His eyes went past Chett to Dreen, where they met with passive indifference. When they returned to Chett there was a noticeable drop in the self-confidence.

"Having a little trouble remembering who runs things now?" Chett asked. "That could be a mistake."

He turned to Dreen who was noticeably fading. With the exhaustion on his face and the graying hair, Chett suddenly realized how Dreen would look in his late 60s. He said briskly, "I'm sorry that took a little longer than I thought, but the rest won't keep you long."

Hang in there Dreen. "I like the idea of the R and D competition, but it leaves Marketing, and the hubs out in the cold. I'm going to extend the competition to them. Anyone who comes up with a really useful suggestion for how to make money from someone other than the Gingezel Consortium from the work Gali and his hackers are doing gets the same week on Gingezel. I have no idea what criteria to use - I'll leave that to Celise." He looked down the row of seats and got a small smile of assent from her.

Dreen nodded. "Good idea." He hoped he sounded enthusiastic. He doubted it. "If that's everything -"

Jann stood up. "No, Dreen. I'm sorry."

*****

Chapter 58

Jann saw the nervous looks Dreen and Chett exchanged. "No, no. I haven't suddenly thought of anything technical we did wrong with the Drezvir interface." She looked straight at Dreen. "I'm sorry Dreen, but I have to know what you're hiding."

She was still very much like the young woman who had been Nemizcan's second employee. Jann had stayed quietly competent, gentle, and perceptive.The main changes were that her figure had thickened a bit, and there were one or two strands of gray in her thick black hair. She blamed them on three rambunctious sons. But her mahogany colored skin was still luminous and her brown eyes lovely.

That question had Chett and Dreen exchanging totally blank stares.

"Nothing Jann. What gave you that idea?" Dreen asked.

"Dreen, please. My signature is on more documents than yours and Chett's combined."

As Nemizcan's interface expert she had been the number two, working directly below first Dreen, then Chett. Once the bread boarding was done and Dreen had focused on Gingezel, it had amounted to her really doing the project for Dreen, since he hadn't much time. Then there had been tactfully educating and covering for Chett, as well as doing a lot of the project for him, since his willingness and intelligence didn't make up for lack of experience and his being busy with hub-related commitments. If anyone was in real trouble, she was.

"I know Jann, but we aren't hiding anything." She must be more stressed than he'd thought, Dreen decided. Jann wasn't usually given to paranoia.

Jann gave up being tactful. "Dreen Pendi, I've worked for you for too many years to buy that. No offense, but this whole scenario is all wrong." At the blank stares that got her from both Dreen and Chett, she elaborated, "I mean you're turning things over to Chett is all wrong. No offense Chett - I liked working for you and we won't have problems now - but you should be going back to Drezvir, not Dreen. Or more accurately, right about now you two should still be in Dreen's office yelling at each other, still be at it at midnight, then in the morning Chett would be going back to Drezvir."

The accuracy of that got a smile of real amusement from Chett. Encouraged, Jann continued, "But instead, as far as I can tell, an hour or so after Chett gets here, Dreen, you are calling lawyers to bow out. That," she said firmly, tilting her chin, "is scary and it would have hit me sooner but for the shock. If you can't say anything in public, okay. But I've got to know."

There was no bloody way he was talking about his private affairs to the whole damned company. Dreen folded his arms across his chest. "Give it a break at Jann. If there's anything you need to know, you'll be told."

Terrific. Now Dreen was adopting his stubborn behavior. Jann started to go from worried to scared. Hoping for an ally she looked at Chett.

But it was Lindy, rising gracefully from her chair with a reassuring smile who said, "Let me handle this one Dreen."

No way! Dreen glared at her. "Lindy -"

She smiled sweetly. "I don't work for you now, remember?"

No way! Chett moved to intercept her. Lindy was not doing this, not after the way she'd lied to him. He still wasn't sure if the statement that Mitra was Dreen's fiancée was an honest misunderstanding on her part, or an overstatement to shut him up. But Dreen had been embarrassed enough having to sort it out with him after the call to Nevin, and galaxy knew what Dreen would say to his mother. He didn't need to have the whole company getting the facts wrong.

With Mitra's attitude of not mixing romance and work, any assumptions they would end up engaged could be completely wrong. Chett pushed that thought aside as he had been forced to every four or five minutes since Dreen told him the engagement was not firm. There was a bigger problem to focus on. Besides not wanting to stress Dreen, there was the little fact that while he hadn't lied to Lindy, she hadn't exactly had the full disclosure either about him and Mitra. Given how stressed everyone was, either Lindy or Jann could really put their foot in their mouth. Then where would they be? Dreen was just barely holding himself together to get the spaceport.

Chett's smile was just as sweet as Lindy's. "I'll take this one." As she looked rebellious he added, "After all, Jann was with me on all of the early trips to Drezvir, and she and Mitra are friends."

Lindy gave him a rebellious look, but resumed her seat.

"Dreen, I know you like your private life private, but you're worrying Jann needlessly, and now probably the whole company. Why don't you have a drink of water, and I'll fill Jann in on Mitra."

Damn. Dreen reached for his glass. He kept totally forgetting Mitra was Project Engineer. Of course Jann and the team knew her. Had Chett just said she and Jann were friends? It was all too disorienting. He nodded, and mechanically took a sip. He realized he hadn't even asked Chett how he and Mitra got along, how she was to work with. Well, there wasn't time now. He'd have to ask her how she liked Chett once he was on Drezvir.

Chett turned to Jann. "Bear with me a minute while I explain to the hubs, and everyone here who wasn't on the project, who Mitra is, okay?"

Now totally confused, Jann nodded.

Chett began, "Mitra Kael is the Dellmaice Power Systems Project Engineer ..."

***

Jann let Chett fade out while she tried to decide if she was merely crazy, or if she was caught in one of those really bizarre fairy stories she used to read to the boys. Somehow Mitra was the deciding issue. That Mitra was an issue wasn't surprising. That was why she'd expected the fight between Dreen and Chett to still be going at midnight, and Chett to be getting dirty and personal. Dreen would be trying to do what was right. Chett would be telling him to be sensible that he, not Chett, was Nemizcan. And Chett would be desperate to get back to Mitra. After all, they had only put their love affair on hold until the project was over and she had Drezvir out of her system. But surely the accident changed all that?

Jann remembered that third trip she and Chett had made to Drezvir. That time she and Chett had been the only off-planet staff there. The two earlier times the whole design team had gone, and there had been other subcontractors present as well. This time though, there had just been the three of them plus Mining Guild personnel. All of a sudden mid afternoon on their first day there, there had been some real chemistry between Chett and Mitra. When they said enough work was enough about 9:30, and Jann had gone up to her room, she'd be pretty sure where Chett and Mitra were headed to. It had been an interesting stay. They had been discreet enough, but you could tell that Chett was totally gone. He couldn't stop watching Mitra, and he was all little attentions. On the trip home he'd been totally, happily unfocused.

Then, on the next trip, it had been all wrong. The ice had been a couple kilometers thick, and Mitra was on Chett's back every time he moved. By noon he was edgy, and by supper he was making mistake after mistake. Jann had made the excuse to everyone for him of Chett's coming off a rough round of the hubs, and had told him to pack it in. Chett had accepted gratefully, and later when the rest of them quit for the day Jann had decided to butt in and tackle Mitra. Otherwise the long trip would be a big waste of time.

It was still all so clear in her mind. She and Mitra walked up to Mitra's shabby little one room suite, and Jann invited herself in. They perched on the two stools by the counter, then Jann said, "Mitra, I don't want to intrude on your personal life, and believe me I don't want to know what Chett's done. But do you think you could put it aside, and get off Chett's back long enough for us to get some work done?"

"I am not on Chett's back!" Mitra was indignant. Then at Jann's level look, "Am I?"

"Mmhm. Bad enough he's about 80% dysfunctional."

Mitra turned away, blinking back tears.

The look on Mitra's face and her reaction was so totally out of proportion Jann forgot she wasn't intruding. "Mitra, what in the galaxy has Chett done?"

"He's crowding me!"

"And that has you this upset? Mitra, Chett is as sophisticated and experienced as they come. Just tell him it's strictly back-to-business time. I think he'll be disappointed, but he'll live."

"Yes ... I suppose it's that easy."

"Is that what you want?" Jann asked at the hesitation.

"Oh, Jann, I don't know."

Jann then got a long confused version of some man. She listened, but came out of the recitation without the slightest idea who the guy was. But for sure he was bad news. When Mitra finally ran down, Jann looked at the tiny forlorn figure perched on a stool by the table. Then she looked at the ugly cramped room that had been Mitra's only environment for how long now? A year, a year and a half?

"Mitra, would you take some advice from an old married lady?"

That got a smile at least.

"Like?" Mitra asked cautiously.

"Why don't you and Chett just put things on hold until you're out of here?" Jann waved a hand around. "Wait until life is more normal and you have finished the job. I know you're behind schedule but how much longer can this take? Six months? Go back to Pendrae. Get life in perspective. I know you've had man problems, but I don't really think Chett is anything but a very nice man. Try something simple like a nice romantic restaurant supper. If that feels right, then you haven't thrown something good away because of the situation here. If it doesn't, you have a nice memory and you're still friends."

Jann smiled reassuringly. "I think he'll wait." She amended, "At least, if you don't expect him to tone down his space flot lifestyle in the meantime, he'll wait."

Mitra actually laughed at that with real amusement.

"So, go talk to him and sort it out."

Mitra hesitated so long Jann wondered what was wrong next.

At last Mitra said, "Jann, I really don't want to go to his room. Would you go ask Chett to meet me in the common room? We can go walking outside. Nighttime is the best time for being outside on Drezvir. The wind drops some and the moons are beautiful."

Now wishing she had kept her mouth shut but not seeing a way out, Jann went along to Chett's room. She'd never seen a man look so disappointed when he saw who was there.

"Chett, can I come in?" Then as he hesitated blocking the doorway,"I've been talking to Mitra."

Chett stepped aside then, but he obviously wasn't happy with that fact. Jann had been going to make one of those routine apologies like 'I hope you don't mind', but he was making it clear he did mind and not helping her one bit. So she plunged in.

"Chett, she really has a problem."

"Jann, it's been a long day. Forget it."

"I mean it Chett. She was involved with some guy at Dellmaice Power Systems. I think he was a more senior project engineer, and things went so sour Ari had to fire him."

She had his attention then. "She's in the common room, Chett. She wants to go for a walk and to talk to you."

Chett nodded.

Then, because there was a lot of project left, Jann asked, "Are you mad at me Chett?"

He sighed. "No Jann, but stay out of my personal life for the duration of the project, okay?"

She had, too. Jann had no idea what they'd done or said that night. However the next day Chett and Mitra seemed to have decided they could handle a best-friends-with-a-lot-of-teasing approach that stopped just short of flirting. When the project had started to run more than a year longer, not months, Jann had wondered if Mitra had decided she could live with best friends forever. She was pretty sure Chett was just waiting though, because he always spent the last day of any trip to Drezvir in a state of suppressed excitement like they were headed for somewhere great, not that dump of a planet.

***

"So, Jann." Chett deliberately used her name and raised his voice to bring her out of the reverie she had gone into when he started the background explanation. He had a pretty good idea where that reverie had taken her.

"That brings us to your question. You see, when Mitra took that holiday she'd just been waiting for after Drezvir, she ended up going to Gingezel. To Crescent Bay." He watched Jann's eyes widen slightly at that. Yes, Jann.

"So the way it turned out, while she never ran into to Dreen during the project, they met there. They ended up with a serious long-term romance, and in fact they'd been traveling together when she got called back.

"So Dreen feels he has to be there in person to support Mitra. But he also feels he can't run Nemizcan from Drezvir. I agree with him. If I'd gone back, I would have wanted to focus totally on the Drezvir issues as well. So I would have asked to be relieved of my vice president's job. You see, we aren't hiding anything. We've just changed places."

Jann nodded. So that was what had been wrong with Dreen for a week or so. He must have sent Chett to Drezvir to find out exactly what was going on - with the communications there he probably couldn't even get a visual link to Mitra. Then he'd been impatiently waiting for Chett to get here. For sure Dreen had been acting crazy with the stress. He could have made life a little easier on everyone though, by just telling them. She looked at Dreen slumped in his chair, exhausted, just looking at his glass of water. The poor man, what a strain. He must be so worried about Mitra.

Mitra. Her exhausted mind shifted back to what Chett just said. 'We've just changed places'. Oh Chett, talk about double meanings. She looked back to Chett's face. Oh poor Chett. She didn't mean it to happen, but her eyes filled with tears, and one misbehaving tear slipped out. This was followed by a friend, then another and another. Now what was she supposed to do? Leave them for everyone to see, or wipe them and draw attention.

Jann, don't do this to me. Chett kept his internal alarm off his face. Don't do this! Do you want Dreen to ask why you're crying?

"Steady Jann," Chett's voice was gentle. "Stress will hit you like that. You get through the tough part fine, then something good happens and you break up." He caught her misty eyes. "So wipe your eyes, and come give Dreen a kiss and tell him how happy you are for him. Then and he can finally leave for the spaceport."

*****

Chapter 59

Bojo had planned this carefully. He gave Brys about an hour to be at work, then slowly walked along the lake, from The Striped Sail, Joran's hotel, to The Sandy Cove Hotel housing the Nemizcan office. Pausing outside the door, he took a last look at the mist-shrouded moon hanging over the bay, squared his shoulders, and stepped into the opulent apricot and green lobby. At 1 AM it was relatively quiet, but not deserted. Stepping past a cluster of partygoers in evening dress, Bojo caught Tomao's eye. Tomao, who was now his buddy, gave him the bag with a conspiratorial wink, then returned his attention to the guests in evening wear.

Pausing in the doorway of the Nemizcan offices, Bojo could see Brys intent on a screen, a coffee mug held to her face. However, as far as he could tell she was oblivious to the coffee and anything else but the screen. As always, she was wearing a baggy sweat shirt and loose fitting pants. The rich dark blond hair framing her oval face was pulled back in a child's pony tail. He noted that she was using a plain plastic clip for her hair again, not a pretty scarf like she had when they breakfasted by the lake.

As Bojo expected, the office was almost deserted at this time of night. Now that the first few days of fighting the hacker were over, Gali and Evrit tended to stay up to say hello to Brys when she drifted in sometime between 11 and midnight. However they rarely stayed past 12:30. Wayd and the technicians went home at supper time. The customer support privacy booths were only lightly staffed for the beta testing stage of the Gingezel Ultra-Secure Hyperweb system since the trial system only connected businesses in Crescent Bay and the most businesses were closed this time of night. Bojo took a look at the unopacified booths. The staff were intent on video games, reading, and one was doing a manicure. Perfect. They could talk here, not in the lounge.

"Hello Brys." Bojo put the heavy shiny paper carrier bag on her desk. The elegant images were fruits of the galaxy.

Bojo! Brys had been sure that now that he was playing again he would become Mrail, the superstar, and never think of her again. She hadn't been prepared for how empty she felt the first morning he was gone. She felt a thrill as he said hello.

"Hi Bojo, have a good trip?" Brys asked casually, eyes fixed on the screen.

She hadn't even missed him. She was more interested in her computer than in him. Then Brys finally looked up and smiled, and Bojo's reservations disappeared. She was wonderful, beautiful, his angel. His imagination hadn't played tricks with him while he was gone.

Brys pointed proudly at the screen. "There!"

"There what?"

Brys looked around, but the customer service reps were all still intent on other things. Even though their doors were closed, she lowered her voice, "Your problem is solved - I think. You'll have to listen of course." She looked up at Bojo admiringly. "That changed percussion track really helped."

Bojo's instinct was to give credit where it was due, but he really did not want to link Larry to altering the sound tracks. After all, Brys could conceivably visit Ennup 10 and let something slip. "I'm glad it helped."

He changed topics, pushing the bag towards her. "Now see what I found."

The bag contained three bottles of each of the five most popular hot sauces on Ennup 10. Bojo was rather pleased with himself over that. He had thought of ICEing them, Interstellar Courier Expressing them, from home - a real pain. Then Bojo had come up with a better idea and had asked Tomao to get the sauces for him. He'd got in touch with his mother as to what brands were currently on the market on Ennup 10, passed the information on to Tomao, and here was the result. Since everyone on Ennup 10 had passionate opinions on which were good and which weren't worth eating, Bojo had simply got lots of everything available assuming Brys might like one of them.

"Oh!" Brys gasped. "Where did you find this?" She thought she'd never see Laughing Lou's again in her life. The other brands in the bag were good too, but Laughing Lou's was her favorite.

Bojo was not about to ruin the look of admiration on Brys's face with an explanation. "It's for you."

Brys reverently picked out the sauce bottle, feeling the familiar octagonal shape, the heft of the jar. She smiled, looking at the ridiculous line drawing of a portly Lou laughing so hard he was holding his round belly.

"Not one jar, the whole bag."

"Bojo, I can't."

There was almost a guilty greedy look on Brys's face that had Bojo suppressing a grin. He solved the argument by putting the bag on the floor by her tote bag.

"Yes you can. Now, I know you're busy ..."

"Not really," Brys said. "I think the hacker is busy giving someone else a bad time tonight. That's why I was - you know." She waved at the screen where she had been working on modifying the Anton album for Bojo.

Bojo didn't hear a word she said. He was totally focused on his strategy. "I was wondering if instead of breakfast you'd like to go out on the lake for the afternoon. The band has rented a yacht and we'll go down the lake to those cliffs on the far side. Then back up towards that valley they say has a waterfall you can only see from the lake."

Now Brys would say she'd be too busy with work to miss a day's sleep. So they would have breakfast as always, and she would be happy because she had been asked, and had her sauce. And he could tell Bernie he tried, but she was too busy with work and couldn't shift schedules just like that.

Brys stared. Bojo wouldn't just say that. He didn't just say things. He had on that patient expression he had when he was giving her time to think things out. Bojo was asking her, her, to spend all day with him. Brys had been dreaming about something like that the whole time he was gone. But on a boat? On the lake? The beach, a meter or so from the hotel was hard enough, but a boat on the lake? The thought was enough to make agoraphobic Brys shiver.

"A boat?" Brys asked doubtfully. She'd watched brave people in swimsuits sailing boats.

Bojo had totally forgotten to factor in her agoraphobia into his plans, but now he relaxed. Of course she couldn't go out on the lake. She'd be scared silly. He got expansive.

"We've got one of the really large yachts. After all, there is the band, their families, plus the crew. And there has to be room enough to not trip over the kids. Although - I don't know - maybe Bernie got something big enough it has a pool. Then the kids won't be a problem. Otherwise after three or four hours they'll drive everyone nuts."

Oh! One of those big boats where you were inside. She'd wondered how you went out in them. There weren't any tour boats in Crescent Bay, unlike some places she'd researched on the hyperweb. The enclosed part on the big boats she'd seen looked as big as the cabins and rooms on the Exec. She hadn't minded flying here in the Nemizcan space yacht. She had just pretended she was in someone's apartment. It had been really interesting too when the pilots Angus and Jodi had let her on the bridge to see the star field. Somehow that hadn't been terrifying like being outside on a planet, maybe because it had seemed so unreal. Now Brys wondered what it was like to ride on something that was floating on water.

Brys gave Bojo a tentative smile. "I can really come? Work won't be a problem," she announced proudly. "I've got holidays." At last those damned holidays Gali insisted she had to start to take regularly ever since she got sick that night were going to be useful, not torture.

Bojo blinked. "You'll come?" Brys wanted to come? To spend all day with him? He couldn't believe it. "Great!" he heard himself say, sure he had a stupid grin plastered all over his face.

***

Bojo was about three quarters of the way back to his hotel when elation faded and reaction hit. What the hell had he been thinking about? What were he and Brys going to do out on the boat for five or six hours? No, that wasn't quite fair. Brys would do what she always did, watch. Watch the band, watch the crew, watch the water and the shore. She probably could not handle being out of the cabin, but she would probably have a great time. And this was quite likely the only way she'd ever get out on the lake during her stay on Gingezel. He told himself that's why he'd asked her. That, and because of that damned Bernie Anseldes.

The question was, what was he going to do cooped up with Brys for five or six hours? Why hadn't he just delivered the hot sauce as a thank you, and recognized when it was over. Because if she really had sorted out the problem on those album sound tracks, his fantasy was over. They had nothing in common beyond the work, so why torture himself.

By the time he hit the hotel lobby, Bojo was in a foul mood.

Joran stepped out of the elevator he was waiting for in sweats, headed for a late run.

"Bojo, how goes it?" Joran asked him in a determinedly cheerful voice. He had insomnia again, his muse had temporarily deserted him, and Dreen's trick of stare at the ceiling was stressing him out. Since he was not going to lapse back into sleeping pills, a good exhausting run seemed the best idea.

"I'm going to my room. I'm going to get pass-out drunk, and since we aren't practicing tomorrow it's nobody's business but mine."

Oh oh. This was not Bojo. "Hey, what -"

"Shut your mouth Joran. I'm taking a page out of your book, that's all."

Bojo found his arm in a vice-like grip, and he was being steered away from the elevator towards the patio doors. "Hands off Joran!" His free arm came up to shove Joran away.

Joran grabbed it. "You're coming for a walk. Then you can get as drunk as you want. Okay?"

Bojo mentally shrugged. Neither of them needed a scene in the hotel lobby.

Once they were well away from the hotel and there was no one in sight Joran asked in a low voice, "Have your friends on Ennup 10 hit more serious problems? I was hoping it would be quiet there until you got your album work finished."

It took a few moments for Bojo to process that. He was too lost in his own concerns. Talk about a self-centered idiot, and cancel the indulgence of getting drunk.

"No," he said more calmly. "As far as I know, it's all right there. Although I might not know. There may even be good news at this end. Brys thinks she's fixed things on the album. But thank you for reminding me. I'll cancel the drunk."

"Then what is it?" Joran asked, relieved at the change.

"I'm -" Bojo stopped to think about it. "I suppose I'm just tired of being me. Or, if you prefer Rhea's phrasing, sometimes it's one hell of a universe, Joran."

That at least gave him a clue. Rhea was only like that when she was down about Eli.

"Brys?" Joran ventured.

"Brys," Bojo agreed.

"I thought you two were getting along."

"I suppose we are, such as it is."

Oh oh. This was dangerous territory. While Bojo had made an incredible recovery from his head injury, his impotence was one aspect he flatly refused to deal with. The doctors hadn't even determined if the problem was physical or emotional - he'd refused to cooperate.

"Maybe it's time to get that medical help you walked out on?" Joran asked tentatively.

"No." Bojo firmly shook his head. "This relationship is going nowhere. How can it with someone like Brys?"

He didn't elaborate. Joran knew how special Brys was to him, and how hopelessly in love he was from the songs he wrote. But she was young and beautiful and talented with her whole life and the whole galaxy ahead of her. He had nothing to offer.

"What I can do is concentrate on the concert and quit feeling sorry for myself. Brys just threw me, agreeing to go out on the yacht."

Joran was not sold on Bojo's view, but he didn't push. "Need company?"

"No. I think I'll just walk for a while and think about Rhea. Have your run." He was glad Joran was trying to avoid drugs.

"Rhea?"

"Some good advice she gave me once. Now, go run."

***

It had been one of those nights, two or maybe three weeks before the band walked out on Joran. That time was blurred, after all there was nothing in it worth remembering. They'd got through the concert. Just. And the party. And he'd left Joran out cold in a downtown hotel room under medical supervision. With luck Joran would be in shape to be put on board the Allegro in time to make their next engagement. With luck.

When Bojo got to the portel he and the flight crew were staying at, he decided he did not want to face an empty room. At this time of the night it was unlikely anyone more than the bartender would be in the lounge, but they could keep each other company while he had an orange juice and checked the sports scores.

He was wrong. When he walked up to the bar, the bartender said, "I'll be right with you mate, as soon as I finish this for the lady." He was mixing a lethal looking concoction in a tall iced glass.

"No hurry." The subdued atmosphere and the cheerful workmanlike attitude of the barman were already having their effect. Bojo turned to see who 'the lady' was. It took a moment to spot her in a back corner. She was a stocky blond with close cropped hair and a face totally devoid of makeup. She was wearing an unflattering set of washed out sweats in Anton blue, and was sitting with her chin propped in her hand, studying a compad. Any momentary relaxation disappeared like that. Rhea. Hell! She was supposed to fly first shift in the morning.

Bojo turned back to the barman who was finishing his work on the glass. "Excuse my intrusion in your business, but I'm from AntonCorp and that lady is my pilot. Unless you are mixing her first drink, she's over her limit." He took a better look at Rhea. She picked up a glass that looked the same. "I'll correct that. She'll hit her limit about halfway through the one she's working on." Rhea simply did not metabolize alcohol well.

The bartender's face was now an expressionless mask.

"I don't expect you to believe me. Here's my ID."

No one ever recognized him out of makeup. This was usually a blessing, but not this time. Bojo extended his cuffed wrist, and the bartender scanned the appropriate area. Bojo knew what he would see. Bojo Camrail. VP, Strategic Planning, AntonCorp.

"Sorry sir," the barman apologized. "I couldn't know."

"That isn't her first then?" Bojo asked resignedly.

"No sir. Honestly sir, I couldn't tell by her speech."

"No, you can't. You'll tell when she tries to walk. So ..." Bojo was getting depressingly good at drunks. "How about you pour her some strong coffee instead, and order whatever food you figure is the best ballast for that concoction she's been drinking. And I'll go see what set her off."

"And yourself sir?"

"Orange juice, and another order of whatever food."

"Hello Bojo." Rhea waved at the chair opposite her. She went to pick up her glass, but Bojo put one hand on her wrist and moved the glass out of her reach with the other.

"One key member of AntonCorp out cold is quite enough for tonight."

"Again?" she asked. This was getting to be a habit with Joran.

"Again."

"It's one hell of a universe, Bojo," Rhea said solemnly.

"No doubt. But what in particular set you off?"

In answer Rhea shoved over her compad. "Look at this."

It was a video of her niece's seventh birthday party and included a really sweet thank you for the Galactic globe her aunt had sent her.

Bojo raised his eyebrows in question. "I thought you liked the kid."

"I do." Rhea retrieved the compad, but before she could do anything the barman arrived with a laden tray. Rhea took a resigned look at the coffee and food. "I suppose you expect me to eat that."

"That's right."

"You're ruining one damned good drunk, Bojo."

"That's right."

"Okay. Just so you know what you're doing, while I eat, you read this." She brought up the next entry.

It was one of those glossy society announcements showing footage of the wedding of Eli Heron, Tribe, to Rila Featherstone, Tribe. They made a handsome couple, matched in height, build, and coloring. Both were tallish not tall, slender, and well proportioned. They had the high cheekbones common to the Tribe, dark eyes and hair, and the not-quite-pale-not-quite-dark coloring. Even their hair, sleek caps below their ears matched. The article went on to describe the illustrious Genie racing record Eli Heron had achieved with his partner Rhea Enlis. Then there were images of the deep space structures Rila had worked on. The dateline was about two hours ago.

Bojo looked at Rhea with real concern. "Did he warn you?"

"Eli? No. I told him I didn't want to know when he got married, or to whom, until it was all over." Rhea applied herself to another greasy looking chicken wing with an air of martyrdom.

"You're right, Rhea. It's one hell of a universe. Want me to call Arn and tell him he's flying first shift and butt out of your life?"

Rhea gave this serious thought. "No," she said at last. "I'll just feel like shit in the morning and nothing will have changed."

Nothing would ever change, she thought. There was nothing to change. Eli had applied to the Tribe for permission to marry her, but she hadn't passed the genetic screening and permission had been denied. Most outside the Tribe did not pass screening. In Rhea's case she had a couple of dominant traits that would dilute key features of the Tribe genome. This was not something that was negotiable. The Tribe provided the vast majority of the galaxy's free space and deep space workers, that elite who were comfortable spending their lives floating in space assembling the shells of various structures to the point where non-tribe workers had a reference point they could relate to, and could tolerate working from.

The Tribe traced it's ancestry back to the high steel workers who framed the megacities of Terra, and they had done a lot of very careful back breeding to obtain the right and undiluted genome. They were the least agoraphobic people in the galaxy, relatively fearless, and in her current mood Rhea would say arrogant as all hell.

With the galactic demand for free space workers more than twice what the Tribe could supply, and demand unlikely to drop off for three or four generations, there was tremendous pressure to have children. Tribe children. Of course Rhea could have been a perfectly legal second wife and Eli could even have made her home his primary residence. All that required on her part was her agreement to permanent sterilization so there would be no risk of non-true bred children. On Eli's part he would have to sign a contract agreeing to provide sperm to his Tribe wife for the requisite number of children, and to share the child support.

Rhea wanted children. Not necessarily more than she wanted Eli, but she wanted them. Eli wanted them too, and she knew he'd be a good father. That was the other big catch in the second wife scenario. A soon as he had children, he would be with them. As Tribe law required that they be raised by the Tribe mother for cultural reasons, that was where he would be. Damn the Tribe! She'd more or less never see Eli once he had children, so it might as well be like that from the start. Rhea looked at Bojo glumly.

He looked at the almost empty glass presumably of what the bartender had been mixing. "You're going to feel like shit anyway."

He was probably right. Rhea shrugged. "I didn't it think would hit me so hard. I mean, I knew it was coming. I think it was just the two messages arriving at the same time. You know, the kids' party and -" she didn't finish the sentence. She hadn't counted on Rila being beautiful either. She took another bite of chicken. "This stuff is terrible. You think dip would help?"

"I doubt it." Bojo was working on a dry roasted riblet. "These aren't too bad. I didn't ask for tasty, I ask for ballast."

Rhea made a face, put the chicken wing down, and picked up a riblet. "Did you read the message?"

"It wasn't to me, Rhea."

"Read it."

Reluctantly giving in to the pressure of Rhea's eyes, Bojo picked up the compad again and read, 'Rhea, you said you didn't want to know about the wedding until it was over, so I'm playing it the way you wanted. But I can't bear you hearing somewhere random on the society news, or worse still being called for comment by the media. So I'm sending this. You know it doesn't change anything. You're still the one I love, Eli.'

What the hell was Eli doing, saying something stupid like 'it doesn't change anything' Bojo thought angrily. Then his sense of realism asserted itself. That probably was exactly the lie Eli was telling himself to get through the wedding. For sure as far as Eli was concerned, he and Rhea were still a couple. You only had to be with them when they were together to feel the chemistry. Whatever it was between them, it was so strong it was palpable and Bojo wasn't alone in that assessment. The media from one end of the galaxy to the other had dubbed their love affair the romance of the century. Eli sure wasn't doing Rhea any favors though with that closing sentence.

Bojo reached out and covered the hand of Rhea's that wasn't holding ribs with his. "I'm sorry for you."

She half smiled. Bojo was all right. "Eli always was an idiot when he wanted to be." She took another bite. "Stick around a bit Bojo. Do you mind?"

***

Well, odds were she could make it to her room without embarrassing herself by stumbling or falling, and she couldn't stay in the lounge all night. Rhea looked at Bojo. He would understand.

"Bojo, come up with me. I want to forget, and to wake up with warm arms around me."

Rhea, don't do this to me. He didn't want to have to hurt her, not now. "Rhea, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Because you're my boss?" Rhea made a face. "Come on Bojo. You know what I'm asking. It's just one night and we're friends."

"I know Rhea, but it wouldn't work for me. I'm sorry, it isn't that I don't like you."

She considered this in her alcohol muddled brain. "Sorry Bojo, but I didn't know you were gay. I mean, there isn't any talk."

"It isn't that Rhea." He waved at his deformed face. "Things just haven't worked right since my accident."

Rhea considered this, taking longer to think it out. "It really is one hell of a universe, isn't it? Come up anyways. We'll get something better to eat than this junk and laugh at the lousiest holodrama we can find. Okay?"

So he'd gone. And that was exactly what they'd done. Sat in front of a terrible holodrama and laughed themselves silly. Then Rhea had decided to try to soak some of the alcohol out, and Bojo had decided he'd better stick around to make sure she didn't fall asleep in the tub and drown. Rhea had said the best way to make sure was to join her.

Bojo had hesitated then shrugged. He wasn't going to get any surprises since Rhea changed with the guys all the time on the Allegro. He'd gotten the surprise the first time, learning that while she looked dumpy in clothes she looked incredibly sexy naked. Until then he hadn't understood Eli.

So they soaked and talked about random things and Bojo had felt more relaxed than he had in years. When they got out Rhea had said, "Want to stay? No expectations beyond warm arms." He'd stayed. And he had done his best to make her happier and to help her forget Eli for a night, and had surprised himself by enjoying it.

Over breakfast Rhea had said bluntly, "Bojo, you're an idiot to write women out of your life. When you're lonely pick someone up. Then at some point just tell her it's a bad night \- all men have them - and make her happy. She'll be glad she spent time with you. You're a nice guy, not a bastard like some!"

Well maybe Rhea was right. Maybe. Bojo didn't know. He'd never tried it. Maybe not too. And Brys wasn't exactly a pickup in a bar, was she?

***

His legs couldn't stand anymore running. His muse had still deserted him, and there were a lot of hours left till morning. Joran decided he just might try a call to Dreen. It was good to wake Dreen up in the middle of the night now and again. He could tell him the news about Brys and Bojo, leaving Bojo's problems out of course. The fact they were going out on the lake together was news enough, and it would probably cheer Dreen up. Dreen probably needed a bit of cheering up right now. Then, when Dreen was in a good mood, he would tell Dreen he was going to call the Allegro back to Gingezel first thing in the morning and go after Mitra himself. And then? Probably they'd have a fight that would solve how to spend the hours until dawn.

Joran didn't wake Dreen. He wasn't even allowed to leave a message on Dreen's personal number. His call was routed to the Nemizcan Computing offices and a pleasant, impersonal voice behind the Nemizcan logo informed him that due to computer system problems they were unable to forward any incoming calls. Would the caller please try again on the next working day, Nemizcan office local time.

Joran's lips twitched in amusement. How did a whole building full of computer experts let that happen? Or, and here the slight smile broadened into a grin, maybe that's what the problem was. Maybe someone decided to tune things up real good for Dreen. That happened at Nemizcan now and again. Usually that was Gali's trick, but he understood from Dreen a couple of the younger staff were showing real talent in that direction too.

Joran hesitated. Was there someone else he could call if Dreen wasn't taking calls? Lindy? There had to be someone on Tranus who knew what was going on. Probably that wasn't a really good idea. Dreen would be hard at work and pretty cross right about now. The fight wouldn't be a fight, it would be a war. And there was no sense calling the Allegro staff until he'd talked to Dreen. Joran decided he would try laying on the bed with his eyes open again, give it a couple three hours, and call again.

*****

Chapter 60

And that was that. C.C. Windegren looked at the order form he had just completed for the seeds with the best chance of establishing a nicely diversified plant life on this strip of shoreline and rose from his desk. Walking through the habitat living room to the window, he took one last look at the shore before confirming the order. The window glass reflected his frowning oriental face as he watched the wind driven waves pound the dull red rocks. Even in his most optimistic terraformer's imagination he could not see this shore as much of anything. Drezvir would never be much of anything, but he would try.

Resolutely C.C. returned to his computer, scanned the list, and decided he was ready to send the order. Once the seeds had been planted, established, and growing for a couple years to prove he was right and at least growth was possible, they could try massive seed drops all along appropriate shorelines. But right now these plants, even the weeds, would get more care than hothouse roses. The company he was using largely supplied seed to terraformers. When you ordered seeds, you got exactly what you asked for, no genetic drift. Everything arrived having been temperature cycled, humidity treated, and exposed to red light. So all you had to do was pop them in the dirt. In this case, the company was shipping the dirt too.

So, all he had to do was submit the order, and it would be at the mining colony when they got back. But first, he would call back and make sure the larger growing shed was ready. C.C. was not in the mood for an expensive surprise. He placed the call to the colony. Since there were no planetary communications satellites yet, it was routed via the terraformers private hyperweb link to the galactic hyperweb, then back to the Drezvir mining colony.

"Hello gorgeous!" C.C. greeted Rostin's rather frumpy middle-aged secretary with his best smile, and casually unzipped his brilliantly flowered tropical jumpsuit a couple more inches to show his muscular chest. He suspected she considered the greeting both sexist and annoying, so he had adopted it as his only form of address to her. She was a major irritant in his life at the moment, making the simplest access to her boss a half-hour battle. That was why C.C. had not bothered to call back before now, despite pressure from various group members who wanted to know how the shed was doing.

Leeth Kembel, their manual laborer, was fretting about the shed daily, and had been asking him to call for over a week. C.C. didn't know why, unless Leeth liked getting his hands dirty in a shed better than on the shore. Mostly C.C. suspected Leeth wanted him to check up on the chicks while he was calling, but didn't want to look soft asking. The man was into little macho things like that.

"Dr. Windegren." The secretary's tone was even more repressive than usual.

"I just called to make sure that shed I intend to use as a nursery has been delivered and is ready to use before I order seeds." He did not even ask to speak to Rostin. She'd know about the shed.

"Oh." There was a dead pause. "If you have a moment Dr. Windegren, I'll get Mr. Rostin."

The image faded and C.C. felt his spirits sink. Obviously, there was not a shed. He was being asked to talk to Rostin - voluntary contact. No fight. And just exactly how had the habitat firm screwed up on something that straightforward? C.C. mentally cursed them. Enough went wrong with schedules thanks to Mother Nature without man-made delays.

"Dr. Windegren."

The almost immediate presence and the determinedly cheerful expression on Olan Rostin's normally grave face finished off any hopes C.C. had. "Mr. Rostin. I assume there are problems with the shed?"

"Not a serious problem," Olan said firmly, wishing C.C. had been even a few days later calling, "but a minor delay."

"How minor?" That might be all right. It might just mean minor damage in transit or something missing on the invoiced goods that could be built by the colony, or shipped by I.C.E.

"I expect the habitat to be here in eight or 10 days."

"Eight or 10 days?" C.C. stared at Rostin, who was no longer smiling. The planet manager looked tired to C.C., and every one of his considerable years. He was one of those men who weren't large, just imposing by their energy and will. Now he merely looked small and nondescript in dull green Mining Guild coveralls that hung loose on him.

"How the hell did they manage that screw up?" C.C. demanded. "That firm is usually reliable."

"They are, they are," Olan said soothingly. There was nothing for it, he had to tell Dr. Windegren. "The habitat was delivered and assembled on schedule, but we, er," he cleared his throat and continued, "had a problem with the reactor and the shed has been appropriated to sort it out. Dellmaice Power Systems has assured me however that they will have provided auxiliary power by the time the next habitat has arrived and is assembled, so you can proceed."

C.C. stared, shocked and alarmed. "How bad an accident?"

"There was an overpower." There was no sense not telling C.C. since he'd be back in a week or so anyways, and would hear all about it. "But I can assure you it will not have an impact on your plans."

"Thank you," C.C. said automatically.

A Dellmaice Power Systems reactor had overpowered. C.C. was trying to remember if he had ever heard of that happening before. He gave Rostin an assessing look. He'd get nothing out of the man. "Are you totally tied up with power related problems, or do you have five minutes for an update on the fish farm and the results of my first simulations on the concept of using heavy industry to diversify chemical compounds on Drezvir. Both are good news." By the look on Rostin's face, the man needed some good news.

***

"Leeth."

"What?" Leeth tried to decide if he had to move. C.C. had been involved in some sort of call when he came in and got himself a glass of juice. He was dead tired and his feet, which were propped up on a low table, hurt.

"You ever hear of an overpower on an operating Dellmaice Power Systems reactor?" C.C. came over to the rest area since Leeth obviously was not moving.

C.C. tried unsuccessfully to read Leeth's tanned, weather-beaten face but as always failed. They had become friends. Otherwise C.C. would have let Leeth go after his trial period and admitted that his mother Beti was right and he was crazy including an ex-con into the tight terraformer environment. The friendship had limitations though. Leeth still kept barriers up.

"Not in recent history. I can't say I've checked old databases. Why? One blow somewhere?" Interest came into Leeth's normally guarded eyes.

"Here. I was just talking to Rostin. Apparently they've had trouble and commandeered our shed."

"A major delay?" Not that Leeth really cared since his work was about the same anywhere, but he didn't mind being sympathetic to the boss. And he would have liked to go back and check on the chicks.

"A couple weeks. But what I'd really like to know is how bad the accident was, and if we can use it on Plenata. The license has not been issued yet - I'm monitoring that and I just checked."

Leeth sat up straight and took his feet off the table. This was potentially interesting. "Didn't Rostin say?"

"Him?" C.C.'s voice was dismissive. "So who do we ask?"

The two men meditated on that in silence. At last Leeth said, "What about Ken Kwan? He's not exactly what you'd call chatty, but he at least knows how to talk, which is more than you can say for the rest of that crowd."

That comment amused C.C., since when Leeth hired on his vocabulary had pretty much been 'yes' and 'no'. It had taken him about six months to relax around the terraformers. "You're probably right. I'll try him. Want to listen in?"

"Yes, but it's a bad idea. He's more likely to talk to you alone. His little girl Ginny has taken a shine to you ever since you got her feeding the chicks and set up that lichen experiment in the hills for her. I think he likes that."

C.C. nodded and rose. "I'll let you know how it goes."

***

Ken took some time answering C.C.'s call. Given the identifier that showed, he decided he should take it in a privacy booth and ambulatory was a very relative term. He wrapped the thin hospital robe around his stocky, battered body and shuffled way down the hall.

"Hello C.C." He'd finally got it through his head that Dr. Windegren did not like honorifics. "Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help you?"

"No problem." C.C. was staring at Ken. He was wearing what were identifiable galaxy wide as hospital pajamas. "I'm truly sorry I disturbed you. I didn't know you were ill."

"I'm almost recovered," Ken said.

Right. C.C. was glad he hadn't seen him before. "If it's not invading your privacy Ken, what did you do to yourself?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"Not a thing. I just called back now, and Rostin said we couldn't have our shed because of something to do with the reactor, and I was calling you to snoop, but he never mentioned you."

"Oh." Ken took his time to consider the implications of this. He couldn't see any reason to not talk to C.C. After all, the accident was common knowledge and he couldn't be in more trouble than he already was. Between his being the one to decide to fuse the rock wall, and Ginny getting lost in the red blizzard just before the power went, the Kwan family was about as unpopular as a family could be. He had cost friends lives. Ginny had endangered most of the community by their having to go out hunting for her in the blizzard.

"We were fusing a rock wall - stabilizing the fissures and - well, you know -" he had talked about the encapsulation of biohazard waste with C.C., but now he didn't know how much he should have said. For sure he didn't want anything recorded now for his disciplinary hearing, and Ken had no idea if conversations in the privacy booth were recorded. "Anyway, we were mid wall when the power went. The wall came down on us."

"How bad?" C.C. asked quietly, his face grave.

"Two were killed." Ken looked at C.C. "Blayne was one of them - you know, Tessa's dad."

"And your best friend. I'm so sorry Ken. If I'd known, I would have called before now with my sympathy." C.C. hesitated. "I don't really know Tessa's mother, but I should call her. Or would that be hard for her, hearing from a stranger? Should I wait until I get back? It'll be ten days or so."

"I'd wait. Lilla is doing all right, but in person would be better. She's from a mining family - she accepts these things. Accidents happen."

Ken shocked C.C. with a sudden smile.

"Those chicks of yours are tough. It was a cold night, cold enough the hydroponics froze solid, but the chicks came out fine. Tessa is spending all her time there, with Ginny."

"It's their down," C.C. explained automatically. "Their inner feathers are excellent insulation." He was trying to think, but it was too much to absorb. "How about the rest of you?"

"Nann doesn't look too good. The rest of us will survive."

"It's going to be tough, going down in the mine again."

Ken nodded in agreement. "That won't be my problem though."

"Packing it in?" C.C. asked sympathetically.

"No, not voluntarily." Ken shook his head. "I'm headed for a disciplinary review as soon as the medics agree to it. Rostin will make sure I never work for the Mining Guild again."

"That's terrible!"

"Not really." There had been time to become more philosophical about it. "I made a judgment call, and I was wrong. That's all."

"What do you mean, a wrong call?"

With some urging, Ken explained about the memo to not work dangerous areas, all the walls having similar fissures, and their figuring they had better get some practice in before real waste started arriving.

"Blayne and I thought we were right. We weren't." He shrugged. "It would have been fine if the power held. The crew was moving well fusing the rock."

"So what do you do now?"

"Head for whatever planet has the cheapest fare and will accept someone from the Farr sector and take whatever work I can get. My wife will stay here with Ginny. She's a good geologist. You see, even if I was welcome we couldn't afford my staying here. Life inside the Guild is fine, almost everything is provided. But you don't get much salary above those provisions. They'd start charging me for everything the minute I was out of the Guild, and all our small disposable income is earmarked for university for Ginny."

C.C's brain was working again. The whole scenario, starting with Ken getting blamed for a power failure he couldn't predict and ending with a split family rubbed him wrong. "Have you been well enough to look for a job, Ken?"

Ken shook his head. "My brother back on Estoff has been doing some basic research on the hyperweb, but we're too much a Guild family for it to be easy to sort out how employment is handled elsewhere."

"Would you be willing to do the kind of work Leeth does until you get established? It's just manual labor, but with isolation and hazard pay it's not a bad salary. And the habitats and food are part of the contract."

C.C. quoted a range of figures that seems incredibly high to Ken who was used to the Mining Guild. And although he had personally never been to visit them in their habitat sited beside the mining colony, he'd heard rumors from the cleaning lady of how luxuriously the terraformers lived.

C.C. continued, "You don't need empty promises, but I'll call a few terraformers. They always need manual labor, and someone educated is a treat."

"You would do that?" Ken was incredulous.

"I said no promises, but I'll try. I'd take you myself, but the Mining Guild would probably kick. I do have an assignment that takes me out of the Farr sector coming up, and you're welcome on it if we can tide you over until then on someone else's crew." It didn't solve the split family, but one step at a time.

"Thank you." Ken tried to sound enthusiastic, but he was fading. This was the longest he'd been our of bed other than for physio.

C.C. noticed the strain and a hint of sweat on Ken's brow. "I'm sorry Ken, I've exhausted you. Can you get back to bed all right? And don't stress yourself about what I said, we can talk in ten days or so when I get back."

***

"Well?" Leeth demanded. That had taken a lot longer than he expected.

"It's pretty bad. Apparently the power surge created when the reactor blew took out the auxiliary power for the mine. Ken Kwan's team was working at the time. Two were killed, including Blayne."

"I'm sorry. Tessa is a great kid." Leeth stared into space. Why did things happen the way they did?

C.C. was following his own thoughts. "I'd like to help Ken. He's up against a disciplinary hearing, most likely getting booted out of the Mining Guild."

C.C. was the ultimate soft touch. Leeth was well aware that was why he got his job. But now was not the time. He said carefully, "I'm sure you can work something out C.C., but I think right now you had better focus on Plenata."

C.C. was about to say he'd call around for Ken first, but Leeth had that look he had when he'd only dared say part of what he meant. So he fixed him with a stare and said, "Just exactly why Leeth?"

Leeth grinned. C.C. was getting to know him. "You aren't the only one monitoring data, but we have," he shrugged, "different sources. Dellmaice Power Systems and their partner have been meeting for almost three days on Pendrae now, and are communicating regularly with the licensing authorities on Plenata. I give it twenty four hours, maybe thirty six to sign-off on a licensing agreement."

"I see," C.C. said dryly. "Any particular reason why you didn't bother to tell me?"

"You'd hear it on the news soon enough. We were all out of ideas. But now you have some fresh ammunition and you're fighting the clock."

Nodding thoughtfully, C.C. moved to lean on a wall. He wished Leeth wouldn't do sneaky things like that. He wanted to trust him, and told himself it was Leeth's background that made him secretive. But whenever something like this happened it always left him wondering what else he hadn't been told.

"So, are you calling the licensing agency on Plenata?" Leeth asked as the silence became prolonged.

"They are sick of me," C.C. said realistically. "No one would take my call. I think I let them hear this on the news first, then call. So, let's see ..." He started going through his friends in the media, deciding who would make the biggest splash out of the accident.

***

C.C. and Leeth looked at each other not exactly with triumph, because that was premature, but with something closely akin to triumph. They had just spent an intense half hour or so talking to a well-known investigative journalist, a heavyset brunette woman in her late 50's. She was very good, and as a consequence she was both a cynic and skeptic. First, after hearing them out, she'd scanned the Galactic news databases for any mention, no matter how minor, of a Dellmaice Power Systems reactor problem. When every angle they could collectively think of came up dry, knowing C.C. and his stand on environmental issues in general and the Dellmaice Power Systems project on Plenata in particular, she had openly accused him of fabrication.

That accusation had not upset C.C. He simply told her the facts as he and Leeth had pieced them together, and how to contact Olan Rostin and Ken Kwan for verification. She knew perfectly well how to contact Ari Dellmaice at Dellmaice Power Systems without their help. Looking rather like a determined terrier on the scent, she had said she would, highest priority. Coverups always challenged her.

C.C. grinned. "Someone at Dellmaice Power Systems is going to have come up with some straight answers and fast."

*****

Chapter 61

Someone. C.C. tried to remember. An idea that had been trying to surface but had been crowded out by the excitement and time pressure got through at last. Someone. Had his mother said something about Mitra installing a reactor on Drezvir and their paths might cross? He hadn't listened and had changed topics to avoid the usual 'you and Mitra should get married' scrap, but he was sure she'd said that. Mitra. Mitra's new reactor blew. The smile was wiped off his face.

"Damn! I'm an irresponsible idiot."

"What's wrong?

"It has to be Mitra's reactor that blew."

"Who's Mitra?"

"Mitra Kael. Do you remember the night Roween Kael had all of us over to her house for that supper party?"

Leeth nodded. He had found his first attempt at mingling with that level of society absolutely terrifying and he'd spent all this time in the kitchen playing with the parrots. He liked birds.

"Well, Mitra is their daughter. We kind of grew up together, but I haven't seen her for ages."

"Oh." Leeth was watching C.C. with some curiosity. He'd always assumed C.C. was the kind that put principles first, but maybe he was wrong. "Are you saying that if you had known it was a friend's reactor you'd have gone along with the cover-up?"

"No." C.C. shook his head firmly. "But I would have called Mitra first to get her side of the story, and told her what I was doing. As it is, I feel like I set her up. She's going to get this call from out of nowhere, be unprepared, and probably get a real rough ride." He said sadly, "She doesn't need that." Then defensively at the look on Leeth's face, C.C. added, "She's all right Leeth. If something went wrong it's not her fault, it was an honest mistake. We all make them."

Leeth couldn't argue with that. His mistake, getting caught hacking that military data base, had cost him five years in prison. He wondered how much trouble this Mitra was going to be in. "I'm sorry for your friend. Could you call her and apologize?"

"I don't even know where she is, on her way back here I suppose." C.C. thought about it. "I think I'll wait until I get back to the settlement and apologize in person. It's been years since we've talked to each other. That would make the call awkward."

Leeth nodded. He hated calls too. "I think I'll relax in my room then, if we're done. Unless," he added without enthusiasm, "you need me?" His feet still ached.

"No, go ahead."

***

C.C. watched the retreating back with mixed emotions. Leeth had been spending all his spare time in his quarters for the last month or so. Whenever you stuck your head in to say hi, Leeth was at his computer. C.C. rather expected that he was hacking again, and that was the reason for C.C.'s mixed emotions.

As long as Leeth didn't break the law again, great. Compared to some hobbies hacking wasn't troublesome, and one of the major trials in his life was seeing his team through the acute cabin fever that inevitably hit at some point in a terraforming project. The worst, he reflected, had been two years ago when they were all getting snarly and Jules had decided that the only thing that would work for him was metal sculpture. C.C. had given it a bit, hoping for Jules to change his mind since he made no claim to being an artist. When Jules hadn't, C.C. had ordered almost a ton of junk metal, space debris, to be brought in along with the next six loads of supplies. Nice, dented useless junk as specified by Jules. The shipper thought it was crazy, but that had been the shipper's opinion of terraformers for a decade or so.

Jules had set up far enough away from the habitats to not get lynched for the noise he was making, and had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He'd cut, positioned, and welded. He'd built scaffolds. He'd painted. Sometimes he hadn't painted. It was the ugliest stuff any of them, including Jules, had ever seen. Then had come the word that didn't surprise any of them, that this project was off. So what did they do with the junk? The weight had been enough of a problem shipping it in, but the resulting sculptures were gigantic and no one wanted to spend the time taking them apart. At last they had decided to leave the sculptures along with the habitats for posterity and to drive some poor explorers nuts a couple thousand years from now. Fortunately Jules was into petit-point this trip.

With Leeth though, the question remained - was he breaking the law? C.C. hoped not. Oh, he hoped not.

"Well, what do you think Darwin?" C.C. asked the little dappled fawn-colored rodent seated on a low table by the sofa. "Is Leeth up to trouble?"

Darwin was Leeth's closest friend, for the benefit of the bureaucracy C.C.'s pet, and he accompanied the terraformers everywhere. At the moment Darwin was industriously munching on a piece of peanut butter cookie Leeth had given him, and ignored the question. C.C. looked at Darwin speculatively, wondering just when hibernation would hit. If Darwin was with the rest of the Pikkant on Gingezel, he would have started hibernating by now.

***

Leeth stopped for a moment in the doorway of his quarters as he always did, admiring the room. These terraformers certainly did well for themselves. This was the fifth set of rooms he'd had since joining on with C.C. as it was usually part of the contract that the habitats be left behind. The exception was when the environment had to be left pristine and totally natural. While spiraling habitats in from space wasn't bad compared to other terraforming costs, shipping them up from the surface was an unnecessary energy waste and major expense.

All of the habitat rooms Leeth had lived in were in some way the same in that they were from the same habitat manufacturer with the same layout, but short of asking for gold-plated faucets for the tub you could ask for whatever you thought you'd like in decor. This time he'd decorated in navy and maroon, with beige the basic color for the neutral things like the simucrete floor. Leeth could have had carpet, most did. But the one thing C.C. was really strict about was that everyone kept their quarters spotless, and Leith considered the carpetbots a nuisance underfoot.

That was pretty much his only compromise on luxury. The sofa in his sitting room was some kind of plushy navy material, the high backed chair was fake leather in maroon. The media wall held almost every distraction known to mankind. And the space didn't seem crowded either, because every individual had a family sized unit. The bedroom held a luxuriously soft double bed, Leeth's preference after a day of hard labor, with a navy spread. There was an abstract print on the wall. The bathroom was not quite cramped, but every square centimeter was used. Still, there was a very comfortable dark blue tub that he would head for and do some soaking in shortly. It was square, and not quite big enough for a man his height to stretch out in even on a diagonal. But it was deep enough to cover his shoulders if he slid down and bent his knees. They had a good desalination unit, so water was no problem here at the seaside.

At the moment though, Leeth wanted nothing to do with anything that would remind him of oceans, fish, or stinky algae. Where Leeth was headed was his study. Everyone had one in what would normally be the children's room. This was the one room in each suite whose contents were always stripped and shipped off planet when they left, because this was where each terraformer did their non-fieldwork. The contents varied. There were always computers, but other than that contents could range from electron microscopes and mass spectrometers to simple aquariums and terrariums where plants and animals could be studied in isolation from their ecospheres, assuming of course the planet had ecosystems.

With C.C.'s encouragement, Leeth was just starting to explore basic terraforming simulations. However his computing equipment was the most expensive at either this site or the one by the mining colony. It was where all his money went.

Leeth settled into the chair that also went with him wherever he was. He'd sat in over twenty before he found one just right for his build. Now, as he leaned back he could feel the back strain easing to the point where he wouldn't notice it if he got completely absorbed in what he was doing. He checked his mail and answered a couple notes from friends back home on Plenata, then went searching for his favorite site. There had been a notice yesterday that it was time to move on before the hackers running it got in real trouble from the server administrator, so he scanned a number of legitimate newsgroups for the innocent looking message that, if you knew how to understand it, would guide you to the new serious-hacker newsgroup. Eventually he found the message, and the site and with the advantage of years of experience managed entry.

Leeth paused to watch Darwin climb up the ramp he had made for him. Darwin's deformed hip had been giving him trouble the last few days, and it was slow progress. At last though Darwin came to his usual spot on the table, but he curled up to nap rather than watch the screen. Leeth gave him a pat, and returned to his newsgroup. He headed where he always did, to the technical support group and scanned the questions. Baby stuff. He'd leave answering them to the hackers who liked to hear themselves talk. It was a pity you never heard from Library Girl anymore. Her questions were always challenging and kind of offbeat. He rather suspected the library found out how she was using her breaks and clamped down. Or, maybe she just settled down to raising kids.

Wait a minute. Leeth went back and read a question that had been posted for almost eighteen hours now without an answer. It was from I Dream, someone whose name had started to appear in the past year. I Dream's questions tended to be weirder than Library Girl's, and this one he couldn't make heads nor tails of. It should give him something to relax with for a half-hour or so before that soak and lunch. After lunch he'd do some serious hacking. Leeth focused on I Dream's problem, and twenty five minutes later posted a solution signed Plant Man.

*****

Chapter 62

Well, this should be quite the day Bojo thought as he toweled his chest. He had to get that altered album properly printed. Then he had a couple of hours of desk work to plod through. Then he had to get Joran ready for the interview. Oh, he sincerely hoped that run last night worked, and Joran hadn't doped himself again. Bojo was a realist on that. When Joran gave him the last of the sleeping pills, he meant to go right off relying on drugs. But depending on how nervy he was over this interview, that could change with one call.

So he'd better allow time to wake Joran up and sober him up if necessary, but still let Joran get some sleep if he'd stayed clean. 10:30 was about right. That would be giving himself time to do his desk work, to go over the notes for the interview, time to get Joran alert, and still leave time to get ready for the band party. Bojo made a face that slowly changed to a smile at the thought of a day on the lake with Brys, and hung the towel.

Bojo was still smiling while he selected the financial news he wanted. There was something on Dellmaice Power Systems. He'd better check that out. He had pulled quite a lot of his investments out of Dellmaice Power Systems, but maybe he'd need to rethink and get right out. They had sure been plagued with problems lately.

The news cut was short. It was a hectic day for the financial analysts. Another totally unrelated market had entered the same sort of turbulence that had been experienced by the agribusiness sector twice in the past week and that was the lead story. The newsperson reporting on Dellmaice Power Systems merely said that there had been an explosion at a Dellmaice Power Systems facility on the mining planet of Drezvir in the Farr sector. Due to the loss of power there had been an accident in the mine resulting deaths and injuries, and survival on the planet was endangered until replacement power was secured.

Bojo made a face. He hated that sort of news. Still, he'd better hear the rest. He clicked through to the expanded version. The report continued. The unit had been a new design from Dellmaice Power Systems and was the basis for an extensive contract with the Farr Mining Guild. Although Ari Dellmaice of Dellmaice Power Systems and the Mining Guild Planet Manager Olan Rostin were unavailable for comment, it was to be presumed the contract was now under reconsideration.

That, Bojo thought, was a nice understatement in the let's-not-upset-the-market zone. That contract was crucial if Dellmaice Power Systems wasn't going to be in serious trouble. It looked like it was time to get out completely on Dellmaice Power Systems stock. Bojo was thinking hard about that, and didn't pay attention to the final statement that the unit was the design of Project Engineer Mitra Kael. They then showed a PR photo of Mitra, much younger, with shoulder length hair, and wearing a severe business suit. Dr. Kael was also unavailable for comment. That information about Mitra had nothing to do with financial anything, but the reporter who had pulled the cut together firmly believed that a photo of a pretty woman or handsome man never hurt.

In fact, it wasn't until Bojo was checking the time of the posting to see how long the story had been up, so he could decide how much lead time other investors might have had withdrawing their stocks, that his brain did a 'say what!' on the engineer involved. He reran the posting. The woman was younger and dressed differently, but it was definitely Mitra. The styles were fashionable about five years ago, so it was probably an archive picture from some other story.

So, he'd found Mitra. Bojo gave himself a couple minutes to absorb the implications of the story, but no longer. Joran had to know, and he wanted to be there when he found out. It wasn't too likely he was up, after being awake half the night, but with Joran there were no guarantees. At least the item had only been posted for fifteen minutes. That was a blessing. He'd better call and see if Joran was awake.

He wasn't, and Bojo knew from experience there was no sense holding in the hope of the call tone waking him. Joran was a great believer in restricting access when he was doing something important. So he would have simply turned everything completely off, not to message, because he hated people leaving messages to nag at him. As far as Joran was concerned, something important included eating, sleeping, making love, grooming, composing, practicing his music, doing his martial arts, or simply not feeling sociable. So, when all these were added up, there were very few hours a day you could get him. Since Joran prioritized calls, it meant most people never got him.

It also meant that Bojo, as number two man at AntonCorp, had to allow almost twenty four hour access to compensate for Joran. He'd intended to have a little talk about that today now that they were going to be in the public light again, but obviously that talk wasn't going to happen. There was however one advantage right now to Joran's approach. It's meant Bojo had a key to his penthouse for those times when he had to interrupt Joran.

***

Bojo looked at the figure sprawled naked on the bed and sighed. Joran was almost sideways, taking up most of the bed. All but one corner of the quilted purple and turquoise coverlet had slipped to the floor. He tended to look incredibly vulnerable asleep like that, but Bojo knew from experience not to be suckered by appearance. It was one of those unwritten job spec things. Waking up Joran was his problem because no one else would do it. Once or twice when he simply couldn't because of a press meeting or a conference call or meetings with lawyers, he'd conned Jon into it, because Jon was both stronger than Joran and had a fair sense of humor about such things. But Jon had been hired as a pilot after all, not a keeper, so Bojo didn't push his luck.

The problem was that, in a male presence anyways, Joran tended to come to totally disoriented and fighting. Apparently it was the result of having had two older brothers very prone to practical jokes. Bojo had no idea how Joran's wife Maillie or other women he'd been involved with before her had fared, but if you were a male in the same room you'd better be out of reach. Well out of reach since Joran was fast. That made shaking him awake a total nonstarter. So the only viable option was noise, lots of noise, although Jon claimed cold water worked too. But then Jon didn't have to do this a couple times a week.

Bojo assessed his options. He had learned from experience to check around first to see what he was getting into. By the cluster of half burnt candles, and the clutter of plates with various comfort foods half eaten on them and not yet cleared by housekeeping, he guessed that the run hadn't worked and Joran had had serious insomnia all night. That meant Joran was probably totally out cold now. Oh well, at least he probably wasn't drugged. There were no pill cases in the debris.

Not expecting success, Bojo called sharply, "Joran, wake up!" Not even a twitch. He was really sound sleep then. Bojo crossed to the window and unpolarized it, letting light flood the room. That got a response. An arm went across Joran's face. In the brilliant light Bojo observed the nearly naked torso objectively. As far as he could tell Joran didn't need to lose another gram of weight. It was strictly a pre-concert habit to diet.

He clapped his hands sharply. "Joran! Up and at 'em!" Clap clap. "Come on! Move it!" Clap, clap.

Some part of Joran's brain processed the fact this was the noise Bojo made. Bojo ... Damn! Had he slept through a concert wake-up call again? The rush of adrenaline that thought caused brought him to the surface.

"I'm awake," he muttered and opened one eye slit. It was daylight. "It's not concert time," he said resentfully. His brain was doing a little better. Not concert. Practice. Morning practice. Had he slept through practice? Joran peered at the bedside time strip.

"It's not practice time either."

"Nope," Bojo agreed, "but it's morning. Now get up."

"Get lost! And darken the window when you leave." Since he was half awake he might as well get comfortable. Joran repositioned himself right ways on the bed, pounded the pillow and groped for his coverlet. The air was cool.

"No you don't!" Bojo was faster. He pulled the coverlet completely off, a maneuver he usually didn't risk.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Joran was pretty much awake now, and mad.

"I found Mitra. Now get up."

It didn't take as long as Bojo expected for Joran to comprehend that, then Joran was sitting up and reaching for the silk robe he had carefully folded on a chair. It was his last gift from Maillie, in her favorite shade of purple.

"How?"

"She was on the news." Then as Joran froze, "No, she's alive. But she is in trouble."

"What kind?"

"Big. The clip will make more sense than I do."

Joran nodded.

***

"Do you think Dreen is likely to have caught this?" Joran asked meditatively.

Bojo shrugged. "It was posted about 15 minutes before I woke you, and Gingezel prides itself on the fastest news in the galaxy."

"Well, I'd better call. Last night he wasn't taking calls." Joran wasn't looking forward to this. "Here goes nothing." Then at Bojo's raised eyebrow Joran added, "They took the whole computer system down yesterday, and as late as I felt like trying last night Dreen wasn't answering at home - he's probably had an all nighter." That wouldn't help.

Once again Joran did not get Dreen or Arla, but he did get a receptionist, a distinct improvement over the Nemizcan logo. At least he thought so until he spoke to her.

"May I speak to Dr. Pendi?" Joran didn't recognize the young oriental woman and had no idea if there was more than one Dreen around the place.

"Dr. Pendi is unavailable. If you can tell me roughly the problem I'll direct you to the appropriate technical support staff."

She mentally sighed and checked to make sure her smile was still in place. It had been a long day, and it wasn't even morning break yet. It seemed like half the galaxy had either hit the out-of-commission message and were curious how they had managed to do that, or had heard restructuring rumors.

Chett's instructions to the receptionists had been clear. Don't volunteer information. In response to direct questions, the answer is 'Dr. Pendi has temporarily stepped down to deal with a personal matter'. If that doesn't keep the questioner happy, find out who they usually deal with and direct the call to them. That person can decide who to frost, and who to give the whole story to. Personally, Chett wanted all his calls screened unless they were from a hub manager, Dreen, Gali, or Ari.

This man seemed to be a totally random call. He wasn't even dressed or shaved, just in a robe. Still, the call was from Gingezel. She looked for any ID number, but it was an unlisted call.

"I don't want technical support," Joran said patiently. It looked like the woman had gone through a rough one yesterday. "I want to talk to Dreen, Lindy, or failing that, Arla. Now, pass me on."

"I'm very sorry. It's impossible to talk to Dr. Pendi. He -"

Joran cut her off, patience gone. "Look. I'm Joran Lantonnel, Dreen's best friend. I have to talk to him! If I'm not talking to him, or Lindy, or as a last resort Arla in about two minutes, your ass is going to be on the street before your next pay transfer. So moved it!" He broke the call. "Idiot!"

"Eat this." Bojo ignored the outburst and put Joran's diet breakfast, a plate of plain toast and eggs, in front of him.

The callback took slightly longer than two minutes. Joran had about a third of the eggs and a slice of the toast eaten. And it was Lindy, not Dreen.

"Joran, do you have to scare the staff silly? We're having enough problems around here."

"So don't hire idiots. What's up with Dreen? Sleeping off that computer glitch that had you shutdown yesterday?"

"No." Thinking of what to say was why Lindy was slow. Obviously Joran didn't know what was going on, or he wouldn't be trying for Dreen. "I'm sorry Joran, I would have called you earlier but I thought Dreen would call you yesterday from the Allegro. I suppose he thought Jon called you," she sighed, "and Jon thought Dreen called."

"The Allegro?"

"Yes, I'll tell you the story, but the bottom line is he's off to see Mitra on a planet called Drezvir."

Joran frowned, confused. "But the news just broke now. That's why I'm calling."

"The news? Terrific."

It hit Joran that Lindy didn't look herself. "Lindy, what's wrong?" It was a stupid question perhaps, but Dreen taking off for a few days and a computer glitch weren't the sort of things to bother Lindy.

"I asked first."

"The news simply said that a Dellmaice Power Systems reactor on some place called Drezvir blew and Mitra was the project engineer. There was a hologram of her, so I'm sure it's the right person. Now, Lindy, please! What's going on and how did you know yesterday?"

Well, at least they weren't part of the news yet. She felt a twinge of empathy for Ari Dellmaice for trying to cover things up.

"Chett got back with the news yesterday. You see, we provided the operator interface for the reactor, and he made a routine stop on Drezvir after the accident. As it turns out, there's a distinct possibility we caused the problem. So," she looked haggard, "Dreen could be in as much trouble as Mitra is."

Shit. "How much trouble is that Lindy?"

"Enough. They've seen one too many accidents in that sector, so the penalties are harsh. They also have reversed jurisprudence. You have to prove innocence. And," she looked tempted to run a hand through her perfect hair but refrained, "the Judiciary is on planet with troops. Everything is bugged, even the private quarters. Dreen has taken a duplicate of the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb system with so we should have some unmonitored communications if they let him install it, but," she shrugged, "nothing verbal that isn't monitored. That will be hard."

Joran simply waited, trying to absorb what he was hearing. Lindy obviously wasn't finished, but she seemed to have dried up. "And?" He prompted at last.

This was the tricky part. She didn't know how Joran would take it. "Because of everything - wanting to focus on clearing up the mess, Mitra, the communications problems, he's turned things over to Chett." There was no way she was spelling details out unless pushed.

But Joran just nodded. With Rodd in the hospital, Chett was Dreen's only option. And, from what he heard from Jon, possibly the better choice anyway for these circumstances. At least Chett did a good job of keeping the hubs in order with minimal supervision. Joran was more concerned with a little fast skating Lindy had done early on.

"Lindy, can you spell out a worst-case scenario of what Mitra and possibly Dreen are up against on criminal negligence? I assume that's the potential charge?"

Lindy nodded. "A death penalty can imposed in that sector."

Shit! No wonder Lindy looked terrible. Joran forced himself to put that aside for the moment and to sort out the other thing that didn't make sense. "But Lindy, if Dreen has been working for Mitra all along, why was he searching the galaxy for her? He was frantic that he didn't know how to find her."

"Because Dreen was only involved at the conceptual stage when they were dealing with Ari Dellmaice. By the time the project had been decided on, Dreen was busy with Gingezel so he handed it off to Chett and Jann. It was Jann who provided continuity. And of course," Lindy threw up her hands in disgust, "she didn't know Dreen was looking for Mitra. None of us did."

Joran thought about it, then half smiled. Despite the nasty possible consequences of the accident, the situation with Dreen playing the silent type appealed to his sense of humor. "You mean Dreen was going through all that fuss, and Mitra had been working with Chett and Jann and whomever for what - a couple years?"

"Closer to three," Lindy said, keeping her voice carefully neutral and her eyes on her desk.

Joran frowned. Lindy was skating fast again. But about what? "Lindy -" he began, but Bojo cut in from over by the cater unit where he had been fixing himself something to eat, trying position himself out of the way and but still able to watch Joran.

"Joran. Have Lindy call back on a secured call."

Joran looked at him, frowning. But Bojo was grinning. He took the doctored memory pac out of the secure pouch of his belt pack and held it up. He watched the sudden comprehension on Joran's face.

"Lindy. Did you hear Bojo? I think we can solve some of your problems. Call me back on a secured beam. Damned if I'm fighting reception again."

"Why Joran?" Lindy was profoundly suspicious of Joran's bright ideas.

"No way on a regular connection."

Lindy was watching Joran's face. He was much too pleased with himself for her comfort. "I think Chett had better be in on whatever you're up to."

"No way!" Bojo had to control who knew about his espionage and Joran sure didn't want Chett on that list. "Just give me a way to reach Dreen when he gets to this Drezvir. I'll keep you right out of the loop that way."

"No Joran."

His chin went up. "I'll just find out how to reach him anyways."

Impasse. And time to break it, Bojo thought. He'd been thinking about what he knew about Chett, and it was a lot more than Joran did. It was also all favorable, in particular from Hoffner whom he trusted.

He said, "I don't think Chett is a problem, Joran."

"I do. We don't need his opinion." Dammit. Dreen was in trouble, they had a way to substantially help, and all of a sudden it was Chett Linderson all over the place. Until now, except as Dreen's colleague and Jon's friend, he'd never thought of the man or done more than nod to him.

Bojo ignored Joran. "Lindy, you said Chett has taken over for Dreen. How thoroughly Lindy?"

She hesitated. She did not want to tell Joran, and definitely not in his current mood. Still, if things ran for very long, and it looked like they would, he would find out anyways. "Completely Bojo. By now everything should be registered. He has Dreen's position and proxy over Dreen's shares. So he has full managerial and financial control. This was all setup before Dreen left yesterday."

And he didn't even call me, not even to say he had found Mitra. Joran looked away, his face twisted and bitter. "I see."

Why did I open my bloody mouth? Bojo asked himself. All he'd wanted to know was how far Dreen was trusting Chett. He had no idea the trust would go this far. He looked at the pain on Joran's face. Hating himself he said, "I don't think you do Joran." Joran didn't look at him. "Joran!"

Joran knew that tone. He was going to get a lecture he wouldn't like. Still he made himself look at Bojo.

"Dreen had absolutely no option of considering friendship in this. There are Mitra, Jann, and I assume a good number of the other Nemizcan employees he had to think of first. He couldn't do what he wanted. He had to do what was right.

"Be realistic for once Joran and answer this honestly. Consider the fact none of us - including you - are totally sure you aren't still scrambled, the fact your own corporate house is not in order despite my best efforts, and the fact you have committed yourself and all of us to a concert and to tour. I know compared to Dreen's problem a concert and tour are nothing, but all the same screw it up and AntonCorp is finished and you'll spend the rest of your career writing songs for someone else. If Dreen had called you to come and stand in for him, could you have?"

Lindy was staring at Bojo in shock. She'd never heard anyone take Joran on like that, not even Dreen. She waited for the explosion, but it didn't come.

Joran broke eye contact first, shifting his unseeing gaze to the floor and rubbing his nose like his eyes were tired. Bojo was right, damn him! His best friend needed him, and he was so screwed up he wasn't there for him. If Dreen hadn't known all of his problems as well as Bojo did, he would have called him, not Chett. It was just like he wasn't there for Maillie. How the hell had he let himself get so messed up?

No! It wasn't like Maillie. Dreen was not dead. He would not, could not, start a downward spiral again. Joran knew he wasn't what he wanted to be, or what Dreen needed, but he'd damn well hold himself together and do what he could.

His voice was soft, and he didn't look at Lindy. "I apologize Lindy. Bojo is right and Dreen had no alternative. I also appreciate your not wanting to move without Chett. If you would ask him to call back when he can - I know he must be very busy right now - I really think we can help. And I'm not playing games, Lindy." He looked at her at last then. "I truly can't talk on an open connection. I'll wait here until Chett has time to call."

It was so meek, so formal. Lindy instinctively wanted to reassure him, but Bojo caught her eye and gave her a firm 'no' shake of his head. So she heard herself saying, "I won't keep you waiting on a call Joran. If Chett is tied up I'll let you know."

Joran nodded and broke the connection. He turned to Bojo. "I'll go put some clothes on. Go ahead and eat." He moved toward the bedroom like he was exhausted.

*****

Chapter 63

"Bojo." Joran spoke from his bedroom.

"Mmm?"

"I'm going to have trouble with this call."

"I'm sorry." Bojo moved to the doorway. Joran had his sweater on and was sitting staring at the pants in his hands. "I know I came down on you hard. It's one thing to tell yourself to not be jealous, but it's not that easy to not be. But you know Chett is the right man to run Nemizcan."

"That's not my problem." Joran decided the pants would do and started putting them on.

"Then what is?"

"The bastard has been having an affair with Mitra."

Bojo's eyebrows went up. "And how did you jump to that probably wrong conclusion?"

"Lindy."

"She didn't say a thing."

"I know. Dead neutral. The fact Chett knew Mitra for years when Dreen was hunting all over should have amused her terribly. She was really ticked with Dreen, and she wouldn't have held back the story to protect him. She should be laughing at his expense."

"Joran, that's pretty thin. She's flat. They're having a rough time."

"Maybe," Joran conceded. "But all the same I'm sorting that one out before we get past square one."

He met and held Bojo's eyes. This time, it was Bojo who lost.

***

They didn't wait long. Before he connected, Joran turned to Bojo. "Watch me on this one Bojo. Stay in my line of sight." He nodded to the opposite wall.

Bojo gave him an impassive look and went and leaned on the wall, his hands in his pockets.

Chett was there immediately as well as Lindy.

"Hello Joran," Chett said quietly. Although Chett didn't really know him, unlike Rodd he had no wrong ideas about Joran's competence. The AntonCorp empire had been pretty impressive until the last few years, and he'd been around Jon and the rest of the Allegro crew enough to know where the credit on both the up, and down, sides was due. "Lindy tells me you have some solutions for us? We can use some.

"I'm sorry you found out about Mitra on the news. I should have called you before I went home last night." Chett paused. This was not a good way to have his first conversation with Dreen's best friend. He wondered what percent of Jon's tall stories about Joran were true. "I personally know Dreen intended to call you from the spaceport. My best guess is that he had trouble with his mother and simply timed out. Nevin Pennell insisted on taking her down to see him off."

"Gemma?" Well, that explained a lot. Joran relaxed a bit. She would take this very hard. Joran asked, "Have you talked to her? Would a call help?" Did Chett even know Dreen's mother?

"I talked to her late last night. The Pennells kept her for supper. Gemma is pretty subdued, but so far holding up. I think she'll probably rearrange her whole greenhouse. I can't make it before then, but I agreed to go out on the weekend and kill a few plants. If you're comfortable calling her, it would really help."

Chett wondered what happened to Bojo. He wasn't in on the call. But Lindy said he'd had a scrap with Joran, so maybe he had cleared out.

"I will. She's a nice lady."

From his distant place, Bojo gave Joran a look that said 'see, Chett is a nice man too.' Joran firmly ignored him.

Chett prompted, "You have a solution?"

"First we have something to straighten out. Lindy get off the line." Joran's voice was preemptory.

Lindy was staring at Joran, thinking fast. She would swear she hadn't said a thing. "Joran!" It was half reproof, half pleading. Don't panic she told herself. Maybe it was just that his nose was still out of joint about Dreen favoring Chett. Maybe. Probably not.

"Lindy disconnect!"

"Humor him, Lindy."

Chett had no idea what Joran was upset about. Their paths occasionally crossed, but when Chett and the Allegro flight crew were free in the evenings, Joran was on stage. For that matter, they stayed at different places. Just like the flight crew, Chett used a business-class portel adjoining whatever space port he had arrived at. Joran tended to like city core luxury hotels. And the times when Joran had been at Dreen's, Chett had been off on a run to somewhere in the galaxy. Still, he gathered from Jon that Joran was moody and the fastest way past these moods was to humor him.

Lindy signed off, but she was pale, a fact not lost on Chett.

Joran wasn't in a mood to waste time. "What's your relationship with Mitra?"

Chett sighed. Was there never going to be an end to that, and how the hell had Joran heard anything anyways? Then he remembered the pale face. His expression hardened.

"Lindy has a big mouth." Chett wouldn't have thought it of her, but she wouldn't make that mistake twice.

"Don't even think it, Chett." Joran's voice was as hard as Chett's face. "Touch Lindy and we have another personal issue to settle. She didn't say a damn thing. That was the problem. She was being too careful picking her words and I'm good at stuff like that."

Touchy too, Chett thought, wanting to defuse the situation. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Easy. I'm a Lindy fan too. Where else would we all go for a soft bed and spaghetti?"

He took Joran's silence as agreement. Chett could not read what was going on in the man's head at all. He tried the next step. "I'm also getting just a little tired of everyone poking their nose into what was, after all, Mitra's and my business."

"Not if it involves a piece of space flot like you."

The term space flot, depending on the tone and context, could be a way for the members of that group to identify each other, a compliment, or a deadly insult. Joran gave the latter full force.

Chett sat staring, stunned at the animosity of the attack and the undisguised aggression on Joran's dark mobile face. This guy just wasn't tactfully warning him off Mitra on Dreen's behalf like Lindy was. Where in the galaxy was he coming from? You'd think he - oh no! Chett was a fan of Anton's music and he had downloaded M's song and listened to it maybe a hundred times. He knew every word. Now that key lyric flashed through his head with a new meaning. Never, never ask yourself what else can go wrong Chett reminded himself. Still, he'd better make sure and Joran was definitely not in a buddies exchanging confidences mode.

"First," Chett fired back, "I'm not about to take any crap from you. Dreen and I settle our own scores." There wasn't so much as a flicker on Joran's face. So he was right. This wasn't for Dreen, or he'd have got some version of 'Dreen's got enough problems, I'm settling this one.'

"Second," Chett let some scorn creep into his voice, "from the odd thing I've heard about you the last year or so, I'd be damned careful who I call space flot." Chett threw back Joran's exact tone. Nothing, no defense, nothing. Well, he thought, we just established a working definition of space flot. It wasn't complimentary.

"Finally, I could say what someone like me does when he's with a woman like Mitra," Chett mentally apologized to Mitra for the phrasing and even more so for the tone of voice, "is none of your damned business!"

Joran's response was totally ballistic. He has an impressive vocabulary in six languages Chett knew well, and an equally impressive vocabulary in a couple dialects he couldn't place. But they sounded well suited to the circumstance. Then Joran was on his feet, not even looking at Chett.

Well, that certainly resolved the issue but it was also quite likely he had totally blown it, Chett thought. He did his best to completely drop any aggression, cursing himself for his mishandling of the situation. He had heard from Jon that Joran was volatile, but nothing indicating he was this touchy.

"Joran, I didn't say it really was like that. It wasn't! I was just pushing to see how you'd jump." Then in total exasperation, "Dammit man! Did you even hear me?" Joran seemed to be communing with distance space and to be involved in some sort of deep breathing exercise. Chett had to give him credit for trying to regain control.

It took a bit. Joran forced himself to look at Chett and totally suppress his imagination. "And how was it?" he asked sarcastically.

Well, at least he'd heard. Chett said softly and with complete honesty this time, "We're both in the same boat, Joran. Wishing we were Dreen and wondering how he does it. Take a walk if you have to and finished calming down. I'll tell you, but it's not much of a story." And so much for privacy, Chett thought. For all his laughing easy ways he didn't like his private life not staying that way.

Joran took his advice. Chett watched him walk across the room, then back and out of his line of sight.

Bojo mouthed the words, "You okay?"

Joran made a face, and shrugged, but he went back to his seat. He made no attempt talk to Chett.

Chett mentally sighed. "There really isn't much to tell Joran. We're talking about a couple nights several years ago on Drezvir. I suppose you're right in a way. It might have started out space flot stuff but -" He suddenly felt compelled to defend himself. "Look, I don't know what talk there is going around about me." Chett rubbed his face, suddenly looking older. "There have been enough years for talk to accumulate I suppose, but I've never done anything I'm ashamed of. I don't push my attentions where they aren't wanted, and the lady sets the rules, all of them.

"Anyway about Mitra, I don't think I have to explain to you how special she is. All of a sudden I found myself thinking that if she said 'Chett, you're all right but your lifestyle is impossible' I'd try chaining myself to any desk on any planet she named. But she didn't. She made it clear we would have selective amnesia and like I said, I respect the woman's choice. I think I had better be honest here. I really and truly hoped when Drezvir was over and she was less stressed out I might get her interested again. But the project just dragged on and on, and then there was the accident. That got me thinking about Mitra and all the other big mistakes I've made in my life."

Chett gave Joran a level look. "You see by rights I should be on Drezvir taking the fall, not Dreen, and that's what I arrived on planet expecting. There was one hell of a long trip back. I couldn't rewrite history but I spent a lot of time making a list of the special stuff to remember in case from then on lists were all I had." He looked at his desk. "Don't criticize it unless you've been there. Anyways," he gave himself a mental shake, "lets shorten this up. You don't need my life story. That's it except I arrived in a queer mood, Dreen asked which Mitra Kael I meant, and Lindy saw something she didn't like in my face. She gave me the kill it sign, hustled me out when she could, and jumped all over me."

"And Dreen?" Joran found he couldn't be angry. He knew what it was like to lay there and list the special times and wonder why you let the list be so short.

Bojo read the difference in Joran's tone, let himself relax, and started to think furiously. Chett was not going to be at all pleased with him and he knew Chett well enough to not be looking forward to the prospect.

"Dreen was so in shock that he didn't see a thing. So except for our friend Lindy this would have been a nonevent." Chett hesitated not wanting to make another mistake but he had to ask. "And you?"

"Only in my dreams," Joran said simply.

"What about Dreen? I mean I know love can be blind, but you've been broadcasting all over the galaxy with M's song."

"He knows." Joran was surprised both to find he was talking to Chett rather than telling him to shove off, and that it was easy. "He also knows I've backed way off and have left the field to him. As for M's song, it isn't quite that simple. I won't pretend it isn't about Mitra, but it's about Maillie too."

"Who's Maillie?"

"My dead wife." Joran could say it now. "But mostly it's about Dreen and Mitra."

"Dreen and Mitra?" Chett couldn't follow that turn of logic.

"I'd never seen Dreen in love like this before, and to be honest I didn't think he had a chance any more than I would have had. I thought she was just out for a good time on vacation. So before I completely chickened out on ever going in a studio again, I recorded the song and assigned the royalties to him and told him to spend them holidaying with her. Make some of the kind of memories you're talking about."

Chett said carefully, "I'm not even going to pretend I follow that, but thank you for the confidence. It will stay that way."

"I'm not sure I've sorted it out either. It's just the way it is." Then Joran echoed a variation on Chett's words. "Don't try to understand until you've been there."

They spent a long moment looking at each other. It was the tentative beginnings of a truce.

Joran broke the silence. "So what do we do now?"

"Form an uneasy alliance and get Dreen and Mitra safely out of this mess as fast as we can. Then I go back to being space flot and you're best man at the wedding." Chett was not smiling at the prospect. Neither was Joran he noted, but Joran nodded.

"So, get Bojo if you need him, and I'll get Lindy back and you can tell us what the bright idea is."

Before Chett's hand could moved close to the contact Bojo said, "There's no need to get me Chett." He moved into Chett's line of sight. "I've been leaning on the far wall." There was no apology on his face. Just the same impassive look he'd given Joran.

Bojo had been giving Chett Linderson a lot of thought. Because Dreen trusted him, and perhaps more so because Hoffner did, he had been prepared to tell him the level of detail he had been going to tell Lindy. But Joran had completely messed that up. Bojo had expected a scene and Chett telling Joran go to hell, or Joran telling Chett to go to hell, and having to pick up the pieces - if there were any pieces left to pick up. Chett wouldn't have liked an audience to that, but they would have recovered. He never once expected Chett to open up like he had, and Chett had every right to be furious at an unseen audience.

The odds of recovery had just dropped about three orders of magnitude to more or less nonexistent. It was now going to be full disclosure or nothing, because any evasion on top of what he'd just done would destroy any possible future trust. Bojo sincerely hoped Dreen was right, that you could trust to Chett with your life.

Chett's hand froze on the contact. His face reformed into hard lines but all he said was, "I don't think I appreciate that Bojo."

Bojo was a strange one. As far as Chett knew Jon and the Allegro crew were his only friends. He always stayed at the same portel they did, not downtown with the band and when he wasn't playing he was usually either holed up alone in his room or sitting alone in a dark corner of a bar watching people. The couple of times Chett had seen him with anyone, it was a real strange mix. Twice in the last four years Chett had seen him having a drink with Hoffner. They had both nodded to him as he walked past, but had not asked him to join them, and he had known better than to invite himself.

"I didn't think you would, but I didn't expect it to play out this way. I was here to keep Joran under control." Bojo gave a brief smile. "He tried really hard to make that impossible too."

So that's what the communing with empty space was all about, Chett thought. But he wasn't about to help Bojo out by talking.

"Dreen's my best friend," Joran volunteered into the silence. "But that kind of friendship needs some pretty big blind spots. Bojo is the one who knows all about me. He keeps me in line."

"Tries," Bojo said sternly. "You've made the corporate damage control pretty hard lately." He noticed that got a flicker of interest from Chett. He continued, "I can't undo the last five minutes Chett, but you know I don't talk. Besides, what more damage could I do than say you're a romantic at heart? That isn't a sin. But by the time I'm through talking, you'll be in a position to get me in the kind of trouble that makes Drezvir look like a picnic."

"Spell it out."

"First I tell Lindy to relax." Then as Chett was about to object, Bojo added, "Voice only for a second. I don't want her hearing this any more than you do." He closed the contact. "Lindy, the old boys club is doing fine but I want to tell Chett some details of my life history I would prefer to protect you from. I'm not being sexist, it's just that he plays with Hoffner, you don't. Can you nurse a cup of coffee?"

"Sure Bojo." Lindy was used to his avoiding visuals when he could. Also, she knew just enough about his background to be happy not to know more. But she did wonder what he was getting Chett into. Chett didn't need trouble right now. Oh well, at least they didn't seem upset with her.

Bojo closed the contact, cutting her out.

"Talk," Chett commanded.

"I want to keep this as short as we can. We're wasting Dreen's time," and if what he'd heard from Lindy was right, that wasn't good. "What do you know about me?"

"At a personal level pretty much the same as the rest of the galaxy. Nothing. I've observed you hang out with Jon. And I'll assume you've done at least two takeovers with Hoffner, both of which involved the kind of playing dirty I won't touch." Wouldn't touch, Chett corrected in his mind. "I know your music of course, and I understand from Jon you're involved in the business side of AntonCorp some, but he's been vague."

Bojo nodded. "Okay. Let's fill in the rest. I'm from Enupp 10, upper class."

Chett focussed. Ennup 10 was the roughest police state planet in the galaxy. The upper class Bojo referred to ran it with no pretense to democracy and no apologies for the treatment of the lower classes.

Bojo continued, "My father is pretty much the kind of industrialist Dreen's was but into heavy manufacture. Vertical integration from the mines to the metal casting to the heavy equipment. Our class is a protected group. The government needs us, and you can live in total isolation from reality. I did, until one day I was home for a visit on my kid sister's birthday. I went for a walk with a new song I was composing on my mind. Our neighborhood is a perfectly safe compound. I'd never had trouble outside the compound either, and I went out for a change of scenery."

A bitter smile touched his lips. "I wasn't watching what I was doing and I strayed too far. I got my face rearranged for that carelessness. The police were breaking up a demonstration. I didn't attempt to resist but they didn't care. I would be dead except for help I got from some of the protestors.

"Joran took me off planet to a clinic where the surgeons rebuilt me as best they could, but some things were too shattered. My brain was pretty scrambled too from the beating. For a long time we weren't sure how everything would settle out. At least my hands weren't broken."

Chett was regarding him with a sort of fascinated horror, wondering how Bojo could be so factual. "I thought it was a ground vehicle crash."

"We let that out for PR." Bojo was staring at the wall. "When I found I could still play, for a while that was where I lost myself. But there were significant personality changes to deal with too. They still don't know how much of that was the severe mental damage and how much was trauma, but I came out twisted. Nothing serious or I wouldn't be loose. I'm just different ..." Bojo trailed off and no one interrupted that silence.

At last he continued, "That's part of my socialization problems. The rest is my appearance. I was never handsome like you two." He looked from Joran's dark, intense, handsome face to Chett's fair almost pretty face that was missing the usual charming smile. "But I was all right. I'd walk into a room and women would catch my eye and smile. Not kind of look sick and look away." Except for Brys, bless her. But then she was from Ennup 10 too, and knew the kind of protest he'd been caught in and how they were broken up.

"Anyways, about a year later I started to brood on what happened, then to try to find out why it happened. I'd never thought about Enupp 10 - as a kid I just lived there. I didn't like what I found out, about it or me. I don't know how I grew up so self-centered and naïve.

"It took a while to come to grips with what I learned, but ever since I did I've been working at a business level to change a few things on planet. And I've identified a list of individuals I have a particular grudge against.

"You said you knew I was involved in the business side of AntonCorp, but not how. I'm the second top executive, just below Joran. Joran got me working on the business side to distract me after the accident, and I turned out to be good at it. I couldn't have grown up my dad's son and not have some business sense, and helping Joran run things has honed it and I've moved up."

Chett had no idea Bojo's involvement was at that level. No one outside the music industry really knew what went on at the upper levels in AntonCorp. There was Joran up top, a remarkably efficient marketing approach at the bottom, and obviously some very effective people in between, but they stayed out of sight. And Bojo saying he was Number Two meant the last few years he had run the place since Joran had spent most of them drugged.

"I didn't know that was your role," Chett said. "I can't honestly say I'm surprised."

Bojo nodded. "That role has put me in a position to be able to approach Hoffner when one of these individuals I dislike gets a little - careless - shall we say? I keep it all legit, use my personal money when I can, AntonCorp money for when I can't cover it all. I even file my tax returns on Enupp 10 afterwards."

He smiled a cynical smile. "They understand brutality there, and admire it, but not quite as much as they admire money. I'm accumulating quite a reputation for both with these takeover games. I think one, maybe two, more takeovers and there will be a discreet inquiry as to whether or not I have political aspirations. If my hands go so I can't play any more, I might decide I have. It would be - shall we say - interesting? I'd be in a better spot to help my lower class friends.

"As it is, I install off world management in factories I acquire and try to run things as well as we can for the employees without causing more trouble for them than the improvements are worth. In these factories a few of my dissident friends are employed here and there, janitors and such. That makes it possible to give them support beyond the low salaries. I'm not telling you how, or who. I cannot risk them, but," there was real pleasure in Bojo's sudden smile, "the solution for Dreen is a little bag of tricks we made up for them."

His smile faded and his face became somber. "We're hitting serious surveillance problems on Ennup 10 and there have been arrests. I don't know if my arrested friends are alive or dead. I hope dead." He looked at Chett. "Heard enough? Can we bring in Lindy?"

"More than enough," Chett replied. This was a man who knew an existence he couldn't imagine. How could he create such beauty with his music, and live with such brutality? "Bring in Lindy."

*****

Chapter 64

"Hold it a minute," Bojo interjected. "Before we get Lindy, there's something about this little bag of tricks I'm talking about. Dreen, or more accurately Gali and Brys, did the work. I paid for it, but I think Dreen set some creative labeling and bookkeeping and filed it as part of Joran's Music Painting Interface to protect both sides. So you may find something funny in the books. Please let it slide."

Chett nodded. It was his turn to hesitate. "There's something you'd better know too before we get Lindy, so you don't get alarmed when that happens. As soon as we can get Dreen and Mitra behind some sort of firewall - especially Mitra because she's depending on Dellmaice Power Systems's lawyers and I don't want to distract them - I'm raiding Dellmaice Power Systems." He looked at Bojo. "Your rules."

"Personal or for money?" They were a prime target now that Drezvir was messed up.

"Personal. The bastard was so busy saving his own skin he didn't make a simple call that would have given us twelve days lead time." Chett looked at Joran. "He is also doing his best to have Mitra take the fall for him." He added slowly, watching their faces as they absorbed the facts, "Usually I wouldn't make this offer, but do you want in?" Then he added for Joran's benefit, "Don't say yes unless you have the stomach for it."

Bojo answered for Joran. "Don't get personally involved. Not now. You couldn't handle it." He turned his attention to Chett. "A takeover or a strip?"

"Takeover. I want to see the bastard watch someone else run his empire."

"Is it totally personal, or is there a potential for more than cost recovery? Just roughly - I know it depends on how it breaks."

Chett gave him the figures.

Bojo turned to Joran. "We'll go in for 40%?"

Looking at Chett he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Would that give you nice deep pockets?"

He smiled and Chett smiled back. They understood each other.

Bojo returned his attention Joran. "I'll handle the account from my cash as long as I can, and you don't have to be involved."

Joran asked, "Does Dreen know you're doing this?" Then at Chett's obvious bristling, "I know you're autonomous and that's the way it should be. I was thinking of his not needing surprises."

Chett relaxed. "Yes. We used the threat as a tactic in a joint call to Dellmaice to get him to cooperate."

"And is he?"

Chett took his time considering this. "By his lights, he probably thinks he is. I'm not overly impressed."

"And you're going to raid him anyways?" Joran was shocked.

"Of course."

"I told you you didn't have the stomach for this," Bojo said.

***

"You took your time for men in a hurry."

"Sorry Lindy."

They didn't look sorry. Chett and Bojo were looking distinctly pleased with themselves. Joran was in one of his moods.

"Well?" she asked tartly.

It was Bojo who answered. "You said that on Drezvir Dreen's communications would be limited."

Lindy nodded.

"Well, you know that group of experimental albums we put out? There were six in the group, they came with the warning to make sure your replay equipment could handle them before turning the volume up?"

"Yes. Why do you record that stuff anyways?"

"It's fun." Bojo smiled. "You'll like the entire M album better. It's coming out tomorrow. It's very romantic."

"Tomorrow?" Lindy was diverted. "Joran, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah." The grunt was totally flat.

She gave him a look, and returned her attention to Bojo. "Getting back to the experimental albums. How do they help?"

"Dreen, or more accurately Gali and Brys, have come up with some digital enhancements. The idea was to make life a little easier for my friends on Ennup 10."

Lindy nodded. She was not inclined to ask more about his friends.

"We've come up with a rearrangement of the albums where if you run them fairly loud it's impossible with simple pickup-and-listen monitoring to tell what's said. So then, there's the next step the snooper takes. Whoever is monitoring turns the volume up. Turn it up a bit, and it's headache time big scale. Really turn it up and it blows everything they have." Bojo smiled at the prospect.

"About their only option is very sophisticated digital extraction of the conversation, and since there are vocals plus we use voice cuts as instrumental substitutions, and Brys worked on those voice cuts to randomize them even more without destroying the initial sound," his smile broadened, "someone will spend a lot of time and money for nothing. It would take a really good sound master to sort it out. And there aren't any really great sound masters on Ennup 10. There wouldn't be any sound master at all Drezvir.

"We can do production today on some memory pacs, now that we're through the first run of the M album, so if Dreen can hold tight we'll send some of the doctored memory pacs to him. We're only changing a few memory pacs but visually they are identical to the regular albums. We've left the downloads unchanged. Reinstalling old album downloads all over the galaxy could raise questions."

Joran came out of his study. "I'll I.C.E. them and insist Eli fly." Eli would love an excuse to break all the rules and chase after Rhea at the same time. "Dreen will have the albums almost as soon as he gets there. Eli can't catch the Allegro on an open run, but flying for I.C.E. he can go through sectors I'm kept out of."

"Wonderful!" No wonder they looked pleased with themselves, Lindy thought. "Is that everything?"

"Not quite," Joran said. He had not been in one of his moods as Lindy assumed. He'd been thinking. You had to watch this Chett fellow. He ran important things past you without emphasis. "Chett, did you imply Mitra might not get the best possible legal support?"

"Well, this is a secure call, so I suppose I can be candid. My assessment - and it's only mine - is that if the going gets tough she'll be the first loss Dellmaice cuts. He'll try to blame it all on her and protect himself and the company. He isn't exactly into loyalty. He's the you-accepted-the-risks-with-the-money type. If optimizing things for him and the company means supporting her, then she'll get the best. Otherwise, no."

Joran frowned. "That's too much risk." He didn't like Dreen's situation either. It wasn't exactly the sort of legal mess Dreen was used to.

"Did you or Dreen make any major moves to reduce his or her legal risk before he left?"

"No. Dreen wants to assess things there, and see if Dellmaice has changed his position while he's traveling. And I need time to think. I've gone steady and this is not something we want to make any mistakes with."

Joran shook his head. "Not good enough. Do you know Juttar Kommur?"

"His reputation," Chett replied. Kommur was one of the best criminal lawyers in the galaxy. Everyone knew his face from the news.

"I'd like him to take this." At the dubious look on Chett's face, Joran added, "he's an old friend. His room was three down from ours in residence, and he and Dreen were on the same soccer team. Then after first year, all three of us got an apartment together. I'll call him. He'll back us up."

"Good," Chett said. That was a relief both for Dreen and personally. It was also one hell of an expense coming if things ran on, and they were covering Mitra's legal costs as well as Dreen's and those for the Nemizcan staff.

"Lindy," Joran wasn't finished, "was it you or Chett who said the Judiciary there could get twitchy? Make things as tough as they could."

"I could well have. Anyways it's apparently true."

Joran was thinking out loud. "Then Juttar had better focus. He won't be able to drop what he's in the middle of, but presumably he can offload a lot to a partner. And they can just not take any new cases until this has played itself out."

"They?" Chett asked.

"His firm," Joran answered mechanically. "I assume you can provide the needed background without Juttar calling Dellmaice Power Systems." Joran added, "I assume both for the current situation and later if you're raiding Dellmaice Power Systems, you'd just as soon have Dellmaice think he's responsible for Mitra. It will give him one more thing to be thinking about." He grinned at the look on Chett's face. "Just because my nerves are lousy right now, it doesn't mean I'm stupid." He was staring into space. "What else do we need?"

Chett had the distinct feeling that any control Dreen had given him had just become an illusion. He also wondered if this guy had any concept of fiscal responsibility. It wasn't that he didn't want Dreen to have the best legal defense. Hell, he personally wanted the best. His name was all over those documents. But surely some of Juttar's time plus Nemizcan's usual counsel would go along way? To retain the whole firm? Chett didn't have any idea how big the firm was, much less of the cost of retaining them, but he expected it was immense. But how the hell could he even ask what the cost was without it looking like now that he was in charge, he was out to short Dreen? No nice words came to mind. He sighed.

"Joran. There's no way to say this and not sound cheap. And believe me, I want the best for Dreen. But this friend of Dreen's is not going to like not getting paid. Hadn't we better get some estimates first?" He waited for the explosion.

Joran laughed. "Relax! I know how Dreen runs this place as well or better than you do. All money goes to capital and salaries, and Dreen pays next to nothing to himself. You haven't much maneuver room at all, or built-up liquidity. I'm talking about my money. Not his."

"Your money?" Chett was sure he was staring. He knew Joran must have a lot of money. Toys like the Allegro were not cheap. But this was a man whose band had just walked. When he'd invited them along on the raid, Chett had assumed Bojo used sources of funding from financial institutions comparable to the way Hoffner did. Now however, Chett remembered that in talking about his raids Bojo had said 'my money, or AntonCorp's'. That was a lot of personal money. His eyes instinctively went to Bojo. He saw the faintest smile.

"Money is one of the few things that isn't a problem at AntonCorp," Bojo volunteered. "Our reputation has shifted from a class act to ..." he hesitated, "a certain notoriety. That sort of thing is uncomfortable for the band, but if anything revenues are up. We are damned unpopular right now with a lot of promoters, but guarantee them a sellout tour and they'll forget that instantly. And the networks have just paid a record sum for the concert. They figure it will get an incredible viewer base. Even people who aren't Anton fans will watch to see if Joran falls on his ass again."

Lindy winced at the phrasing. She noticed Joran took it more of less in stride.

"The networks don't give a damn if it's a success or failure, either way they have the audience. And pre-sales of M's album are phenomenal.

"So, the main problem at AntonCorp is that if this concert doesn't work the band will walk again and not come back this time. They are all onstage musicians at heart. They like to tour, but not the way we have been. So they have all got a couple alternate arrangements in the wings just in case."

Bojo looked to see how Joran was taking this realistic account. Stoically it seemed. Bojo concluded, "So, money we have and it's largely Joran's to spend."

Chett thought about this. Then he addressed Joran. "It's very good of you. But do you honestly expect Dreen to accept that kind of charity? Or me for that matter?"

"I could not care less about you," Joran said more good-naturedly than Chett expected. "And no, I don't expect Dreen to accept. That's why all of the preps will be for Mitra. And it would be unfriendly, wouldn't it, for Juttar to not pass his strategies on to your lawyers?" His face hardened. "And you won't tell Dreen any different, will you Linderson?"

"Nope," Chett agreed. "But you know you will be bailing me out too. My name is plastered all over stuff. Like I said, I should be there, not Dreen."

Joran shrugged, with just the slightest hint of a smile. He might have to remind himself at intervals that he didn't like Chett Linderson. The guy seemed all right.

Lindy felt obligated to introduce a little reality. Joran obviously meant well, but this would never fly, not even coming from him, not even using the pretext of Mitra. Dreen wasn't stupid, and he was too stiff backed. And it wasn't like the company lawyers were incompetent, or couldn't get the help they needed on their own.

"Joran, I know you mean well, but do you honestly expect Dreen not to see what you're up to?"

"Of course not Lindy. But if none of us rubs his nose in it, he'll play right along."

"I don't think so. Not with the mood he's in. Why cause another fight?"

"He won't fight me."

She obviously didn't believe a word of it. Joran sighed. He didn't want to betray confidences, but this was too important. And Lindy didn't gossip. She listened, and she talked a lot, but never about confidential things. And look at Bojo. He had just confided more important things than the revelation he was about to make about Dreen.

"Lindy, he's already seen the inside of a prison once because of his hacking. It really tore him apart. I know because Juttar and I used to visit him once a week. He's going to do everything he can to not do that again. That includes taking charity, if you want to put it that way, from me. I don't. Not after all the help he's given me."

Lindy' face was a study of shock. Joran wasn't surprised. Dreen worked hard to keep the prison secret. Under duress he'd talk about his military stint. The prison, no. Joran noted with a bitter stab of jealousy that Chett didn't even react. This was old news to him.

"P...Prison?" It took Lindy two tries to get it out.

"I think Chett can fill you in on that later," Joran said curtly.

That really hurt, Dreen not calling him even if Gemma had him tied up, Chett thought. How long would Joran stay bitter.

He said, "Sure, but only the bare bones. Until late yesterday I had only heard about the military service for the hacking. Then Nevin made a cryptic reference to whether or not Dreen could handle things inside a prison again. So I got the short version. This was just before the staff meeting Lindy - while you were running around setting it up."

She was staring at him. It looked like diplomacy was going to be essential on all sides in the near future Chett thought resignedly.

Joran visibly relaxed at the mention of a slip up by Nevin. "Good. Then I'll make those calls now and let you know how it goes."

*****

Chapter 65

"Bojo."

"Yes?" Bojo prompted as Joran was obviously making absolutely no move to get on with things.

"What did Chett mean saying I was in no position to call anyone space flot?" Joran was honestly confused, and a little apprehensive.

"Patchy memory?"

"Try one big blank, or just a disjointed blur if you prefer."

"Leave it that way."

"No." Joran shook his head firmly. "I have to know. It's bound to come back at me in some interview after the concert. Or for that matter today, if Hidi decides not to stick to the script."

That was true enough. They had insisted on Hidi as the interviewer, because she was Daron's girlfriend and should be sympathetic. But that didn't mean she wasn't a professional snoop, and might not decide to be opportunistic. Bojo sighed. This was definitely turning out not to be his day, and he'd been so optimistic.

"I honestly have no idea what got back to Chett. Stories grow. But you were partying hard with the wrong crowds. So we're talking the standard sex, alcohol, and drug scene. No trafficking at the parties. I made damned sure of that." Bojo sighed again. "And the sex was all consenting adult stuff, nothing anyone could get charged for. Just no one, including you, was unduly meticulous about closed doors."

Terrific. Joran couldn't decide if the lack of memory was a blessing or not. "I really don't remember much." He made a face of distaste. "I suppose I'll get some clear reminders in the cheap sensational press soon."

He didn't want to see himself, stage makeup and all, naked with some random woman. That brought up an alarming thought.

"Parties before or after I cleaned up? Would anyone recognize me on the street if they met me?"

"Before. They tended to start in the stadiums. But you're not using makeup as a mask anymore anyways, remember? So everyone will recognize you on the street in a few weeks anyway."

"Oh. Right." Joran had totally forgotten that change of policy. He put it aside. "So what crap will I see? Images all over the place?"

Bojo shook his head. "I don't think so. We might have missed someone taking images with a mobile, or micro camera, or whatever, but I really doubt it. Anyone taking images or holograms got their equipment strong-armed fast, even if it was just their compad."

"Oh ..." Joran digested this. "Bojo, do we have some new employees and a new damage control policy you just conveniently forgot to tell me about?" He was thinking about the term strong-armed.

Bojo grinned. "No way. If it gets so bad we have to hire muscle, I walk along with the band. I just had a nice little heart-to-heart talk with your friend Ghen Kulgalu. He agreed that his people doing any trafficking within the crowd at your parties was very unwise, too much risk of lawsuits you didn't need. He's very protective of you, you know.

"And Ghen doesn't trust anyone else's drugs. So he had no problem with me running any other traffickers off. Since he's a privacy fanatic himself, he was also very sympathetic about running off anyone taking images. He recommended I outsource to the Soimvells. That's who he uses for muscle.

"They were very good," Bojo continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "They provided a very probable group of additional 'guests' to work the party crowd, plus in a totally different suite down the hall a couple very scary types to discourage the determined. I suspect anyone who was just being opportunistic and met those guys will spend the rest of their lives avoiding a repeat experience. And as for the professional troublemakers," Bojo shrugged, "it just wasn't their lucky night."

Joran licked his top lip. "Bojo, you sound like you were personally at these parties." Joran knew from experience that Bojo flatly refused social events, even small dinners, unless they were exclusively friends.

"Someone had to run things."

"But you hate things like that. Why did you do it?"

"You could have walked out on me when I had problems after my accident, but you didn't."

Joran looked at Bojo, thinking of all the hours he'd spent with him in the clinic. "No, you're wrong. I couldn't have walked out on you."

"Then you know how I felt." Bojo tried to lighten the mood. "So say thank you, and let's get on with things."

"Thank you." But Joran was still thinking about this bit of totally independent creativity on Bojo's part. It was effective, but it had the potential for a vicious aftermath.

"Bojo. What are the likely problems?"

"Like I said, I really don't think there are any. If anyone had images to release, why not do it at the time the band walked?"

"Yes, I grant you that, and thank you again. I was thinking of strings. Ghen's help always has strings." He made a face. "Big strings."

Bojo couldn't deny that. He got himself some juice and thought about it. "I don't know about Ghen. I don't see any strings from the Soimvells. It was a cash deal and they were very professional. It was strictly business to them." He added slowly, "Superstud could say something to tease you some time I suppose."

Joran quirked an eyebrow.

"One party coincided with the Tamaran Octagla team having a layover, so Superstud and Roban came planet-side and he did a night's work for his dad. I'm not sure why Roban helped, but he's not the type to talk."

Superstud was Joran's friend and the star center of the Tamaran Octagla team. He was also Daron Soimvell, son and heir apparent of Devon Soimvell, a less advertised fact. For that matter, the fact that Devon Soimvell was Ghen's enforcer was an even less advertised fact. To the galaxy at large, Soimvell Shipping was a large, legitimate business. Roban, the team's left winger and second highest scorer was Daron's closest friend.

"It worked out well. Superstud's a celebrity, so his being there was natural. And Daron was very calm about everything. Nothing going on was outside his comfort threshold, and he has quick eyes. I guess he has to, to have played center this long and stayed intact."

Joran nodded. "And Ghen?" he repeated resignedly.

"In theory he shouldn't be a problem. I made it very clear I considered that I was doing him a big favor clamping down on any amateur trafficking. And I paid him a hefty finder's fee for the recommendation of the Soimvells. Still, he could decide to have a short memory and decide this is one of those favors of his he likes to call in. If that happens," Bojo looked stern, "send him to me and I'll remind him of the facts of life."

Joran gave Bojo a long assessing look. "You're not afraid of Ghen are you?"

"No, not afraid. I'm very cautious dealing with him. He's a very dangerous man. He's intelligent, capable, and has decided to live by his own rules. But afraid - no."

"I am. He scares the shit out of me!"

"Good!"

"I mean, I like him, he's a great guy. But part of me gets the shivers."

"Try repeating that at intervals," Bojo said dryly. He didn't approve of the friendship between Joran and the man reputed to be the galaxy's largest drug lord. Reputed meant that to date no charges had been placed that stuck.

Joran was offended. "He's my friend."

"I know that. For some reason, Ghen has decided that where you are concerned he's on the side of the angels."

That was true too, Bojo reflected. Kulgalu had been furious when Joran really got into the drug scene. Ghen had been all for physically forcing Joran to enter a clinic, kicking and screaming if necessary, and keeping him there until he was cleaned out. Bojo had pointed out that Joran was an adult and still more or less functioning mentally when he sobered up, so it was probably unlawful confinement. He had also pointed out that any cleaning out would only last about twenty hours after Joran walked out the door and had to get through another night. Kulgalu had ignored the first part and said, 'fine, keep slapping him back in the clinic until he gets it into his head that no one is putting up with this nonsense.' Then Bojo had pointed out that if he really wanted to do something, Kulgalu could stop his people supplying. He'd received an apparently serious lecture that Zloenni's quality control was lousy and if Joran had to take the crap his was the best on the market.

Bojo figured at the moment though Joran had absorbed all he needed to for the day. So he contented himself with, "I suppose I just keep worrying Ghen will forget, and treat you like the rest of the universe. Now are you up to those calls, or should I make them?"

"I will," Joran said firmly. At least he could do that for Dreen.

"Then can I go? I'd rather not stand Brys up for the boat trip, and there's a lot to get through before then."

"Just let me sort out I.C.E."

***

"Hank, can you do me a favor?" Joran asked the balding blond.

"Of course Joran." Hank Palm, VP of I.C.E. didn't usually handle customer service calls, but he was responsible for Gingezel. And Joran had been his Gingezel contact until Jorgus Brenna took over when Joran hit his drug problems.

"Your service people say Eli is on a run, and I need a parcel delivered yesterday to the Farr sector. Any chance of a swap somewhere?"

Hank frowned. "At the risk of sounding uncooperative, what happened to Jon and the Allegro?" He was calling up schedules to find out just where Eli was and where he was en-route to.

"They are already en-route. I just forgot something crucial. Charge me what you want." Joran grinned. "Double if he catches the Allegro."

"I didn't hear that."

"But can you tell Eli that, since he won't be picking up the parcel?" Joran gave an ingenuous smile. "Otherwise I'd tell him then."

"No," Hank said. "Use our encapsulated message service, and I repeat, I did not hear you."

"Great, so where is Eli?"

"It's not bad. We could swap at the Laurion space station. That puts Eli in position for the fastest way to get past the galactic center to the Farr sector."

"Okay. So send a courier to pick up a parcel -" he looked at Bojo raising a questioning eyebrow.

Bojo bit his lip as he did some fast arithmetic. Twenty minutes to get to the studio. Timoth was already there waiting to do the altered albums. That took another twenty minutes. He could use that time to collect some other albums. It wouldn't do for these to stand out as special.

"Forty minutes if the pickup is at the studio."

"Hear that?" Joran asked Hank. "Two pickups in forty minutes - separate couriers. One from me here, one from the studio. Deliver both directly to the spaceport and I'll have destination instructions for Eli sent to the spaceport with my package."

"Right. It's done." Hank disconnected.

"Two pickups? Bojo asked.

"I want to send sealed messages to both Dreen and Mitra, and I need time to think of something that will look innocent to prying eyes. I won't assume seals stay sealed."

Bojo nodded. "And I'll throw in whatever else is around so the altered albums just look like part of a set."

"Good move. You'd better get going."

Bojo hesitated. "Will you be all right for the interview this afternoon?"

Stupid question. Of course he wouldn't be all right. Joran said firmly, "You've got to pick up Brys, remember? Now get out."

***

Joran waited patiently as he worked through the various levels of protection at Juttar's firm. He knew from experience temper only slowed things down, and he was not on Juttar's priority list for personal calls. At last his patience was rewarded.

"Joran, this is a pleasure." Juttar's smile was broad and sincere. It had been a while since they had talked. "Before you say anything, let me tell you M's song is right up there with your best. It's a beautiful tribute to Maillie." He waited for a response, but when none came he decided Joran wasn't ready to talk yet. Before the silence became awkward he continued, "So what's the problem? I'm told this isn't a social call."

Juttar was by his own description twelfth generation mongrel from a polyglot planet. He had thick dark hair, and perhaps a slightly oriental look about his eyes. He was a good-sized man, the former athlete seduced by the good life and spending too much time in the wrong sort of courts. In his youth he had been picked up to play planetary pro from the University soccer team he and Dreen had both been on. It had lasted half a season until he had a serious knee injury. Then, always the realist, Juttar had faced the facts. He'd had a good shot at his dreams, but he was second string material. His comeback would be in the minors, and he might well stay there. So he had picked up his interrupted law degree instead. It was a decision he had never regretted.

Joran looked at Juttar with relief. You could always rely on him. You had always been able to. "It's Dreen. He's in trouble again."

Juttar's eyebrows rose. "I thought he swore off hacking for good."

"He has, in the sense you mean. But remember he does have the contract for the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb. And there he is using hackers to beat hackers." Joran was used to having to update Juttar on Dreen's doings. Dreen and Juttar avoided each other. "But this trouble has nothing to do with hacking. Let me explain."

***

"Oh, Joran, this is beautiful. It's well worth the trouble of setting up again."

Hidi surveyed the clearing that sloped down to the cliff edge, and the view of the lake beyond. The camera crew would make the best of it, and of the perfect cloudless day. She would have said something nice even if this had been the ugliest site in the galaxy, but as it was Hidi was sincere. A gust of wind caught her long blond curls, pushing one across her face.

"We'd better rotate 90 degrees, or you'll spend the whole interview pulling hair out of your face," Joran advised. "That wind will keep coming and going."

Joran watched Hidi with professional detachment as she repositioned herself. She was looking a bit tired beneath the tawny glossy makeup that was her trademark. Superstud must have kept her up all night, he decided with amusement. And Daron was supposed to be in preseason training too. Mmm hmm.

"Do you still get both of us in good light?" she asked the camera crew. After a thumbs up she turned to Joran. "Do you need to walk through the script, or do we just do it?"

Hidi's voice lost it's professional detachment on this last question. She and Daron had spent a couple hours last night speculating on whether or not Joran would get through the interview, and trying to think of what she could do to help. Daron was firmly convinced nothing would help, and he knew Joran better than she did. All the same, Hidi intended to do everything in her power to get him through, and she was as good a celebrity reporter as Daron was an Octagla center.

"Just do it."

***

"Your tour will be in support of the M album you are releasing tomorrow. Is the mood of M's song carried through the album?"

It was an innocuous question after half a dozen innocuous questions, and he couldn't answer it. Not here, not with the past crowding so tight. Abruptly Joran turned away. Their house was going to be just over there. And by that tree he had kissed Maillie. M's Song. Maillie ... Mitra. Did he love Mitra the way he had loved Maillie? And what the hell difference did it make anyways? It was Dreen going to her, not him. What had Chett said, be the best man at the wedding? First he loses Maillie, then Mitra. Only -

"Joran?" Hidi repeated in a louder tone. Thank God this interview was being edited, not aired live.

Slowly Joran turned. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about Maillie, my wife. The M of M's song." One of them anyways. This wasn't in the script. Maillie was part of his private life, and he never talked about her. Only close friends had ever known her name.

He pushed back his hair, his face haggard. "You see, this was our special place, where we were going to build our home, spend the rest of our lives." That wasn't in the script either. "The house was going to be there," he pointed. "Then she died - I wasn't even there with her. I was on the fucking stage half a galaxy away. It tore me apart. That's what M's song is about, that's what the album -"

Abruptly Joran stopped. "Hell, I can't do this!" He made a kill it sign to the cameras. "Let's get out of here to the studio and finish it there."

Hidi put a gentle hand on his arm. "Joran, there's plenty of time." They both knew that was a blatant lie. Each new setup cost time and they were approaching the scheduled airing way too fast. "Do you need to be alone here, or in your suite for a while?"

Joran said, "No. And leave what I just said in." Bojo would kill him for deviating from the script they had worked so hard on, but what he had said just now was honest. Or maybe Bojo wouldn't kill him. Those confessions would triple viewing of the concert and sales of the album, he thought cynically. He took a last look at the lake. Maybe Bojo's day was going better.

*****

Chapter 66

Mitra's brother Niki and Oleg Dorogov from the Financial Regulatory Agency were giving their minds and backs a midmorning break. Niki had sincerely hoped to never see Oleg Dorogov again in his life, but when the market chaos started to look like someone was playing with a code like the chaos theory based one of his that had got him a disciplinary hearing, he found himself thinking of Dorogov. When the activity shifted to the agribusiness sector, one of the sectors he had firmly been warned off because of Roween's work in genetic engineering, he called Dorogov. Niki did not want to get blamed for something he wasn't doing, and Dorogov would be fair, and tenacious. If the problem could be sorted out, he'd sort it out.

A frown furrowed Niki's handsome face as he rose, stretched his tall frame, and offered his guest refreshments. His dark hair was definitely the worse for his repeatedly running his hands through it, and his stylish shirt was rumpled. They had been in his office since eight that morning, running simulations with his chaos theory code to see if they could reproduce the current swings in the agribusiness sector. It was slow going, but so far they had decided two things to Oleg's satisfaction. One, the market chaos was not caused by Niki's code. Two, if their simulations were right the chaos could easily be much worse and someone was being an irresponsible fool. No doubt a greedy irresponsible fool, but a fool all the same.

To Niki's intense relief, Dorogov hadn't said a thing about him still having his code. He'd just looked at the memory pac, grunted something that might have been 'uh-huh', tossed it in the air, caught it, and put it exactly in the middle of Niki's desk.

Then he had said, "Well, this will save us a lot of time," and they had got down to work. Slow work.

A steaming cup of tea in hand, Niki walked over to the window and stood there staring, idly watching the snow sifting down into the traffic below. He raised his cup and took a sip, hoping that clearing his mind might lead to inspiration. He needed some.

Once he and his parents had got used to the idea of Mitra's reactor blowing up, there had been innumerable long sessions with Chelan and Arol Mertel, the family lawyer. Eventually they ended, inconclusive, and Niki had come back to work. There hadn't been any reason not to, there was nothing more he could do. But he found himself flat. He did things, but only mechanically, out of habit and with the market volatility it was not the time to be flat.

Oleg turned on the local segment of the quarterly news as he chewed on a mazipangol. They were an exotic luxury he'd acquired a taste for on a vacation on Azuramer. He'd been surprised both to find that Niki's cater unit stocked them, and that Niki remembered he liked them and offered him one. Niki had explained that Sanja liked them too. They were a flaky sugar and nut rich pastry and there was no way to eat them without making a mess. Now, the piece he was holding broke cascading sticky crumbs onto his lap and he swore.

Niki turned, looking at his guest. Oleg hadn't changed much either with age or promotions since Niki's disciplinary hearings. He was a bit heavier set. His jowls were more pronounced. But the overall impression of a powerful dark swarthy bulldog of a man was still there.

Still, time had passed and his children were all in school now. That was the reason Oleg was watching the news. He and his wife had been at the school board meeting last night and the holovision crew had been there. You never knew, you might see yourself in one of the crowd shots. There had been two stories so far, and no mention of the school board, but it would be the sixth or seventh item, if it ran at all.

The young oriental woman introducing the clips adopted her serious face. "The next story is of special interest in light of the proposed Dellmaice Power Systems power station to be built east of the city. It gives real credibility to the activist group led by C.C. Windegren that has been opposing the units."

Niki frowned and focused, coming to stand by Oleg. What were C.C.'s friends up to now? Although Niki couldn't say he agreed with them, he had to admit he'd been impressed with the opposition they had mounted to the station. That opposition seemed to have lost momentum when C.C. headed off to Drezvir.

The young woman looked important as the clip started. Everyone in the newsroom was rather pleased with it. When the basic clip shown earlier on Gingezel had arrived, they decided to tie it into the controversy over siting the Dellmaice Power Systems station. That would give a local twist, and with any luck heat up the controversy again. Without it, local news was pretty flat at the moment. They had been reduced to covering charity events and things like school board meetings.

Quite by chance the Sports Editor had wandered in, taken a look, and recognized Mitra. They hadn't believed him, but he had been quite sure of himself. He said Mitra had sat in front of him in a math class, and they had become casual friends. How many Mitra Kaels could work for Dellmaice Power Systems and have similar looks? So they checked it out. Dr. Mitra Kael, of Plenata. The daughter of Roween and Chelan Kael. Now they really did have a story, not a routine filler on the financial segment. They had meant to have it the lead story, but they weren't finished in time. It would lead for the rest of the day.

Oleg and Niki watched in total silence. Then Oleg looked at Niki's taut face. "That's your sister then?"

Niki nodded.

"Is this news new to you?"

"No. She called us at the time of the accident. What I'm wondering is why the delay and then it suddenly hitting the news."

Oleg shrugged. "The power station license is due to be signed. Maybe someone got clever and linked the two."

"Is it?" Niki asked abstractedly. If so, one of C.C.'s friends was probably pretty unpopular with C.C. as of now for using Mitra to forward the cause, not that C.C. was likely to hear of it on Drezvir. Niki wondered idly how he and Mitra were getting on. They had years to catch up on, not that Mitra was likely to be in a catch-up mood. Still, it was good she had a friend there.

"Anyways ..." Oleg rose, ejecting and securely zipping the memory pac with Niki's code in his belt pouch. "I'd better leave. With this hitting the news you'll be busy for a couple of days."

Niki nodded. He'd been through this routine every time Roween messed up and hit the headlines. He would get a call from almost every last client. Some would honestly be offering sympathy. Some would be snooping, hoping for some good gossip that didn't make the news. And some would be nervous, like making serious mistakes was contagious within the family. That didn't make sense to him, but he never expected people to be sensible about money.

"One thing, Oleg."

Oleg stopped on his way to the door.

"It's just an idea. But it might be worth contacting Barranb Vigell."

"Vigell?" Oleg's thick eyebrows rose. "You think he might be the source of trouble?"

In spite of his distress, Niki grinned at the ludicrousness of that idea. "No. He's as innocent and academic as ever. I just thought someone might have contacted him. I warn him at intervals not to help with financial codes, but I suspect if someone phrased a question in a sufficiently abstract way, he'd forward the information. It might be interesting to see who's had 'a grad student' with a relevant question for him. He is focused enough he'd remember."

Oleg nodded. "He stays in touch then?"

Niki answered the implicit question behind the question. "You have a dirty mind." Over the last few days they had become relaxed around each other. "Barranb took the warning as seriously as I did. I simply like the old lad. Right now he's off in a totally different direction. Roban is his nephew, and Barranb is trying to work up some really sophisticated Octagla simulations for him." Barranb had been after Niki to get into these new Octagla simulations, but Niki was shy about mentioning that. So far only Chelan knew, and despite both Chelan and Barranb's encouragement he was convinced the work was all way above him.

Oleg grunted. "Okay, I'll call him. And you call me when you've got time to get back to these simulations."

***

Well, there was one thing to do before the calls started coming in. Niki was going to call Arol Mertel, and if necessary get difficult. Niki had discovered that that was one useful trait he had inherited from this mother. When he had to, he could dig in and get really imperious. It usually worked.

So far, their meetings with Mertel had been quite frankly useless. Chelan had pretty much used up his assertiveness going to see the family lawyer in the face of what Niki expected was a good bit of opposition on his mother's part. Once there, Chelan had suggested acquiring off-planet counsel, but when Mertel had been offended, Chelan had backed down immediately, telling Niki afterwards that after all, Mertel had successfully defended Roween several times.

This was true, but not in the Farr sector. And as far as Niki was concerned, that wasn't good enough. He had been appalled by what Chelan had told him about the Farr sector, and had confirmed the stories of the reverse jurisprudence and its consequences by online research. He had then had Sanja, then Collan Rydler, tell him everything they knew about Dellmaice Power Systems' financial condition. By now Niki wasn't the least bit naïve about the business galaxy, and given what he knew about Ari Dellmaice, he hadn't liked what he heard. Dellmaice Power Systems' dangerous business condition and Ari's personality were a bad combination.

So Niki had researched what firms had successfully defended cases in the Farr sector. The key word there was successfully. An evening's depressing research had made it obvious that a lot had lost cases there. The honors, 85% of the successful cases, went to Juttar Kommur's firm. As far as Niki was concerned, that meant Mitra should be represented by Kommur's firm. That's what he would want in his sister's place. He knew his mother sailed through every last lawsuit completely convinced that no one had the right to sue her in the first place, and that therefore she would win, but his own disciplinary hearing had shaken him. The family lawyer had been good enough there - just. It hadn't been Arol's thing, and it showed. The Farr sector would be beyond him.

"Arol, what progress has been made in lining up someone familiar with the Farr sector for Mitra?"

Arol had been about to reply that Dellmaice Power Systems had an excellent staff of lawyers, and that he sincerely doubted he would be needed, much less someone else, but something about Niki's tone and the jaw set made him bite back the words. He'd seen the signs too often in Roween.

He changed his answer. "I was going to recommend someone from Juttar Kommur's firm at our next meeting." Arol had done his homework too. He did not recommend Juttar, because you simply didn't get Juttar himself.

"Well, don't recommend, call them now. Then call me back."

***

It was a solemn faced, rather apprehensive Arol who called back. "Niki, I'm sorry, but there's a problem. Kommur and Associates are not taking any new cases for the indefinite future."

*****

Chapter 67

"Glad you were able to come Brys. Have a nice supper you two."

Bernie, having decided to take on the role of host as well as party coordinator smiled first at Brys, then at Bojo. Brys had been sweet and had not said ten words all afternoon, just watched Bojo and the scenery. She hadn't gone out of the cabin either, so he believed it when Bojo said she was agoraphobic and the barbecue would be too much for her. He believed it, but he did not believe for one second that her agoraphobia was why Bojo wanted to leave the family group. He wanted to have Brys to himself.

Bojo gave Bernie a dirty look as that comment about supper silenced Brys' shy 'thank you', and she just stood there on the deck staring at him. He hadn't mentioned it to her. Bernie was the one he had told about the very fancy reservation in a very private alcove of one of the harbor-side's best restaurants. Unfortunately he'd forgotten to tell Bernie to keep his mouth shut, so Bernie obviously couldn't figure out why he'd suddenly got that dirty look. What Bernie did was give Bojo a 'what did I do' look. They were good at reading each other from long hours on stage. Bojo shrugged. There was no sense being cross and ruining a nice day.

"The cruise was a good idea, Bernie. Enjoy the barbecue."

"Will do." Bernie said to the backs already retreating down the gangplank, still none the wiser.

Once they were safely on the ground, Brys said tentatively, "Are we having supper?"

"I thought you might - look out!" Bojo instinctively pulled Brys towards him as a lad of about ten raced past laughing like a maniac. Three older boys, one obviously his brother and looking furious, were in hot pursuit.

Brys stumbled, half falling into Bojo. She hadn't been looking at the path all. She'd been watching Bojo, wondering if he really wanted her to go to supper or not. She wasn't sure. He had been very nice and polite all afternoon, just like he was at breakfasts on the beach. But that was all. She'd thought ... well, she'd more than half thought. She'd been hoping he might -

"Oh!" The shock of the sudden contact and Bojo's strong arm around her waist drove even those incoherent thoughts out of Brys' mind. Without realizing what she was doing, she leaned into him.

That same physical shock silenced what Bojo been about to say to those young idiots. He was experienced enough to know what it was, although he had never been as intensely aware of a woman before. He just stood there, savoring the moment. Then very carefully he released Brys. The response had to have been one-sided. She couldn't be feeling the same.

"Are you all right?"

"I - I think so." Brys blushed. That was a stupid thing to say. Of course she was all right. The kids hadn't knocked her over had they?

"Then would you like some supper?" Bojo was striving to sound casual. "I made a reservation - it's busy in town right now."

If he hadn't know better, he'd interpret that blush in a very inappropriate way. Don't go fantasizing, Bojo told himself pretty much as he had at five-minute intervals all afternoon.

Bojo really wanted to take her to supper? "Thank you." Brys gave him a shy smile, and they started walking along the pier.

Hanging over the railing of the yacht, Bernie shook his head in disgust. That pair were moving from amusing to ridiculous. They'd been circling each other all afternoon, each watching the other when they thought the other wasn't. Then Brys falls into Bojo's arms and he doesn't do a thing about it? Bernie shook his head again.

Bojo had reached pretty much the same conclusion. Brys would never even flirt, much less make the first move. She was too shy. Feeling as awkward as he had on his first date, Bojo reached out and very cautiously took Brys' hand, ready to release it instantly at any sign of resistance.

Bojo wanted to hold her hand? Brys blinked, then gave Bojo a sideways look. Back on Ennup 10, none of the boys had liked her. She was too smart and ambitious for the local ones, and too frightened to even speak to the few upper-class men she ran into in the university library when she snuck in around 3 AM. She waited for Bojo to change his mind, then when he didn't seem to be going to, laced her fingers between his strong supple ones.

That time, they caught each other stealing a look and moved closer together. Bernie grinned. That was better.

***

The waiter came to remove their soup. Feeling rather sophisticated because she'd sat through a fancy meal twice before, Brys let conversation lapse. She had to admit that neither meal, not even the birthday supper Lindy had treated her to, was quite this fancy. The array of cutlery and glasses was intimidating, but Brys was following Lindy's advice. 'If there is a glass or something on the table and you don't know what it's for, just watch whoever you're with, or an adjacent table and do what they do.'

Watching Bojo and taking her lead from him had been a pleasure. More importantly, she was simply enjoying being with Bojo at a new level of intimacy. She knew all they had done was hold hands, but she instinctively knew it was more than that.

On one of his and her nights off, the hotel chef she'd met the night she got sick had asked her out to supper like Bojo had. It had been nice, and they had talked about what it was like for him living on Gingezel permanently as an employee, not staying in a hotel like Brys, and the problems of being a night chef. And the chef at the restaurant they went to was a friend of his, and had specially made them the dinner then come to visit them over dessert. Walking home, the man had taken her hand. She hadn't minded, it was friendly and reassuring on the relatively deserted street, but when he tried to kiss her, she hadn't liked it at all. That experience had just confirmed her conclusion that all the romance and sex stuff she saw on holovision was just plain acting, and a lot less interesting than hacking. She'd really wished the chef had just let things be, and had only wanted to be friends.

But now Brys wondered what it would be like if it was Bojo who kissed her, and what if he wanted to do more than just kiss her? The waiter left, and blushing slightly Brys picked up the conversation where they had left off. Bojo had been telling her about the change in the Anton Band look - no glitter, no paint. He was worried about being on stage like that, even in the back with no spots on him. Brys really couldn't understand what he was worrying about.

Now she said in all seriousness, "But you look kind of nice."

She knew Bojo was very sensitive about his face. He always sat so she saw his good side, and he liked shadows. But she couldn't understand why. He was attractive to her, his expression was always patient and sweet and kind. If someone messed his face up well, that wasn't his fault was it? And it wasn't as bad as he let on.

"Nice." Bojo was amused, and rather touched. "That's sweet of you Brys, but you don't have to be kind to me."

She was exasperated. "I'm not being kind, you're being silly. If you don't believe me go look in the mirror." She waved towards the mirrored wall by the entrance to the dining room.

"Brys, I'm not going to go make a fool of myself by staring in the mirror in a busy restaurant."

"So don't stand there, go to the Men's and look on the way past."

"Brys!" he protested. The look that got him made him decide it was easier to humor her. "Okay." He shrugged and said with exaggerated politeness, "If you'll excuse me please, I need the Men's." That got him a smile that was worth the silly charade.

Bojo stood up. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it right. He told himself not to look for the young man who in his early twenties found himself a galactic superstar in the Anton Band that was already at the very top of the music industry. That young man had been handsome in a more rugged masculine way than Joran was with his slender fine boned looks. They'd made quite a striking contrast on stage, the blond and the black. Gold had been his onstage color then. Anton blue and silver lame on Joran, gold lame on him. Joran had just set eyes on Maillie. As for himself, Bojo had loved the bachelor life even though if you wanted to stay with Anton in those days it was nowhere near as wild as people liked to imagine. Joran had been very strict about band behavior until Maillie died and he went off the rails.

Bojo also told himself not to remember the man who just short of three years later had his face and life shattered and had spent eight months just piecing the basics back together. When eventually he had found he could play, he had re-immersed himself in music. Then had come the open battle with Joran about going back on stage. Bojo had refused, but Joran hadn't relented. Eventually Joran had won, insisting Bojo was too damned good to hide. They'd come up with the demon mask look in the makeup he wore, and changed his color to glittery metallic black from his gold.

And now there was going to be a new start Joran said. No masks to hide behind, new colors, new styles. Joran was wearing the purple Maillie had liked to see him in, but in a soft loose sweater, not a skintight jumpsuit. Bojo would claim the electric blue that was the Anton trademark. Wipe the screen clean, Joran said.

Well, wipe the screen clean now Bojo told himself. Look at the stranger in the mirror. If you met him, what would you think?

Bojo was approaching the mirror obliquely, seeing his good side, telling himself to be impartial but hoping to see the man Brys said was 'kind of nice'. The man he saw was four or five cm above average height, heavy boned, and well muscled with not an ounce of fat. The medium blond hair was streaked by the sun until parts were almost white, and it was almost shoulder length. Before the accident he had worn his hair fairly short, off his face, exposing a high brow and strong cheekbones. Stop that, he told himself. No wishful thinking. The haircut was good, expensive enough you couldn't tell it was cut. The clothes were expensive and the stranger wore them well. For a moment he allowed himself to be amused, wondering if Brys noticed the new pants and shirt he had bought just take her out. He doubted it.

Bojo returned his focus to the mirror. So far, so good. He was close enough now to make out the half face. Regular masculine features, eyes that were true blue, full lower lip. The stranger that watched him looked older than his years, and as if he'd had a rough life. He didn't exactly look hard. It was more a wariness and weariness, like he'd seen a lot of the galaxy, not been very impressed, and had come to not expect improvement. There was intelligence there though, and a sort of quiet strength. All right. Now quit lying to yourself and being a coward. He looked toward the mirror full face.

Kind of nice. The words echoed in his mind. In the shadowy room he could almost see what Brys was saying. There was asymmetry for sure, but he'd seen more damage on older men after strokes that were not caught in time, and for that matter on a couple of friends of his who were professional athletes. Each had come out definitely second-best crashing into an inanimate object. Neither of them had women problems. His eye was tracking a lot better too. The years of exercise were working. That had been the worst looking thing, the eye at a random angle.

A cold voice in his head said, 'Sure. Try it in bright light you fool.' Bojo headed out into the well lit foyer. A middle-aged couple were just coming in the door. He forced himself to smile and say, "Hello, it's a lovely evening isn't it?"

Startled, both looked at him. Then there was the expression he knew so well, and the eyes slid away from his face. They muttered something polite and hurried past. Sure Brys, kind of nice.

Bojo continued to the Men's room and walked to the mirrored wall by the sinks. The area was well lit, and the face that stared back at him was the same one he shaved every morning. The words mocked him. 'Kind of nice.' Still, in the shadowy light he could see what she meant. He would have to think about that. Later.

Right now he was going to go back to his table and enjoy his supper with Brys. Beautiful, adorable Brys who thought he looked kind of nice. Beautiful, adorable Brys who held his hand. He thought she'd tried to play with the his ankle under the table too. Or she might have just been clumsy and kicked him, because when he stopped talking, startled at the solid contact, she'd blushed scarlet.

And after supper he would get a taxi because Brys would be more comfortable in one than walking on the deserted street. He would see her safely to her room, kiss her goodnight, and - whoa! Where did that kiss her goodnight come from? That was not in any of the scenarios Bojo had rehearsed. He would see her safely to her room, wish her good night, go back to his own hotel and spend a couple hours working on his song. Then to bed. Rehearsal started bright and early, and Joran would be a bundle of nerves.

***

How did he get himself into this? No, that wasn't a fair question. The how was simple. When they got to Brys' door, she had tipped her face up to him like she expected a good night kiss. The relevant question was what the hell did he do now?

Bojo considered the sensible options like saying good night the way he should have at the door as he pulled himself and Brys back into a semi-reclining position on the couch. He cautiously ran a hand along her hip. He could feel Brys' breath catch, then ever so tentatively her hand came up to stroke his hair.

*****

Chapter 68

Vennbir's eyes were alive with excitement as he walked into the Nemizcan executive suite.

"Morning, Arla."

"Oh, hello Vennbir," she said, visibly startled by the change in his behavior.

That amused Vennbir. He knew yesterday he'd more or less slunk into the office hoping that Chett was too busy to see him. He'd been terrified. Before he had even reached his desk yesterday, five coworkers had made a point of telling him that the other hacker, Klarak, had been fired. One even said he'd been escorted off the property by security, and another said some of the software system security settings were changed and they were requiring retinal scans to reissue passwords.

The meeting had been all right though. Mostly Chett had talked about when he was just starting out, while he had made crumbs of the pastry Chett had insisted he take. Then they had both laughed at Brys' idea of how to wreck the Trader Exchange. They had agreed it had to be Brys. Just think, if things went right he might even meet her.

And things were going to go right. Vennbir knew it. Last night he'd cracked the challenge in a couple hours. Then because he was too wired to sleep, he'd hunted up the hackers' newsgroup just on the off-chance someone had answered his question. That hadn't seemed likely though. Usually you got an answer in a couple hours or you didn't get one. But there it had been, a detailed answer from Plantman. Plantman, one of the legendary hackers, actually answering him! Vennbir had got lost about three quarters of the way through the explanation and had spent too much time trying to figure it out. It seemed like all of a sudden it was dawn.

He raised a hand to his mouth to cover a yawn.

The motion caught Arla's attention.

"Sorry Vennbir. Chett's call is taking longer than he expected. Take a seat."

***

Chett gave a satisfied nod and broke the call. Hoffner was in on the raid on Dellmaice Power Systems. He touched the contact on his desk. It was his desk now in his mind, not Dreen's.

"Is Vennbir here yet?"

"He's waiting for you."

Chett rose. This greeting deserved more than just a 'send him in'. He opened the door, his smile broadening and his hand outstretched.

"Congratulations! You did it."

"Thank you." Feeling suddenly as nervous as he has on his first visit, Vennbir took the the outstretched hand, then to his mortification yawned.

"Been celebrating?" Chett asked with an amused smile. "Come in and we'll discuss transferring you to the Gingezel Ultra-secure Hyperweb project. Then you can go sleep at your desk."

***

"Oh, Wayd," Chett said in mild surprise. "I thought I'd called Gali." Wayd was looking good, very professional in his suit, well groomed, a smile on his black face. He'd been Chett's first choice for the Gingezel hub manager, and it looked like maybe it was working out despite Dreen's reservations that Wayd wasn't settling in.

"He won't be in today and I'm taking his calls. They have to get something or another complicated done to their condo today, and he didn't seem to think it was a good idea to leave managing the workmen to his wife, Keya." Wayd was getting to know Keya fairly well now, and was inclined to agree with Gali.

Wayd hadn't spoken to Chett since he transferred to Gingezel. Now he was watching Chett's face carefully to see if Chett had been given any feedback about Gingezel, but he couldn't read much beyond fatigue.

"Can I help you?"

Chett shook his head, then mentally cursed himself as that ultra-polite mask Wayd could hide behind settled on his face. Maybe Dreen was right. Wayd used that mask to hide problems. He'd see.

Chett amended, "That is, not unless you're willing to relay messages." A real smile lit up his face. "It looks like Gali has a new team member."

"That young man Dreen was talking to before he left?"

Chett nodded. "Would you believe he cracked the code just two hours into his second night of trying? And he says he spent most of the first night reviewing what he had done earlier." Chett shook his head. "What a waste his being stuck in data entry."

Wayd would understand. He'd come up the hard way too. "He wasn't even bitter about the first time. He just can't quite believe he got a second chance. Life doesn't give them very often, does it?"

"No," Wayd agreed solemnly. "And good for him." He added, "I tried the competition, you know. But I wasn't good enough. I got through the second level of security but not the third."

"Did you?" Chett was intrigued. He grinned. "I hope you took my 'behave-yourself-lecture to hackers' to heart." He was realizing he'd missed talking to Wayd. Wayd had been his closest friend among the hub managers. They thought a lot alike.

"Of course," Wayd found he was smiling back and starting to relax. "Did that poor guy you wanted to talk to take you seriously?"

"Mr. Attitude Problem?" Chett shook his head. "He's history and good riddance." He smiled again. "Pass that on to Brys and Evrit if you think it's a good idea."

"Evrit wouldn't dream of stepping out of line. It might not hurt to tell Brys."

"My conscience has nagged me from time to time, but there never seemed a convenient time to call. How is Gingezel working out?" Chett was watching Wayd as he spoke.

"Fine," Wayd said, reverting to the polite mask.

So Dreen was right, there was a problem. "You mean working with Head Office staff isn't driving you crazy? I feel vaguely guilty for not warning you what they're like."

"Well ..."

It wasn't quite a squirm from Wayd, but discomfort showed. Okay, he'd found part of the problem."You should be me," Chett grinned, relaxing. "I'm running organized chaos. It sure isn't like the hubs."

Wayd returned the smile. Oh, how he had missed feeling he could call Chett up and talk things over now and then, but he'd felt that he had to work solo to prove he was good enough for the Gingezel post.

"Wayd," Chett said abruptly, "there's something that I'd better explain before you hear about it from someone else and take it the wrong way. While I'm running things, we need an acting V.P. of Field Ops. I've tentatively approached two hub managers to see if either is interested. I didn't call you, because I thought that in the long haul Gingezel is the more important post. But the more I think things out, the less I think I'll ever go back to the position. So it has the potential to be permanent. But please don't talk that around right now, everything is too uncertain. That might change things for you though. Do you want to be considered if the interim Vice Presidency has the potential to be permanent?"

"That's honestly flattering, but no." Chett was right. Gingezel was the better job. But more importantly, Trevarr was here.

"Do you need time to think?"

"No." Wayd hesitated. He needed to talk to Chett to make sure his and Trevarr's plans weren't now off-track again, because he knew Dreen hadn't finalized the site at Crescent Bay. But first ...

"I've got to tell you something too, Chett," Wayd felt his stomach knot. Chett and Dreen were different people. Chett expected regulations to be followed. "I've ended up breaking rules here - they have one about no involvement with locals. But Trevarr, the man who runs the Sports Medicine Clinic here, and I are involved." He told Chett the whole story, including Dreen's intervention on their behalf.

"Wayd," Chett asked when his friend finished, "for a reasonably sober, hard working guy how do you get in these messes?" This wasn't the first relationship problem Wayd had stumbled into.

"Sheer talent?" Wayd hazarded.

"Something like that," Chett agreed. "And you and this Trevarr are really serious, serious enough Dreen was thinking about moving the hub back to Crescent Bay?" Chett wanted to get this straight. He was the one who had told Dreen if that all locations were equal to put it in a megacity. That seemed Wayd's style.

"Very. We want a formal relationship when we can manage." If. The worry about being half a continent apart was back. Chett had just listened to the story with no comment beyond calling it a mess.

"Then I'm very happy for you." Chett meant it. "Will you introduce me sometime?"

"Tonight, if you'd like."

"Thank you. You brought moving the hub up. I hadn't heard a thing about that, so I wouldn't have acted on it but I'll see it through." That was Dreen's mild preference anyway. "Do you know how far Dreen got?"

"Not really," Wayd said with relief. "He sounded out the rest of the Gingezel team, but then things went wrong and he took off." Wayd shrugged.

"And now he's in hyperspace en-route to Drezvir. Who's the Gingezel contact with the consortium?"

"Are you asking what I'm supposed to know, or what I do know?"

"Both. Start with the official line. Who's our contact?"

"A guy called Allcaro. He's all right," Wayd said without much enthusiasm.

"But?" Chett prompted.

"I get the impression, more from comparing notes with Trevarr than anything that's actually happened, that a lot of rules are getting bent dealing with Nemizcan. It has Allcaro edgy - I think you really hear about it around here if you screw up. It's making Allcaro very slow. He checks everything half a dozen times. That sort of thing."

"What kind of rules are getting bent?" This was news to Chett.

"Start with the big one that Nemican employees like me who will stay on planet aren't being required to become Gingezel employees. That's the Gingezel equivalent of applying for citizenship. The only analogous situation is with the spacelines, and they are required to rotate the on-planet staff off-planet every four to six months.

"The other big one is ownership both of our equipment and any technology we develop. It stays with Nemizcan. For everyone else here everything from the land to the furniture in hotels plus all of the disposables are owned by the consortium. Anything durable is leased or franchised out. And any technology, arts, design, you name it, developed is consortium property."

"Interesting ..." Chett thought a minute. "Is that what you're not supposed to know? This sort of stuff Trevarr tells you?"

"I have no idea if that's proprietary or not. I never asked. I'm just passing on the usual suppertime compare today's gossip. What I'm not officially supposed to know is that Nemizcan contracts are all being personally handled by Joran, although Jorgus Brenya seems to be keeping an eye on things. Being as busy you are, that might help."

Mentally Chett whistled. "And how did you find out those two are in the consortium? Who is in the consortium is one of the best-kept secrets in the galaxy." Chett added as an afterthought, "Or are you guessing? Is it common knowledge to Gingezel residents?"

"No, it's not common knowledge, but Joran and Jorgus Brenya being in the consortium is a fact. I suspect the consortium members are sometimes a little sloppy on Gingezel. Apparently you have to sign one hell of a nondisclosure agreement to become an employee to cover that eventuality. In my case, I honestly don't know if they forgot I'm not an employee, or Joran was just going for the expedient."

"What happened?"

Wayd considered how to keep the story short and not skip steps.

"It was about a week ago. I was working late, and when Trevarr finally decided he'd better come drag me home, we stopped in the hotel lounge to eat there, and for a drink to unwind. A bit later Joran and Jorgus came in, and Joran asked Trevarr if he could borrow me for a minute. When I joined him and Jorgus, he said he had a couple questions on the hyperweb progress and I could probably save him bothering Dreen. Only they weren't only a couple questions, and they were kind of proprietary stuff I had no idea if he had the right to ask.

"So I said I really thought he should talk to Dreen, and Joran got upset and said to don't be a pain in the ass. Then old Jorgus intervened and told Joran he thought my behavior quite proper, and he approved of discretion. Then he got out his compad and called up a couple documents authorizing various funding for the hyperweb project with his and Joran's signatures, and said would that satisfy me they were handling the project. So," Wayd said, "I did my best to make polite apologies and answered their questions.

"Then after a while, Joran said that was enough and we were neglecting Trevarr. So he joined us and we all had another round of drinks, then Trevarr and I went home. Oh yes -" Wayd remembered something. "Joran said to not tell Dreen he was personally handling the contract. He wasn't sure Dreen would like working for him."

That was probably true enough, Chett thought. And of course it would have to be Joran he had to deal with. "Wayd, is it a bit strange to be on first name basis and socializing with that high-level crowd?"

"Yes," Wayd said honestly. "But mostly I'm with the townspeople and they're ordinary. Trevarr is the one in a weird situation - always bossing around top pro athletes. Right now the Tamaran Octagla team is here - but he can tell you all about that later."

*****

Chapter 69

Where in the bloody hell was that man?

Joran knew he was in a foul mood. He'd woken up from a dream that Dreen couldn't find Mitra. Then, because he knew he had to, he'd forced himself to watch the interview. Last night he'd managed to forget the interview so thoroughly he couldn't remember a thing about it come morning. He knew Hidi had tried, but he hated it. The fans would have hated it too. Joran knew that. He had decided to not even look at the reviews.

Then, arriving about ten minutes early in the lounge of his hotel for practice, Joran had been sure he was first. He wanted to calm down on stage. Then he had realized a couple lights were on, and that Paulo's guitar case was there onstage along with Kori's sax case. It had taken a while to spot them. They had been stretched out on the banquette in a dark rear corner, killing time making out. At least that was what Joran had assumed from the tangle of feet. Terrific. He had started to say something, but stopped, remembering it was Paulo who had instigated the walk out. He had contented himself with switching on all of the lights, giving the startled couple a glare, and stalking onstage to setup.

And now there was no sign of Bojo. It was over an hour since Larry and Fredrico and Bernie and Uth had wandered in yawning and clutching coffee cups. They had tried to work around Bojo, but what the hell could you do with the main keyboardist gone?

It wasn't just that though. Joran hadn't expected getting ready for the concert to be smooth. It had been one thing to be fooling around as the steel band, but this was going to bring back all of the hard memories of the last few tours. He'd counted on Bojo helping, not being part of the problem. He'd counted on Bojo being a sort of liaison, smoothing things out between him and the band. And now they'd been waiting around, playing and killing time and trying to not get nervous. He didn't know how the band was doing on that score, but his stomach was one big knot.

He would give it another twenty minutes, then call the police and hospitals. If that didn't work, he would activate Bojo's GPS chip. Joran had been calling Bojo's room every ten minutes, and anywhere else he could think off. He'd even tried the Nemizcan office on the off-chance Bojo was brave enough to continue to pick up Brys for breakfast now that their collaboration altering the albums was over. But they said Brys was taking the day off, and there had been no sign of her.

***

Bojo was in a singularly good mood as he sang one of Joran's songs from the M album in the shower and tried again to get ready for practice. It was better suited to his voice than Joran's, but then about every fifth song Joran wrote was. He'd sung it during set up for the album to save Joran's voice. And he'd sing harmony at practice with Joran and Bernie for the fun of it. In a couple days Joran was due to decide he liked Bojo's version better, and then try to talk him into recording a cover in his name. That was not going to happen because as soon as his name appeared on a vocal recording, he'd have to open his mouth onstage. That Bojo flatly refused to do. He sang harmony on most albums as an unnamed studio musician, but that was it. So they would have the usual fight, but that wasn't the big deal, since they both knew how it went, and who won.

Right now though, Bojo felt he could sing onstage. In fact, he felt he could do just about anything. What he was going to do though was get dressed, get a fruit juice and a roll from the cater unit, do a quick scan of the financial and entertainment news as he ate, then head to practice.

***

The door opened at the far end of the lounge Joran.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Hey, I'm here."

"That's not the point!" Joran was furious. "In case you haven't noticed we have a concert in exactly two weeks. We're going to have to work our butts off just to -"

"Galaxy! And you still have a good two kilos to lose." Bojo swung up onto the stage. "Back off Joran!"

"Bust our butts just to be ready. You've kept us waiting all morning Bojo! Damned if I'm spending my time chasing after you. If you think you're so good -"

"Joran! Get off his back." Fredrico said.

"Can it Joran! We've got plenty of time," Paulo added.

"Easy Joran," Ikof said.

The band was coming to Bojo's defense.

Bernie had been ignoring the growing furor and watching Bojo. Joran could yell himself hoarse and it was going to be water off a duck. He threw his two credits in.

"You're wasting your breath, Joran."

He grabbed one of the chairs that had collected on the stage during the multiple breaks in the past hour or so and shoved it at Bojo.

"Sit down before you fall down," Bernie advised. He grinned. If Joran hadn't been so mad, he'd have been able to tell too. "Didn't Brys let you get any sleep at all last night?" So they had got their love life sorted out after all. That was great!

Bojo accepted a chair and straddled it, leaning his forearms on the back. "Some. Where things went off-track was getting showered to come over here." He smothered a yawn.

"Oh ho!"

"Haven't you learned yet to shower solo?"

"So what's she like?"

Bojo let the teasing comments flow past him. He was sure he had a stupid grin on his face, but it was so good to be the center of the teasing. He tried to catch Joran's eye.

Brys? Joran stared. Bojo had spent the night with Brys? By the expression on his face quite happily too. Joran was pretty sure the smile spreading across his face was a match to Bojo's. "When - what?"

"She came on the cruise yesterday, and we had supper, and -"

"And now you need to sleep until at least early afternoon." Joran was amused. "Fair enough." He shifted gears back to bandleader. "Seriously though Bojo, her night work schedule is going to be a problem. Can you figure something out the rest of us can work around?" He turned to the band. "Do any of you care if we shift practices off morning?"

"No, I think it's okay," Bojo said. "Today just got out of hand."

Joran didn't argue. He let the guys run on teasing for a bit, then intervened. "Okay! Enough! I thought the idea was to let Bojo get some sleep. Come on, I'll walk you to the door." Then to the band, "Take another break. We'll do one more run at that passage then quit till this afternoon." One more try wasn't going to hurt. They needed it.

As they headed across the lounge, Joran wished he could ask if everything had been fine and didn't dare. He'd helped Bojo through his personal hell while he briefly tried the medical route then flatly refused to deal with his impotence. He couldn't ruin things now by bringing those days up. Joran didn't know how Bojo had stood the impotence on top of everything else back then, or for the years since for that matter.

Bojo saved him the trouble of asking. When they were well out of earshot he said with a sort of wonder in his voice, "I didn't remember it could be that good. Maybe I never knew how good it could be."

"I'm truly happy for you." Joran was sincere.

"She was a virgin you know."

"That can't have been a surprise."

"No ..." Bojo paused uncertainly. "I suppose, I never thought." Then firmly, "Yes, it was a surprise. I mean she's so gorgeous there must always have been guys falling all over her."

"That doesn't count until she finds the one she wants." Joran waited while Bojo thought this out.

Bojo shook his head, still not quite believing it was him. "What surprises me is how possessive, how protective that is making me feel."

Bojo's eyes were obviously asking for help on that, but Joran shook his head. "You're on your own Bojo. The way life has turned out, that's a privilege I've never had." Or was likely to. Joran liked women reasonably near his own age say plus or minus five years and he was a lot older than Bojo.

"Look Joran, I'm not going to apologize for this morning because it would be a lie. I'm not sorry, and I would do the same thing again. But you do deserve an explanation." They were at the door now. "I had intended to get here. I didn't think Brys would wake up. But halfway through the shower I had company and well ..." That part was none of Joran's business. "Anyways, I knew it could be as good as before and I decided nothing else mattered. I should have called -"

"Bojo," Joran interrupted firmly, "can it or you'll end up making that apology you weren't going to. I was just getting to the worried about accidents stage." A small smile twitched his lips. "But show up on time from now on. You are wrong you know, I'm fighting the last kilo."

Bojo grinned. "So, I'm warned."

It was the natural point to leave and Joran expected Bojo to, but he was standing there with a queer mix of expressions on his face, still largely pleased with himself, but partly embarrassed, and partly what Joran would have sworn was defensive. Joran couldn't guess why for the life of him.

"Joran, there's one more thing." Bojo knew he was going to hear about it, but he may as will get it over with. "I've got shoulders. You'll pick up on it this afternoon when I try to play."

"Uh-huh, and worse tomorrow, and worse the day after." Joran was definitely amused. "Been doing your arm strengthening at the wrong angle, Bojo?" He shrugged. "So before you bother to show up tomorrow get Trevarr in early for a good massage. Next day too. And while you're at it, teach Brys to like whatever until after the concert. It isn't like you don't have options."

It was Bojo's turn to be amused. Trust Joran to go for the direct solution. And that was true, there were options, attractive ones. He could see Brys sitting above him with that gorgeous tangle of golden hair cascading down her breasts ...

"Bojo!" Joran interrupted the reverie. "Go get that sleep! You're punchy." He opened the door and shoved him out.

*****

Chapter 70

What? Mitra focused, wishing it wasn't so far to the other end of the room and that there wasn't so much equipment in the way. Surely that was Dreen standing there in the doorway? It couldn't be! But it was. Dreen was here. He'd come to her! He'd come! Not thinking and only half aware of where she was, Mitra started to rise. Then she realized he was intent on conversation with Olan Rostin, Trebur Auta, Azlo Mirelle, and Tranngol. Quickly she subsided into her seat, and looked around. But no one was paying attention to her little corner. All were focussed on the newcomer.

It was obviously a serious conversation, and all four men were being deferential to Dreen. Then Auta said something to Tranngol who nodded, and they all headed towards the workstation where Sam Ieono, the software reliability expert, was sitting like everyone else watching the distraction. As they neared him, Sam rose with a smile on his face and his hand outstretched in welcome.

Mitra blinked back tears on a wave of disappointment. Idiot, she told herself. Did you think he came here looking for you? The fog of exhaustion and immersion in technical details partially lifted, and her brain kicked into action. What was Dreen doing here? She almost moaned out loud in dismay. He couldn't possibly be yet another of those regulatory types, or worse still, some government representative visiting the Farr sector? She doubted many regulatory bureaucrats could have afforded an indefinite stay in Crescent Bay on Gingezel, but a government representative could well have.

Ari's words resurfaced with a vengeance. 'You get your personal and professional lives mixed up and messed up and I'll have to pull you ... mess up Kael and you're out of here ...'

Boy, she thought as the power figures continued to make their slow way through the habitat, she could pick them. Why hadn't she found out who he was? Not, a streak of honesty injected, that she would have given a damn. Not with Dreen. Mitra pushed that memory aside. Ari had already made it clear he too expected her to prove the accident wasn't her fault, that he was not automatically on her side. Causing political complications would be the last straw where he was concerned.

Now determined to ignore the five figures making their way down the room, she forced her eyes back to the screen and kept them there. She tried not to think.

"Dr. Kael."

It was Rostin speaking in that repressive tone he had used on her ever since the accident. She looked up reluctantly.

"Dr. Kael, let me introduce Dr. Pendi, President of Nemizcan Computing." The newscast of the change in management at Nemizcan hadn't reached the Farr Sector, and Dr. Pendi's ambiguous statement that he was temporarily not running Nemizcan confused Olan, so he stuck to the title president.

Mitra didn't hear the words. All she could do was see Dreen standing there less than a meter away, and not even smiling. He was looking every bit as repressive and intimidating as Rostin. How the hell did she play it now? Gingezel never happened? I've never seen you before my life?

For sure one thing was plain just looking at him. Gingezel was dead and buried, as dead as the miners. And Gingezel was what had been keeping her going. The belief that somehow, sometime this would all be over and she would find him. When Ari had called, furious about the accident hitting the news with her image all over the place, Mitra had secretly been almost pleased. Surely Dreen would see it, and recognize her and call. Then when he hadn't she had been making one excuse after another.

Well, she'd found him now. Tears started to blur her eyes as she rose on shaky legs.

Dreen stepped forward as his most formal, hand outstretched. "Hello Mitra."

Did she realize how careful he, and she for that matter, had to be until he got the lay of the land? Galaxy how he wished it was anything but a public meeting like this. Dreen tried to search her eyes, but he only saw confusion, suspicion, and what he would judge was the onset of serious shock. As he watched, Dreen saw the glisten of a tear.

Well, at least her legs still sort of worked. "Hello Dreen." She extended her hand formally, half dreading the contact that would spell the end forever.

Dreen took her hand, trying by touch to give her some of his strength. Come on Mitra. Hang in there until I can say three words to you. 'I love you.' She wouldn't meet his eyes. He held her hand a moment longer than was socially required, unobtrusively stroking the side with his finger.

Her brain tried to work. It really did. He was holding her hand. His hand was warm, the way it always was. And he was petting her.

"You know each other then?" Trebur Auta asked.

Dreen did not like the tone. He was not particularly sure he liked the man, despite Chett's assessment he was impartial and simply distrusted the whole galaxy on sight. Auta was one of those really closed types that were hard to read. What did the fool think, that they had collaborated to cause an accident that would ruin them both? No, he realized with a sudden flash of insight, he expects a different kind of collusion. That I got Mitra to use Nemizcan for some kind of a kickback to establish us in the energy market, we didn't deliver a decent product, she accepted it anyway, and now we're both trying to get out of this. Or something of that sort.

He released Mitra's hand. "Yes and no," Dreen said easily. "We met once socially and never got around to any job talk. As I said, I never knew who the project engineer was. My dealings were with Ari Dellmaice."

Was that what Gingezel was to Dreen? 'We met once socially'? Mitra would have given anything to breakaway from the little group of men. Her brain processed the next part. 'My dealings were with Ari Dellmaice'. A government official. He was a government official for sure. Damn! The anger helped bit, but not much. She still couldn't think.

Dreen was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was looking worse, if possible. Trying to attract attention to himself to give her time to recover, he tried to keep up the harmless small talk.

"The one who knows Mitra is Chett Linderson. He was the Vice President responsible for this installation. I think you met him a few days ago? He and I decided that given the gravity of the situation I should be the one to come back."

Her brain was really trying. It wasn't keeping up, but it was trying. Did she know a Chett Linderson? Her brain dutifully processed the name. Of course she did. Chett Linderson was her contact at Nemizcan. Good, her brain decided. We both got to that part. Her brain had definitely decided that it and Mitra were in a rather shaky collaboration at the moment.

With that success behind it, her brain decided to go all out and attach a face to the name. In retrospect, it may have been a little injudicious selecting the image. After all, she'd known Chett for more than three years now and there were lots of images. But it wanted a nice clear one so she would get it right. It pulled one and dutifully displayed it.

Yes, that was definitely Chett Linderson. The blond hair. Blue eyes, the boyish face. He was smiling that smile of his because he was telling her a funny story.

Emboldened by success her brain tried dual processing. Dreen knew Chett. He was talking about Chett. 'My vice president', 'he and I decided'.

Mitra decided that didn't make any sense and ignored it.

Her brain gave up on dual processing and decided to do something useful. Maybe she'd need to recognize Chett some time when she couldn't see him full face. It finished displaying the image. It was a very clear image, and if she couldn't recognize Chett after seeing it she wasn't even trying. He was stretched out on her bed, stark naked and comfortable that way. She was sitting beside him, as naked as he was. She could see his whole slender, muscular form. Well-defined shoulders, narrow waist, the best legs she'd seen on a man. She was laughing too because she was teasing him, tracing a line from rib cage down to thigh with her finger, moving her finger closer to his middle each time. She was waiting to see when he gave up pretending to be ignoring her. Chett Linderson, the one good thing that happened to her on this planet.

That made Mitra feel a little better.

Another success. Maybe it should try again on those words, her brain decided. Maybe they would be understood better if it threw in those words she hadn't even listened to. 'This is Dreen Pendi, President of Nemizcan Computing'.

President of Nemizcan Computing?

Her brain was rather pleased with itself. She'd got it this time.

The rest came as a flood. Dreen wasn't a bureaucrat. Dreen was President of Nemizcan Computing, right up there in the list of the top five who were in as much trouble as she was. No. No! She couldn't have dragged Dreen into this.

President of Nemizcan Computing? Vice President? Dreen and Chett. All of her dreams and laughing boy were a team? Chett had been here and gone to Head Office and talked to Dreen. And Dreen would have decided that Gingezel was just something casual to her, like Chett had been. No wonder he said 'we met once'. He would never believe now she loved him -

Her brain decided maybe this wasn't going too well. Maybe it should give up on all the thinking and get right back to basics. Like deciding whether it would be better if she fainted, cried, or threw up.

Mitra took a quick look to judge the distance to the wastebasket.

Dreen noticed the sudden pallor.

So did Tranngol. He wasn't sure what was going on with these two, but for sure the current group was too big by four. Just off hand, he would guess that Chett had not called with apologies or a warning that he was not returning, and Dreen was stuck as message bearer. It looked like this had left Mitra very, very upset. She'd been living for Chett's return.

Tranngol's reactions were the faster of the two. He was under less stress. "I say, Dreen." Drop the honorifics, and use a best buddy tone of voice.

That brought the two heads he cared about around to him with a snap that must have hurt. He wasn't worried about Azlo Mirelle. Azlo was all right.

"I'm sure you and Mitra have news to catch up on about mutual friends, but I was hoping you could get right down to that hyperweb installation. Since I talked to you my needs have done an exponential."

"Hyperweb installation?" It was Olan Rostin. "I haven't had any requests to authorize any changes to our hyperweb facilities."

"Not a change. Have Nemizcan Computing lay in a whole new system." Tranngol rubbed his face, the harried man. "There's so much going on, did I forget to tell you?"

"Tell me? Something like this is more than a matter of telling me, Tranngol!" Rostin was severe.

"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Rostin." Do your bit to act like you don't want to be embarrassed in front of Dr. Pendi, President of Nemizcan. "If I could have a word, perhaps we can minimize inconvenience to Dr. Pendi. He did cart a whole lot of expensive equipment here for me."

Tranngol gestured down the hall to another relatively open space. "Dreen, I'm sorry about my slip up on admin. Would you mind terribly waiting? Have that social chat after all?" Make it sound like talking to Mitra was a favor.

Tranngol started walking. Olan followed, lecturing him full force. Trebur followed curious. Azlo was watching the group splitting with an assessing look. Tranngol jerked his head. Azlo hesitated, then followed.

Nice move, big man, Dreen thought. In fact, it was one of the best pieces of improvisation he'd seen. Tranngol had obviously expected resistance to the new hyperweb installation and intended to present it fait accompli, but dropping the bomb now was a nice touch. It left him alone with Mitra, unless you counted the half a shed full of people that were staring at them. The rest were watching the group with Tranngol. And then, of course there was anyone on monitoring equipment, he reminded himself.

Dreen turned back to Mitra. "Mitra," he began imploringly, then it registered that her whole attention was on the wastebasket. "For galaxy's sake, sit down before you're sick!"

This was his worst nightmare within this whole Drezvir nightmare. She couldn't forgive him for not being there for her. She had been going through hell alone, too proud to try to find him, and the very sight of him literally made her sick.

Mitra's brain decided that sitting down was a distinct improvement. Making your legs work was really a lot of nuisance. Maybe it wouldn't be necessary to throw up after all. It would defer that decision and try words again.

"Oh Mitra." Dreen moved a step forward, wishing he dared put out a hand. Damn all those eyes. He could feel them on the back of his neck. At least they were a fair distance away and she could talk if he pitched the conversation low. He assumed her desk might be bugged or monitored so he would try to be ambiguous, but right now paranoia could go to hell! Besides, what would anyone hear that was useful with her off here by herself and ostracized? A lot of crying, he'd judge by the red rimmed eyes, peeling nose, and box of tissues at the ready.

"How can you forgive me for not being there when you called? I -" get it out Pendi - "I was out at some damned lunch with Joran and you got your call and -" Hell! There were no excuses. "On top of it, I'm a stupid fool! I've been scouring the bloody galaxy for you, and here you were if I'd had the sense to talk to anyone." He stopped in total misery.

'Forgive me', 'scouring the bloody galaxy.' He still cared? He'd been looking for her? Mitra felt hope flood back into her. Cautiously she looked up, prepared to retreat at anything vaguely like rejection. But all Dreen was doing was standing there looking totally miserable with a pleading look in his eyes. Dreen's eyes. She let herself get lost in them.

This definitely demanded a response her brain decided. But it couldn't get her to do what it wanted her to do. She kept saying no, she couldn't run to him and get held. She was very stupid today. But there had to be a response. Maybe, given the circumstances tried and true was best. Do what you've had lots of practice with lately. Cry. Very noisily too. That was always good.

Mitra burst into tears.

"Mitra, please," Dreen's of voice was imploring. "You'll get everyone watching."

"No I won't," she managed between sobs. "I've done this so much they're all sick of me. Look." Nann had suffered another relapse two days ago and was back in intensive care. Mitra had been on one long crying jag ever since.

She was right. The people who had been watching had either shifted their attention to Tranngol or gone back to work. Even Tranngol's group moved another dozen paces or so away.

"So talk. I'm," hiccup, "not good at talking," massive sniffle into a wad of tissue, "and crying at the same time, but I listen good." It mattered so she really tried and got another sentence out. "You really tried to find me?"

"I did one terrible job of it. I honestly didn't know you worked for Ari, much less that you were here until Chett walked in and told me. And there you have to forgive me again. Oh Mitra, all I wanted to do was head for the Allegro." She looks totally lost so he added, "That's Joran's Genie. Anyway, forgive me, but I didn't. It took seven hours to put the company in order so I could leave."

He found he could still smile, because it was starting to look like the ghost of one was lurking in Mitra's eyes behind the tears. "But we set a speed record here, and she's the fastest ship in the galaxy."

"You dumped everything and came chasing after me in a Genie?" Proper, responsible Dreen? That did bring a smile.

"Mitra, do you know -" He couldn't do it. Dreen had told himself no matter what, he'd tell her he loved her and he wanted to marry her. But he couldn't do it with her crying, and while he was imagining all those eyes on his back, and with this all probably being recorded for trial. And he was wasting precious time. Tranngol could only stall so long.

Inspiration struck. "I'm sorry. I can't get the words out." He was smiling into her eyes. "Can you just remember my being late for my jet and hang onto that until we get the hell out of here?"

Their lovemaking had been so incredible that he had lost track of time and left a chartered jet and pilot waiting on a runway. She'd been so beautiful that morning. The humid air of Candi Dua had put a curl in her fine dark hair, and she had finally acquired a hint of a tan on her almost white skin. She'd been half asleep, in a sensual reverie.

It was the first 'we' she'd heard in way way too long. He got a dazzling watery smile. "You did catch the jet - eventually."

He smiled back, then forced himself into reality. "Look, I hate to do this but I'd guess we've got a minute or two left at most. I think we'd better be careful to be very professional until we're out of here. I don't want to jeopardize your position, and the fact Chett gave me some pretty strong arguments why he could give you better support than I could isn't making me any more comfortable. As it is, I literally couldn't do it, let Chett come back. I had to be here so that at least from now on I'm beside you when you need me. By the way, Chett's running the company instead of me until this is over."

It was finally dawning on Mitra that Dreen was talking like he and Chett were best buddies, no hard feelings between them. Chett had kept his mouth shut then, bless him. Poor Chett. Dear Chett. Her stomach unknotted a little.

"So, we had a nice chat about mutual friends \- Joran say? Unless this desk is monitored. Is it?"

Mitra shrugged. She wasn't sure.

"It doesn't matter," Dreen said. "I had to say what I said. But now I'd better go install a hyperweb hub."

Mitra tried to imagine Dreen's strong, blunt-fingered hands doing the finicky work. She didn't even try to come to grips with him having the kind of knowledge required.

"You really can?"

"Slowly and painfully, yes."

Tranngol was returning, a frowning Rostin, Auta, and Mirelle on his heels.

"So do you want to watch this end of the installation, or do you need to stay sat? Jon is handling satellite deployment with the Allegro."

"I wouldn't miss it." She smiled.

###

About the Authors

Co-authors Judi Suni Hall, PhD. and Donald S. Hall, PhD. have shared their lives and careers since marrying as undergrads. They both did PhD.'s in theoretical physics, then moved into industry and worked at AECL, Canada's nuclear research lab. As Technical Director of AECL's risk analysis consultancy Judi worked with a number of industries, including the Canadian Space Agency. Don's research on expert systems led to collaboration with some of Canada's top AI researchers.

Their lives were changed by a severely disabling virus and 10 years were a write off. Don now runs Apps & More Software Design and has the caregiver role as Judi is still severely disabled.

In addition to writing science fiction, Judi and Don are internationally published haiga poets.

*****

What happens next to the characters you have learned to care about? Find out in this preview of the third book in the Gingezel series featuring, Mitra, Dreen, Joran, and Chett.

To see our art depicting the various planets and to find vignettes filling in bits of history, visit www.gingezelscifi.com.

Gingezel 3 - Fault

Chapter 1

"There may be a delay installing the hyperweb link."

Dr. Dreen Pendi, former President of Nemizcan Computing, studied the approaching power figures, keeping his comfortably lived-in face outwardly calm. Tranngol Cebron's strong features were hard to read but the two men behind him were easy. Olan Rostin, Planet Manager, was absolutely furious. Even the chubby blond Sector Judiciary representative Trebur Auta's impassivity was marred. Azlo Mirelle was quietly watching everyone like he was.

At least Mitra seemed to be over her crying jag. It had been too much of a shock for her, his walking into the reactor accident analysis shed with no warning. Galaxy, he wished it hadn't been a public meeting so he could have explained properly why she couldn't get hold of him the day she got the news that her reactor had blown up and left Gingezel. If they had been alone, he could have said what he should have before. I love you. Marry me. But here every word and movement was being recorded.

He heard a noisy sniffle. Correct that, he hoped Mitra was over her crying jag. He stole a quick look sideways to where she was sitting at her desk. She looked incredibly tiny and vulnerable, a wad of tissue in hand, completely focussed on the approaching men. The blue green eyes he had only seen smiling were red rimmed in a too pale face. Her soft brunette hair was cropped to nothing under a shapeless blue hat.

Well, he obviously was not going to have time to feel out the situation here on Drezvir before making a few key decisions. Dreen shivered, partly from nerves, partly because he was getting cold despite wearing his warmest coat. By his standards it was winter cold here in the almost unheated shed where the reactor accident analysis was being performed. In his home city on Tranus the worst of winter was a lot of dreary rain and a couple months of rain alternating with slushy snow. But the driver that brought him from the spaceport to the tiny cluster of low slung habitats that were the mining planet's only settlement said the windchill was -46 degrees and the temperature would drop all day as the next storm moved in.

What had seemed to Dreen a howling gale that would flip their vehicle for sure was obviously normal to the driver. Visibility had been obscured by red dust that made him feel he was choking even inside the vehicle with a trickle tube for breathing. When the dust had let up for a minute or so, there was nothing to see but worn red stone hills, the valleys deepening into shades of purple. He still had trouble believing Mitra had spent three years here overseeing installation of her hybrid reactor. No wonder she was so hungry for all the experiences and luxuries Gingezel could offer.

Dreen shivered again. He wished he could put a cap on. There was one he used once or twice a year rolled up in his pocket. But he needed all the presence he could command right now, and he looked ridiculous in that cap. By now Dreen was used to dressing for authority when necessary. He wasn't much on style, but he could manage authority. His salt and pepper hair had been carefully brushed once he got in from the wind, his muffler repositioned, his all weather coat firmly retied around his solid frame.

Maybe he should risk that cap. Dreen acknowledged that this time the tremors were pure nerves. He still wasn't over seeing the mess down in the mine where the rockface being fused had collapsed when the power went. He had forced himself to go speak to each of the survivors too, before coming here to start the analysis. It had been hard, and they were strangers to him. They were Mitra's friends. How had she managed?

Another shiver that bordered on shaking hit. In his cap he wouldn't look as ridiculous as Tranngol, the Head of Risk and Safety at Dellmaice Power Systems, did in his bright green stocking hat with an immense pom-pom, but no one would ever dare call someone the size of Tranngol ridiculous. Olan Rostin, he noticed, was wearing only a light jacket over some kind of coveralls, and no hat. They must breed these miners tough. Rostin wasn't a young man either. Nearing retirement age, Dreen would guess by his slight stoop and greying hair. Trebur Auta was in what looked like some kind of a regulation quilted outdoor jacket. It made his plump body look like a ball.

Azlo Mirelle, the independent auditor brought in to oversee the post accident analysis, was the one dressed like he was. Dreen had been trying unsuccessfully to get a feel for the man who would make the final technical decisions as to who was or was not at fault for the reactor overpower that had left this poor colony in such a perilous state. Azlo was mid height, perhaps two centimeters taller than he was with fair coloring and a slender build. He was dressed for the city, but a colder city, and he had a furry wedge hat on his head over thinning, well cut brown hair. Dreen guessed him to be in his late forties. He exuded an air of quiet, confident urbanity. Dreen could believe he made an excellent expert witness in court, and with two fatalities this accident was definitely headed for court.

Why the hell hadn't he seen this coming, listened to Chett that working in the Farr Sector with its reverse jurisprudence was insane? How did you prove something as complex as their computer system providing the operator interface couldn't have contributed to the overpower? He was looking at manslaughter charges, a death penalty. Chett, now Chett Linderson President of Nemizcan Computing as of a few hours after he left for Drezvir, had said he should be the one to come and take the risk, but Dreen couldn't do that. Not now that he knew this was where Mitra was. He wasn't even going to think about the trouble she was in, not with the four key men staring at him.

Decision time.

Dreen made his first one. Rostin got sympathy as planet manager, but in many ways a planet manager wasn't much more powerful than the president of a galactic wide company, and he had been that until the sign-off to Chett. Auta, as a sector bureaucrat, was the one with the real power.

"Is there a problem gentleman?" Dreen was pleased that his voice seemed steady. The slight tremor would probably be passed off as being cold.

"It is my understanding from Dr. Cebron," Olan said, attempting to be civil because Dr. Pendi was essential to his plans for future power systems, "that you intend to install an entire hyperweb hub, Dr. Pendi? Surely you realize our resources are stretched at the moment."

The colony did not even have enough power to heat all of the habitats, much less re-open the hydroponics complex. All of his staff that wasn't tied up trying to get batteries and solar cells online were in the mine dealing with the rockface collapse. How was he supposed to arrange for another hyperweb? They were restricting use of their own system to emergencies only. If he had the capability to expand anything, it would be his own.

"Indeed I do, Mr. Rostin."

Dreen was at his gravest. At least superficially Rostin was easy to read. To be a planet administrator, he had to be able to make the tough decisions, to be organized, to be capable. Right now, he was in some way threatened by the hyperweb link. He looked about ready to get really difficult, and he looked like he was good at being difficult. Dreen had no idea why he was upset though.

Feeling his way cautiously, Dreen said, "I need extensive hyperweb capability. In particular, I am heavily involved in proprietary work for the Gingezel Consortium that quite frankly would swamp a normal link like you have. Given the, ah, fragile position of your planet until you have full power restored, I couldn't have even considered imposing on your communications resources. You need your link to the outside reserved for emergencies."

That was something Olan had not considered. Their capacity had been completely used on a day-to-day basis before the accident. Now, between power outages and extra communications it was swamped and Cebron was stretching it even more. He could well imagine that at Nemizcan Computing in their daily work they simply assumed huge hyperweb capacities. Still, there was the question of the power supply, to say nothing of the installation itself. He had no idea if anyone here could do it if it was tricky. And he did not want to look incompetent to Dr. Pendi. Cebron should have told him so he could be prepared. He shot the big man a dirty look.

Dreen watched the indecision, then the return to displeasure. He said calmingly, "If there is any fault over your not being given advanced warning, it rests with me, not Tranngol."

He was taking Tranngol's lead there and using first names. That little trick, switching from honorifics to the familiar combined with dropping the news he and Tranngol were installing a hyperweb hub had given him a few precious minutes in relative privacy with Mitra while Tranngol did some fast explaining.

"I had already intended to bring a system with me when I came, and I simply offered to partition it so he would be able to stop straining your system as well."

He shifted slightly to attack, assuming Chett's assessment was correct that Rostin's nose was badly out of joint with the Judiciary and its troops arriving and throwing their weight around. "I'm afraid I assumed your position was comparable to mine in industry, that you have full authority. I'd thought that getting permission was at most ten minutes in your office, explaining myself." Dreen let his eyes slide to Trebur Auta. "If you yourself need permission ..." he let that one tail off.

