

Gingezel 3: Fault

by

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

Copyright Gingezel™ Inc. 2012

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

Gingezel 2: From Bad to Worse

*****

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 had 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° 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.

*****

Chapter 2

Olan Rostin turned even redder if that was possible. Even his scalp with its wisps of short nondescript hair was purple.

Damn the Judiciary! The Mining Guild did not need them, or the Environmental Protection Agency. "Of course I have full authority!" At least, Olan consoled himself, Dr. Pendi assumed he did. "It is, as I said, a question of resources."

Dreen looked at him in honest bewilderment. He wasn't following at all. "But I thought I was helping there."

"Yes, I'm sure that's what you thought, and I truly appreciate your good intentions. But beside simple transmission considerations, there is power and technical support."

"Oh!" Dreen's face cleared and he apologized formally. "I truly am sorry you've misunderstood and had a needless stress on top of your own troubles."

Olan relaxed slightly, mollified by the sincere tone, but now it was his turn to be confused.

"I brought one of the hyperweb installations we use at the hubs that are self-contained." Dreen continued, "That includes primary and backup uninterruptible power supplies. There's too much variation in reliability of the power grids from planet to planet, or for that matter from continent to continent for us to rely on them. I assumed that's what I'd use here - our normal standalone system - and that was what I had packed. As for the technical support, I'll do on-planet installation and maintenance myself. My Genie crew will handle the satellite deployment." He smiled at Rostin, "Obviously I'd appreciate a loan of a little muscle to unload crates, but that would only be for an hour or two."

"Of course, of course." Olan was staring at Dreen with the same degree of incredulity as the rest.

It was Tranngol who found his voice first. "Dreen, are you saying that besides doing your own coding at times, you're also a hands-on hardware type?" Tranngol doubted Ari had dirtied his hands in a decade, and Dreen must be just as busy running Nemizcan Computing as Ari Dellmaice was running Dellmaice Power Systems.

"Right on down to laying cable under floors in conduits if I have to."

Bless Gali and Wayd for their patience Dreen thought. He'd been starting to feel rusty, so that had been one of the goals he'd set himself while on Gingezel, to completely install a system. He'd done it in baby steps with both his old friend Gali Nellar and the Gingezel Hub Manager Wayd Meeran coaching. They had been excellent instructors.

"And is this your usual practice - to bring your own hyperweb link somewhere with you?" Azlo asked.

"No." Dreen shook his head. "Most planets have a hub and I'd use that. I always use our dedicated web though." He made a face. "The commercial web is too bogged down and insecure. Why do you ask?"

"You just answered yourself. I'd never thought of it before - I'd never even thought it was feasible to move a hyperlink around. But all of a sudden I'm thinking of a - I don't know what you call it - a base? Something at Mirelle Tyne Associates and portable links like you brought. It would save a lot of security problems."

Dreen found himself thinking of Chett's contest to market the nonproprietary parts of the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb work. He may have just figured out how. It would be interesting to see if any of the staff came up with the same idea.

"I assume you transmit a lot of sensitive data?" Dreen added smoothly, "There can be real security enhancements done if you have your own web."

Azlo smiled slightly. "And you'd be happy to talk to me about that sometime?"

Dreen found himself smiling back. He could like this quiet, perceptive man if his fate didn't lay in his hands. "Always the businessman - it's an ingrained habit. But you'd better watch me crawling around first. You may rethink the idea." Although that could be a service too. He added, "To be honest, it's expensive."

Azlo smiled the same half smile. "To my clients, if I go that way." He and Dr. Pendi could understand each other. "However, this is a digression."

Dreen nodded. "But it did remind me of something. Before I entertain all of you crawling around, I would like a few minutes with Dr. Auta in private to discuss a security aspect of the proprietary Gingezel work." He looked at Trebur Auta. "Your office perhaps?"

Turning back to Rostin, "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to expedite the crates being delivered?"

"Certainly." Rostin couldn't quite see how he'd ended up supporting this endeavor, but he couldn't see any harm. He would like to know what Pendi wanted to discuss with Auta, but he clearly wasn't invited. He would just check the recordings later.

"I'll see to it."

*****

Chapter 3

"What's that about?" Mitra asked Tranngol as she rose from her desk. She didn't want Dreen out of her sight so soon. They'd had maybe five minutes of semi-privacy, if that. Certainly not enough time to sort anything out.

"Arranging, or trying to arrange, to do the proprietary work for the Gingezel Consortium without it being monitored is my guess," Tranngol said.

Azlo nodded agreement.

"Did you ever get it so really wrong who someone is that it's embarrassing?" Mitra asked, a bemused expression on her face.

"Why, who did you think Dreen was?"

Tranngol was still trying to figure out what was going on between those two. He'd assumed Mitra was upset that Chett Linderson hadn't come back since he was taking over Nemizcan Computing for Dreen, but now he wasn't sure at all.

"I thought he was something to do with music \- not a musician, but some kind of executive, or," she added doubtfully, "maybe a promoter, but that didn't feel right."

"How did you decide that?" Tranngol demanded. Even for Mitra, who seemed to never know who anyone was, that was way off base.

"Well, he tended show up around noon or supper time and say he'd been working."

Tranngol interrupted for Azlo's benefit. "We brought Mitra back from a holiday on Gingezel. Is that what you're talking about? Is that where you met Dreen?"

She nodded. "And, I didn't see how you could do any work that wasn't mostly thinking on holiday." She added as the clinching argument, "And Joran was always around."

"Joran?" Tranngol was blank.

"Anton," Mitra explained, then remembered she had been lectured not to link Joran's real name and his stage name to protect his privacy. But what could it matter out here in the middle of nowhere?

"So you've been hanging around with Anton?" Tranngol asked amused and somehow not surprised. Still, that was impressive. Even if he'd been spending the last couple years screwing up, Anton was still one of the Top 5 pop performers in the galaxy.

At the same time Azlo asked, "And you didn't think to ask Dr. Pendi who he was?"

Mitra answered the second question. "No, it didn't matter."

At the look of total disbelief on Azlo's face, Tranngol couldn't help it, he laughed. "She means it Azlo. She never has the slightest idea who anyone is. Ari always has to assign an expediter to her projects to keep her sorted out. Test her, ask her something simple about Anton."

Azlo was starting to be amused now, but he was not quite sure he believed Tranngol. No one could be that out of it. "Okay, what does he look like without the paint? Is that simple enough?" The extreme facial paint and skintight glittery jumpsuits were the trademark of the Anton Band.

Mitra thought about Joran, and how different he was on and off stage. "I don't know," she said helplessly. "He has beautiful eyes, and he's very sexy."

Tranngol was unimpressed, "I could get that from any women's magazine. And they've only seen him in paint."

She tried harder. "He's always clowning - you know, making faces. And he never stops talking. But I think he's very shy, kind of vulnerable. Dreen says he's been all busted up since his wife Maillie died."

'Maillie - M's song' Azlo thought. He hadn't even know there was a wife and he was an Anton fan. Mitra was establishing her bona fides for having been on Gingezel with that crowd, but Tranngol was right. You'd never pick someone out on the street from a description of hers. She was also obviously totally unaffected by the fact she'd been holidaying with a top celebrity, one of the richest men in the galaxy, and someone every reporter in the galaxy had been trying to find ever since his band had walked out on him mid-concert. Out of it was an understatement.

His face was easy to read. "See?" Tranngol asked, then returned to the present problem. "I think I'll see if Martine is free. I expect Dreen wouldn't object to a little help with power supplies."

Azlo was tempted to ask Tranngol how he came to be on a first name basis with Dr. Pendi, but it would wait until supper. He had a technical question he wanted to ask Mitra before they got sidetracked.

"Mitra, it looks like there's some time, and I was wanting you to go over some of those trips with me again." Azlo was not referring to Mitra's vacation. It was common practice across the galaxy and across industries to refer to the setting used to shut a system down for safety purposes as a trip, or a trip point. "Or do you want me to wait for you, Tranngol?"

"What are you worried about?" Tranngol asked. He could always call Martine. He had just wanted an excuse to see his fiance. She was so busy with the battery and fuel cell installations that they hardly saw each other.

"Mostly the complexity. I haven't heard you fussing much, Tranngol, so maybe it's standard practice at Dellmaice Power Systems. But I'm still a bit uncertain as to how you chose the level of redundancy and voting logic on the trips."

Any system was rarely shut down because a single sensor passed a trip point indicating a problem. Sensors could fail after all, both in safe and unsafe ways. Redundancy was required, then some sort of voting logic was used to decide whether or not the system should be shut down. Azlo had seen a lot of voting logics over the years, including complicated ones with multiple types of sensors each looking for a different problem. One type of sensor might be used in a two out of three vote, another kind of sensor in a five of seven vote, and a third type of sensor in a four out of five vote. Then the overall result would be put to a two out of three vote. But he wasn't quite sure what Mitra had done with her hybrid reactor.

"What you've done seems inconsistent for a given sensor type. One time it is a two out of three vote, but you go right up to five out of seven for the same type of sensor. Then too, there is regionalization of the trip parameters. I know that's standard for some other suppliers too." In fact it was the common way to allow for the degree of hazard from particular conditions to vary within the power system. "But I'm still not sure how the regionalization is done here.

"Right now though, what I really want explained is the one region of the core where you have a significant time delay built in before the trip is sealed. Where does that trick come from?"

That was much less common, and it essentially said 'I don't believe a sensor sees a trip unless the condition lasts'.

"That is because there is significant voiding \- boiling that collapses on itself in less than a meter - in that region of the core during normal operation, not just overpower. The sensors we had to use to catch overpower respond to any void with a really fast spike in the signal. But it has to last for it to be an overpower," Mitra said candidly.

"Uh huh," Azlo said dryly. "That moves the design into the cute tricks range." He turned Tranngol. "Do you routinely use this, and do the regulatory agencies let you get away with it?"

He knew Tranngol from their joint membership in professional engineering risk societies, and Tranngol had seemed the cautious conservative type.

"We do it on one other reactor, and yes it's been accepted at more than fifty installations so far. And, by the way, it's my cute trick. The reactor this technique was first used on was not managing to stay at full power. There was a comparable voiding problem, with the result that a trip was being latched at about ninety five percent of full power sometimes. The logic was a two for three system, so if voiding occurred near two sensors, the reactor went down under normal operation. There weren't material choices on the sensors for other reasons, and only limited options on relocating them because of structural complexity and need for accuracy in the energy map of the core. They brought my team in figure out how to safely get it up to full power."

That missing 5% power had made the difference between the units being salable or not.

"Uh huh." Azlo was not impressed.

"Azlo," Tranngol said sternly, "if after all these years you don't know I don't put up with unsafe nonsense, I'm insulted."

Tranngol had known Azlo Mirelle professionally for the better part of ten years and they had recently co-chaired a key session at the Galactic Industrial Risk and Safety Conference.

"We deliberately overpowered the prototype until it blew. They took it apart and checked the area of the prototype where the time delay on sealing the trip was. There was no structural damage at all. Mitra did a comparable analysis on her unit before trying slow-to-latch trips."

"Can you show me the analyses, Mitra?" Azlo asked.

"Of course."

***

She couldn't help it, Mitra was white and shaking again. She was remembering that last test. It was the only time she had actually seen a reactor blow up, not a holographic record. Even knowing she was safely behind shielding, she'd been terrified. But that wasn't why she was shaking. She was shaking because it was the last time she had seen Mark. Mark Laratte, the man she had been living with. The man she had planned to marry. Her boss, the designer of the reactor Tranngol was talking about.

Mark hadn't handled the problems with his reactor design well, and when she had started to see solutions he didn't, he'd turned their lives and Dellmaice Power Systems into a battlefield. Mark and Ari had had one hell of a fight over something stupid later that day, and Ari had fired Mark on the spot. He'd left without saying goodbye. And now she was dragging Dreen into an even worse mess. The Nemizcan operator interfaces were up there in the top five likely causes of the overpower, right along with poor design on her part. Galaxy! Would he take it like Mark did?

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Mitra turned towards her desk.

"Hey!" Tranngol's voice was gentle.

Mitra ignored him and kept walking. A big hand caught her by the shoulder and turned her around.

"Mitra." His other hand tipped her chin so she had to look at him.

"You were part of the solution not the problem. Remember?"

Mutely she nodded. Tranngol gave her a long look then let her go. "Go call the material up for Azlo. I have a quick modeling question for him."

By unspoken consent Tranngol and Azlo headed for the noisy section of the shed. Azlo Mirelle might have been hired by the Sector Judiciary to audit Tranngol's work, but he did not approve of the monitoring any more than Tranngol did.

"And what was that about?" Azlo asked without preamble.

"There's something I think you'd better know," Tranngol said. "Ever heard of a guy called Mark Laratte?"

Azlo shook his head.

"He designed the reactor I mentioned with the voiding problems. He's one of those men you think have it all, brains, a good career, looks, women all over him. Mitra fell for him in a big way and for a while it looked like Dellmaice Power Systems was going to have a married couple doing designs. Then the reactor had serious problems. He couldn't handle that, but even more so he couldn't handle the fact Mitra was the one seeing the solutions, not him. It got really vicious. At work anyway, she didn't start the fights, but once they got going she gave as good as she got.

"It got pretty obvious one of them had to go, and to be quite honest I was betting on Mitra because Mark was Ari's golden boy and the heir apparent to take over Dellmaice Power Systems. I figured Ari was just hoping to tough it out until the reactor was running, then gently let her go. Then came the day we deliberately blew the reactor. Mark hated that - destroying his prototype, but I'd made it clear to Ari there were just too many questions that would never be answered otherwise. So Mark got no sympathy there.

"But afterwards some minor question on materials testing came up, and Mark decided to take things out on Mitra again. It got vicious and personal faster than usual. Then all of a sudden Ari jumped in on Mitra's side." He shrugged. "Mark blew it. You can stand up to Ari. In fact you have to learn to if you want to survive there. But there are two rules you never forget. Don't open your mouth unless you are damned sure you're right, and never, never lose your temper."

Dellmaice Power Systems would be Dr. Ari Dellmaice's company no matter how big it got, Tranngol thought. He had conceived of the idea, got the backing, made it a success, one of the highest quality power suppliers in the galaxy. He personally decided what happened and what didn't happen. And to get things to happen your way, you lived with the fact that the same traits that helped Ari Dellmaice succeed - his drive, his toughness, his single-mindedness - made for a tough sell at times. And you lived with the Dellmaice temper and overbearingness. If you didn't recognize it the first time you saw Ari with his strong features, jutting chin, and dark broody eyes, you hit it fast enough. Mark had known all the rules. He had just reached the point where he didn't care.

"Before Mark even knew what was happening, he was being told to clean out his desk and be gone before Ari was back at the main building. Mark just gave Mitra one dirty look, turned around and walked out. He took Ari at his word and was gone before we got back." Tranngol shrugged. "Ever since then, she doesn't take discussions of the day we blew the reactor too well."

"I wonder why," Azlo said dryly. "And thanks. All the same, there are questions about those slow to seal trips and the area with voiding."

"I know, and they're high on my priority list. Do you want me to move them to the top? I can assess the implication for the accident model easily enough, but it will be a while till we can take that part of the reactor apart and do a reality check."

"No, leave it until then. I just want to hear what she has to say." After all, Tranngol could be biased and that pallor might not all be from a flashback.

*****

Chapter 4

"Well?"

Dreen and Trebur Auta were seated in the office that had been assigned Auta. It was indistinguishable from all the other habitat offices, small, rectangular, shabby, and beige. The only difference was that because it was part of the reactor complex it was warm, almost hot. They had both taken their coats off with relief. Trebur had explained that the entire reactor complex was overheated because there was nothing to do with the heat from the geothermal unit except vent the building now and then to the -45° gale. It couldn't be done frequently though, because the venting cost oxygen. Apparently heat exchangers had been overlooked on the first transport from Dellmaice Power Systems and were en route now, but it would be a week or so before they were in place.

The office was in fact, an exact duplicate of Dreen's superior's office when he was in the military. That didn't help. Or, perhaps it did, Dreen told himself. Just like his cropped hair looked exactly like it had back then, except it had been dark brown when he was young, not gray. Dreen had hated every minute, every second of those years. He knew the military was an honorable career. He knew some men loved it. He hadn't. He had hated it. Not so much for the lifestyle, which he'd just tried to ignore, but for the reason he was there.

Dreen looked at the man opposite, waiting patiently with no particular expression on his bland baby face with its halo of blond hair. The lack of expression didn't particularly help. Still, Dreen had decided that the best policy was to be as open as possible and not make enemies. His use of an encrypted system no one could analyze the recorded data from wasn't exactly a friendly move, and he didn't expect it to take the Farr Sector Judiciary five minutes to figure out that was what he was up to. So on the way to Drezvir Dreen had given a lot of thought to a plausible explanation, one he hoped would fly since he had every intention of using the encrypted system.

Trying to sound matter of fact Dreen said, "Will this conversation be monitored?"

"Do you object to my recording it?" Trebur asked stiffly.

Trebur didn't like like all this snooping and recording. He had been appalled at how pleased the Sector's Chief Security Officer who had accompanied him had been about all the surveillance he had installed on their arrival on Drezvir. But Trebur definitely intended to record every possible word of every conversation he participated in as a self defense. When this went to court, and he had no doubts that it would go to court, somewhere, somehow, some lawyer would find out that he, the Judiciary representative was a totally untrained scientist and try to jump on him but good. That might, after all, be a way to try to circumvent the necessity in the Farr Sector of proving innocence, if you could instead prove that the man who brought the charges was right out of his league and had no idea what was going on. It might even get the whole case thrown out of court.

None of this was intentional on his part. At the Environmental Protection Agency Trebur was a very competent soil model scientist, and he had never dreamed of being anything else. It was just that the Judiciary was tired of mediating between the EPA and the Mining Guild and had decided once and for all to swing the balance of power in favor of the EPA. So they had assigned full Judiciary powers to the EPA rep. Trebur had been assigned the role of EPA rep. because no one at the EPA knew how to do the more advanced aspects of the mathematical modeling Tranngol Cebron and the analysts he had brought with him from the Risk and Safety Section at Dellmaice Power would use in his probabilistic engineering risk assessments.

At the relatively new Farr Sector EPA, they were all environmental experts. The engineering risk analysts had not been hired yet. Since Drezvir was too short a notice to hire on, and even if there had been time they would have looked stupid suddenly hiring, they had looked at existing staff. The management, scientists themselves, decided Trebur was the one most likely to pick up the math fast and hide his ignorance in the meantime. Trebur personally suspected the fact he was the best poker player there and routinely cleaned all of them out at the Thursday night game, was the main qualification for his getting stuck coming to Drezvir, not his skill as a mathematician.

Be that as it may, he was the one here and Trebur saw legal trouble coming where he inevitably got jumped on but good by some galactic level lawyer. Then the Farrese would be all over him as a galactic citizen, hired by Farr, who deliberately sided with the other Outsiders, even though he would not do that. Then he'd be the one on trial, proving innocence of galaxy knew what. And how the hell did you prove innocence on a cultural, dialogue issue? It would be bad enough for the reactor developers to prove innocence technically. But a cultural charge would be impossible to defend. Trebur did not intend to come out of the process second-best.

"No, of course not." Dreen was embarrassed at being misunderstood. "I meant recorded by the Mining Guild."

"Oh." Trebur shrugged. "Probably. Do you want me to block any monitoring?"

"Please."

Trebur took the device that the Judiciary Security technologist had told him would block electronic eavesdropping but allow him to record from his belt pouch device and activated it. "I don't know what this will do to your equipment."

"Thank you, and it doesn't matter."

In fact, Dreen had been too nervous to even think of recording this conversation himself. He supposed he should be careful about recording things, but it seemed a little late now to take the time to set up his compad to do that. So he decided to carry on. Still, he hesitated a moment, wishing he could read the man.

At last Dreen took the plunge. "I honestly don't know if I should ask for a nondisclosure agreement or not, but since you're a member of the Judiciary I will assume I can talk in generalities without one."

For one terrifying moment Trebur had an almost overpowering urge to confess to this nice, straightforward man that he was a technical type like himself, and had nothing to do with the Judiciary. An urge to save himself from confidence that he neither wanted nor was likely to know what to do with. But he sat there, hiding behind his best poker face, and the urge passed.

"Yes?" He encouraged blandly.

"My company has a contract to develop an enhanced security hyperweb for the Gingezel Consortium. The existence of the new hyperweb obviously isn't a secret. Once it's running every guest will have access to it. Who is doing it has not been made public, and I'd appreciate you respecting that. Once again it isn't proprietary information. If anyone digs hard enough they can find out. It's just that we have just been told not to advertise that we are the preference of the Gingezel consortium until the product is released. I understand that's their standard request. They don't like to be used for unavoidable advertising."

Trebur nodded and Dreen continued. "I'm personally developing much of the software involved, and I'm taking the software right to the final implementation stage. That differs from the Drezvir project where I handed off early on to Chett Linderson. I've assigned a senior team member to take over all the project management aspects of the Gingezel work so I can give as much attention as possible to this problem, but I can't hand off all my own design and coding."

Trebur nodded again, wondering where this was going.

"What you need to know is that all of the Gingezel development work is being done within the custom operating system and encryption approach that will be used on the final hyperweb implementation." Dreen looked straight at Auta. "That is the operating system I've installed on my partition of the hyperweb system I brought, and it's what I intend to use for any transmission that is not directly related to the analysis here."

That was true. He was happy to run the technical analysis of the Drezvir operator console, not management aspects, on the same partition Tranngol was using. However he intended to define any discussions he and Chett had on who could have caused the accident, or of his legal position - Dreen tried to suppress the twinge of fear that thought caused - as management issues. This would be the first use of the Gingezel operating system outside the Gingezel UltraSecure HyperWeb, and its first use on a partitioned system. But Dreen trusted it. It was robust and unbreakable, well, almost unbreakable.

"And that means large volumes of transmissions will be going out of here that you can't analyze."

"You want to bet?" It slipped out on Trebur.

Dreen however did not take the statement literally. He took it as an expression of disapproval.

He said stiffly, "I realize that Drezvir is under your jurisdiction and you can forbid my doing so, or for that matter confiscate my equipment. But before you do that I would prefer you to talk to Ralin Heusgar, Head of Security for Gingezel. He may be able to convince you both that the work for the consortium cannot be done outside their system, and that it should continue. But I am not authorized to have that sort of discussion."

Trebur brightened visibly. That could really be interesting. Like everyone else in the Farr Sector, or the galaxy for that matter, he was fascinated with Gingezel. Gingezel had been discovered about the time Drezvir was. They were on opposite sides of the galactic core, at opposite ends of the settled galaxy. That wasn't the only difference though. While Drezvir, like most of the planets in the Farr sector, was only marginally habitable, even prior to terraforming Gingezel had been ideal for human settlement. There had been intense speculation as to who would be the lucky settlers.

But the planet had not been opened for settlement in the usual way. It had been bought by a highly secretive consortium who proceeded to turn it into the ultimate luxury vacation planet, going to intense lengths to preserve its beauty and indigenous flora and fauna. That care had been applied to the whole ambiance. Gingezel was a wholesome, tranquil, family-oriented destination, or so the media said. Trebur was always skeptical of that level of PR. On Gingezel you could seek thrills, but they had to be things like skiing pristine slopes or deep-sea diving. And most intriguing, no one knew who the consortium was.

Trebur realized the Head of Security wasn't a consortium member, but he'd be way up. So he just might learn something talking to him. Also, Trebur had never thought about hacking a system or breaking encryption much, but it was undoubtedly one good mathematical game to fill in the dead boring nights here.

"Thank you," he said. "I will."

This was one task he would not pass on to the Judiciary unless they bitched. Trebur decided to take a mild risk.

"But I was serious. What do you bet we can break your fancy system? I realize this is the middle of nowhere, but there are some very good analysts at the EPA with a lot of time on their hands at nights."

He was missing those shared nights, and the poker games. Drezvir was a dead bore. The guys and gals back on Estoff, which wasn't all that much livelier than Drezvir, would love this one.

That proposal sure came from nowhere, and Dreen took his time thinking, mostly about whether or not he could see a trick somewhere. Then he mentally shrugged.

"Be my guest. At the moment most of the hackers in the galaxy are trying, but a concentrated professional effort would be a bit different."

"And if we do?" Trebur persisted.

"Please, please, tell me or Ralin Heusgar. We would prefer to hear about it in a memo, not by your crashing our system."

They were getting enough of that from the sole hacker who had broken into the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb and was now taking it down almost as fast as they got it up again.

Dreen smiled. "If it's one or two individuals, I'll try to steal them and offer them a job on the Gingezel project. If it's a whole team, how about a trip to meet my analysts and the security people on Gingezel?"

Dreen wasn't sure how far out of line that was. Did these security types play by the usual rules? To them was that an incentive or bribe or just friendly like he'd meant it? Damn! He should have kept his mouth shut.

Similar thoughts were belatedly going through Trebur's head. He frowned, then said stiffly, "I will of course exclude myself because of potential conflict of interest. But I see no reason not to pass this on to the members of the EPA not involved in the Drezvir analysis."

He would still work on it of course. The nights here were too damned long and he had the basics of engineering risk analysis sorted out now. And if the crowd back at the EPA got that trip to Gingezel and then didn't collectively spring for a ticket for him, he would quit being nice, and clean them out at poker for a lot more than that ticket to Gingezel as soon as they got back.

Dreen watched the displeasure. Damn. That went off worse than the offer of a vacation bonus for Brys. The same day that Mitra had been called to Drezvir, he had been called back to Head Office on Tranus. Just before leaving Gingezel, he'd offered a holiday on Gingezel to Brys, his youngest hacker, as an incentive to focus on the hacker that was taking down the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb system and to not be fooling around on the galactic web on her own and getting into trouble. Dreen preferred incentives to threats. But what had seemed like a reasonable bonus to him had seemed extravagant beyond all possibility to Brys who was totally self-taught and from a manual laborer class on the police state planet Ennup 10. She'd just assumed there were strings. So later, when he had asked her to consult for Bojo and Joran on some software, she had assumed he was procuring. It almost landed him with a sexual-harassment suit. Why was he such a slow learner?

Dreen tried to apologize. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to create an awkward situation - I'm afraid I'm not quite used to this yet." He waved a hand.

"No need to apologize," Trebur said graciously. "Is that everything?"

"Not quite."

What a mood to have created when he still had to discuss the really awkward part. Still, it had to be done. Otherwise it would look like he was covering things up, especially if Ralin said anything. Dreen took a deep breath. "I assume you have researched and profiled all of us?"

Trebur inclined his head. "Standard procedure," he said in defense of any protest about to come.

He had not done as much research as he hoped to, with Martine taking the power out at intervals, but he had managed the basics. Dreen Pendi seemed to have had a very successful, well ordered life. Lucky him.

Grimly determined, Dreen said, "There is one additional fact you should know that will not show up in any of the records you have examined. I have a prison record that will not appear until you actually press charges. But it seems to me that if I left disclosure until then, it would seem like I was hiding things. It relates to some stupid hacking I did at the time I was doing my Ph.D."

To be precise, Dreen thought, he had broken into a highly secret military database and got caught. He'd been in a lot of trouble and would have been in more if he had caused any damage, and if his professors hadn't pulled strings for him. Also the military had wanted to hire the man who had broken into what they thought was a completely secure site. So, after two months in prison where he underwent full psychiatric and psychological assessment, he had ended up working on the military base for three years as a sentence.

"There was a conditional sentence, and with satisfactory performance the usual permanent flag was not set for my records, but is to be activated if I ever have a law infraction, however minor. Gingezel Security knows this. I volunteered information to them."

Dreen had no intentions of saying Joran of course knew since they'd been roommates at the time, and he was part of the Gingezel Consortium. He had no right to let that be known.

"As a consequence the consortium had me take a full P2 psychiatric and psychological profile before agreeing to my, or my company, working for them." Joran has lost that fight and apologized, but it hadn't been all that bad compared to the assessment the courts had put him through. "I am prepared to have them release that to you."

Terrific, Trebur thought. The one thing he did know was that he had no authorization to look at a P2. In fact, he had no idea if anyone at the Farr Judiciary did, since these were Galactic psychiatric profiles, and the Farr sector was outside Galactic jurisdiction. There was bound to be someone authorized to view a P3, since employers use them for highly sensitive and top secret jobs all over the galaxy. But a P2? He didn't even know anyone who had undergone one. Trebur had only seen them as part of plots for holodramas, where some psychopathic criminal was given one.

That was hardly a reassuring thought, and for a moment Trebur's poker face faltered as he looked at Dreen. Still, he told himself, this guy is walking around loose so he must not be psychotic or anything like that. And he is working for Gingezel Security. Still, the whole idea of a P2 made him very uncomfortable.

The other thing Trebur was sure of was that his chance of talking to Gingezel Security had just disappeared. He would have to pass this on to the Judiciary and they would take over. He eyed Dreen with a mixture of wariness and disappointment. The man was obviously waiting for him to say something. But what?

At his most formal Trebur said, "Thank you for passing on this information. Do you agree that the recording of this conversation acts as authorization to approach Gingezel Security about your work there and your P2?"

Dreen said equally formally, "I agree."

Trebur said, "No doubt they will have something they want signed. I'll let you know."

"Thank you." Dreen relaxed a bit. It had not been as bad as he'd expected.

*****

Chapter 5

When Dreen returned to the analysis area Mitra was back in her isolated corner, deep in some discussion with Azlo and didn't look up. It looked like she'd miss part of his installing the hyperweb after all. Dreen decided this was just as well, since he was clumsy enough without her as an audience. Tranngol had obviously been watching for him to return though, because he was walking over in the company of a statuesque black woman. Like the rest of the Dellmaice Power Systems staff she was dressed in heavy pants and a ski jacket, and she was wearing a hot pink toque with the same pattern and oversized pompoms as the one Tranngol wore. Dreen wondered if that was the current fashion for skiers on Pendrae.

"Hello Dreen. I've been reassured by Rostin that your crates have cleared customs and are en route," Tranngol announced with a smile.

"Which means they will arrive sometime tomorrow," the black woman said resignedly.

"Dreen, this is Martine. She's been in charge of installing the backup power here for Dellmaice Power Systems."

"And that makes me an expert on Drezvir's idea of timely delivery," she interposed.

"And now," Tranngol continued, obviously used to these interruptions, "she will be responsible for keeping the station power up until the reactor problems are sorted out and the Mining Guild decides what they want to do for a long-term solution."

Rather to Dreen's surprise, she grinned at Tranngol. "Quite a rethink of life for the next eight months or so, wasn't it?"

He decided she had a lovely drawl.

"Martine is also my fiancée," Tranngol explained, "and the wedding had been scheduled for three months from now."

"We can always keep it that way." The wicked grin was back. "Think of the romance - honeymooning in a habitat in the beautiful Sinnia moonlight."

Suspecting he was rather wasting his time trying, Tranngol did make an effort to get the conversation back on track. "Martine, this is Dreen Pendi, Head of Nemizcan Computing."

"So I gathered when you said 'Hello Dreen'." She turned to Dreen and extended her strong hand. "Pleased to meet you. Although," she added with her mischievous smile, "I'd rather hoped you'd send that pretty boy Chett back. Besides being decorative, he was damned useful."

When Martine had first seen Chett, tall, blond, and handsome in a designer suit, she had decided he must be a salesman since a fashion model would not be wandering around the Drezvir power station. When he tossed his designer jacket in the corner, rolled up his sleeves, and sorted out a problem she was having with the Tranus Dynamics STC-1027's, she had been impressed. When he had finally got around to introducing himself as Vice President of Field Operations for Nemizcan, she'd been mortified.

Dreen was amused. "I'll relay the compliments. Chett will appreciate them." He would too.

"Tranngol thought he might get this hyperweb link he's been waiting for a little faster if you had some help installing your power system. While we're waiting why don't you tell me your technical requirements?"

***

Dreen wasn't quite finished installations in the work shed when he noticed it was almost empty.

Martine followed his gaze, then looked at her time strip. "Dreen, we have to go eat supper."

Dreen look at his. "I won't be another forty minutes, then everything will be finished." He didn't want to come back to the shed. He wanted time with Mitra.

"You wait forty minutes, and you'll starve. The cafeteria will be closed down until the late night shift eats. And," her drawl stretched the words, "they do not run to twenty four-hour room service."

"No cater units?" Dreen hadn't seen his room yet.

"You have to be kidding."

He hadn't been, and he was ravenous.

They headed for the cafeteria. Martine seemed to have attached herself to him. Initially she had insisted she give him some help he really didn't need with power supplies. When she decided he actually was competent, she had stuck around just to see what she could learn. Since everyone else had lost interest after about twenty minutes and gone back to work, Dreen had been glad of the company and the occasional extra pair of hands. Martine was good-natured and outspoken, and by the end of the afternoon he had learned a lot at a practical day-to-day level about the situation on Drezvir. He had no idea what she'd learned about hyperweb links, but he suspected it was quite a bit. Martine was a fast study.

Dreen did not pay attention to what Martine advised him were the most tolerable foods if you weren't Farrese. He mechanically put the grayish and brownish globs on his tray and focussed on scanning the crowded room looking for Mitra. He couldn't see her. Every table was crowded with what he assumed were miners and their families, all wearing coveralls in beige, khaki, or gray. Surely Mitra should stand out in that bright ski jacket? Still, she might have taken it off. The cafeteria was actually relatively warm, the first warm area he had been in other than Trebur's office.

As they neared the end of the food selection, Dreen turned to Martine. "Will they take a Galactic credit strip?" He remembered with a sinking feeling that Chett had told him to pick up coins at the spaceport, and he hadn't.

"They'll take anything," Martine assured him. "But get some tokens for coffee and a biscuit in off-hours. It's an honor system then."

They paid the cashier, and Dreen got the tokens. He picked up his chipped beige tray. Another thing from the same supplier as the galactic military. Didn't the Farrese manufacture anything for themselves?

Martine had the advantage of height. "There they are!" She balanced the tray on her hip to point to the far corner.

"Where?"

"Follow me. You'll get used to this all too soon. The Dellmaice Power Systems staff usually sits in that far corner near the coat racks since we are all bundled up from working in the shed."

Martine's concession to the warm room had been to take her ski hat off, revealing close cropped tight black curls and unzip her jacket about a quarter of the way. She had complained all afternoon that she wasn't good at being cold.

They wended their way through the tables to covert interest but no greetings, something that might have bothered Dreen if both Chett back on Tranus, and Martine while they were walking to the cafeteria, hadn't warned him that the etiquette was to eat more or less in silence, eyes on your own plate.

Tranngol spotted them first and rose, pointing to two empty chairs, one beside him, one opposite down the table beside Mitra. Dreen could see her back now that the burly miner at the next table had moved. Azlo Mirelle was there beside Mitra, and it looked like they were still talking.

Red headed Jennifer Harkin, who had been introduced to him as the computer hardware expert, was beside Tranngol. Beside her was Brenn Campo. Dreen thought the big blond was some kind of hardware type, but he'd met too many people today. There were also two women who were Mining Guild judging by their coveralls, a small oriental and a tall slender blonde. Both had children with them, but by their backs Dreen couldn't tell the sex of the children.

"So, how'd it go?" Tranngol rose to take Martine's tray.

"Almost done, but we got hungry." She smiled at her spouse.

"Oh, there you are." Mitra turned from Azlo with a slightly disoriented smile. They were still deep in a discussion about latching trip points.

Dreen smiled a greeting and deposited his tray. He took his coat off, folding it carefully and putting it on the back of his chair. He was now wearing the heavy cardigan jacket he'd bought on Gingezel, when the tour he and Mitra had taken had brought them to a cold northern coastal town. His suit jacket was back in the shed - it was unfashionably roomy enough to be an easy fit, but it was not up to mechanical work. He'd stuffed the cardigan in his attaché to wear for the installation, and been glad of the extra warmth even though he'd worked hard.

Sitting down, Dreen said to the small oriental woman on the other side of his seat, "Hello, I'm Dreen Pendi." Mitra would never introduce him.

She said with a shy smile, "I'm Ginena Kwan, and this is my daughter Ginny."

Dreen looked with some interest at the little girl. So she was the one who got lost and had half of the settlement searching the hills for her when the power failed. He had introduced himself to her father when he went to the hospital to meet the mine crew who had been trapped in the mine. There had been the potential for a major disaster for the people hunting for Ginny, with communications lost and what Chett called a red blizzard moving in, a dust storm ahead of a strong cold front. Ginny looked serious and shy, and she had large areas of blotched, oozing, and scabby skin where the flesh had frozen.

Ginny kept her eyes firmly on her plate. She didn't want anyone new staring at her or scolding her. That was all that had happened since she got lost. Except for her mom and dad and Lilla and Tessa and Mitra, no one liked her anymore. And she hadn't meant to get lost. She had just been exploring a little on the way back from her science experiment. Maybe when C.C. got back he'd understand.

"Ginny. Mind your manners."

"Hello," Ginny muttered to her plate.

"And I'm Tessa," the girl seated beside Ginny announced.

She was blonde and skinny and had a gap between her front teeth that showed as she smiled.

"Hello Tessa." Dreen returned the engaging smile.

At least someone here was friendly. He decided Tessa was the irrepressible resilient type. The little girl Mitra said would never in her lifetime have a chance to visit Gingezel. The little girl who now had even less of a chance with her father killed in the accident.

He looked across the table to the willowy blonde. "And if she's Tessa, are you Lilla?" There was a strong resemblance.

Startled, Lilla nodded, and forgot meal table politeness to ask, "How do you know?"

Dreen hesitated. He couldn't really say that Chett had made a point of telling him that Blayne Clinder, one of the miners killed in the accident, was a friend of Mitra's and that his wife Lilla was Mitra's closest friend among the Farrese. The woman looked tranquil and her meal was largely eaten. He preferred she stay calm. This was not just out of compassion. Mitra's tears on his arrival had been all the crying he needed for the day.

Instead, Dreen said, "Mitra and I met holidaying on Gingezel. She mentioned you and Tessa."

A delighted smile warmed Lilla's face, making her almost pretty. "Mitra. You were having your holiday on Gingezel and you took time to remember us?"

Mitra was spared having to say she didn't remember mentioning Lilla or Tessa, by Tessa demanding of Dreen, "Were you on Gingezel too?"

"Longer than I was. Months and months." Mitra's smile was mischievous. That would have Dreen answering questions all night.

"Were there giraffes?" Tessa demanded.

Mitra had brought a whole lot of new holodramas with her, and Tessa had just watched one called 'Exotic Animals of the Galaxy'. No one told her to not watch holovision and go do her homework now. But some of them did say over her head, like she couldn't hear, that she was too young to understand about Blayne being dead if she laughed at the funny parts. But she did understand. After she'd cried all night for a few nights, Lilla had talked to her and told her that was no good. Blayne wouldn't like it. She should think of all the good things they had done together, and try to do things he would have liked her to do. He liked her to laugh. And he would have asked about giraffes. He liked holograms of funny looking animals.

"What's a giraffe?" Dreen asked politely.

"You know. They are real tall, with long, long necks and funny faces and they're yellow with big spots." Tessa spread her hands to show spots a couple meters or so in size.

"Oh. I think I know what you mean." Dreen had seen something like that in a zoo once. "Aren't they from Terra?" He rather remembered smaller spots though.

"I didn't know." Tessa hadn't paid any attention to that part of the holodrama. She'd just watched the animals and she'd liked giraffes best.

"I think they are, so they would only be in zoos on Gingezel, and I'm sorry, but I haven't visited any zoos."

Now that he thought of it, he didn't even know if Gingezel had zoos. He would have to ask Joran sometime. Presumably visitors liked zoos with off-world animals, but did this fit with their unaltered planet philosophy? Maybe. After all, they had imported a lot of domestic animals for the farms.

"They might just have not found them yet," Tessa persisted, eyes wide with the idea of exploring a planet with trees, not just rocks and being suddenly confronted with a giraffe.

"Possibly," Dreen agreed tactfully. "There are vast tracts of unexplored land."

"They have pikkants." Ginny startled them all by coming out of her silence. "Did you see any?"

Dreen nodded. "I spent most of my time in a place called Crescent Bay. There were a lot in the woods there."

That took Mitra back to their first date. After supper they'd gone for a walk in the woods, and she had got a pikkant to come close enough to touch it for a moment. And then ... she gave Dreen an affectionate smile, wondering if he was remembering too. But all his attention was on Ginny.

"I coached soccer for a while there, and there were three pikkant that always came and watched us. Sometimes," he smiled at the whimsy of it, "I'd swear they were commenting on the game."

Ginny nodded in complete seriousness. "Pikkants are very intelligent animals."

Mitra gave up on romantic thoughts. "Ginny, how do you know so much about pikkants?"

"Darwin's a pikkant, and he's real smart."

"When he isn't asleep," Tessa added.

"Darwin?"

"C.C.'s pet. He lets us hold Darwin sometimes."

Three people spoke at once.

"Who's C.C.?" Dreen wanted to know.

"Is C.C. on planet?" Mitra was excited.

"Ginny. You are not to call Dr. Windegren C.C.," her mother corrected her.

Mitra knew intellectually that once C.C. finished terraforming on Gingezel, he had moved on to Drezvir. And she knew the accident analysis was in a shed intended for the terraformers. But she'd been too busy to get beyond that, to think about the possibility of seeing C.C. again. Her face was one delighted smile at the prospect.

C.C. Windegren, the terraformer. Of course. He was a galactic name. Not as famous as his mother perhaps, but a lot more flamboyant. And Mitra obviously knew him. Dreen looked at her glowing face. All he got was tears. He felt a stab of jealousy for her unknown past.

"Mitra, do you know Dr. Windegren?" Lilla was surprised.

Mitra was nodding. "C.C. and I -"

"Excuse me," Tranngol interrupted firmly. Once Mitra got off on the story she'd be a while. "But I think someone is looking for you Dreen." He motioned to the far entrance that Dreen and Martine had used.

Auta. Trebur Auta. Auta had been checking him out and found something he didn't like and had come with guards. Dreen told himself not to be ridiculous. He'd seen Auta at one of the center tables as he walked across the cafeteria. All the same, it was with considerable reluctance that he turned towards the door.

*****

Chapter 6

Jan, Arn, and Rhea were standing there in their Genie pilot's uniforms scanning the crowd much as he and Martine had. Even at this distance they looked bored stiff. Dreen rose and waved. Arn returned the wave with a laconic salute and they headed for the table.

Tranngol leaned across Jennifer to Brenn. "Take a good look. You'll never be within touching distance of Rhea Enais again."

Brenn broke off his discussion mid-sentence. He and Jennifer had been talking about the Octagla game they'd be missing that night because they weren't holovised on Drezvir.

"Rhea Enais is here? Where?"

Brenn couldn't decide which was more unlikely \- that Rhea Enais, the doubles star of the early Genie racing circuit and the sex symbol of the galaxy five or six years ago, was here, or that Tranngol should have thought up the idea as a bizarre joke. But even before Tranngol said 'there' and pointed to the pilots, he'd spotted them.

"Rhea. And that has to be Jon Melchrist and Arn Torson. What are they doing here?" Brenn demanded, unconsciously straightening his ski sweater and flexing the muscles of his broad shoulders.

"Dreen borrowed the Allegro to get here," Tranngol supplied, also adjusting his sweater.

"Lucky him."

BVennbir's eyes didn't leave Rhea. How many boring commutes to Dellmaice Power Systems had he spent fantasizing about Rhea and her partner Eli's near escapes on the race circuit? They were the wildest of that early wild lot of Genie pilots. And how much had he envied Eli for the way urban legend said he and Rhea celebrated surviving any race. Not back at the portel, but waiting in their racer at the finish line for the officials in their shuttle to arrive and test for drugs. That wasn't just urban legend either, although no doubt the stories grew. Now and again officials would board a little sooner than expected and get an eyeful - and an earful. Eli's temper and tongue were legendary. So this was Rhea.

Azlo Mirelle turned to watch the approaching group as well.

Martine and Jennifer exchanged looks, shaking their heads.

"What is it with men?" Martine elbowed Tranngol. "Stop drooling!"

"And you aren't taking one good look at Jon Melchrist?"

"No ..." Martine said in her soft drawl. "I'm keeping my eyes firmly on Arn."

The names didn't mean a thing to Mitra, so she turned to see who the fuss was about. The trio were almost at the table. She saw a slightly above mid-height blond man, a mid-height man with brown hair and a deep tan, and a really dumpy looking blonde. The woman wasn't even trying. It looked like she always wore her hair cropped, that it wasn't just because of the sanitation problems on Drezvir. She didn't have a touch of makeup on, and the pilot's uniform looked terrible on her. Surely she could have had something flattering made up from the uniform supplier?

"Dreen, we've finished that satellite deployment and now the Allegro's tied up until they finish unloading the food you brought."

Dreen had asked them to load the empty space in the Allegro with food for the beleaguered colony. He had explained that the colony had lost their hydroponics and all their food supply was imported. Apparently Mitra had brought food with her and Chett had passed the idea on to Dreen.

That had made for an interesting run, Jon reflected. He had never flown a Genie that was loaded like that, every spare centimeter jammed with food for these poor colonists. Now he had a little more respect for Eli for signing on with I.C.E. and dealing daily with the courier loads. They made your Genie a lot more sluggish than a racer was, and it was a real challenge to handle the ship with the changes in inertia.

"I don't suppose there's anything going on around here?" Jon scanned the cafeteria without much hope. It didn't look any more interesting than the spaceport. Maybe they should just go back to the Allegro and get a good fantasy role-playing game going.

Mitra looked at the newcomers, still trying to figure out what the excitement was. Martine and Jennifer were whispering something to each other behind Tranngol's back. She couldn't catch it across the table, but Jennifer was blushing as always and suppressing a giggle by the looks of it. Mitra looked back to the pilots. There was something about the blond man ...

"Martine." Mitra asked her because she seemed to know the men's names. "Who's the blond guy?"

Martine gave Mitra a pitying look.

"Arn Torson," Jennifer breathed. "I've adored him since I first saw him race." Jennifer had pitched that low to only carry to Mitra, but there was a lull in the conversation Dreen and Jon Melchrist were having about the satellite. She saw Arn start to smile, and look at the table to find the speaker. Jennifer's cheeks were now a match to her centimeter long red hair.

It was the redhead, Arn decided. She was cute too. She looked good-natured, like she'd only inherited the red hair, not a temper. That was promising. There had been enough temper in his marriage to Kara Dellmaice to last a lifetime, and Kara was a brunette. He wondered what kind of a specialist the redhead was - she sure wouldn't be here on holiday.

Arn Torson. Of course. He was the Genie racer Kim, the pilot who had brought her from Gingezel to Drezvir, was in love with. She turned to Arn who was giving Jennifer his slow lazy smile. Just off hand, Mitra would say Kim was going to have a lot of trouble with this man.

"Hello." Mitra gave Arn her brightest smile. "You're Arn?"

She liked Jennifer well enough, but Kim definitely had prior claim and she liked Kim a lot better. Time to break this up before it got started. She rose, hand extended.

Arn shifted his gaze from the cute little redhead with the blush that made her freckles show to Mitra.

"Hello. You have to be Mitra."

He took her hand, and leaned down to kiss each cheek. Not a social kiss that missed by a centimeter or so, but a real kiss like a cousin who was glad to see her. He was. Arn had spend a lot of time listening to Dreen on the way out, and a lot more time listening to M's song and thinking hard about why Joran had been in such a snit that they had all been on one hour's call for two weeks, and been told to keep the Allegro ready to fly at all times. He'd expected to find the kind of woman who was trouble. Joran had collected them since his wife Maillie's death.

But Mitra looked like a pleasant woman, totally exhausted, and about ready to collapse from stress. The fact she looked like someone he would like to know was encouraging, her fragility and vulnerability troubled him.

Startled by the kisses, Mitra looked up into warm blue eyes. She could like Kim's friend, and could definitely see why Kim was chasing him.

"Hi!" Tessa said to the blonde lady. "Do you really fly a Genie?"

"Tessa!" Lilla said reprovingly. "Privacy! Mind your manners."

"It's all right," Rhea said.

She liked children. The way little Tessa had turned right around backwards in her chair to stare reminded Rhea of her niece. Her niece was awkward and unattractive right now too \- going through a growth spurt where nothing was quite the right size. She had given Tessa an encouraging smile as she walked up, and wanted to speak to her, but she hadn't known the culture here well enough to risk it.

"Yes, I do fly a Genie." She smiled again. "I'm Rhea. Who are you?"

"Tessa." Rhea was a nice lady. Tessa said wistfully, "Could Ginny and I come see it?"

After Mitra had come in a Genie, all Willy at school could talk about was how his dad had serviced it and seen some of the inside. But not the part where the people lived. Maybe this lady would show her.

"Tessa!" What had gotten into the child?

"I think that's a nice idea," Rhea said, "but I'd better check with the boss. Jon - is there time for me to show the kids around?"

"Huh?"

"The girls here. Can I show them the Allegro?"

"Sure but ..." Jon looked at this time strip. "By the time they get to the spaceport and back it'll be past their bedtime." He saw two little faces fall. "How about early in the morning?" He grinned. "Nice and early so they're back in time for school."

The little blonde made a face. She was obviously hoping for an excuse to cut classes. The little oriental girl nodded seriously.

Mitra had been listening to the exchange. Everyone had been more excited about Kim bringing her here in a Genie than stories of Gingezel. The miners in the hospital were still reliving every detail she'd told them.

On impulse she turned to Arn. "Arn, if the three of you aren't doing anything ..." Mitra thought the one with the brown hair had asked Dreen what there was to do on-planet, "could you possibly come visit the miners who are recovering from the accident? It would mean a lot to them."

Whoa! How did he suddenly get volunteered for a hospital visit? Arn looked at Jon who looked at Rhea. They communed with each other in silence for a bit, then Rhea shrugged.

"Let's do it. We've all done hospital stops one time or another."

Sick kids charities always liked to volunteer her. Besides, it probably wouldn't be much duller than the cafeteria.

Arn was still frowning so Rhea added, "And you know what the tail end of recovering from getting banged up is like, Arn - BORING." He'd come out second best with a snow-covered rock skiing six or seven months ago.

"Only if I have company," Arn smiled at Jennifer. "Or are you working?"

"I - no - I -" Visit the hospital? But she would be with Arn Torson.

"Say yes," Arn prompted with his slow smile.

Jennifer nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Dreen?" Mitra and Jon asked simultaneously.

"Sorry. I have about forty minutes of work left in the shed on the hyperweb. I stopped in to see the miners when I got here." Like Chett, Dreen had insisted on first visiting the survivors, then seeing the mine where the rock face had collapsed when power was lost, then the reactor hall. "So I'll join you after the installation is done."

"You'd better." Jon added so only Dreen could hear, "And come with something urgent you need done on the hyperweb link as a rescue."

***

"Listen to that!" Dreen had to shout to Martine to be heard over the combined whine of the wind around the above ground tunnel Martine called a snake and a very human racket.

Obviously no rescue was needed. As they entered the reception room there was the din of a full-scale party. Still, there was something like a 0.01% probability that the pilots had gone home and that this was the miner's idea of a birthday.

Martine walked over to the desk. "We're here to join Mitra and visit the miners."

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not letting anyone more into the party."

Thinking of fire regulations and such, Dreen asked, "Could you just bend the rules a bit?"

She laughed. "They aren't bent, they're shattered! But since the Chief Medical Officer is in there, that isn't the problem. The problem is that if there is any more spillover into the hall, we wouldn't be able to squeeze through to someone further down if they needed care. Some of them are critically ill. Do you want me to call if anyone leaves?"

Dreen shook his head. "Don't bother."

*****

Chapter 7

To Chett's surprise, Joran picked up the call in three rings.

"Is anything wrong?" Joran's voice was sharp with concern, and his mobile black face anxious.

"No. I just had a fast question. Am I interrupting?"

"We're practicing," Joran said curtly.

"Sorry. Tell me when it's all right to call back." Chett stretched his long legs. Why did he do everything wrong with Joran?

They eyed each other warily. Joran considered himself Dreen's best friend, but Chett was the man Dreen had signed full control of Nemizcan Computing over to. Joran knew there had been no choice, but if he hadn't spent the last years so screwed up on drugs he usually didn't even know if it was day or night, that wouldn't have happened. He would be the one helping Dreen.

Abruptly Joran shook his head. "I was going talk to you in our next break anyways." He turned his head to look to the side. "Bojo, take over. I want to hear this one from the back of the room."

He returned his focus to Chett as he walked.

"Everything is set with Juttar. There's only the usual chaos in his firm, and they won't take any new cases until they see how Dreen's and Mitra's legal problems are playing out."

That had been the right thing to do, to call up Juttar and ask him to take care of Mitra and Dreen. It was hard to say how either would take it if they found out, but it was the right thing to do. Occasionally it was useful to have an old room mate that ended up one of the top defense lawyers in the galaxy. It almost made up for the times Juttar was a pain telling him all the things he couldn't do.

"Right now Juttar is giving himself the refresher course on the peculiarities of representing someone in the Farr Sector with their reverse jurisprudence. It's been a couple years since he's handled anything there personally." Joran gave Chett a thoughtful look. "You really were going to insist on going back? Not Dreen?"

That took some kind of courage, and a strong sense of morals. Hell, how did you prove innocence, that your complex computer setup didn't screw up? Computers always screwed up. And whoever was on Drezvir when that proof didn't happen was looking at a death penalty. Joran put a fast end to that line of thought. Just for once he was going to keep himself together, for Dreen, and get him off that damned planet.

Chett nodded. "I spent half the trip home figuring out how to cheat and win that fight." He hadn't, for the simple reason he had found out Dreen was in love with Mitra.

"Mmm ... Anyways, Juttar said he should have some intelligent questions for you and your lawyers tomorrow, but since you're playing catch-up at Nemizcan to call him to set a time convenient for you, not the other way around."

Chett nodded. "Thanks." He hadn't expected Juttar to be that accommodating.

Joran was at the back of the lounge. "Can you just hold a couple minutes while I listen?" He hesitated, "If you want, stay connected and listen yourself."

"Thanks."

Chett was surprised at that slight opening up. He was going to say more, but Joran had obviously already forgotten him. The song started, and Joran was completely intent on what he was listening to, a slight frown between his eyebrows, chewing on his lower lip. There was a noticeable shine on his forehand, his hair was damp, and a couple curls were sticking to his forehead. Chett let his focus shift to the song. In his uneducated opinion it was beautiful, a sad poignant love ballad.

"No!"

The suddenly raised voice and the violent head-shake made Chett start. It was followed by a string of technical instructions he didn't understand, a question from the stage, another 'No!' with a violent head shake, more instructions, and finally a nod. Then the piece was replayed, this time to a clear brow, a slight smile, and nod.

Joran turned his attention to Chett. "You have a question?"

"Yes, but first, that song was lovely."

Chett also thought whoever was singing had a great voice. But since Anton had always only had one singer, Joran using his stage name Anton, with someone occasionally doing some harmony, he thought he'd better keep his mouth shut on that.

Joran nodded. "Twilight is the best song Bojo has written yet, and he should be singing it. That's who you heard, but he won't." Joran gestured towards the side of his face.

Chett nodded in sympathy. He wondered how the guy got the nerve to walk onstage at all, since even the Anton signature mask-style makeup couldn't hide his deformity.

In one of his sudden mood swings, Joran gave Chett a conspiratorial wink. "Now you're even with Bojo for his eavesdropping. No one, but no one, gets to hear him sing anymore."

"That's too bad," Chett said sincerely. "He's a remarkably talented man, and you've obviously earned his loyalty." He meant it as a compliment, but Joran's face tightened in anger.

"I don't need you to tell me what I owe him, Linderson! When we go back on stage he is the one who will be wearing the Anton blue."

"Easy, Joran. That wasn't a shot at you."

Joran was not mollified. "So what the hell do you want?"

Chett sighed. He had a talent for blowing it with Joran, but since he'd disrupted practice, he'd better ask.

"I'm trying to make sure Dreen's projects don't lose momentum, and Wayd didn't know what the status was on re-siting the Gingezel hub. I expect I can track it down with our official consortium contact Allcaro and the architects and such, but I wondered if Dreen had told you. Has he changed sites to Crescent Bay, or just talked about it?"

"Just talked. Mitra and Rodd intervened."

"I thought so." Chett continued, "Then I guess what will have to happen is for me to get permission to put the existing site on the market and to acquire a Crescent Bay site." He said frankly, "From all I hear of the place, it would be great if we could afford large grounds like we have here at Head Office on Tranus. But Crescent Bay is the most expensive land on the planet, so I expect there isn't a chance. Our architect will just have to adapt the megacity plan he did, plus change the exterior to be compatible with the look of Crescent Bay."

Joran nodded. "Get Keya involved on that."

"Gali's wife?" Chett was lost.

"She did the park design for Head Office. That kind of design is a gift of hers."

There was too much he didn't know about the history of Nemizcan. When would something come up that mattered?

"Thanks Joran, I will." He was spending a lot of time thanking Joran, and he had intended to avoid that.

Joran nodded absentmindedly, thinking about where there was a site with lots of room for grounds. Since the area around Crescent Bay was all his land, price didn't matter, did it?

Chett interrupted his thoughts. "Now do I bother to repeat all of that to our official contact?"

Joran did some fast figuring. "Wayd has a big mouth!"

No one was supposed to know, or if they knew, talk about who was in the consortium.

"No. I'd already pretty much figured things out. Besides, you told him to not tell Dreen you are personally handling the Nemizcan contract. You didn't say a damn thing about me."

"That's a technicality."

"Yes. Life hinges on them, doesn't it?" Chett said dryly.

"Linderson, you're a pain!" Joran laughed in spite of himself. "So how did you do the arithmetic on your own?"

"Start with the fact you have the money to buy a planet. That doesn't make you a member of the Gingezel consortium, but it excludes a lot of people. Then too, someone was telling the contact who negotiated the Ultrasecure HyperWeb project all of the right things to say to get Dreen to sign up. Still, again that wasn't conclusive. You could have been advising a friend."

"So, what was conclusive?" Joran really wanted to know. It was more than a matter of moral principle that the Gingezel Consortium wasn't known. If word got out who they were, they'd all be driven crazy by promotors and salesmen.

"The Criminal Class Visa rules. Dreen showed me a copy once for a laugh."

"The Criminal Class Visa?" Joran was totally lost.

"You have your own style and logic, Joran, and I'm probably at just the right distance to recognize it. We're not close, but I hear a lot about you from Dreen and Jon. It just had your business signature all over the place to me." He shrugged helplessly, unable to explain. "Like music. I don't know a thing about it, but I expect if you hear a new song ninety percent of the time you know who wrote it."

Slowly Joran nodded. The visa had been his idea. Since everyone would wear themselves out trying to keep criminals out, he had argued they may as well invite them, control them, and sell them on the idea that they needed a stress-free vacation as much as anyone else. The actual details he'd worked up with Juttar, Ralin Heusgar, and Ghen Kulgalu. That had seemed a good combo, a lawyer, the planet Head of Security, and the galaxy's known but unproven drug lord. He'd consulted Ghen on the grounds that he would know what it would take to get criminals to buy in, and could warn Juttar and Ralin of all of the ways a criminal could cheat. At least he hoped Ghen had told them all of the ways to cheat, and not kept a few to himself.

"Interesting." Joran nodded slowly. "I assume you'll keep your knowledge to yourself, and tell Wayd to keep his mouth shut?" Joran still didn't like Wayd's talking one bit.

"Yes."

"Good. Then just for once I'll deal with the middleman for you. I'll tell him to have four sites for Dreen to look at by the end of the week." And damned if you, Linderson, horn in on this one. It was Dreen's project and he could use that kind of distraction. "After all, Trevarr and Wayd must be getting edgy to know where they stand."

"What's Trevarr like anyways?" Wayd had said he would introduce Chett to Trevarr.

"A truly nice guy. Smart, open, friendly. The kind everyone trusts on sight. He just happens to have a bit of a mouth."

Chett nodded. He sounded like a good counterbalance to the overly reserved Wayd.

Joran's focus shifted to the stage. "Gotta go \- but I'll remember."

*****

Chapter 8

Dreen was depressed. It had been a long day, he'd had essentially no time alone with Mitra, there was so much to do he didn't know where to start, and he did not like Drezvir. It was not that he had expected Drezvir to be nice, or have amenities. It was a marginally habitable mining planet with a problem and he was here to do a job.

What he had not counted on was that the Mining Guild would have used an "Outsider" supplier, the same habitat supplier as the military base he had been on. They hadn't changed designs by one micron since then. He was quite sure that he could function adequately blindfolded. He knew where every item in his room was without looking, not that there were many. The furnishings consisted of one small sleeper sofa, one fold-down table, two kitchen chairs, and three shelves. His memory was intact on the placement of every item. Dreen had tested it. He had turned out all the lights and prowled around in the close to pitch black without even stubbing a toe.

The habitat suppliers had not changed colors or materials either. The walls were the same beige enameled metal. The floor was the same nondescript slightly patterned syncrete that hid dirt. The sofa bed was the same terrible beige floral, and it was in desperate need of cleaning. Chett had said something about a permanent water shortage, and he supposed the thin atmosphere and recycled air didn't encourage the use of volatile cleansers. In fact, the only thing that was different from his room before was the color panel. This one was aqua. On the military base his had been moss green. He supposed that was a bit of luck. A soft mossy green would have been a constant reminder of his beautiful suite in Crescent Bay on Gingezel.

Was Mitra back in her room yet, and where was it? Dreen simply couldn't imagine Mitra, with her love of creature comforts, living in one of these rooms for the length of time it had taken to get the reactor built. He was obviously facing a lot of adjustments in his image of her. But this environment certainly explained her childlike delight with every new sight he had shown her on Gingezel.

For a while Dreen had kept busy installing the hyperweb link here in his room, but it hadn't taken long enough. The tough job had been the main installation in the shed. Since he was counting on encryption for privacy, he didn't need to worry about cabling in his room. The job had amounted to just setting up his computer system. Dreen was always happiest working on a computer, so he'd been content to pass time checking out what Freidi had installed for him. But Freidi knew him too well and everything was there, just the way he liked it. All too soon there was nothing left to do.

Now Dreen was stalling, and he knew it. Before he went to sleep he had to call Joran. It would be so much easier if he'd managed a call from the spaceport, but he hadn't. And now there were four days for Joran to have worried, and to be rightfully angry and hurt. Dreen looked at the time on his wrist cuff. Galaxy, it was almost 11:00! That would mean what? He checked the time at Crescent Bay on the hyperweb. It was not quite 2 AM in Crescent Bay. Well, there was no way Joran would be asleep yet. But he could well be trying to sleep soon if they were seriously starting to practice for his concert.

Dreen placed the call, wondering if he'd even get Joran, but he was there in three rings.

"Dreen." Joran's whole face was a smile. "I wasn't sure it was you. I couldn't figure out the identifier except that it was through Nemizcan Tranus. I thought Chett might be calling back, but somehow the identifier was weird." Joran had no intrinsic trust of computing systems, and listening to Dreen over the years hadn't helped.

"Chett?" Dreen was sure he sounded stupid.

"Yeah. We've gotten into a habit of saying goodnight to each other. He called about an hour ago - 3 AM there. He said was just hitting the shower. I figured he'd remembered something." Joran added hastily so Dreen wouldn't worry, "Nothing about work. He's doing fine, but really logging hours and looks like he's losing weight, not that he has much to spare. But we've kind of got a contest going as to who has the best collection of spaceflot jokes. Chett was trying to remember what one mine reminded him of, and he couldn't." It was getting harder and harder to keep remembering he didn't like the guy.

Spaceflot jokes? Well, he'd been doing a lot of worrying over nothing! Dreen had been sure that Chett and Joran would be at each other's throats, and that he would have majorly compounded things first by turning total control of Nemizcan over to Chett, not Joran who was after all his best friend, and then by not managing to even call Joran to say Mitra was found and that he was off to Drezvir. First he'd been busy at Nemizcan handing off to Chett in so few hours, then at the spaceport reassuring his mother he'd be all right. Dreen had thought he could call en route, but the way Jon had flown there hadn't been a chance.

Dreen relaxed a little. "So what are tonight's contenders? I could stand a laugh."

"No way with your room bugged. I don't need to land either of us with obscenity charges." Joran was watching Dreen, and he didn't like what he saw. "You okay?" he asked bluntly.

"Yes and no. I'm here, I'm set up to work, and a good night's sleep will help. The problem is my room."

"Should you be saying anything that might insult your hosts?" Joran warned him.

"I'm not insulting them. Nothing is their fault and everyone has gone out of their way to make sure I have every comfort they can offer. The problem is all my own. The room is an exact duplicate, and I mean exact, of the one I did my military stint in."

Oh oh! That was a twist no one had counted on, and there was nothing anyone could do about it ... unless ... "Want me to ship you a good holo-projector system? You can turn one wall into a forest or whatever?"

It was an idea. It could use the Nemizcan hyperweb power source. "Maybe. But is it worth it? We don't know how long I'll be."

"It's worth it even for a day."

Joran was firm. He'd seen Dreen through the military stint. Also, he was pretty sure Dreen was stuck on Drezvir indefinitely. Mid-afternoon, when Juttar and Chett were finally through talking legalities about how to defend Mitra, Dreen, Chett, Jann, and assorted others at Nemizcan, Joran and Juttar had had a long heart to heart talk about what Dreen was in for. Juttar was not optimistic, and they were both seriously concerned about how their old roommate would hold up.

"I'll just talk to a friend of mine who designs them, see what their closest distribution site is, and I.C.E it. And," Joran's smile was back, "speaking of I.C.E. you should have a cheer-me-up parcel sometime tomorrow." Bless Interstellar Courier Express for instituting Genie service. "The album is finished, and I wanted you to have the second one manufactured. This time Mitra gets the first."

Well, it was easy for Dreen to judge that pleased expression. The album was good. In fact, it was slowly getting through to Dreen that Joran looked better than he had in years. The strain, the edginess, the closing in on himself, was gone. He was obviously down to stage weight, fit, as relaxed as Joran ever was, and even looking slightly sleepy.

"It's good," Dreen said. It wasn't a question.

"Best yet," Joran agreed. "The albums aren't distributed yet but we've set a new record for downloads and presales."

"I'm so glad."

It was sincere and Dreen felt his depression lifting. He knew how worried Joran had been that his creative block was permanent. And composing both lyrics and music were essential to Joran's happiness. His intense creativity, as much as his musical talent and onstage charisma, had made him and kept him a galactic superstar.

But there was one thing Dreen had to get past, an apology. "Look, I'm sorry Joran that I didn't call you before I left." Dreen wouldn't hide behind excuses.

Joran waved that aside. "Not to worry. It was a shock to call and you weren't on Tranus, but Chett explained Gemma got you at the spaceport. Mothers will do that." At least sweet Gemma would. He wasn't on speaking terms with his.

Joran made a face. "All the same, someone on that flight crew of mine is going to get their butt kicked for not filing a flight plan with me as well as the authorities."

"Don't kick too hard. They did a great job - I think we set a speed record getting here."

Joran's face really clouded. "Damn that Jon! I gave him explicit instructions to behave." He knew how much of a white knuckle flyer Dreen was.

Dreen grinned. "And I gave him explicit instructions to ignore yours."

Joran looked at Dreen. The only word he could think of for the expression was smug. A slow smile replaced the clouds. "I take it you're finally appreciating the Allegro?"

"She's beautiful, Joran. And you'll be proud of me. Jon got a SecondSkin for me and I spent most of the trip at your console on the bridge. It was -" Dreen spread his hands helplessly. He couldn't describe the sensation of being suspended in deep space, transparent walls all around.

"Yeah," Joran said softly. Then with a look of pure mischief, "Does that mean you'll come with me sometime when we're stunting?" In spite of himself, he yawned.

"I doubt it." Dreen was relaxing. He suppressed a yawn himself. Why did that happen? Someone yawned, and you did too. "If that's it, it's late."

"Pretty much." Joran wanted to sneak this in casual like. "About that cheer-me-up package. I should tell you we've sent my full collection. Bojo thought you might like it." He caught Dreen's eyes.

"That's very nice of him." Dreen meant it. Bojo didn't need to worry about him. Bojo had enough problems of his own.

***

The day Mitra had got her call and disappeared had been a bad one all around. He and Joran had still been trying to locate Mitra when Rodd had called saying he had serious medical problems and could Dreen come back and fill in. That was Dreen's least favorite job in the company, Vice President of Marketing. But what could he do? Chett was even further away on his fateful trip to Drezvir. So he'd said of course, he'd come back.

But first there had been the meeting he'd agreed to with Bojo and that Joran had flatly refused to elaborate on. Bojo, the enigmatic shadow behind Joran in AntonCorp, and literally a shadow behind Joran on stage. In the early days they'd stood side by side, the elegantly handsome black Anton and the ruggedly handsome blonde Mrail. Then Bojo had had a disfiguring accident that had changed his whole personality, his life. He had worked his way back to being a brilliant keyboardist, and Dreen knew he was the one who had seen Joran through the bad years after Maillie's death. But Bojo was a loner.

That night Dreen had learned the truth of Bojo's accident. A citizen of the police planet Ennup 10, he'd been home visiting parents. He'd gone for a walk, nothing on his mind but composing a song. He'd gone too far and had ended up in a riot. Then he'd spent the better part of a year off-world on Joran's home planet Laurion being rebuilt.

There had been plenty of time to brood - to wonder if the dissidents he'd always heard his parents condemn were as deserving of what they got as the media and his parents claimed. They might be as innocent as he'd been. Well, not that innocent, but at least they had been the ones to rescue him.

Bojo had decided to stop being naive. He had decided to use his upper-class position to change Ennup 10. He didn't waste time trying to convince his peers change was needed. Why should they want to change a life of luxury?

Bojo had tried a different route. He identified the industrialists who were the worst human rights offenders, and at the first sign of weakness mounted merciless hostile takeovers of their various empires. He then installed enlightened off-world management, although he knew by galactic standards it wasn't much of an improvement. He didn't want to stand out. But by Ennup 10 standards his factories were heaven. If a single position opened the queue of applicants was a kilometer long.

In the process he had gone from being the son of a rich man to being a much richer man in his own right. Bojo had started receiving tentative political feelers. More important had been the tentative feelers from certain not-at-all-rich people who had come slowly to trust him because of the working conditions in the factories he ran. Bojo had started funding some of them and their blatantly subversive groups. But something had gone wrong. First surveillance had increased. Then, on that all-around bad day two had disappeared. Dreen had been appalled when Bojo had said in a matter-of-fact voice he hoped for their sake they were dead.

Bojo had come to Dreen for help. For quite some time he had been toying with the idea of re-mastering some Anton albums to make audio surveillance more difficult. Timoth, the sound master at AntonCorp, could do it if he was told what to do. What Bojo wanted help with was the what-to-do. It seemed related to encryption and such. The arrests had moved him from thinking to needing to act, and he'd thought Dreen might be the one who could help.

Dreen would have taken it on himself. He agreed with what Bojo was doing and the problem was interesting. But he was leaving in hours. He'd asked Gali, then Brys, if they'd help. Gali had said yes. Brys - he put that nightmare firmly out of his mind. Brilliant little Brys had got everything wrong first try. But she had come around.

And, if Bojo was sending doctored discs ... oh, they must have solved the problem. And one of his.

***

Joran watched the comprehension come into Dreen's face. Good. Dreen understood. "Chett and Lindy thought you'd like the full set too."

Dreen's eyes widened slightly at that. He was surprised Bojo would have talked to them, but it would sure make life easier if Chett and Lindy knew they had a way to relax and talk to him candidly here on Drezvir. Obviously he could never have betrayed Bojo's trust and told them.

Joran was continuing,"And speaking of Bojo, one more thing and then you can get some sleep. We've got a romance going there."

"Bojo?" That was a surprise. Ever since his disfiguring accident - no. Dreen corrected himself now that he had the facts. Ever since his beating by the Ennup 10 state police for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Bojo had been woman shy. "Anyone I know?"

"Reasonably well, I'd say. Brys."

"Brys?" He was tireder than he thought, Dreen decided, trying unsuccessfully to parse that.

"Brys," Joran repeated amused.

He had been part of that near fiasco when they'd tried to use the hotel lounge as a place to talk business with Brys and she'd thought they were buying sex. So he could imagine the confused, alarmed thoughts in Dreen's mind. But where did you go to talk work at 11:00 PM or so? They sure weren't going to talk espionage in the Nemizcan offices with people coming and going. Were they supposed to have gone to Brys' room? That suggestion would have really panicked her.

"How did that happen?"

"The usual way I presume. He said hello. He said a few other things. Then they hold hands. Then - well, you know the rest. We'll skip the full list of events."

"You mean they're serious?"

This shift would take some getting used to. Dreen had left Gingezel at the stage where Brys was afraid to go into a lounge with Bojo.

"He's moved into her room. That's serious for either of them. Bojo had to since she's so agoraphobic. She would never handle walking back and forth to work from his suite in my hotel. It's cute though. They're working on that agoraphobia. Every morning he takes her another two meters further out on the beach for breakfast."

Joran watched with amusement as Dreen tried to adjust and to digest the change. He yawned. "Take your time and sleep on it. I'll call tomorrow and see if you like your album."

"Right." Joran was a good friend. "And thanks."

***

Mitra was curled up in her sofa bed, knees tucked up for warmth inside the flannel nightie, her warm chenille robe spread out as an extra cover. What was Dreen likely to think of a high collared flannel gown with cute flowers after the skimpy sexy stuff he'd seen her wearing? She shivered and tried to curl into a smaller ball, grateful Tranngol had brought the nightie. She'd be more or less fine in a minute when the bed warmed up from her body, but right now it was like winter camping minus the sleeping bag. Had Dreen been warned to bring something warm to sleep in? Or had they been so busy with practical business things that details like that never got on the list?

Mitra still couldn't quite believe he was here. She had wanted to just trail Dreen around, but Azlo had been very persistent with his questions about the time delay in latching similar trips. And fair enough. He had some valid questions that really had got her thinking. Still, for at least part of the afternoon she'd been able to look up and see Dreen working. He'd looked so intent, totally absorbed in what he was doing and explaining it all to Martine as he went along. By the time she and Azlo had left for supper, she could really believe he was a technical type. How had she been so wrong? Mitra tried to remember, to think of clues she'd missed, but it wouldn't work. She was too tired between a long day, the shock of meeting Dreen, and then what had turned into quite a party at the hospital. All three of Joran's pilots were nut cases. She smiled at that. The bed wasn't so cold now. Mitra cautiously straightened one leg. Forget it! She curled up again and went to sleep from sheer exhaustion.

*****

Chapter 9

"Witieral."

At last! Bojo had been waiting and waiting for this call, wondering if Witieral had found any information about Bojo's two contacts who had disappeared on Ennup 10. He doubted it. Once you disappeared into that deliberately terrifying police complex, you disappeared. But at least Witieral might have been able to decide if the problem, the person who had betrayed them to the police, worked at one of his factories. Bojo studied the quiet, grave black face for any clues, but Witieral looked the way he always did. The only change Bojo had ever seen was when Witieral crouched at the starting block for a race. Then there was just a touch of excitement.

"Bojo." Witieral nodded. "I've toured your shoe factory. You can talk to that ad agency."

Witieral in turn was studying Bojo. He looked haggard, the strain making his deformity more pronounced. This was bad, with the concert coming. But what could anyone do? Events happened outside of anyone's control.

Well, at least those guarded words deliberately chosen for the benefit of that same police force were a relief. That meant Witieral hadn't found anything at the factory that seemed linked to the arrests. Witieral would know, where Bojo knew he wouldn't. Witieral was a trained operative of the Interplanetary Judiciary as well as a champion hurdler. Bojo knew he himself was just a well meaning amateur, something that could be very dangerous on a place like Ennup 10. Enough! No downslides. Look at the positive. It should be safe to ship the albums that Brys had modified to make monitoring harder, bless her. They, and a large selection of normal albums from the Anton Band plus a variety of performers would be given out seemingly at random as performance bonuses. For that to seem natural, it would take time for all the albums to be given away, but Bojo had learned patience.

"So where are you headed now?" It was a natural question since Witieral did not run again for two weeks.

"Visiting the rellies."

Bojo imagined he caught the slightest flicker of something in Witieral's eyes. Visiting the relatives, and doing more snooping on the arrests? Well, he couldn't ask. They were using a sealed beam call through Spyworks as would be expected to talk money, but when it came right down to it that didn't count for anything. Any government request to Spyworks to provide the means to unseal a call they had recorded, and the method would be provided to them. A private encryption message would have been much more secure, and infinitely more dangerous. The police on Ennup 10 did not like anyone but themselves using it, and it was one of the guaranteed ways to end up in that police complex.

"Well, I'll call you after I've talked to the ad agency." Bojo knew he'd hit Witieral's limit for small talk.

Witieral nodded. "Bojo, would you mind if I visited your other factories? I'm trying to think outside the box on endorsements. I like your shoes, and I might find some totally random product that runners like me don't usually endorse."

So, even though there was nothing at the one factory, Witieral had heard something about the others. Bojo's heart sank.

"Sure - if you can link running and heavy industry, I'm game."

That got him a brief smile, then Witieral was dead serious again.

"There's one problem though."

Shit!

"On the shoes. I'd like to do black with silver. But that's close to your Mrail colors."

Bojo stared. There were people's lives at stake and Witieral was worrying about image branding? Apparently. He looked completely serious. Well, that was as good an innocuous end to the conversation as any. Or maybe that was the reason they were doing this. Keep it innocuous sounding. Hell! Bojo wished he knew more about how to play this game. Focus. Follow the lead. Take your cue.

Witieral's running colors were maroon and gray and Bojo had assumed he'd use them. Black and gray would look good with maroon though. Bojo hoped he looked like he was giving it serious thought.

After what seemed an appropriate interval he said, "I can't see a conflict. When we go on stage I'll be wearing Anton blue. Joran has shifted to purple as a tribute to Maillie."

"Really?" Witieral's mask slipped for an instant. "That's a real compliment Bojo!"

*****

Chapter 10

Tranngol was sure he would be the first in the analysis shed, but as he walked in the door he saw a distinguished gray-haired man sitting at one of the desks. He was drinking from what was obviously a space pac and looking with displeasure at his compad.

"Javeilm, what are you doing here?"

Javeilm Green had done three construction projects at the Dellmaice Power Systems headquarters, handling the pressure tube installations for Pendrae Heavy Industries. Tranngol hadn't seen Javeilm for six years or so. In fact, he'd assumed Javeilm was retired. But there he was, looking exactly as Tranngol remembered him always looking; lined black face, short cropped gray hair, functional industrial work clothes, and military bearing.

Javeilm rose, extending a hand. "Tranngol, good to see you. I arrived on a chartered Genie in the middle of the night." He gave Tranngol a look. "Don't you read signatures anymore? I was the one in charge of the team installing that -" Javeilm got his tongue under control, "that pressure tube that blew."

Tranngol grinned. Javeilm had a broad military vocabulary. He'd moved on to Pendrae Heavy Industries in his late 50's when his wife got tired of moving around with the military. Which brought them back to the original question. "Why are you here? I thought you'd be retired by now, or if not, staying on Pendrae."

"I tried retirement. After four months the old lady begged me to go back to work. Drezvir was the available project." There was a ghost of a twinkle in his eye. "She and I both needed a little distancing."

"Uh huh."

"So. If I do work and there is a problem, I do the follow up. Not someone else." Javeilm looked at his compad, his expression grim. "Do you know yet if the system really grossly overpowered, or if someone at Pendrae Heavy Industries screwed up? I've been going over every last scrap of documents I've got from Quality Assurance." He gave Tranngol a level look. "I can tell you the installation part of the job was done properly."

"I believe you." Tranngol had seen Javeilm working. "If it makes you any happier, the breach was mid-section, not at any joins you made."

"I'm not happier unless you know how over-powered you were." Javeilm gave the compad another dirty look.

"According to the records and what the operators swear, everything was normal until the rupture and then all hell broke loose."

Javeilm forgot he was watching his tongue and used his best profanity. "Well, when do we take the remnants out of the debris so I know if I'm kicking butt and how hard."

"This morning." Tranngol looked at his time strip. "We may as well go and change into whites now. Are you an easy respirator fit?"

***

Dreen was glad of Joran's warning about Chett. The borderline exhaustion he'd shown returning from Drezvir had taken permanent residence. Dreen doubted Chett would ever look boyish again, and that had been his trademark; the tall, almost pretty handsome boyish blond. There were dark smudges below the fair skin at the inner corner of each eye, and well etched lines of fatigue. Joran was right about the weight too. Chett hadn't had much to lose, but now, after only five days he looked taut. Dreen wondered if he was bothering to eat, but presumably Lindy was nagging him into it. He'd have to ask her about that once Joran's albums arrived. Still, Joran was right too when he said Chett was doing fine. The signs were all of being overextended, not of strain or nervousness. He looked totally comfortable behind Dreen's - his \- desk, a man in charge of things.

Dreen wondered in turn how he looked. He'd slept a lot better than he had expected and woke at his usual 6:30 AM local time. Rhea had arrived shortly after that with what she called emergency supplies to last until the food was unloaded, and said she was en route to collect Ginny and Tessa. So after a cold breakfast in his room, Dreen had come to work. It appeared about a third of the Dellmaice Power Systems staff were early risers too, and there was a study hum of activity in the shed. Somehow he had wanted to make this first call to Chett from his desk here, not that shabby little room.

They looked at each other, neither quite sure what to say, how to reestablish the relationship. Too much had happened too fast. Then, as the silence got uncomfortable, Dreen said, "Well boss, what's the agenda?"

Chett grimaced. "You had to do that, didn't you?"

But he relaxed. He had honestly half expected Dreen to have had a change of heart about signing over the company on that long trip across the galaxy to Drezvir. After all, running Nemizcan had been Dreen's life and he'd never gone public, never even had a Board of Directors to answer to unless informal meetings with Nevin counted. He must feel directionless now, and powerless since the handover wasn't in name only. They had agreed. Chett called all the shots until Dreen was off Drezvir.

"So how are you faring?"

"All right. Let's save the gossip for after hours, when I'm back in my room. I promised to call Joran and tell him what I think of the new album, and I'll call you after that."

Chett nodded his understanding.

"He says you've been keeping late hours," Dreen continued.

"It's tapering off. Jann and the rest of the Drezvir analysts have a ton of additional notes for you to access when you want, and of course they're waiting to hear what more you need after you've talked to Tranngol."

Dreen nodded. "I'll be talking to him again this morning. But before you go, I have to pass on greetings from an admirer. Martine is quite disappointed you didn't come back. She says you're much more decorative than I am, although by the end of yesterday she did grant that I'm competent."

Chett laughed. "I thought we weren't gossiping. But if we are, two bits of good news. The doctors are hedging a lot, but Rodd's brain function is getting more active."

Chett still wasn't comfortable with how Celise was doing as Rodd's stand-in as VP of Marketing, but that wasn't something to mention to Dreen. He and Celise would survive each other.

"That is good." Dreen smiled.

"And Vennbir outperformed your expectations." Chett would say more later, this could be cryptic. Outperform was an understatement. Vennbir might exceed Brys's capabilities as a hacker. And to think he had been doing routine work in data entry. "Right now I have him reporting to me personally."

"Great. Now, I have a couple questions on the work here if you have time."

On the flight out there had been plenty of time to think about just how their custom displays could have mislead an operator. And about how the computer system itself that linked to the ContSaft system could have failed. He, and Chett, and Jann had done their best to minimize any failure risk, but they were still high up on the list of the five most likely to have caused this fatal accident.

***

Mitra was not surprised to find Dreen already in the shed when she got there a few minutes after 8:00. He looked a lot like he had the first day she'd spoken to him on Gingezel. There was the same intense concentration, the same total absorption in his work. Only this time he wasn't working on his compad at a cafe table. He was at a very well outfitted desk. Whoever did the packing at Nemizcan seemed to have thought of everything.

"Good morning." She stopped beside his desk, looking at the monitor to see if she could figure out what was going on.

"Mitra!" Dreen smiled. He had been looking for her off and on, but then had got absorbed in what he was doing. "How was the party last night? The nurse flatly refused to let Martine and me in."

"I figured as much." She put her coffee cup down on the desk. "It was loud, crowded, and manic. Are Jon and Arn and Rhea always like that?"

"I don't know. Other than the flight here, I've usually seen them en route to something like white water rafting." He looked enviously at the coffee. "Where did you get that?"

"There's a common room near the operators' room with a cater unit. It's far enough from the reactor hall it wasn't damaged and it isn't sealed off. Why, didn't you have breakfast?"

"Only a cold space pac and juice. I couldn't see how to heat anything in my room."

Oh. He was probably only used to cater units. "There are reheats, no cater units in individual rooms."

Dreen read her expression. "I'm a perfectly competent cook, Mitra. There was no reheat oven, no cook surface, nothing."

"Sorry. I wasn't meaning to insult you. But there should be one."

"I'll ask."

"Meantime, here." She handed him her cup.

"I've got feet. Just aim me in the right direction before you get busy."

"Oh." Mitra was disappointed, and just a little hurt. She'd really wanted to spend more time with Dreen than a social couple minutes. But that was a definite frosting.

Dreen read the look. "I'm not frosting you, Mitra. You just have to be very busy. This is your project - I'm just support staff and I have a lot more time to spend fetching coffee than you."

She shook her head. "This is not my project. This is Tranngol and Azlo's show, 100%. I'm just like you, here to answer questions."

"But surely -" Dreen hesitated, "do sit down Mitra." He waved at the spare chair. "But surely all of us subcontractors go through you?"

"No way. I wouldn't want it, even if I thought Tranngol would put up with that kind of nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Dreen frowned.

Mitra felt her stomach tighten. She remembered how Mark had hated being questioned by Tranngol. She said carefully, "The more people in the loop Dreen, the more likely there is to be a misinterpretation. Tranngol's analysts need to hear exactly what was done, not my version. I mean, I'm accurate on a lot of things, but not all. Like your work, or Tina's. I'd mess it up."

Dreen thought about this and nodded. "That makes sense. I suppose that's in part why I came." He gave Mitra a smile as he emphasized the word part, but the compliment wasn't delivered because she was suddenly fascinated with the coffee cup that was getting cold in neutral territory halfway between them. " I figured if a Nemizcan system did contribute to the accident it was more likely to be because of a design decision I made early on than an implementation error by Chett or Jann. I want to be able to answer questions directly."

And why is she so unhappy about things? He tried to decide, based on their holiday, if Mitra was the ultra-control type at work. He couldn't make up his mind. She'd said she didn't want to be in the loop, but she didn't look like she meant it. Well, this was not the time to play games. They all had to know where they stood, and that included management styles.

Dreen said bluntly, "You sound like you have mixed feelings, Mitra. Are you finding it hard to lose control and have someone criticizing your unit? I can sympathize, but to be honest I side with Tranngol on this one now that I've thought about it."

That brought Mitra's eyes up to Dreen's and they were wide with astonishment. He was accusing her of being like Mark? And by the tone of his voice, he didn't think much of her if so.

"Of course not! I've worked for Tranngol before - on design problems, not an accident," she hastened to add. "And I buy in. His group is the best. But not everyone - and that includes suppliers," her eyes showed that she was now very amused by their misunderstanding, "take very kindly to that kind of scrutiny and criticism."

Dreen was starting to smile back. "And you thought I was thin-skinned? I'm not. I'm just used to the fact Ari uses rather rigid structural protocols and I assumed they were in place here."

"They are," Mitra said. "Only it's the safety analysis structure, not design or construction."

Dreen nodded slowly, wishing there had been more time to talk to Chett before they traded places. Chett had the industrial experience he didn't have and probably knew all of this. Well, at least he could reassure Mitra about work styles, even if he didn't know how the analysis here was going to happen.

"You worked with Chett and Jann - any problems there? Were they open and candid?"

Mitra nodded her head. "No problems."

"Well, I hire people who think like me, and Jann is my second oldest employee. We've got pretty much the same work philosophy, just different expertise."

"And Chett?" She couldn't resist.

"Is a law unto himself. But I trust him enough to have signed Nemizcan over to him. Are you satisfied with that?" Dreen absentmindedly reached for the now lukewarm coffee and started drinking it.

Mitra nodded, not quite sure she heard right. She was just getting used to the fact Dreen ran Nemizcan, and now he said he'd signed it over to Chett. What did that mean?

Before she could ask, Dreen put the coffee cup down and smiled. "So let's start this over again with the assumption we're both on the same side. We are both reporting to Tranngol. Still," he looked reflective, "I'm glad I talked to you. I'll make sure - no -" he had to break that habit. "I'll see if Chett is happy making sure Tranngol's people have direct access to Jann and her team members."

"He might object?" Mitra couldn't see that. She thought she remembered Chett saying he was going back to arrange that.

"Of course not. I'm just training myself." Mitra looked confused, so Dreen continued, "Training myself to be second string."

It was a good idea to get his mind off that, because even though he told himself it was the only way to go and he trusted Chett, Dreen didn't want to think too hard about handing over the company he had so carefully built. But what else could he have done? This was going to be a mess, and he could be away from Tranus indefinitely without adequate communication. Chett was his best option, and Chett only functioned with full autonomy and full authority. So, get on with life.

Dreen asked with real curiosity, "Do you really get objections to this process once it's explained?"

Do you get objections? Mitra firmly restrained herself from thinking of Mark. "Yes. And sometimes a person intellectually buys in, but just can't handle the criticism."

She looked at the monitor. She did not want to talk about Mark. "So what are you doing?"

Dreen followed her look. It was a long explanation. "Seriously Mitra, how much time do you have? The issue is pretty complicated and it sounds like I'll just be going over it with Tranngol later. Or more accurately with Sam and Jennifer. I know Sam. He was part of Nemizcan when we were a start up. But Jennifer is the woman's right names, isn't it?"

Mitra nodded, absentminded, as she thought about whether or not she had the time. "I think I'd still like to hear it. Partly to know what you're doing, but also because although I have no intention of getting between anyone and Tranngol, I did do the system integration. I might be able to contribute some ideas on how a problem could propagate." Mostly though she wanted to hear Dreen talk. It was still not quite real to her that this was his life.

*****

Chapter 11

Dreen had no objection at all to talking to Mitra for as long as she was free. "Well, I think you went over worries about the ergonomics with Chett. It really bothers both of us that there wasn't a manual trip. The operators didn't react, and even though there may well have been a problem with sensors, or the ContSaft system, that prevented the automatic trip, they should have seen a problem.

"That means they were happy with what they were seeing. So that raises a very real question. Were our displays somehow misleading? It seems improbable after the suite of test cases we ran that the screens didn't show the information they were receiving. But could there have been a situation where the operators weren't worried and should have been because of the way we showed the information, rather than because the information wasn't there?"

Dreen hoped not. For Jann's sake he hoped not. And he doubted that she would get things wrong. But until Ari had talked them into doing a control room interface, Nemizcan had done business and home computer system interfaces. Theirs were by an order of magnitude or so the easiest to use, easiest to change, and the most popular. That was why Ari had come to them when the thinking on power system control rooms shifted to the idea that reactor operators would be less bored if they could change screens. But a control room was not an office. Nemizcan had almost a decade of experience in offices. This was their first try at a control room.

"Jann is our best ergonomist, so I'm essentially leaving that up to her, and of course Chett, since he managed the implementation.

"What I'm worried about is the other direction - the idea that somehow we corrupted a set point the operators sent to the ContSaft system. And those worries put things right back to the conceptual stage when I was involved. This happened right after refueling, and new trip parameters were provided to the ContSaft system, right?"

"Not exactly right after, there was a short time lag," Mitra corrected, "but yes."

"Well, in our conceptual design meetings, those between Ari and Tina, and me, we realistically acknowledged that once the Nemizcan displays were available it was very unlikely the operators would use the ContSaft ones. So we decided to allow input contact with the ContSaft system. Instead of Tina just splitting the output into three streams: automated trips, the ContSaft displays, and our displays, we decided to let the operators use the Nemizcan interface to input parameters even though we used a commercial platform. We figured we could put enough integrity checks in place that the risk of providing a corrupted parameter was low enough to be reasonable. So now I'm having nightmares over the phrase 'reasonable risk'." Dreen made a face.

"Me too," Mitra said with feeling. "Only in my case it's the concept of reasonable risk applied to defining the overpowers."

Dreen looked at Mitra in confusion. Obviously he didn't know enough about reactor design.

"You see," Mitra explained, "you are essentially looking at an infinite set of possible core power configurations and you can't simulate and analyze them all. You use a number of engineering guidelines - and experience - to define a set of most dangerous conditions and assume that rest will fall within this envelope. The concept is that if the system is safe for the nastiest cases, it's safe for the others. Now I'm hating that word assume." She sighed.

"But we installed the prototype of my reactor here. So the overpower envelope scenarios had to be based totally on simulations and extrapolations from other systems. You try to be conservative, to minimize the risk you missed something or cut it fine somewhere, but now ..." Mitra shrugged helplessly. "I'm going over and going over every last assumption to make very sure I didn't screw up and get one of the overpower scenarios wrong, or just plain miss a dangerous case."

"You're using the word 'I' now. You did this, or you're checking someone else's work?" This sounded a lot more like theoretical analysis than like being a project engineer to Dreen.

"Me. If anyone is to blame for getting energy distributions wrong, it's me. That's my specialty - power distributions. That's what Dellmaice Power Systems hired me to do initially, and that's how the hybrid came about. I got this idea of a group of energy distributions that would allow more or less instantaneous load following in a situation like the mines here, where the need for power was up and down, all over the place."

Now Dreen was really impressed, and pleased. He didn't know much about power systems, but it sounded as complicated in its own way as some of the computing theory he did. How could he have got Mitra so wrong? He'd just gone along with Joran's assessment she was a lady of leisure. He supposed he'd got that impression because she had been working very hard at forgetting her stay on Drezvir. But if she was that kind of a theoretician as well as a manager, they had a lot in common.

Mitra transferred her attention back to the screen. "So what are you looking at?" It was a schematic of some sort.

"The interface between our system and ContSaft's. Obviously because the operators can use our system to change parameters, the ContSaft system cannot know in advance if the parameter is right or wrong. All it can know is if it's reasonable - within the expected range and in the expected format." He pointed to an area on the screen. "So, if something went wrong, the first place I want to worry about is between our last integrity check - physically that's here - and," his hand moved, "the mechanical link to the ContSaft safety system equipment. Here."

Mitra leaned up against him like she did when they were traveling and stared at the schematic. It was so natural now, neither noticed.

"Do you mean you're looking more for a physical mistake than a design flaw?"

"A mistake in design that allowed - or created - a physical mistake would be more accurate. Since there was no way our screens could be implemented on ContSaft's equipment, we had to minimize the reliability risks for a commercial platform. We started by going top-of-the-line, then got the vendor to work heavily with us to identify where we could route our software to minimize potential solid-state overuse." He looked at Mitra. "How's your quantum physics of very small-scale solid-state devices?"

She wrinkled her nose. "You mean could I develop a device, or just mostly understand the lecture?"

"Mostly understand the lecture. As for developing a model for something like this, I couldn't either. That's Tina's specialty. We've never much needed that expertise at Nemizcan, and the few times we've needed it - here, and on a custom device Gali has been designing for the Gingezel Consortium, that sort of thing - we go to ContSaft. Tina was the one that worked with me on this."

Tina and Andrai Kern were the founders and co-owners of ContSaft, the premier computerized control and safety firm. Her expertise was strongest on computer design, his on software implementation, but both were very competent on the whole issue of extremely reliable computers.

"Do you know when she's due to arrive?"

"Yesterday."

Dreen took this to mean as soon as she could. "She couldn't give you a schedule?"

"She did. By it she arrived one hour and twenty minutes after you did yesterday. Tina was supposed to be coming on commercial connections until the last space station. They were having some kind of maintenance done on their space yacht."

This was not good news. Tina was a very punctual, well-organized woman. "Did anyone check with Andrai?"

"Yes, Tranngol did yesterday. He's very anxious for her to get here too. Apparently Andrai muttered something about charters, then more or less told him to get off his back, she'd get here when she gets here, and he's 200% busy with extra tests Azlo wants."

That was totally unlike Andrai. He was one of the more laid-back men in the galaxy. Dreen looked at Mitra. She looked as worried as he did.

"Well, as Andrai says, she'll get here when she gets here. For your fast lecture on the sort of things I'm thinking about, whether or not hardware could have corrupted a parameter in a way that wasn't caught - and we're talking very very low probabilities here - the classic reason of course is a cosmic ray."

Dreen gave a tired smile. "I would love to hear that Drezvir's sun was quite active and going through a sunspot cycle, or that bursts routinely came through from the universe in general and shielding wasn't adequate, but neither is true is it? The Drezvir sun is pretty quiet, the ambient background here is nothing to get excited about, the control room is shielded, and we put extra shielding into the computer.

"It's a lot more likely that somehow, with all the screen changes with the fuel change an area near here," he pointed again, "was overused. It looks from the logs like they were examining the results of the fuel change with every screen they could. We tried to allow for that, but," he shrugged, "there are always system functions going on too. There is an off chance of thermal noise, but it was more likely a collective quantum excitation was induced on a very small scale. This is what I've figured out so far -"

***

Dreen and Mitra were still huddled in front of his screen when Tranngol returned from making sure that the relevant sections of the ruptured pressure tube were indeed being extracted correctly and on schedule. He had left Azlo in charge, a very worried Javeilm Green with him. It would take another hour or so to have any fragments, but Tranngol needed to talk to Brenn to be sure everything was set up for the testing later in the morning.

About to stop and confirm the exact sequence of the test with Brenn, Tranngol looked towards Mitra's desk. She really should listen to this. She wasn't there though. He was about to ask Brenn if he had any idea where she'd wandered off to, but then he saw her at Dreen's nearby desk, snuggled up as close to him as she could without having his arm around her.

Tranngol frowned, confused. He was not in a mood to appreciate being confused. Between their handholding and Chett's excessive defense of Mitra when he had been on planet, he had assumed a relationship there. That was in the 'fine' category. Chett seemed like a nice enough guy. But the scene he was looking at now was definitely not occurring just because they were both the kind to have a small sense of personal space and were crowding to see the screen. His guess was that Mitra had curled up to Dreen for comfort. Galaxy knew she probably needed comforting. Dreen was obviously so used to this he never noticed. That was also in the 'fine' category. Dreen also seemed like a nice enough guy. But the combination of Chett and Dreen as boyfriends at the same time did rather look like Mitra had messed up again on the personal side. Tranngol truly hoped the consequences did not spill over to here. And Tranngol sincerely doubted Trebur Auta, with his dirty little mind, would see a relationship with Chett, or Dreen, in the 'fine' category at all. And as for Ari, well, he just hoped Ari never heard about it.

Tranngol sighed. He'd better go break it up, then have a word with Dreen when he could. Why did this damn job just keep getting more complicated?

"Brenn, I'll be with you in a minute. I need to talk to Mitra first."

Brenn never even looked up. The party last night had been a little too good. In BVennbir's experienced assessment, Tranngol was in as close as he came to a bad mood. Jennifer had drifted in fifteen minutes after Mitra clutching two cups of coffee and yawning, and Jennifer was an early riser. As far as Brenn could tell, all she'd done since was sit and stare at the unopened boxes of equipment from Nemizcan that had been piled beside her desk about an hour before she got there. Brenn had no idea how the injured miners were doing after all that. He guessed they'd sleep for three days.

As for himself, he'd come down an hour early to set up for the tests of the pressure tube fragments, and he was slowly and meticulously checking it all several times. The first round of tests were nondestructive, so Brenn could and would do them twice. He did not want to look like an idiot to someone like Azlo Mirelle just because of the party.

***

"Mitra, if I'm not interrupting, the pressure tube sections will be ready to test soon. You should be there while I review the tests with Brenn."

"Right." Mitra stood up without any great enthusiasm to join Tranngol. She was feeling fatalistic. There would be nothing wrong with the pressure tube. Not with a single shard.

"Good morning, Dreen. What are you working on?"

"Thinking about the most likely place for quantum effects to have corrupted a parameter. I can define what kind of corruption would go undetected, and what we and the vendor were doing in the area that could possibly have caused grief, but it will take Tina to tell us if it really could have happened." He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Tranngol. "Any better idea when she'll get here?"

"No. Thanks for reminding me though. I should try Andrai again."

"You can save yourself the trouble." Mitra was looking past Tranngol to the door at the far end of the shed.

"She's here, and just offhand I'd say she's not in a good mood."

*****

Chapter 12

Tranngol turned, and Dreen stood up. Crossing the floor at a good pace was a fortyish woman with crisply curled black hair, pale skin, blue eyes, regular features, and a mouth that definitely was not smiling. It was a good thing no small animals were in her route to be kicked. Following in her wake, saying something, and looking more perturbed than any of them would have thought possible was Olan Rostin. Tina saw the group and headed for them.

"Mitra, Dreen, Tranngol." She favored all of them with a brief nod, then focused on Tranngol.

"Where the hell is Azlo? That man is roughly at the bottom of my popularity list right now." Tina was only of medium height and kept herself trim, but right now she looked formidable.

"Really Dr. Kern," Rostin wondered if Tina had heard a word he said. "I can assure you there was no intent to inconvenience you."

What would they do if ContSaft pulled out of the Mining Guild's plans to build future reactors? That had been Olan's sole thought since Tina arrived furious. Mitra's prototype reactor had just been the first in a long building program. Now that the technology had been transferred, they intended to build their own without Dellmaice Power Systems. And the need for power reactors was no less because of the accident. But while they intended to build without Dellmaice Power Systems, ContSaft was the only company that made the safety systems they would need.

Where was Durstin when he needed him? Durstin was the site engineer. He'd handled the technology transfer. He would know how to deal with these people, how to placate Dr. Kern. But Durstin was sedated in the hospital. He'd seen them through the worst of the disaster. He had got power back to the mine, to the hospital, kept the place warm enough no one got hypothermia after stumbling around in the dark looking for that brat of Kwan's. But Durstin had collapsed, totally cracked up. He was sedated and would stay that way.

"No, Mr. Rostin. I grant you that." Tina sighed. "Your customs people are simply the usual officious idiots.

"It was Tamara where I was much more than inconvenienced, and I have a few words to say to one Azlo Mirelle about that. So, if you want to make amends, go find him for me! Do you know where he is Tranngol?"

"The reactor hall. They should be almost finished removing the pressure tube segments by now, so he should be on his way here sometime soon." Tranngol was more amused than alarmed. He'd seen Tina really upset once or twice before, and Azlo was in for it.

"I'll see to that." Rostin left in relief.

He could of course just call and summon Mirelle, but this seemed to require a face to face warning. At least that was something he could do, deliver a warning this time. While he was very worried that Dr. Kern was furious, he could not personally fault his customs officials. Everyone's lives had been upset by the accident. They were bound to be trying to reassert a sense of control and order on their job. And it wasn't the customs officers fault either because they had not been informed that Dr. Mirelle had ordered some equipment to be tested and brought to Drezvir. Olan had known, but he hadn't expected it to come in a sealed, shielded metal case, or he would have warned Customs. As it was, the need to call him seemed to have been the last straw for Dr. Kern.

Tina watched the retreating back with relief. "Officious is bad enough, but -"

"I wouldn't say it, Tina! Assume your words are being recorded," Tranngol advised.

"Thank you Tranngol," Tina said dryly. "As I was saying, officious is bad enough, but dithering is impossible! I wouldn't have thought Olan capable of it." She smiled suddenly, changing her whole face. "There. I've been nasty and I feel better." She turned to Mitra. "Holding up all right, Mitra?"

"More or less."

"And Dreen, I am really glad to see you here \- no offense to Chett."

"But the problem, if there is one, is more likely at the design stage," Dreen agreed. "And eventually I'll need your help, but you have your own worries first."

"Isn't that the truth." Tina was looking past Dreen at the screen. "Well, you're focusing on the right area anyway."

"Tina! I understand you want me?"

It was Azlo. He was still in whites with a respirator dangling on his chest. They weren't finished in the reactor hall and all he had removed were his shoe covers and his gloves. No major contamination had been found yet. His quiet face was concerned. He and Tina had known each other professionally for a good fifteen years or so now, and he both liked and respected her. Rostin had tipped him off that she was furious with him, and that was bad. About the only thing that really set Tina off was professional incompetence. She did not suffer idiots gladly. So what had turned up in those extra tests to scare her?

"Azlo."

Tina bent down and picked up the metal case at her feet. It was about twice the size of an attaché, and heavy by the way she strained to pick it up.

"Here are your samples of our equipment, tested exactly as requested. The complete results of the tests are in the case." She turned to Tranngol. "Will you please witness that this damned case has been delivered?"

"I witness it, Tina." Tranngol was trying not to smile. Somehow the case had been a problem.

"Azlo. Will you now, in Tranngol's presence inspect the seal, verify that it is one of yours, and intact?"

He did.

"Good." Tina thrust her compad at him. "Now, I want a signed statement to that effect."

Azlo raised his eyebrows at that, but he wrote and signed one.

"Good."

Tina heaved a sigh as though that case had weighed a megagram and she'd been carrying it all on her shoulders. She faced Azlo sternly. "The next time you pull a stunt like that Azlo, one of your people is going to bring your case to you, do you understand? I flatly refuse, personally, and on behalf of any employee of ContSaft, to ever do that again."

Azlo was starting to understand. He looked at the case. It had been chosen to be impenetrable, because he wanted the tested bits and pieces to arrive 'as is', with no risk of alteration by various security scans. He always provided complete notarized inventory statements that usually kept customs happy. Usually.

Azlo asked resignedly, "Was there a security alert?

"Yes there was a security alert! And Galaxy knows what they figured that man was shipping, but it was a Level 4 security alert. Do you know what that put me through, Azlo?"

He knew perfectly well, but Tina would be happier for sounding off. So Azlo kept quiet.

"The problems started with the first security person. I think it was a she, but I saw so many they're getting blurred. Anyway, they never even looked at the documentation. They said they didn't care who my papers were from, their orders were to open everything. And I said fine, but that would damage the validity of the work inside, and the airport authority would be billed for redoing it, and I told them the cost. No -" she suddenly stopped. "The first one was a he - a redhead with curly hair. I asked his name and ID so I could say who authorized the billing. Then he stared at me a while to decide if I was bluffing, then said would I sit and wait while he got his superior. I went through that process six times, and 'wait' was the operative word.

"Finally I hit someone with the authority and patience to listen to me, and to agree we should call in the man on your staff who oversaw and sealed the work, and the legal type who watched the packing up and provided all those nice papers everyone refused to look at. So, she called them. Only, by now it was well into the evening. Your man was no problem, but the legal type was at a gala of some sort at some theater and rather inclined to be huffy. The security administrator wasn't in her best mood either, and I'm rather afraid Azlo that they had a few words you'll hear about when you get back."

"No doubt," Azlo said glumly. This story was turning out worse than he expected and he was pretty sure there was more to come.

"Anyway," Tina continued, "around midnight give or take a half hour, everyone was there and the case was opened, and shown to have exactly the contents listed. It was resealed by your man, and a new set of legal documents were issued to match the time on the seal."

"Well, you have had a worse run around than usual Tina, but you're here." Azlo tried to be soothing.

"I am not finished, Azlo!" She gave him a quelling look. "By then, I had thoroughly attracted the interest of the security staff. They then decided this just might have been a diversionary move on my part. So they went through every last one of my possessions. And I do not expect you to sympathize on this one Azlo, but you will Mitra. I'm used to Drezvir, so I packed an extra tub or two of all my favorite cosmetics and creams just in case."

Tina didn't spell out the 'just in case', the being arrested. She didn't want to think about it. "This of course was unusual and caught their attention. And they insisted on opening and emptying, not scanning - emptying - every last container. I have a receipt for replacements, but what the hell good does that do me here? And I was in some detention complex with no shops in sight."

"Ouch," Mitra said with real sympathy. "I'll lend you some of my spares." Her brain had been functioning enough at the spaceport to stock up.

"You're wonderful! You're also even a brunette." Tina now fixed Azlo with more than a glare. "Then, I was strip searched. I'm telling you Azlo, that was the last straw. Then, finding nothing, the idiots had the nerve to apologize and expected me to accept the apology.

"And of course there was no way to retrieve even reasonable connections." Tina turned to Dreen, "Our only on-planet yacht was in for maintenance. So I had to charter a space yacht for the whole trip. But because they held me so long, I was just the last in a long line of business people with screwed up plans. So I had to wait while one was brought up from the southern hemisphere."

Tina was feeling better for sounding off. "I do know it isn't your fault, Azlo. Sometimes I could shake that man."

"You and the rest of Tamara," Azlo said with feeling.

"Who?" Tranngol asked bluntly. "You both talk like you're blaming someone."

"We are," Azlo answered. "Ghen Kulgalu. Every now and then Customs and Security gets all worked up that they'll finally pin shipping something illegal on him. A tipoff I suppose. They haven't won yet."

Tranngol and Dreen's faces cleared. Mitra's was just as confused though.

"Ghen who?" she asked.

Tranngol and Dreen looked at each other and shook their heads. Tranngol deferred to Dreen.

"He's reputed to be a drug lord, but no one can prove it, Mitra."

Dreen's suspicions were stronger than average. He suspected Ghen had personally provided Joran with drugs during those bad years. He was going by the probabilities. Ghen was a close friend of Joran's, and Joran had spent a couple of years after Maillie died totally stoned.

Dreen had never had the slightest idea why Joran even associated with the man, much less called him his friend. Strangely enough, the friendship went back to when Joran was clean and insisted every member of his band and entourage were too. Then Dreen had met Ghen on Gingezel, and liked him despite himself.

"Oh." Mitra promptly lost interest in the conversation, reminded herself to give Tina those cosmetics at lunch or supper, and started thinking about energy density distributions.

Tina looked at Azlo. "Don't bet on that tip idea. I personally think that they come from Ghen so he can laugh at all of us. I think we should petition him to post schedules. You know, 'for the next three days I will be shipping huge volumes of legitimate pharmaceuticals, and customs and I'll be playing button-button-who's-got-the-button and everyone else can stay home'."

"You can try," Azlo said. "And I'll sign it, but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"So how did the tests turn out?" Tranngol asked. "Andrai said to talk to you when you got here, so I assume they weren't conclusive."

"No." Tina's face was troubled. "Nine tests were fine. I ran the conditions you suggested, Azlo, and there weren't any problems, no matter what the preceding state was, whether the computer was doing housekeeping, whatever. Either the system tripped at the calculated overpower, or there was damage to the hardware I've packed with me, and the system tripped on that damage. Three I'm less happy with. I could conceive of some operating system states that might have marginally slowed the trip calculations down. I cannot see it being enough to matter. But any uncertainty is unacceptable. So that's what Andrai is doing, essentially putting our system into those configurations we got inconclusive results for. He's input cycling over a broader range, realistic or not.

"But one test really has me worried. I don't know whose idea it was," her eyes went from Azlo to Tranngol, "but we truly never allowed for Tranus Dynamic sensors giving that wide a range of inputs to our system. Have you had Mitra examining implications for the energy distribution maps, checking what is still safe if you can get that kind of a sensor output range?"

Mitra shook her head. "Sorry Tina, I don't know what you're talking about."

Tranngol said, "That's because it was my idea, and I didn't want you wasting time chasing things if Tina's system just treated the inputs as faulty and tripped."

"I know," Tina frowned. "But we don't. We see it as a metastable state, and that has implications for trip latching I'll have to talk to Mitra and Elin about. Seriously though, Tranngol, will a Tranus Dynamics sensor behave like that? I've worked with them for years now and never come across that."

"I have no idea. We'll find out soon enough. Their rep is due any time. But I got the idea from Chett."

"Chett? What does he have to do with it?"

"Apparently he worked QA at Tranus Dynamics. First on the line, then as management of some sort. I think it was on the heavy power side, not the sensors. But he was helping Martine here. She couldn't get the grid up and some Tranus Dynamics components weren't helping. He went through a whole shipment of parts for her and rejected about one third as being seriously out of spec - both over and under spec. That got me thinking that they might be getting sloppy as a whole."

"They'd better not be," Tina said grimly, "or Drezvir could just be the first of a series of accidents."

*****

Chapter 13

"But it's unfair!" C.C. said emphatically.

Ceb Windegren looked at his son resignedly. Not for the first time in his life he wondered just whose genes C.C.'s firm expectation that life should be fair came from, or if it was strictly an environmental effect, due to largely being raised by Beti on various uninhabited planets she was terraforming. He also wondered when that expectation would get C.C. into serious trouble. He personally believed that every individual in the galaxy deserved fair treatment and he had devoted his life's efforts, such as they were, to tilting the balance in that direction. But did he expect fairness? No. In fact, the older he got, the more he expected unfairness.

"C.C., do you really expect me to comment on that?"

C.C. Windegren looked at his father resignedly. While C.C. took after his Oriental mother, Ceb was a tall fair-haired man, naturally slender, naturally reserved, naturally thoughtful. Ceb had been in the Interplanetary Judiciary too long, C.C. decided. He weighed every statement like he expected it to be recorded and later used against him as evidence of a bad ruling. C.C. wondered if his father had ever been capable of passion or spontaneity, and if not, how he'd come into existence. But he wasn't giving up that easily.

"All right. Tell me if it's legal! If you aren't qualified to tell me, no one is." He looked at his father, open challenge in his eyes.

Ceb permitted himself a small smile. Sometimes C.C. still looked all of five years old. It appeared he was still bringing home strays too. There was no sense asking why he had decided to take an interest in an internal disciplinary hearing for some miner. He had. So, that had to be dealt with.

"Let's make sure I understand what you've told me C.C. This man, Ken Kwan, was the shift foreman at the time of the accident on Drezvir where the rock face they were fusing collapsed on the miners when the power went. Two of the crew under his supervision were killed and seven in addition to himself were hospitalized. Now the Mining Guild is conducting a review of his competence. I honestly don't see any question of legality in that C.C. Personally I'd worry a lot more if they weren't conducting the review. That would smell like a cover-up. Although I can't see offhand why it was this man's fault. He can't have anticipated the power failure."

"Exactly! But he's assuming it's a foregone conclusion that he'll be kicked out of the Mining Guild."

"C.C. you aren't a miner, and neither am I. Maybe he was taking shortcuts that made the consequences of the accident worse than they had to be. Maybe he has a guilty conscience and knows what should be the outcome. Maybe a lot of things. That's what hearings are for."

"If they are fair."

"And C.C., you have no way of knowing this one won't be."

C.C. sighed. He had the feeling he was not winning. "Seriously dad, is it legal to have a nonjudicial hearing like that?"

"C.C., you aren't thinking. All sorts of professions are self policing on professional ethics, including yours and mine.You could face a hearing and lose your professional status as a terraformer. Niki lost his trader's license for a while. I could be removed from the Judiciary. The question is," Ceb's eyes had the faraway look they had when he was interested in something, "whether or not the Mining Guild intends to deal exclusively with a discussion of mining practices and whether or not they were met, or if they intend to stray into the issue of possible criminal negligence. Or, for that matter they are deliberately holding a hearing to do exactly that and to prove to the Farr Sector Judiciary they have complete autonomy concerning their members, including on criminal matters."

C.C. hadn't even thought of criminal implications. He'd just been horrified at Ken Kwan losing his livelihood to a group that had prejudged him. But criminal negligence?

"Could they do that? Discuss criminal negligence?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if they're tempted. The Farr sector is in the middle of a power struggle right now. The Mining Guild claims autonomy, but they are involved in enough non-guild activity that the Sector Judiciary normally controls that it's hazy. The boundaries are still being bashed out. Still," Ceb was gazing into space, "unless there is a real likelihood of a cover-up of criminal negligence, in which case the Judiciary should step in, I doubt the Sector Judiciary involvement would do your friend anything but harm with their reverse jurisprudence."

"Reverse jurisprudence?"

"C.C. this is a singularly inappropriate time for your humor."

"What humor? What's this about reverse jurisprudence?"

Ceb looked at his son with alarm. "C.C., are you working in the Farr sector without knowing they do not follow the galactic norm?"

While the rest of the galaxy worked on the principle that the defendant was innocent until proven guilty, the Farr sector required the defendant to prove innocence. Depending on the circumstances, that could be impossible, and a complex science like terraforming could be in the impossible category.

"What kind of contract did your lawyers negotiate?"

"The standard for terraformers - if we screw up, tough breaks, we aren't liable for anything and you'll be lucky to even get an apology," C.C. said cheerfully.

There were just too many parameters for terraforming to be a precise, predictable science. You did your best, but things did go wrong now and again.

"Mm Hm."

It was a singularly noncommittal 'Mm Hm'.

"Am I in some kind of potential trouble?" It was C.C.'s turn to be alarmed.

"Not if you don't 'screw up' as you put it," Ceb said dryly.

C.C. recognized that tone. "Speaking of inappropriate humor ..." He relaxed and smiled.

"Seriously, I have no idea C.C. Terraforming is a strange profession with its own rules. Whether or not these collide with the need to prove innocence when something goes wrong I don't know. I'll talk to your mother about it when she gets home next week." Ceb actually smiled. "Meantime, don't screw up."

"Thanks a lot! How did the Farr sector end up weird, anyhow? I thought you had pretty strict guidelines now for the establishment of a Sector Judiciary and that was why the Gingezel consortium had to make the whole planet a corporation so they fell under corporate law, not you guys, and could play fast and loose with things."

"They do not play fast and loose, C.C. If they do they'll lose that corporate status so fast their heads will spin."

"Mm Hm." C.C. echoed his father's noncommittal tone. "You haven't worked for them. Shall we say they skip a few steps now and then?"

"With no bureaucracy and so few levels of government they're bound to. And we do watch them C.C. As for the Farr Sector, that sector is more of a problem because it's so ancient it's grandfathered - technically it is not reportable to the Interplanetary Judiciary at all."

"But it's just being developed." C.C.'s knowledge of history was as vague as his knowledge of law.

"You mean we're just getting to know it. Actually it was one of the first sectors settled when people left Terra. A flotilla of ships headed out and was never heard of again. It was assumed they met with some sort of catastrophe. But it turned out they got safely to the Farr Sector. What you're thinking of is when we rediscovered them a bit before you were born."

"Oh." C.C. lost interest. What was the difference?

But Ceb wasn't finished. "So, it's a real throwback. All we can do legally is advise when asked, and intervene if another sector is involved in something. The situation is almost as bad as Ennup 10, but so far the Farr sector has been more reasonable in dealing with the citizenry."

Ceb told himself to quit pursuing that line of thought or he'd raise his blood pressure. Things were going from bad to worse on Ennup 10 and he'd just lost contact with a very resourceful operative there, something that should never have happened. So he returned to C.C.'s problem.

"C.C., let's get back to your friend. If you are truly concerned about him, and you seem to be, why not line up a lawyer to attend the hearing? I don't see how the Mining Guild can object to that, and amongst that network of environmentalists you seem to have fallen in with, there must be someone you can use." He added sternly, "I would not use the same lawyers you personally used with the Mining Guild. That could be prejudicial to future dealings."

C.C. nodded. It was a good idea. His mind went off to who he could possibly use.

"C.C." Ceb called him back to the present. "I try to stay out of your business, but can you afford this particular bit of generosity? If you can't, I can find out if the Farr Mining Guild has the equivalent of public defenders."

C.C. made a face. "Right. A Guild lawyer to go against a rigged Guild hearing. No thanks. No dad, don't worry." He grinned. "Gingezel paid, but good."

Ceb suppressed a sigh. He didn't doubt it, since he knew what Beti had made. But he did not in any way want to think about how C.C. was spending his money.

*****

Chapter 14

"Arla, I don't want any interruptions for one hour. That includes everyone on my priority list - Dreen, Joran, Lindy - you know the rest."

"Yes Chett."

Arla was getting used to the change in bosses now. 'Yes Chett' instead of 'Yes Dreen' was getting almost automatic. It might take a little longer to get used to plans changing on zero notice. Chett was impulsive while with Dreen you'd known from day to day, from week to week, what was happening.

"If someone pushes, tell them tough, and I'll apologize later." A mischievous smile spread across Chett's face. "Unless by some chance Ari Dellmaice calls. Put him right through." He would enjoy that call.

"Yes Chett." Arla was totally confused by that last amendment, but she didn't let it show on her well-sculpted face. She just nodded. She'd find out what was up soon enough.

***

Lindy took a critical look at the tray on her desk. It was a little early for the afternoon coffee break, but she needed time to talk to Chett about her meeting at 3:30. There were two mugs of fresh coffee, a heap of chocolate chip cookies, meringues, and two bowls of fruit salad. She would only eat a spoonful of salad and a bite of meringue, but she had figured out that Chett only ate if he had company, and company on every course. The way things were going he was going to fade to a shadow and she'd need an extra large wardrobe. Everyone kept telling her Chett wasn't eating, but he did if you put it in front of him. He just metabolized like you wouldn't believe because he never stopped moving and she suspected he wasn't bothering to sleep much either.

Lindy had decided that if Dreen really wanted her to be VP of R&D, not just take over more admin, she would be VP of R&D. Today was the first big hurdle. There was a project meeting for the group responsible for implementing the standard Nemizcan office suite on the new Legend platforms. Lindy had spent most of the last couple days talking to everyone on the team and reading every word of documentation available. As far as she could see, it was following the standard course of most new Nemizcan projects. It started out strong, everyone was having a great time, and about three weeks ago they all forgot what they were doing because of all the exciting features they had discovered in the new Legend platforms.

Dreen usually gave the team about this long to fool around off-track, then he challenged them. Were the new ideas more valid than the original program plan? If so, he just shrugged and had the program plan revised. If they were useless - a rare event around this place - he told everyone off, they sulked for a week or so, and life went on. Most often it was somewhere in between. The new ideas were important, but would keep for a later version. If that was the case, Dreen would restructure the team a bit so whoever had the brightest ideas chased them on the next version. But he would dig in and insist the original plan be implemented, preferably on time.

Lindy was fairly sure, no, she was sure this was the case now. She was also fairly sure who had the ideas worth chasing. Mostly though she was dead certain which individuals on the team figured she didn't know the time of day, much less have the right to be telling them what to do. All in all, it was going to be a stressful afternoon, and she wanted to give Chett the ten minute summary in advance, before a certain individual arrived in his office furious. Otherwise, given Chett's mood, they'd lose another employee, and Allice really was good, not trouble most of the time. She was just an intellectual snob with a string of degrees. Lindy knew Allice had pigeonholed her in her mind the day they met and decided as far as she was concerned all Lindy knew about computers was where the on switch was.

Lindy unconsciously squared her shoulders and picked up the tray.

***

"Don't you look all geared up for your meeting!"

There was no careful mask on Arla's face for Lindy. In their years of Lindy's working as Dreen's executive assistant and her working as their joint secretary, she and Lindy had developed a totally comfortable relationship. Lindy's platinum blond hair was in an elegant twist. She was wearing the purple suit she wore for meetings she and Dreen had with conservative customers, the one with the longest skirt. Her blouse was tailored, simple white and silky, and done up at least two more buttons than usual. Arla didn't even know Lindy had a tailored blouse. Although Lindy made no secret of having grandchildren, she was the sexiest dresser in the building. All of this business-like dressing all of a sudden meant that for once, Lindy was really nervous.

"Don't worry," Arla smiled. "It will be fine."

It wasn't obvious Lindy had even heard her. She just kept walking after giving Arla a polite smile.

"Hold it!" Arla raised her voice. "You're out of luck, Lindy. Chett said no interruptions."

"Pardon?" Lindy came back and balanced the tray on the corner of Arla's desk. She had been talking to Chett less than twenty minutes ago.

Arla rolled her eyes. "It's the next game plan change. No interruptions for an hour - not even Dreen. The only exception is Ari Dellmaice." She looked curiously at Lindy. "Any idea what that's about?"

Lindy stared at the closed door. "Yes, I think so," she said slowly. Oh, she hoped Chett and Dreen knew what they were doing.

Arla waited for enlightenment, but it didn't come. Lindy pushed the tray further onto the desk.

"Well, you'll just have to be the one to hear me out, Arla. You also have to warn Chett that Allice will be up here in a snit, but right now you can be my computer expert."

"Lindy! I don't know a thing about computers. I just use them."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're our expert user. Dreen has you beta test every release we make."

"You too."

"Yes, but not to see if it's a usable piece of software. They use me to see if it's idiot proof." Lindy managed a smile. "And Dreen doesn't always use me - I only sub for Keya if she's busy."

They both laughed. Keya was Gali's wife, a self-admitted technophobe. Still, the legend was that she, not Dreen or Gali, had come up with that crucial idea that had made Nemizcan the success it was.

***

Chett had long ago developed the trick of shutting the door of whatever room he was in, whether it was a borrowed office at a hub, a portel room, his office on the Exec, or his office here, and totally concentrating on what he was doing. Now having already put talking to Arla and running Nemizcan out of his mind, he concentrated on the displays in front of him. It had become part of his routine to check the trading of Dellmaice Power Systems stock on an almost hourly basis, and he had done that just before talking to Arla. His software informed him of major changes of course, but he kept reviewing both the overall trends and the details of who was buying and selling. By now, after several years of helping Hoffner do corporate raids, he knew what to look for, subtleties no stock analysis software could capture.

Chett saw what he wanted. Dellmaice Power Systems stock was dropping fast, with some of the investors he wanted out gone. Chett knew why too. It was all of the environmental bad press from C.C. Windegren. What Chett didn't know was who that company Farolavo Power was. They were launching themselves as the new alternative to Dellmaice Power Systems if you wanted quality power systems, systems that didn't blow up. They were not public and it was hard to find out too much, but they were going after major Dellmaice Power Systems investors for venture capital investment while they were still private. The campaign seemed to be working. There had been several defections from Dellmaice Power Systems. As far as he could find out they were defections to Farolavo Power. He'd have to ask Dreen or Mitra sometime if they had ever heard of them. Chett prided himself in keeping in the know, but it was a big galaxy and every now and then some little startup came along and surprised everyone.

It didn't really matter though. All that mattered was that Farolavo Power and C.C. Windegren were saving him a lot of work and at the same time really messing up his timing. Chett wanted to take over Dellmaice Power Systems. Oh, how he wanted to take over Dellmaice Power Systems. That was one of the things that had kept him going on the way back to Tranus from Drezvir while his mind kept going over and over the scenario that he had somehow made a mistake, or worse that he could not prove he had not made a mistake, and was headed for prison or death. He had promised himself that before then he would take Dellmaice Power Systems away from that son-of-a-bitch Ari Dellmaice for not telling him about the accident immediately. That damned delay while Ari had a shot at damage control could cost him his life, could cost Dreen his. He would personally walk the bastard out of his office. That was the fantasy.

Chett acknowledged that it might be exactly that, a fantasy. Like the other thing that had kept him going, the hope that when he went back to Drezvir for the accident analysis he could finally persuade Mitra to marry him. It would not have been much of an offer given the circumstances, but they were both in the same mess. The way he saw it, they would grab what happiness they could. He had run that fantasy, including scenarios where somehow they were both cleared and lived happily, very happily, ever after for all it was worth. That fantasy had survived ten minutes in Dreen's office.

And taking over Dellmaice Power Systems? The timing was too soon. He was not used to running Nemizcan. Dreen had just arrived on Drezvir. Ari was going to be too stressed, an erratic opponent. But, facts were facts. It was now or never.

Chett swiveled his chair to stare unseeing at the leaden sky and Pendi Industries as he reviewed the situation in his mind. Juttar Kommur was well enough briefed now to give Dreen and Mitra the legal protection they needed. Chett's analyses were done. He knew how it should be possible take over Dellmaice Power Systems. He knew how to take them over in a less precarious position than they were in now. He had better backing than he had dreamed of. AntonCorp was essentially a bottomless pocket.

Stall, and someone else would reach exactly the same conclusions he had. Hoffner Associates weren't the only corporate takeover artists in the galaxy. Move now and they would have a long head start because of all of his planning, because of all of the time he had spent doing his thinking and research on the way back from Drezvir.

So was he going ahead? Oh yes, he was going ahead. A slow vindictive smile spread over Chett's face. He focused, seeing the plume of smoke from a tower of Pendi Industries across the road rise and lose itself in the low clouds. What a rotten day. There hadn't been an hour of good weather since he got back.

No doubt it would be fantastic in Crescent Bay on Gingezel. Chett checked his time strip. Bojo should be on a lunch break. Chett placed his call.

*****

Chapter 15

The call tone had been set high to cut through the sound of the practice session and everyone froze. Joran frowned. Chett. That was the tone he and Bojo had assigned to Chett. But why was he calling Bojo?

"Take a break!" Joran yelled, following Bojo offstage.

"About time, bloody slave driver!" Laurence shouted to Joran's back, wiping the sweat off his brow and pushing lank dark hair off his pale face.

He carefully lowered the drumstick, resisting the temptation to give a few more pounds to let Joran know what he thought of this particular session. Thank goodness that Joran was at stage weight now. Maybe he would live with-able.

Paulo put his guitar down, stretched, and walked over to put an arm around Kori. He nuzzled her ear.

"Let's clear out while the going's good."

Kori, the junior and only female band member shot a nervous look at Joran and kept her horn in her hand.

"Are we finished? Joran just said to take a break."

"Tough on him."

Paulo pushed aside her long blonde hair to trace the curve of Kori's breast through the sweat-soaked Tamara Octagla jersey that had become her official practice outfit. It was a prized possession because it wasn't a replica from a sports store. It was a real Tamara jersey, a gift from their inside right winger, Mercan. Paulo hated that jersey.

Just before he had joined the band, the guys at AntonCorp had started to play pickup Octagla as a way to wind down from a concert. When their paths crossed, they played with whoever felt like it on Tamara. Paulo liked the games, and he liked the pros playing with Tamara well enough. When Joran started partying and doing drugs, none of them saw any reason to quit the pickup Octagla games. In fact, it was the perfect excuse to not join in. 'Sorry we have an Octagla court booked', head for the space station, and let Joran mess up however he wanted.

When Kori joined the band, they politely tried to get her to play, but it was a no-go. She said she was too clumsy for sports, and would help her grandfather Uth as scorekeeper. No one argued. They had tried to involve Kori in various fancy choreography onstage and it was a disaster. If she didn't trip and fall, she had them all dodging to avoid getting hit with her horn. They had solved that by letting her stand there, blond and elegant, someone to flirt with as they moved past. Scorekeeper seemed a great solution for the Octagla games.

The guys on Tamara didn't agree. They all adored Kori and flatly ignored warnings about how clumsy she was. They mounted a campaign to get her into the court. Superstud was the main one out to charm her into the court, and Paulo assumed his bed if he could manage. However Mercan and Larr were not far behind. Paulo suspected she eventually gave in just to get them to stop pestering her.

To everyone's surprise, especially Kori's, it went well. Apparently she was like Arrof, the Pendrae goalie, a complete klutz until weightless. At the end of the game Mercan had given the glowing and delighted Kori much too friendly a kiss for Paulo's liking. Then he had stripped off his jersey, given it to her, and said she was now an unofficial member of the Tamaran team. That had got Mercan an even better kiss. Paulo hated that jersey.

"I'm going for lunch and you're coming with me. A long lunch," Paulo whispered persuasively.

Paulo was a galactic star in his own right. He had recorded five titanium jazz instrumental albums in his own name before joining the Anton Band, and he only put up with so much from Joran.

Kori bit her lip, undecided.

Uth joined them.

"Paulo is right. It's definitely time for a break." He wiped the sweat drenched dome of his bald head with a handkerchief and smiled reassuringly at his granddaughter. Joran had only hired her on the condition that Uth was the one morally responsible for her, and Uth thoroughly approved of the romance with Paulo. He and his wife had toured together in a jazz quartet for two years before they married, and those years had provided some of the best memories in their long lives.

Uth held out his hand for Kori's horn. "It'll go better when we've all had a break," he reassured her. They'd made a few mistakes, and Joran had tensed up. It had been contagious, and now no one could do anything right.

"I hope so."

The concert was so soon, and they just couldn't mess up again. Still, Kori let Paulo lead her off stage.

***

Chett looked at Bojo's sweat-streaked face and sighed in frustration. He wanted to keep on Joran's good side but it seemed like everything he did was wrong. He'd been sure that at a quarter to one everyone would be out on a terrace somewhere relaxing. But he'd obviously interrupted practice. Again.

"I'm interrupting practice. I'll call back."

Bojo shook his head, watching the rest of the band dispersing fast, before Joran could call them back.

"We're overdue for a break. What's up?"

"Down you mean. If this drop in stock value continues I could almost feel sorry for Dellmaice. Windegren and this Farolavo Power really have it in for him."

"So were moving in?"

Chett nodded. "You're sure you still want in on this raid? It's literally your last chance to back out."

"I'm in."

He'd enjoy this. Bojo liked takeovers as a challenge and this one could be very interesting. Mostly though, he sided with Chett. Dellmaice had been a real bastard and Dreen was one of his closest friends. You protected your friends. He'd learned that real friends were scarce.

"And Joran?"

Bojo had offered AntonCorp funds to back the takeover, but when it came down to it AntonCorp was Joran's company just like Nemizcan was, no - had been, Dreen's. Chett still didn't have any idea which way Joran would jump.

"Is standing a meter away blatantly eavesdropping."

Without asking Bojo shoved the compad at him.

Chett saw the taut, worried face and had no idea if it was because of the proposed takeover of Dellmaice Power Systems or because of problems with the band. He had given up trying to figure out how to handle Joran.

"You heard us, Joran. It's the last chance for you to pull AntonCorp money out." Then in a softer tone, "It's all right if you do. We can manage with the normal sources Hoffner uses."

"But not as easily."

Joran was putting up most of the funds. Nemizcan Computing always had low liquidity. That was Dreen's style \- put all his money back into people and equipment. And now was no different, worse in fact because of Drezvir. AntonCorp on the other hand had never been doing so well. Nothing like some good scandals to boost sales, he thought bitterly. Joran did not want Chett distracted by money problems because this could affect his running Nemizcan and focussing on getting Mitra and Dreen off Drezvir.

Bluntly he asked, "Do the figures you and Bojo showed me still hold?" He had deep pockets, but only so deep.

"Actually, with all of Dellmaice's problems we could need less."

"Then go ahead."

Joran abruptly handed the compad back to Bojo and turned away. He hated this move with a vengeance. It was stupid, risky, and vindictive. Not like Dreen. No. Take that back. It took a lot to get Dreen really mad, but once he was furious, look out. And Joran could see how Ari Dellmaice had made him furious. Dreen went out of his way to play fair, to protect his employees. Dellmaice had potentially set up his partners like Nemizcan, and was apparently setting up Mitra to protect himself. That would have Dreen furious even if he wasn't in love with Mitra. Joran bit his lip. Surely he could put his reservations aside for Mitra? And Dreen of course.

"I'll call Hoffner then," Chett said to Bojo.

"And me, anytime you need strategy advice. Night or day." Bojo said.

"Right." Chett broke the connection.

***

"Bojo." Joran hated himself but he knew his voice sounded hesitant. "Are you and Chett sure you can pull this off?" He'd never tried a takeover, but he knew the theory from his MBA and had watched Bojo's.

Bojo looked at the strain on Joran's face. "No," he said matter-of-factly. "Hostile takeovers are tricky. Chett's found a lot out about Ari, but there are bound to be surprises."

"And if you fail?" Joran tried to sound equally matter-of-fact.

"You could have asked before you told Chett to go ahead," Bojo observed mildly.

"No I couldn't. Dreen has never kept the kind of cash float you'll need. I just -" Joran ran a hand through his damp curls. "I just want to know the worst case scenario now that it's too late to chicken out."

Bojo relaxed and permitted himself a smile. That was Joran's style. Commit yourself, then once there's no way out, find out what you're up against. For a moment there he'd been afraid Joran would pull out.

"You lose one hell of a lot of money." He named a staggering worst-case amount and saw Joran not even flinch. "But we will have the satisfaction of scaring the shit out of Dellmaice in the process."

That got a ghost of a smile from Joran. "You mean you and Chett and Dreen will have the satisfaction. You know I don't like this."

"So, like I told you before - if you haven't the stomach for this game - and we both know you haven't - leave it to me." Then curiosity got the better of Bojo.

"What are you so afraid of Joran?" Joran wasn't stupid. He had used his MBA to build an empire. Was there something he and Chett were missing?

"Besides the fact that if Ari Dellmaice is the bastard you all think he is, you're giving him a real incentive to get even with the lot of you by letting Dreen take the fall for Drezvir?"

"He will anyway if he thinks he can."

"I'm not that sure you're right. I know he was stupid about the cover-up, but - hell Bojo - how much have we covered up the years I was a mess to keep AntonCorp afloat? He's cooperating now. How much should he pay for past sins?"

***

Chett didn't even check to see where in the galaxy Hoffner was, or what time it was there. As far as he could see, Hoffner never slept. He got an answer on two rings. Hoffner was wearing mossy green silky pajamas, a matching quilted silky robe, and was looking wider awake than Chett had felt for days. He also looked like an affluent, benevolent grandfather, which he was.

"Ah, Chett. Can you see what I'm seeing with Dellmaice Power Systems stock?"

Over their years of affiliation, Hoffner had slowly become impressed with Chett's abilities. Chett tended to underplay these abilities, but he had a sharp decisive mind, a natural gift for strategy, and he didn't skip details. Most importantly he took takeovers as the ultimate mind game. That was an attitude Hoffner solidly approved of.

Chett nodded. "I'd say we move in forty-eight hours at the latest, most likely twenty four. I've talked to Bojo. Funding is in place up to the limits we discussed."

Hoffner nodded gravely. "If the dirt you have on Dellmaice's true position on current projects is accurate," he held up a placating hand, "and I know your research is as sound as possible, that should be adequate. Still," his eyes focused on empty space, "Ari is a resourceful man, and a worthy adversary. If we need more money, I have my usual sources prepared to act on short notice."

It was Chett's turn to nod.

There was a comfortable silence while the two men regarded each other.

Then Hoffner said in a totally different tone of voice, one he usually reserved for family, "Chett, are you completely sure you want this to play out the way we planned it? In all of the meetings Bojo has done the strategy and, well," he decided to be candid, "Bojo is one of my most brutal partners. Besides wanting the takeovers he's done, he's had scores to settle."

To Hoffner's relief he saw understanding in Chett's eyes. So there was no need to betray any of Bojo's confidences on those scores he was settling. There was still the problem of Chett though.

"Being blunt Chett, you're planning exactly the sort of takeover you have always told me you wouldn't touch. And I've never asked you to be part of one."

They had met when Tranus Dynamics did a relatively gentle hostile takeover, but Chett had inherited management of a subsidiary that had not fared well. It had taken Chett every management trick he knew, and a few he had invented to calm everyone down and get the place running again. He said that experience had left the people problems too real for him to want to subject any employees to that rough a ride again.

"We don't have to do it this way. We can take longer, and still end up with -"

Chett interrupted. "I've just been through a learning curve of my own. I want Dellmaice to fall so hard and fast he'll wonder what hit him." Chett's mouth tightened. "He's coming out with nothing."

Hoffner shrugged. It was all the same to him as long as everything stayed legal.

"Suit yourself."

"I am."

"All right. Just let me know when you want me to call Dellmaice."

This was one of Hoffner's rules. Be a gentlemen and call first, offering a friendly buyout. If it was accepted, he kept things fair and civil. But the takeovers he liked best were the ones where he got told to go to hell.

***

"Arla, any messages while I was busy?"

"Only Lindy. She said to warn you Allice will be up here to throw a tantrum after the R&D meeting."

Chett laughed.

*****

Chapter 16

There was a noticeable stir, then a drop in the already muted level of conversation as the uniformed man entered the cafeteria, then stood looking around. He had the unmistakable I.C.E. uniform with the logo of Interstellar Courier Express on the shoulder. No one there could remember an I.C.E delivery being made to the cafeteria. Reportedly they were occasionally made to Rostin's office. And recently a whole shipment of parts from Tranus Dynamics had arrived via I.C.E.. But deliveries did not come to the cafeteria.

For that matter, the vast majority of the noontime diners had never personally seen an I.C.E. messenger. They knew what one looked like from actors on the Galactic holodramas they occasionally saw. And they knew how the delivery process went from seeing people get I.C.E. deliveries in these holodramas. But they had never actually seen one. So pretty much everyone stopped eating to see who the delivery was for, and if it went the way the ones in the holodramas did.

The people in the cafeteria who were experienced with I.C.E. deliveries, largely Dellmaice Power Systems staff and subcontractors, were equally intrigued. They knew this was not an I.C.E. messenger. The uniform was subtly wrong. So was the man's bearing. There was nothing of the polite, efficient, subservient helper here. The man stood and walked with the unconscious authority of command, of a pilot. And surely ... his coloring, the dark hair, the slightly sunburned tan coloring, the high cheekbones. Tribe perhaps? Was I.C.E. recruiting Tribe pilots now? They hadn't heard that. So they stopped eating to watch too.

The only one to have a pretty good idea what was going on was Dreen, and he was painfully aware of all of the eyes. How the hell had I.C.E. got a parcel here from Gingezel that fast? He didn't know what route they had used, but it was at least one day farther from Gingezel than it had been from Tranus, and the Allegro crew had gone for speed.

The man came to the table and stopped. "Dr. Kael?" He bowed slightly to Mitra. "Dr. Pendi?" He nodded to Dreen. "I have a delivery for each of you. If I may have proof of your identification first please?"

Eli recognize both from the holograms Joran had shown him, but the company required identification for their records. First Mitra then Dreen obediently held up their wrist cuffs to him.

He turned to Mitra. "Ladies first. I have been instructed to personally placed this package in your hands." He handed over a soft pac in the standard I.C.E. stripes with Interstellar Courier Express in large letters. "There's a message inside and I'm to wait for a signed reply."

Mitra looked at the soft pac suspiciously. She supposed some kind of nasty legal news wouldn't come this way, but she wasn't inclined to bet on it.

Dreen noticed her hesitation and obvious reluctance. He caught her eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I think I know what it is, and you'll like it." He didn't want to say more and ruin Joran's surprise.

Well, she had to open it sooner or later. Mitra opened the soft pac and cautiously inserted her hand. It came out holding a single music album. The cover was all embossed with an M pattern, the colors alternating between a rich purple and bright Anton electric blue. The album was untitled except for the Anton logo in one corner. Starting to smile, she reached in for the message and unfolded the sheet.

The message sheet was covered with Joran's bold, legible handwriting. 'I hope you like the album, Pretty Lady. I wanted you to have the very first one manufactured. Take real good care of yourself. We miss you back here.' Then in large block print letters 'LOVE' and the signature 'Anton'.

This was probably the 'LOVE Anton' that did it. All of the sudden she was back on Gingezel without a care in her life, sitting in some hotel room or another with Joran flirting shamelessly during a call he made, while Dreen just laughed. Mitra dropped the message by her plate and burst into tears. Experience told her this round would be a beauty.

She muttered "excuse me" between her sobs and headed fast for the Women's.

Lilla, sitting beside Mitra, watched the retreating back with concern. Mitra had been getting herself too emotional ever since she got here. She looked at the man Mitra had introduced as Dreen Pendi, then at the logo on the music album.

Trying to make sense of what was wrong now Lilla asked, "Is this something to do with Anton?"

Without thinking Dreen said, "He wrote M's song for her. They met on Gingezel."

Lilla's eyes widened, and she decided to be rude enough to invade Mitra's privacy and read the message sheet dropped face up on the table. 'LOVE Anton'. Oh dear.

Dreen saw her jumping to the wrong conclusion and shrugged. It was too complicated and private to explain here.

Instead, since she was a close friend of Mitra's, he asked, "Would you mind going and making sure Mitra is all right?"

Lilla nodded and left. No wonder Mitra was so upset all of the time if she'd left a boyfriend on Gingezel and come to deal with the accident here. And to think that the boyfriend was Anton. Actually Lilla was having more than a little trouble with that thought. She was a huge Anton fan, but Anton and Mitra? With the wild life he'd lived the past few years? Oh dear.

Eli carefully returned the disk pac and message to the I.C.E. soft pac, then turned to Dreen. "I have the same instructions for your soft pac, Dr. Pendi. I am to personally place it in your hands, wait till you read the message, and take a signed reply with me."

As he leaned forward to hand Dreen the package, his hair swung aside, and far back on his left cheek Dreen saw the discreet tattoo that identified him as Tribe. There would be another more elaborate one in a private area that delineated his exact bloodline. Dreen had learned this from a Tribe member who used to live part-time in his condo building and seemed to turn up at the gym the same time as he did. The man had an elaborate tattoo on his buttocks and explained some of the symbols while drying off from a shower.

Curious now, Dreen took a better look at the pilot. He looked vaguely familiar but Dreen couldn't quite place him.

"Excuse me. Do I know you?"

"We've never met Dr. Pendi, but you may recognize me. I'm Eli Heron." His voice was soft and diffident in contrast to his bearing.

Of course. Rhea's former partner. Dreen nodded.

The name spread throughout the cafeteria like so many ripples. Eli Heron, the wildest of that early wild bunch of Genie pilots, and the best. He had to be, didn't he? He was still alive while most of the ones who had tried to compete with him and Rhea were dead.

The diners who had felt rather hard done by because they hadn't noticed the Allegro pilots' brief entry to the cafeteria the night before, or hadn't managed to cram themselves into the hospital ward for the party, forgot their resentment. Eli Heron. They stared. Eli Heron. When he raced he'd worn his hair long, not chin length. And somehow he looked smaller and slimmer than on holovision. But Eli Heron!

Dreen didn't stare, he smiled. "Does that explain how I.C.E. almost caught up with the Allegro, even though you had to come all the way from Gingezel? We were going for speed you know."

There was a half smile on Eli's lips as well. "We are permitted to enter commercial sections of space the Allegro isn't allowed into. That makes a difference. And for this run Kim was the second pilot, although she isn't I.C.E. She was just back on Gingezel from delivering Dr. Kael here, so she knew the run and had some suggestions."

Eli was trying to deflect Dreen. I.C.E. had strict rules for their pilots, and it was their hope, if not their expectation, that the pilots adhered to them.

"Yes," Dreen said dryly, but didn't push.

Eli decided he could like this friend of Joran's. He volunteered, "I had a good incentive J - Anton," he corrected himself, "said if I caught the Allegro before it left I could take it out for a run."

Dreen was confused. "I thought the AI pilot assist was only set up for Jon and Arn and Rhea."

"That was how it started. But a while back Arn caught something he couldn't shake, and Anton wanted to do a long run that needed three pilots, and it was a real mess. After that they decided they'd better qualify a fourth pilot and asked me if I was interested, since Rhea and I flew doubles anyway and I get on okay with Jon and Arn."

"And I.C.E. doesn't care?" All of this was news to Dreen.

"They shrug. Anton pays for my time."

"And now you and Arn are off with the Allegro."

Dreen knew Rhea had just come off a sixteen hour shift when they'd got to Drezvir, eight as pilot, eight as copilot, and Jon was just finishing his shift as pilot. So Arn would be the one with enough rest to fly with Eli.

Eli's smile was broader now. "Not if Rhea has anything to do with it. When I left she and Jon were having a major fight. She was insisting he go by the response testing of the AI system, not time sheets." Eli's smile faded. "I think she wants to relive old times."

Unconsciously his eyes focused on his heavy gold wedding band.

"But you can never can go back, can you?" he added so softly Dreen could hardly hear him.

***

Eli knew that now. Rhea had been right, but then she always had been. He just hadn't listened. But there was nothing new about that either. Eli thought about Rila, his Tribe wife, who was about as unlike Rhea as you could get in personality as well as appearance. She was trying to make their arranged marriage work, and so was he, but neither of them was trying as hard as they had at first. Rila was two months pregnant now with their daughter. Their son had been a year old last month, and he lived for the boy. Rhea had known it would be like that, but he hadn't until he had held his child. Those were the good times, playing with his son.

They were the bad times too. Eli knew he had a wild streak. It surfaced now and again in the Tribe, and it was why he'd tried being a race pilot, not a deep space worker. But he had an emotional streak too. He didn't know if he was alone in that or not, because it embarrassed him and he didn't talk about it. But it was there. The intense emotions had surfaced on one of those days he and his wife had needed to fill a whole day alone together.

They had been tested for psychological compatibility as well as genetic compatibility, but he sincerely doubted the competence of whoever designed those tests. Their tolerance for each other was limited to two or three hours. So mid afternoon he had escaped to his son's room. Their son had been asleep, and Eli had picked him up without waking him, and had just sat there, looking at him. He loved him. He wouldn't change him, wouldn't wish him unborn, but that day he had thought that if he hadn't been so damned stupid, it would be Rhea's son he held.

Not, he knew, that Rhea being the mother of his children would have made life perfect. He'd tried to stop lying to himself. It would have exchanged his current problem for the one of being completely ostracized by his people because having children outside the Tribe was totally forbidden. It had taken so long to genetically breed the perfect deep space worker that dilution of the gene pool was not allowed. Rhea could have been a childless second wife, but they could not have had children. But all he would have needed to do was break that one simple rule, and have had everything he wanted. And, he would have had Rhea to help him through the ostracism.

Totally unwanted, tears had come, running down his cheek, onto the boy. As luck would have it, just then Rila had come in to ask something. Unthinking he'd looked up, and she had seen the tears. If she had done one single thing to show she understood - touched his shoulder, his hair, wiped the tears - maybe it would be different now. But Rila had just given him a long look and said 'Grow up Eli' and walked out. That was when he had stopped trying very hard.

When their daughter was no longer nursing, Rila would return to deep space, and he knew it would be for longer than the minimum required to keep her certification as a welder. She would stay there the maximum five years allowed before they were required to have the next child. She hadn't said so, but he was pretty sure that when she went back into deep space she would apply to have a second, non-Tribe husband. The rules were the same \- no kids, but usually the social arrangements were more complicated. However Eli wouldn't mind taking care of their kids and being a single father, so that was all right.

He wasn't sure about the idea of a second husband though. Eli knew logically that the option had to be the same both ways, but all the same it was an open admission he couldn't satisfy Rila. Maybe the fact he knew the guy was part of the problem. The man was a freighter pilot, flying girders to the construction sites. They ran into each other now and again in spaceports. He was quiet, competent, reliable, unimaginative; all of the things Rila would call grown up.

*****

Chapter 17

Eli had obviously lapsed into a reverie, and an unpleasant one. He seemed to be oblivious to the eyes. But perhaps after all of the years on the racing circuit, he was used to eyes.

Dreen picked up the parcel and said slightly more loudly than necessary, "And your instructions were to deliver this into my hands, wait while I open it, and take back a signed reply?"

That brought Eli back, slightly disoriented.

"Yes sir." Then remembering Joran's instructions to on no account use the honorific sir. "Sorry, Dr. Pendi."

"Dreen, please." It was automatic. "Isn't that a little hard on you if I was in a meeting or in someway unavailable?"

Eli's little half smile returned.

"I had explicit instructions to cover that possibility. I was told that since I was being paid for my time, I could sit on my ass outside whatever door until you showed up."

Dreen met the hint of a smile with a broader one of his own.

"Anton was in one of his moods?" Dreen suggested, feeling much better.

It would appear that despite the relaxed, it's fine, let's chat show Joran put on last night, he was seriously concerned about the situation here and was taking active measures to set things right. Joran was not trusting privacy at all if he was insisting on a hand-to-hand approach. Just exactly how Joran might be putting things right caused Dreen a mild qualm, but presumably since Joran and Chett were talking to each other on a daily basis, Chett was putting a damper on Joran's more creative moves.

"You could say that," Eli agreed with a smile to match Dreen's.

"Well, let's see what's here." Dreen opened the soft pac and what must be every last album Anton had ever made tumbled out onto the worn grey cafeteria table.

"That's quite a haul," observed Tranngol, who was sitting beside Dreen.

If he'd doubted any part of Mitra's story about meeting Anton, and about Dreen being associated with Anton, he didn't now. Especially since he'd had no qualms about reading the message to Mitra upside down. He was now thoroughly confused though - Chett, Mitra snuggling up to Dreen, and now getting love letters from Anton. He was confused, but believing. That must have been quite the holiday.

"Not bad," Dreen agreed, picking up the M album. "This must be his new album with M's song on. He was working on the release when I left Gingezel."

Dreen handed it to Tranngol to examine.

"He always sends me the first, or in this case," he looked at Mitra's soft pac, "the second copy of any the new album. As for the rest, Anton must have heard about how exciting the nightlife is here." And that should explain things Dreen thought.

Dreen reached into the package and extracted the message, hoping it was safe for prying eyes. It read 'Dreen, I hope you don't mind getting the second album this time. Bojo suggested I send you the rest of our albums too. A couple are re-recorded, and I think you'll like them better. The downloads of the M album are phenomenal. I'm spending the proceeds as I did those from M's song.' Dreen paused here, frowning slightly. What could Joran possibly mean by that? Mentally he shrugged. He'd find out soon enough. He continued reading, 'Take care of Mitra for me. Bojo sends his regards.' Then the sprawling 'Anton'.

Dreen carefully folded the message and put it in his pouch. Then he turned to Eli. "Do you have a reply form?"

It was interesting how when something really mattered, you wanted a hard copy you could handle, one you knew had been written by hand, and one where you could look for alterations of the security.

"Here you are." Eli handed one and a pen to Dreen.

Dreen thought hard for moment then asked, "Are you to only hand deliver this, or do you transmit the text from here?"

"I am to hold the handwritten copy for personal delivery."

Joran was definitely not in a trusting mood.

Dreen wrote, 'Thank you very much. I'm glad the new album is a success. The full set will be well used. Thank Bojo for his consideration. Dreen.'

He then carefully removed the identifier of the page and put it in his pouch. Then Dreen peeled back the metallic crystal seal with its plastic liner to expose the adhesive area that would take both his finger print and enough skin for a DNA test. He removed the plastic, pressed his finger to the adhesive area, then removed it. Identity established, he resealed the metal to stick solidly using a fingernail around the edge. That made paper damage guaranteed if it was opened, and the seal made it hard to do a forgery with a new document - each seal had a unique crystal pattern that was scanned to create the identifier. He handed the message to Eli who sealed it in another envelope with the same process and put it inside his tunic somewhere.

Eli looked towards the Women's and said in a resigned voice, "I suppose she'll be a while?"

Dreen had forgotten Eli was expected to take a reply from Mitra too. He could see Eli mentally writing off his run with the Allegro.

"Do you have to wait for a signed response from Mitra too?"

"That's right." Eli was stoical.

"I'll reply. I think I can come up with one Anton will accept. If he's unhappy, it's my responsibility not yours."

Eli hesitated. The instructions had been explicit, including the consequences of any shortcuts.

Dreen guessed as much and suppressed a smile.

"Read it when I'm done, and see if it's fine with you."

He took another form and wrote, 'Anton, Mitra would thank you for the album and send her love, but she just headed for the Women's in tears. The way she's been acting lately if we wait for her, your pilot would never get his flight in the Allegro. I'm taking real good care of her. Dreen. P. S. This was my idea, not Eli's. So you can kill me, not him. Dreen.'

Eli accepted the form, read it, and grinned at the postscript. Dreen knew Joran all right. "If that's the way you want to play it, I won't argue."

***

"Mitra."

It was Lilla. Mitra ignored her. She was sitting on the toilet seat cover, stall door closed, trying to get herself under control by a mixture of deep breathing and a series of mental lectures running variations on the theme of 'quit being an idiot'. The success rate was so-so.

"Mitra. I know it's you in there because you're the only one who wears turquoise safety boots." Lilla's voice was soft and conversational. "Should I go away, or just comb my hair for a few minutes?"

Mitra sighed. She couldn't stay here forever. "Comb your hair."

Lilla walked over to a mirror and studied herself. She didn't look too bad, all things considered. She was trying to make a conscious effort to get on with a normal life, and not be a burden to her friends. She took out her comb, and redid her hair. She was lucky, she tolerated dry shampoo. Then she opened her pouch and feeling rather awkward and self-conscious, took out a small palette of eyeshadows and blushers.

She hadn't worn makeup since she was in her teens, when her grandmother had given her a round of lipgloss, knowing how things like that matter at that age. It was so expensive, a luxury. But when Mitra had caught her pinching her cheeks one day before lunch to get a bit of color in them - she was so pale from not sleeping - Mitra had insisted on giving her a set. And it had been totally unused too, not even opened. Now she carefully touched up her cheeks, hoping it wasn't obvious.

Really, Mitra was taking her time. She simply had to get herself under control. That sort of crying she was doing could build on itself and start a real downward spiral. Still, her behavior made more sense now. Lilla just hadn't understood Mitra being hysterical about the accident. It wasn't like she'd done anything on purpose. Mitra had worked very, very hard the whole time she was here. Why couldn't she just accept that? Despite everyone's best efforts, accidents did happen. You had to accept that, accept the accident, and get on with life.

But if the accident had disrupted a serious romance, and Mitra was lovesick, well, that was different wasn't it? Lilla knew how lonely the time here had been for Mitra. She'd thought for a bit there might be something with that nice blond man, but it never went anywhere. But now Anton, that was really something. But it must be a real stress too. Someone like Anton would have to be so careful of publicity. Lilla supposed if news of him and Mitra got out, and someone linked it to the accident here, all of a sudden everyone would be tripping over holographers. Mitra would hate that. And who knew how Anton would take it. He'd been so erratic the last few years. No wonder she was worrying so much.

Lilla took another look at her cheeks. Was the color too bright? She really wasn't good at makeup, and the lighting here was so poor it was hard to tell. In the mirror she saw the stall door open.

"Sorry to be trouble."

Mitra joined Lilla staring in the mirror. There wasn't a thing she could do about her hair. It was back to being less than a centimeter long. But her nose could use re-powdering. Again. She should have brought a couple dozen powder compacts.

"Don't you worry. You're no trouble." Lilla turned to give Mitra a little hug. "But will you be fine now?"

Mitra nodded. She didn't want to try talking and find out the calm was an illusion.

"Is this why you've been so upset Mitra?" Lilla hesitated even though they were alone to use the Anton name. "Because of him?"

Mitra nodded, too caught up in her own thoughts to wonder why Lilla was worried about Dreen like she was.

"Oh Lilla." It was a relief to have someone understand. "You don't know how worried I've been. First I was afraid I'd never see him again, and instead I've dragged him into all this."

Lilla was sympathetic. She had no idea what pop stars were really like, but you heard so many stories on holovision.

"But Mitra, I think you're worrying too much and underestimating Anton. He sent you that nice present - and letter." Lilla looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry Mitra - but you just left it on the table and I was snoopy."

Mitra wasn't concerned about this invasion of privacy. She was staring at Lilla.

"Anton? What has he got to do with things?"

It was Lilla's turn to stare. "Isn't it Anton you're in love with?"

"Of course not!" The idea was almost funny. Joran was sweet. But in love?

"But -" Lilla floundered. "But then who are we talking about?"

*****

Chapter 18

It would appear Tranngol had a strong dislike of being eavesdropped on. Dreen didn't have the slightest idea what the two technicians at the nearby table were doing, but even with sound reducing panels all around, if it got any noisier he and Tranngol would be lipreading. Beside them a middle-aged woman Dreen hadn't been introduced to yet was doing something that was associated with a grinding noise. Fred Szatt, the man from the Mining Guild who had made the fuel was standing behind her staring over her shoulder.

Dreen had quite accidentally had coffee with Fred midmorning. Despite Mitra's assurances he couldn't get lost getting coffee, he had made a wrong turn somewhere and had ended up in an area that accessed the reactor hall, with barrier tape all over the place and a polymer seal barring access. Dreen had been in the process of clearing out, sincerely hoping he could find his way back to either the coffee room or the analysis shed when Szatt had detached himself from the group of men in whites, come over, and eased out past the seal.

***

"You lost? I think you must be the man from Nemizcan who came with the Genie pilots. Someone pointed you out at lunch. Good party last night." The faded blue eyes twinkled and he removed a glove to hold out a gnarled hand. "Fred Szatt."

"Dreen Pendi." The handshake was firm. "I didn't mean to end up where I'm not welcome. I was told you couldn't miss the beverage room, but," Dreen gave a self-deprecating shrug, "I managed."

"And who told you that? Mitra?" The twinkle was stronger. "That woman has got more subcontractors lost! Well, let me show you the way."

"I couldn't interrupt anything important."

Fred's smile faded and Dreen wondered if he'd imagined a twinkle in the now somber eyes.

"Unless worrying is important, I'm not contributing anything in there." He nodded to the reactor hall. "The rod crews will get the fuel out, and that Mirelle chap will have it analyzed. And then," he took Dreen's elbow, "no - to the left here, not to the right - and up the half flight of stairs."

"Mitra didn't mention stairs." Dreen sighed. "That's why I didn't take this corridor and assumed I'd counted intersections wrong."

"Well, she has a lot on her mind right now."

Dreen nodded as they entered the beverage room, a small, bare cubicle with two plain hard benches and a cater unit.

"So do we all."

"Isn't that the truth." Fred walked up to the cater unit. "What do you want?"

"Coffee with sweetener," Dreen said. Since Mitra had been drinking what tasted like real coffee, it must have come with the settlers to the Farr sector and stayed a staple.

Fred handed him a cup, got one for himself, and nodded towards a bench.

"And are you doing anything urgent? I could stand company."

"Of course."

Dreen sat down, wondering if he was supposed to make small talk, or was going to get quizzed about Jon, Arn, Rhea, Eli or Anton.

But Fred wanted a peer to talk to about his situation.

"You must feel like I do. Nemizcan Computing does good work. It's one of the products from you Outsiders we all like."

There was no false compliment there, just a statement of fact, and Dreen accepted it with a nod.

"Well, you'd have to deal in mined ores to know my name, but if you did, you'd know Fred Szatt means quality. It's been my reputation in the Guild for decades now that if you want pure product, give the job to Fred."

Again, it wasn't bragging, it was a statement of fact and Dreen nodded, sipping his coffee.

"But I never did reactor fuel before. The Guild never intended to build reactors before. Still, like I always said, you give me any pile of ore, tell me what you want, and you get it." Fred stared at the wall like he could see the destruction in the hall beyond. "And I'd swear that's what I did. I've never worked a factory crew so hard, so carefully. And I ran every test I knew, every test Durstin knew.

"But I see that mess. I visit the hospital. I remember the funeral. And I wonder ..." He stared at his coffee cup. "I wonder. Was I too old to learn new tricks?" The faded eyes searched Dreen's. "Is it like that for you, or do you know for sure your stuff's all right?"

Dreen liked the older man, and appreciated his candor. The fact these people were his friends and neighbors must make it infinitely worse.

"No, I don't know. We did our best too, because like you it was a new game." Dreen ran a hand over his brush cut, relieved to have someone to talk to.

"My nightmare is that with computers such complex things we might never know. That's usually about 4:00 AM." He got a sympathetic nod. "Then I wish I'd told Ari, 'No. Stick with ContSaft'."

"No. Don't think that. The operators love your displays. And if computers work that way, ContSaft's could fail too."

"Could, but they're much less likely to. They have spent years simplifying their systems." Dreen sighed, then asked, "When the testing is done, will you know one way or the other on the fuel?"

Fred made a face.

"I suppose so. I honestly don't think they know a test I haven't done. And for that matter if the fuel had been mis-manufactured - or Durstin had given me the wrong requirements - it should have shown up in minutes. And I stuck around a lot longer than that. Then I went to get some sleep. I hadn't slept much with the fuel due to be installed."

With a wry smile Fred said, "I've slept less since. It's irrational. I know I did the work well. I know I tested every last rod thoroughly. I know the reactor was running on the new fuel. But we aren't rational, are we? I need someone to tell me I didn't mess up. If Durstin was around, that might help. But he isn't."

Fred stopped by the hospital daily, but there wasn't any change yet. Total exhaustion, physical and mental collapse, hysterical episodes when Durstin fought the sedation to say the miners shouldn't have died and they shouldn't have lost the hydroponics. Whenever they backed off the sedation there were delusional episodes with Durstin saying it was all his fault. Poor guy. He'd held this place together on his own, done more than Fred had ever thought him capable of. For those key hours Durstin Fallor had been more than Site Power Manager. He'd made the hard decisions when Rostin started to choke. Fred's wife's best friend had been shift nurse yesterday and he'd talked her into letting him go into Durstin's room. The guy had been sort of conscious, but he'd stared straight through Fred like he'd never seen him.

"So I've got to trust these strangers and Outsiders. No offense to you intended by the word Outsider." He gave Dreen an apologetic nod for using the term, but that was what he had grown up thinking of the inhabitants of the galaxy outside the Farr Sector as. The fact contact had been reestablished when he was middle aged didn't change anything. They were Outsiders. "I can't help it. I worry somehow they will find something wrong."

Dreen was about to say at least Fred's ordeal of waiting should be over in a few days, when the call tone from the other man's compad sounded.

"Fred, we're taking out the sections to analyze now. You want to be here?"

"Yes. I'll be there in a minute." Fred turned to Dreen. "Can you get back to the shed?"

"Back the way we came - a right out the door, down the half flight of stairs, right at the corridor ..." he finished the litany.

"Good bye then."

***

Now Dreen tried follow Chett's advice and look at everyone as a potential villain. Could Fred Szatt have deliberately caused the accident? He honestly couldn't stretch his tired mind far enough to imagine it. He sincerely doubted Fred had done anything unintentionally either, or the overpower would have happened a lot sooner. Good luck Fred. I hope you get the reassurance you need to sleep tonight.

Dreen turned his attention to the other workstation. Brenn Campo, Tranngol's nondestructive testing expert, obviously did destructive testing too. This type involved the sort of ripping shriek that cutting metal made. Standing beside him with his military posture was Javeilm Green, the man from Pendrae Heavy Industries who had installed the pressure tube. Also watching intently were Azlo Mirelle and Trebur Auta.

Javeilm was a totally different case. Dreen knew a worried and angry man when he saw one. Javeilm had been waiting in the almost empty shed when Dreen got there this morning, and they'd nodded to each other. But Dreen had got an impression that Javeilm didn't want small talk from a stranger. It was Mitra at lunch who had told Dreen who Javeilm was.

Now Dreen would swear he was thoroughly expecting trouble and was furious about that. He seemed to be standing beside Brenn partially watching the tests and largely deciding just what he would do to anyone who had said the pressure tubes he had installed were fine when they were not. Was Pendrae Heavy Industries having the sort of QA problems Chett had warned him Tranus Dynamics was? It was possible, but again at least they'd presumably know when Brenn got through whatever he was doing.

Javeilm noticed them, pointed apologetically his earphones, and mimed was Tranngol looking for him. Tranngol shook his head, and Javeilm returned his attention to the tests.

They stepped a bit beyond the workstation, far enough out of direct line of sight that Auta would have to turn to see them, and stopped. Dreen waited, trying unsuccessfully not to worry since Tranngol looked upset.

Tranngol was. He was unhappy and confused, or more accurately unhappy because he was confused. He truly did not care about Mitra's personal life unless it slopped over into work, and it sure had done that with Mark. And as far as he could see, any of the permutations imaginable here had the same potential to get sloppy. Permutation one: Mitra is only involved with Dreen. Fine at a personal level, but one hell of an argument for collusion on the part of the Sector Judiciary. Permutation two: Mitra is involved with Anton and Dreen. From the media coverage he had seen of Anton, that had the potential for one big public blow up. Depending on Dreen's temperament, which he had no feel for, he could imagine them working together about like Mitra and Mark had after something like that. Just what he needed. Permutation three: Mitra is involved with Chett and Dreen. Pretty much like the Anton scenario only worse, because while Dreen was an unknown, Tranngol would bet good credits that Chett had a vicious temper. And Chett was their Nemizcan Head Office contact now, and was essential if Dreen became unavailable.

Now Tranngol looked at Dreen, his face impassive. "You can tell me it's none of my business, but I would like to know if you're involved in a personal relationship with Mitra."

Dreen hesitated. Normally he would say his private life was his private life but thanks to Lindy, every employee at Nemizcan knew about Mitra. Still, he had the same worries Tranngol did that if the relationship was common knowledge here, it would be easy to assume that they had some kind of deal early on, or at some point they were covering for each other. At the same time, Dreen did not want his working relationship with Tranngol to have lies in it. Also, there was the fact that Tranngol had given him private time with Mitra for no apparent reason when he first got here. So he assumed that while Tranngol would be completely professional and impartial in his work, he liked Mitra personally. Dreen decided to take a chance this wouldn't go beyond Tranngol.

"I intend to marry Mitra if she'll have me. Our affair developed after completion of the Drezvir project and has nothing to do with anything here."

That was more of an answer than Tranngol had expected, and he canceled any ideas he'd had about asking about Anton or Chett. That would be just looking for trouble.

Instead he said, "Thank you for telling me, and I wish I could agree that this has nothing to do with Drezvir. But in my opinion, given the circumstances, you would have been wise to send anyone else."

Blunt but fair enough, Dreen thought. Tranngol was definitely the 'play it straight' type.

"You sound just like Chett. He wanted to come back here, not take over Nemizcan." Dreen looked Tranngol straight in the eyes. "And I respect your position. You don't want personal complications right now. But I literally couldn't do it. Logic told me Chett was right. And so are you. But I tried it on, and I couldn't face myself if I wasn't here. Partly because I started the project, but mostly because I had to see Mitra through this. One of the hardest things I've done was to spend the time putting Nemizcan in working order for the hand off to Chett. All I wanted to do was walk out of there and head for the spaceport." He added softly enough it was hard to say if Tranngol could hear him, "I hope you and Martine are never in a spot like this."

Tranngol just looked at Dreen for a long moment. He still did not like the way the situation was shaping, but one thing was sure. This guy was serious and he played things straight. Ari had no intentions of setting foot on Drezvir since there was a chance of arrest. Dreen had signed off his company and come. True, Dreen had the extra motivation of Mitra, but Tranngol would lay fifty-fifty odds he'd have come anyway. Unless of course Chett had won what would have been an interesting fight.

*****

Chapter 19

Eli felt the first twinge of that old excitement as he boarded the Allegro. An excitement that was so long, too long, ago. He knew there was no sense asking why the Interplanetary Judiciary had felt it necessary to regulate Genie racing. Why was irrelevant. Fact was fact and they had. And the day the regs had become law was the day he and Rhea, Jon, Arn, Kim, and about half a dozen others had quit. He wondered sometimes just how much joy those currently on the race circuit got out of it.

But today he had the Allegro. Bless Joran. And they were on the edge of unregulated space, so for once he could do exactly what he wanted, in the Allegro. Eli was smiling as he walked into the logistics room.

"There you are," Jon said sourly. "I'm taking a walk. Just hear me first, Heron. The Allegro comes back in one piece, and if you two idiots get yourself in trouble and need rescuing, I've never heard of either you." He stared Eli in the eyes. "Understand me?"

Eli stared back impassively, and after a moment Jon pushed roughly past him and left. Eli watched the retreating back.

"What's his problem?" he asked Rhea, who was at the star map console.

She shrugged, intent on bringing up the view that would give Eli the best idea of the course she'd laid out.

It was Arn who answered, straightening up from where he'd been leaning on the wall, apparently with nothing better to do than watch the show.

"Just off hand," he said lazily, "I'd say it's a four-way split. First Rhea passed the response testing by the Think There system. Second, it's one hell of a course Rhea has just laid in for you." He gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "I couldn't do better. Third, he knows the kind of insane stunts the two of you pull. And last," he stretched and yawned, "he's absolutely furious with me."

"With you?" Eli frowned.

The first three items on the list were no great surprise, but unless Jon was in one of his black moods, they didn't account for his walking out. But Arn? He and Jon were buddies.

"Look, Arn, I didn't mean to cause trouble. All that happened was Joran said 'Drezvir's on the edge of nowhere. Want to play?' And of course I said yes."

"So do we all," Arn agreed. At the slight widening of your Eli's eyes he added, "How do you think Joran keeps us happy? Every now and again he gives Jon or Rhea or me the keys and says 'Go have fun. Just don't get caught and don't tell me about it.'"

Eli nodded. It made sense now he thought about it, and explained the fact the Allegro crew didn't complain about the absence of the old days like the rest of them did.

"And you, Rhea? Do you fly solo now?" Somehow, the idea bothered Eli, although he knew she was as competent as he was.

She looked up and shook her head. "Arn and I have paired a couple times." She transferred her gaze to Arn and grinned. "But I scare him."

He grinned back. "Definitely." Arn turned back to Eli. "But Eli, you should know that Jon can get territorial about the Allegro. He really did not want you two to pair today." Arn shrugged. "I told him to quit being a bloody spoilsport."

Eli frowned. "Look Arn, seriously, I don't want to make trouble. The three of you are the regular team and you have to work together daily." He looked at Rhea. "Would you care that much if I flew with Arn? You could take Joran's seat."

"Forget it! Racing with Rhea's bad enough," Arn said, tactfully bowing out. Then he turned serious. "Look Eli. Have your fun, and I guarantee that Jon won't take it out on you - or me. You see, the reason he's furious is I told him that if he did I'd snitch."

"Snitch?"

"Snitch. Joran hasn't handed over the keys every time the Allegro has been taken out on a wild run. I've taken her out three times myself, and I know of four times Jon has, but he doesn't tell me everything."

"He's swiped the Allegro six times that I know of," Rhea said helpfully without looking up.

"Uh huh," Arn said.

He and Rhea would have to compare notes sometime to see if they were talking about the same episodes, or if the count was ten plus. If so, he'd have to warn Jon to back off.

Eli was thinking about how Joran would take this development if he found out. He decided that all things being equal he'd sooner not be around then.

"Thank you for trusting me with that information."

"That's all right, Eli. I know you won't use it. It just might come in handy sometime if Jon gets on your back with a 'holier-than-thou' attitude. And now, I'm out of here to see what the fair Kim and I can find in entertainment, which isn't likely to be much. So we may claim the GalEx Genie to relax in if that doesn't get you in trouble Eli."

"Be my guest." Something in Arn's tone of voice had Eli looking at him a little harder. "You and Kim got something going?"

"No." Arn shook his head firmly. "We are just slowly sneaking up on thinking about maybe getting something going. So far we haven't even tried holding hands, much less a kiss."

They weren't going to in a hurry either if he had his way. The last time he'd felt this way was about Kara Dellmaice and look at where that had landed him. With a nasty divorce.

"So, have fun. I won't even tell you to behave. I'll just say don't do anything I wouldn't - that should give you plenty of latitude."

Eli watched the retreating back for a moment. Arn was a really nice guy. Very nice. Maybe too nice. He turned back to Rhea who looked like she was almost done.

"So you've been flying pairs with Arn?" Eli tried to keep his voice casual, tried to not think of all the possible interpretations of 'don't do anything I wouldn't do - that should give you plenty of latitude'. "You never mentioned it to me."

Rhea looked him squarely in the eye. "That is because it's none of your damned business."

Eli wanted to say all the right things. He wanted to say she was right about everything, and he was wrong. He wanted to say that because he'd been proud and stupid and wrong, everything was so messed up he had no idea how to ever get it right again. He needed to tell her that he loved her, if that helped at all. But the way she was looking at him, he doubted it would help one micron, and none of the words would come out. But it felt like the tears were going to. Eli looked away.

Rhea looked at the averted profile, at the pain, vulnerability, sensitivity, and hopelessness.

She relented. "We set a racecourse and fly it Eli, that's all. Arn's in love with Kim, although he's fighting hard to deny it. Sometimes I think Kara cured him permanently of commitments."

She turned back to the console. "Now, what do you think of this?"

***

Eli was standing in the middle of the simulated star field. He rotated, looking again at the proposed course, clear lines of red and laughed. Laughter was something he was out of practice with.

"Rhea, I never thought I'd say this, but I sympathize with Jon worrying about the Allegro."

"Have you turned coward on me?" It was something she could safely say because it was the one thing he would never do.

"No." He was laughing again. "But poor Jon! Now Rhea, come here." He stepped forward, pointing.

The next forty minutes or so were technical and argumentative. Gravitational potentials were re-analyzed. The torques the Allegro could stand were simulated, the torques they could stand without passing out factored in. Likely nasty surprises in this poorly charted area were speculated on, and recovery plans made.

At last Rhea said, "I think that's about it."

Eli nodded. Any more planning and they'd lose their edge. He felt that old excitement in full now.

"So let's do it."

***

Eli and Rhea were just sitting there, grinning at each other like a couple of idiots. It had to have been their best run ever. The Allegro was a dream. If they'd had her on the race circuit no one could have beaten them. And they were still the best team there ever would be. They could anticipate each other's next move better than the AI system.

Talking about next moves, Eli knew the next one had to come from him. He was the one who had changed the rules of this part of the game. He barely hesitated. He had locked his wife, and his children, firmly away, far, far from his conscience when the Allegro lifted off. Today was for memories, memories of the past, making one last memory for the future. One so sweet that nothing could spoil it. Not even the knowledge that if he hadn't totally screwed up he could have this any time.

"Let's get out of these damned Second Skins."

It was what one or the other of them had always said. It was part of the game, to have their lovemaking finished and be at least partly decent in those scant minutes before the race officials docked alongside and requested to board for substance checks and such. There was always more time later, in some space station portel, but those moments after a run were incredible.

It would be different this time. They didn't have to go back to a space station, and no space station portel could match the Allegro's cabins for luxury and comfort. And there would be no reporters, officials, and sponsors to deal with. They had all the time they wanted since GalEx expected him back on Gingezel when he got there. Besides, he and Kim could cut scheduled time by twenty percent easily, like they had on the way out. Jon would probably try to kill him for them taking so long to get the Allegro back, but he didn't care. Today was a gift and he was taking that gift, everything he could get out of it.

But first they'd play the old games. He started to strip, not taking his eyes off Rhea.

*****

Chapter 20

Milton Trave from Tranus Dynamics looked around the crowded, shabby little room with dismay. There was barely room for a man his size to turn around. And surely the building couldn't have been in use more than five years? The room looked like it had seen fifteen years or so of rough wear and not much by way of cleaning in those fifteen years.

Naja, the young cocoa-colored woman who was presiding over the visitors' section of this habitat shot him a sideways, rather nervous glance. She opened the one door not to the corridor.

"And here are the bathing facilities."

Naja was not usually in charge of visitors. She was a Section Head in hydroponics, but there was nothing for her to do there until the facility got going again. And this was not a habitat visitors usually stayed in. But the visitors' section was full, and they had to put them somewhere. This room was Bert's, and she'd meant to clean it, but the idiot hadn't cleared his stuff out until half an hour ago. And how did you really clean with all the restrictions right now anyway? She had done what she could with a dust cloth here in the main room and a scrub cloth in the lavatory, but the unit was embarrassing.

Milton did not bother to look at the lavatory. He had been warned by the technicians who had done the Drezvir installation about the bathing facilities, or lack of them. He'd also been warned with his size to not even try the trickle of water that called itself a shower, assuming he could even squeeze into the stall. They'd gone together and got him a large bowl to collect the trickle in for a sponge bath as a joke for a going away present. At least he hoped it was a joke. Anyway, they were a good bunch of guys.

"Thank you," he said politely from the center of the bed sitting room.

"I hope you'll be comfortable."

Naja had her doubts about that, and Olan Rostin was very insistent that everyone coming to assist with the accident be comfortable. She'd never seen a man this fat live, only on holovision. The miners' lifestyle and diet kept them lean. She could not see this man sleeping comfortably on the sofa bed, sitting comfortably on the sofa, or worse still, sitting on the small, hard, straight back chair used for eating at the foldout table. She wasn't even going to think about the lavatory. For that matter, she shuddered to think how much he could eat.

Milton gave her a genial smile. "I'll be fine. Thank you for all your trouble."

The fine part Milton had his doubts about, but the thank you was sincere. These poor people had so many troubles of their own, they didn't need him to add to them.

Then, as if reading her mind he added, "And don't worry about feeding me. I understand the various suppliers have been helping out and bringing food to tide you over until your next hydroponics crop."

Naja nodded. "Everyone has been very kind."

It would be a relief to be back in hydroponics nurturing the seedlings. She missed her job and felt unsettled. But at least she was useful here. And everyone was kind bringing food, even if so much of it was foreign and tasted odd. Even the fruits she had thought were the same outside Farr weren't. She'd tried some strawberry jam and not believed it really was strawberry until she had read the label twice. The genetic drift over the centuries since Farr was settled must be more than they thought.

"Well, I'm probably helping less than most. I filled most of the spare space on the transport with STD 1027s to keep your grid up. But I did make sure there are enough space pacs to keep me going, and a few dozen crates of the processed veggies and fruits your cafeteria manager said would be best."

"Well thank you for that."

She relaxed a little. He really did seem to be a nice man, even if there was a lot of him.

"And now," Milton said, "I'd better get to work and leave you to yours. Before you take me down to ground level and tell me again how to get to where I'm supposed to be -"

"Mr. Rostin will come get you and take you to the analysis hall," Naja said, her voice implying the honor this conferred.

"Thank you, I'm sure," Milton said, his spirits sinking still lower.

He was not in the mood to be fussed at by a nervous bureaucrat. Still, he was sure they all meant well. He smiled again although it was getting a little forced.

"Well, before we bother Mr. Rostin, may I ask you, or whoever replaces you next shift, to have those food supplies dumped in my room here? I have no idea when I'll be back."

"Of course." At least that had been a manageable request. "And can I do anything else for you?"

"You can tell me if by any chance Chett Linderson is in one of the nearby rooms."

"He isn't here," was the prompt reply.

"There is another guest section then?"

That wouldn't be as convenient, but Milton assumed it wouldn't take that long to get the hang of the maze of corridors and tubes.

Naja looked at him, surprised. "No, I mean he isn't on Drezvir. Dr. Pendi returned, not Mr. Linderson."

This time Milton could not hide his dismay. Not once, in all that last-minute running around and calling all over the place had he thought of calling Nemizcan to see if there was a change of plans and Chett wouldn't be here. Chett's presence was going to be the saving grace in a trip that looked grim at best, and was most likely going to be a fiasco.

In his mind he had decided it would be like old times, he and Chett hunting down a problem, and he'd been sure they would hunt it down. They had done it so many times before, when Milton was an instrumentation design professional and Chett his tech, then later when Chett was a mid-ranked QA manager. For sure, this time the Nemizcan problems would have to be Chett's focus, but they'd still have time to talk, plenty of time since there was nothing to do here. He'd counted on that. Chett had a good mind, and there was probably still nothing he didn't know about Tranus Dynamics instrumentation.

But mostly Milton had counted on Chett's ability to find the damnedest things funny to get them through the grim parts. He'd had a great time remembering those 3:00 AM sessions that had started at 9:00 AM the morning before. They'd be sitting at a table littered with disassembled equipment, snacks, and coffee cups, and Chett would suddenly be off imagining out loud exactly what must have been on the mind of the idiot who put this one together. And they'd still be laughing when they just gave up and went to see if anywhere was still open so they could get some food or a beer before getting a couple hours sleep and trying it again, maybe with better luck.

He'd remembered the design review meetings where all of a sudden Chett would be laughing so hard you couldn't get any sense out of him, except that he, Chett, was a blankety-blank idiot, and should be fired. Then, he'd calm down enough to point out the flaw everyone had been looking for for days. And Chett would never believe that he shouldn't have spotted it at square one. Chett's vocabulary had been well-rounded even then, and Milton had spent some of the more amusing hours of his very tedious trip here in the Tranus Dynamics freighter speculating on how the opportunity to travel was likely to have improved it, and on what good jokes Chett was likely to have collected. And now Chett wasn't here.

The look of dismay on Mr. Trave's face was almost ludicrous. Although it had nothing to do with her, Naja found herself apologizing. "I'm terribly sorry Mr. Trave. Was there something special you wanted to see Mr. Linderson about?"

"No, no." Milton sighed. "We're just old friends. I suppose Martine has gone home too?" Meeting that lady was the other thing he'd been looking forward to.

"Martine? Oh no. She's four doors down on this level."

Well, at least it was something.

***

The tested instrumentation assemblies Milton brought did not arrive in a suitcase. They arrived in a number of large sealed crates, and once delivered they lined a fair portion of the back of the analysis shed. There had been no trouble exporting them. The Tranus customs officers were used to massive shipments from Tranus Dynamics, and there was no resident nuisance like Ghen Kulgalu to disrupt life. All the same, if possible, he was more nervous than Tina as he asked Azlo Mirelle for a signed receipt that the assemblies had arrived as requested.

Both Azlo Mirelle and Tranngol Cebron were total strangers to Milton, unless being one of seven thousand conference participants who had listened to a keynote address by Mirelle at a conference on Tranus six years earlier counted. He had no idea if Tranngol was one of the other seven thousand sitting in the stadium. Milton's only impression then had been that Mirelle was an organized, coherent speaker, and that the sort of engineering risk work he did might have been an interesting area to go into. Now he was trying to get a feel for the man, while simultaneously thinking that while industrial risk work might be intellectually interesting, this was not the kind of exposure he had been thinking about getting.

"Thank you, Dr. Trave," Azlo said politely, trying to assess Milton much as Milton was trying to assess him, and not getting anywhere beyond the fact that the man was nervous. "It appears you've done everything asked of you."

Milton shook his head. The one decision he had made was to be 100% up front.

"No. I personally did not do the tests. In fact, I haven't worked on these instrumentation assemblies for almost six years now. But I was part of the redesign three years before that."

That was largely why he was the one here, the fact that he knew the assembly inside out but he had not worked on the Drezvir project. They were having a little trouble with the proof of innocence aspect back at good old Tranus Dynamics, and he sincerely doubted they had made any progress digesting that concept since he'd left. But it had seemed logical to him that since the assemblies had performed as advertised for seven years, if there was a problem it was in the construction of a particular assembly, or installation, not design, so send one of the designers.

The argument had been so well received it got him volunteered to come which was fair enough. Only three of them had worked on the redesign. The junior team member, Ella, now a section head, had overseen the Drezvir installation. That left him and Myles, and they could have tossed a coin, but in all honesty Milton had almost wanted to come. He had never traveled in space, an almost embarrassing admission at his age. There had been no reason for space travel. His education had been on Tranus and Tranus Dynamics had hired him out of university, not surprising since his thesis work had been for them. Since then he'd been stuck in a lab, then an office. This was an opportunity to travel, and a fringe mining colony in the Farr sector sounded exotic and adventurous. And, to top it off, he'd be sharing the adventure with Chett.

Well, Chett wasn't here, he'd seen his room and it was squalid, not adventurous, and travel on the freighter had alternated between tedious and downright uncomfortable. Milton wondered what else he'd misjudged.

"Some of the tests you requested were ... er ... unusual. I stuck around for those to see what would happen. But beyond that, I left supervision to a colleague. After the problems Martine had here with the STD 1027s, I wanted to check out the accuracy of the QA for our instrumentation assemblies. So, I made them check every assembly in stock against its documentation." Milton shrugged. "That pretty much tied me up. I figured I'd better be standing there, just in case someone had screwed up and then tried to hide it."

"And what did you find?" Azlo's eyes were grave. If Tranus Dynamics were having QA problems, this wouldn't be the last accident.

"No serious problems, not like with the STD 1027s. There were a few minor discrepancies, there always are. But everything was well within spec and close to the documentation. Except for one assembly." He pointed to a crate with a large red X on the side.

"Its performance was right on the borderline of acceptable and in the QA reports its signal was documented as mid range. I brought it here untouched because I figured first off we'd better compare it to the installed units. Then, even if they are fine while to my mind this one isn't, I'd like it tested by your experts, not ours."

There had been a few arguments about that, but he'd stood firm. The Tranus Dynamics reputation was that you could trust what you got, and that wasn't changing while he was there. If there was even a chance of a problem on the instrumentation side, he wanted to know, and to define tests for installed assemblies, so that every last unit in the field could be tested. These risk analysts, with their specialized test equipment and a different set of eyes might see something he didn't.

Azlo relaxed a little. That was the right attitude to take. "Tranngol here provides the equipment and manpower." He turned to Tranngol. "Can you work in the extra testing? Plus I'd recommend a full model of the consequences of the instrumentation assembly being as Dr. Trave found it."

"Milton, please." His eyes were shifting nervously between the two men.

Tranngol nodded. "You've got it, Milton. We haven't totally dug down to the existing assemblies, so I can run this one through first. It'll get my team tuned up." Tranngol tried to stroke the beard that wasn't there. "I expect you'll sleep easier knowing how much to worry - or not. I presume you'll be issuing a warning?"

Milton relaxed a bit and nodded. "As a designer I could take a rough guess on consequences of the signal being off. I've sent a memo around to everyone, including Dellmaice Power Systems H.O. already, but I need to know I haven't missed anything. I don't think it can cause an accident, but the rate of rise signal provided by the assembly could be out by a fraction of a percent. So I recommended all users widen the trip margin on all operating reactors as a safety precaution in the interim."

Milton had avoided any 'it's only one assembly and you really shouldn't upset the customers until we know this is a real problem' arguments by sending the memo and only c.c.-ing the likely objectors. There were a few advantages to having finally reached upper middle management.

Tranngol and Azlo nodded.

Tranngol asked, "How much of a widening of the trip margin?"

"I gave it as a percent of the current. I'm no power distribution expert, and the reactor designs of all our customers differ. I recommended a 0.04% margin increase on a 1.25% safety margin taking it up to 1.29%. That's probably overly cautious, but," he looked around the shed, "I'm feeling conservative at the moment."

The loss of generation was small enough probably everyone would implement the reset. Tranngol made a mental note to call Ari and make damned sure Dellmaice Power Systems had, and that pressure was on their various planetary partners as well.

"So what happens if it does look like the assemblies could be a problem? There are a lot in the field." Azlo asked.

"I've been thinking about that on the way here," Milton said. "I'd like utilities to be able to do in-situ testing, not to have to pull any assemblies. So I've been trying to think of how, if at all, an out of spec assembly would show up in power station logs. I'm looking for a small effect in a normal situation and I'm not sure anything will show up." He shook his head in frustration.

"I get further with the idea of inducing a test power ramp with a special analysis of the signal but I have to talk to ContSaft about it." Milton made a face. "I don't want to cause the next accident trying to prevent one." He looked around. "Is Andrai here?"

"No, Tina."

The voice behind him made him jump, and Milton turned with a smile of real pleasure on his face.

"Well, hello there stranger."

Tina's smile held equal warmth. "Hello Milton. I haven't seen you for ages and ages - how long?"

"Since I got off the floor and tied myself to a desk."

It had been a while too. There certainly hadn't been a trace of gray in Tina's hair the last time he saw her, not that it wasn't becoming. But it was a bit of a shock. On the other hand, he thought realistically, he had probably been fifteen or twenty kilos lighter the last time she saw him.

"So what are you doing here?"

"Andrai lost the fight. I think I'm getting more vicious with practice and this was my project after all. What about you? You're the last person I'd expect to see."

"I did a lot of the design on the modified instrumentation assembly," Milton reminded her.

"True."

Tina cast her mind back. Milton could probably answer Tranngol's questions better than the assembly team could.

"And," Milton sighed, "at a personal level I really hoped to spend some time with Chett, but he isn't here."

"Chett?"

"Chett Linderson."

"I know who Chett is!" Tina made an impatient gesture. "He's like Andrai. He lost the fight. But I don't know how you and Chett connect."

"Go way way back Tina. You must have seen us working together when he was my tech."

"Oh my ..." She gave Milton a mock severe look. "You have just made me feel terribly old. I'd totally forgotten that stage of Chett's career."

"Tranngol! I have to talk to you in person about a problem." It was Martine striding between workstations, a worried frown on her face.

"Mmm?" Tranngol turned to greet her.

Through the resulting gap she saw Milton.

"You!"

"My dear Martine," Milton said with the slightest twinkle at the back of his eyes. "Is that any way to greet a stranger?"

Tranngol winced at the use of 'dear'. Martine did not take well to sexism or being patronized.

"You!" Martine glared at him. "You are my problem! Do you realize all available space in the power substation habitat is now full of STD 1027 crates, more than twice the number requested?"

She assumed this Milton man was trying to be helpful, but he wasn't. While Ari Dellmaice might have a lavish hand on the R&D side, cost control in Operations was stringent. Every extra purchase was questioned at several levels. Ari couldn't stand anything being mishandled in shipping, mis-installed, or worse still, poorly maintained. There had been no invoice with the crates, so it must have gone straight to H.O. That would make it even worse.

"Now Martine," Milton chided. She was every bit as delightful and attractive as he had imagined. "Say thank you for a gift." Milton was well aware of Ari's policies. "Every last unit is compliments of Tranus Dynamics to a valued customer." He gave a slight bow.

"Besides", he added realistically, "it seemed a lot more useful than filling the spare space on the transport with food."

That got general murmurs of approval from everyone in the group, except Martine.

"Useful?" she demanded, hand on hip.

"Useful, my dear, for the operating envelope you have. You'll go through these things like candy. By the way," he asked innocently, "just how out of spec are you running?"

"I never once mentioned our operating envelope being out of spec!"

"Telling in itself. But actually that wasn't what I was going by. I was judging by Chett. He's only that cheerful when he's pulling one over on you."

*****

Chapter 21

Klarak Voroth was supine on a lounger under a striped umbrella. He had to admit that a private villa in the semitropical resort zone of Pendrae was a distinct improvement over late autumn drizzle on Tranus. If he were there right now, his daily commute to Nemizcan Head Office would be through drizzle, fog, and occasional slushy snow. Who needed it?

He did. Klarak was not by nature a creature of leisure. He worked because he was good at it and he enjoyed it. It was a major part of his life, his self image. Klarak turned his head slightly to stare at turquoise green ocean beyond clean golden sand. That bastard Linderson. What right did Linderson have to fire him? He'd been picking for a fight, that was all.

And it wasn't even like Klarak had tried to give him one once he realized the mood Chett was in. He hadn't denied that he was a hacker. Not good enough. He'd said he was careful, he wouldn't get caught. Not good enough. What had Linderson wanted? Him to grovel at his feet? After all, what was the point of lying and saying he wouldn't do any hacking on his own time. Linderson wouldn't have believed that one. And it wasn't like hacking was exactly frowned on there. Dreen was an admitted hacker, so was the idolized Brys, that little snip of a girl. Why, he'd heard they'd even promoted that - that - that little data clerk! Just because he managed to break Dreen's challenge code.

Klarak had tried it the first time it was posted. He'd got to the final level, seen how to break the code, and quit. If he'd succeeded, Dreen would have put him on the Gingezel Ultra-secure Hyperweb project, and that wouldn't have suited him. He was where he wanted to be, at R&D Head Office. He could always visit Gingezel on holidays. Only he wasn't at R&D Head Office was he, Klarak thought bitterly. He was under this ridiculous orange and yellow striped umbrella, and it was all because of -

"You're brooding Klarak."

The voice was a soft, sexy purr with pure ice underneath. It suited the owner, a delicately boned redhead with a beautiful oval face, pointed chin, and the coldest cat-like eyes Klarak had ever seen. Klarak had always questioned his brother's taste in women, and if Mark wanted his opinion, which he never did, this time he'd really overstepped what he could handle.

"That's right Zloenni."

Klarak looked indifferently in the direction of his hostess's voice. She was wearing a green pareo tied at the waist and a scrap of a bra, both presumably in deference to him. He couldn't see a hint of a tan line.

"Don't let me ruin your tan. I don't care what you wear - or don't."

Zloenni clenched her fists. If Mark didn't get back from that business trip very, very soon she didn't care how imprudent it was. She was throwing Klarak out. He was so insolent, so superior, so so ... Zloenni's honest streak made one of its rare appearances. That handsome, intelligent, supercilious male was totally indifferent to her and he wasn't homosexual. It was a reaction Zloenni hadn't had to deal with since she was fourteen or so. She didn't like it.

"Only if you join me, Klarak," she purred.

Klarak didn't take the bait. He resumed his study of the weave of the umbrella.

There was something in his expression that Zloenni didn't quite like but she had trouble reading him. That was another thing she disliked about Klarak. Usually she could read and manipulate people. Like Mark. Mark was so straightforward compared to his brother.

Well, half brother if she was being accurate. Mark Laratte and Klarak Voroth shared a mother. Their mother had given both of them brunette good looks. Dark brown hair, fair skin, sexy eyes, medium height builds. And both men were well-built. But they differed. Klarak was taller, and somehow less angular than his older brother. Not soft. Oh no, not soft. But contoured differently. They were both smart too. Very smart. But Mark was open, aggressive, competitive while Klarak was inward, secretive, conceited. And right now, with that expression on his face, he was frightening her.

"Klarak. What are you scheming?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that it was none of her damned business, but she'd just complain to Mark. And that was the one thing Klarak didn't want, trouble with his brother. He sat up.

"Something that should appeal to you, Zloenni. 'Don't get mad, get even.'"

***

In-two-three. Pause. Out-two-three. Pause. Klarak let the meditation exercise clear and calm his mind. The walk to the rocky promontory that defined the northern tip of Zloenni's island had tired and relaxed his muscles, and now he needed to relax his mind or he'd get nowhere. He let himself focus on the stream of breath going into an out of his body. When he lost focus, he didn't fight it. He let his mind drift to the serene beauty of the small lagoon partly walled by the rocks. Then he gently nudged his focus back. It was cooler now, with no intolerable heat to distract him, and he could sit cross-legged and indefinitely.

Klarak had no idea how long he had sat there. When he resurfaced the sun was low, a red ball above the ocean. He'd better head back. The trail was clear enough, but nightfall was abrupt and he didn't want the embarrassment of hurting himself in the dark. Zloenni would never let him live that down. He rose easily to his feet, stretched, gave the lagoon one last appreciative look, and headed for the trail.

What exactly did he know about the Gingezel Ultrasecure Hyperweb? Nothing. The project had the best security he'd seen at Nemizcan. There was no way to sneak a peek to see what was going on without getting into serious trouble. And talking to the team members Brys and Evrit had been a waste of time when they were at H.O. Brys was so shy and insecure you were lucky to get hello out of her. And Evrit was Mr. Prissy. Ask what you hoped sounded like a casual 'how's it going' sort of question and you got a ten minute lecture on rules and regs about security.

What could he guess had been done designing G.U.S.H? Quite a bit. Klarak had been at Nemizcan for several years now and had worked with Dreen personally three times. That experience, plus seeing how Dreen set up the challenge gave him a pretty good idea of how G.U.S.H would be designed. Of course, Brys and Evrit would have had their say too, and there had been time for Dreen's ideas to evolve. Yes, it would be an interesting system to hack. Hack, and take down. His mouth set in a tight line.

Not, of course, that he would be even thinking of this if Dreen was still responsible for G.U.S.H. Klarak idolized Dreen. It had been the fulfillment of a dream he'd been sure he would never realize, to be hired to that elite cadre of coders that worked at Nemizcan H.O. He'd known that was where he belonged, but Nemizcan rarely hired. Those who were lucky enough to get there knew they were lucky and stayed. But the chance had come when he was still young enough for his most creative work. Then had come the unexpected fillip. Klarak had never doubted that he was good. But once he'd arrived at Nemizcan and worked there for a while, he'd discovered he was as good as the best of them and better than most.

No, he would never think of attacking G.U.S.H. if it was still Dreen's project. But it wasn't. That bastard Linderson was running it now - running all of Nemizcan. Klarak still couldn't get his mind around that, the fact that Dreen was on Drezvir because of the reactor that blew. Well, maybe he could get that far. Dreen was the 'do it personally' type. But to hand Nemizcan off to Chett just like that? It had to mean that Dreen saw the situation as very serious.

Klarak had asked Mark about that, but Mark had said not to worry. The guy Tranngol who was running the post mortem was a real pain, poking and poking at all sorts of irrelevant stuff. But when it was all said and done, this Tranngol could only reach one conclusion. Mitra had blown it with her design. Klarak hoped so. He sincerely hoped so.

But how would Dreen take Mitra's guilt if he really was engaged to her? Klarak had even more trouble edging his mind into cautiously thinking about that. Dreen was involved with the woman who had not ended up his sister-in-law. They weren't comfortable thoughts. Klarak firmly abandoned them. Think about G.U.S.H.. For the basic structure there were only two options. Which would he assume and try to hack first?

*****

Chapter 22

"Well?"

It was the tone used when you expect comment on a new shirt or haircut. Joran slowly looked Bojo up and down. He couldn't see a thing that was different. Same old shorts, faded green t-shirt, shoes almost worn through at the big toe. Longish blond hair.

"Well?"

There a hint of amusement this time.

"I give up, unless you pierced your ears again and are hiding it with the hair, or pierced or tattooed some part of your anatomy I can't see. If you did, that's cheating!"

Bojo let himself grin. All those hours with the nice lady cosmetician had been worth it then, to say nothing of the time spent to tediously learn how to apply all of the contents of all of those little bottles and cases.

"Okay, let's go out into the sunshine and you take a good look at my face."

They stepped out on the balcony into the late afternoon sun. Joran took a better look. It looked liked Bojo had taken to wearing a bronzer. A lot of fair skinned men did in these climates if they wanted to use a sunblock but still wanted to seem tanned.

"Bronzer block?" Joran hazarded.

"Yes, and about another twenty minutes of work with brushes although the cosmetician says practice helps. Now", he commanded a thoroughly mystified Joran, "if you were a total stranger, how close to normal do I look?" Bojo added hastily, "I don't mean perfect."

But he'd tried the hello test on four groups of people in the hotel lobby, and only got polite hellos back, no eyes sliding away. He waited uncomfortably while Joran took a really hard look.

From Joran's perspective this was extremely interesting. He never really studied Bojo that way any more. Bojo didn't like it. His eyes, his expression, those he paid attention to. His facial deformity he ignored. Now although Bojo's face still wasn't quite right, you really couldn't put a finger on anything wrong and certainly it wasn't something you'd find offensive.

"What have you done?" Joran asked bluntly.

Bojo grinned again. "I take it it worked?"

"Without offending you, yes." Then as Bojo looked confused, "I mean I'm afraid of offending you but I have to ask, why didn't you do whatever before?"

"Never thought of it. Those initial tries with that heavy masking makeup at the clinic were so disastrous I put the idea out of my head."

Relaxing, Bojo stretched out on the lounger staring at the sky while Joran continued to study him speculatively.

"The whole idea came to mind when I first had supper with Brys. She said I looked all right. I put it down tricks of the light, but it got me thinking. Then Brys was going through a bunch of old holograms. You know, she's starting to get it into her head that you're Anton and she keeps wanting to look at my holo-albums.

"Anyways, Brys found some really old stuff I'd forgotten about, taken around the time of the accident. She said boy was I lucky that I healed so good. When she was gone I took another good look at myself back then and saw a lot of changes. The damage is less raw looking now and I think those years of exercising have built the muscle."

There was a routine he did four times a day to keep the pain from his rebuilt jaw down to a tolerable level. Bojo transferred his gaze from the sky to Joran, but he wasn't really paying attention or Joran's expression would have bothered him.

"I've been trying to come to grips with our new stage look, but I'm scared. The devil's mask was something to hide behind. But I took a good look at holograms of me on stage like that too, and I decided my deformity was more pronounced with the makeup, not less. And what Brys said kept coming back."

He dried up.

Joran nodded to encourage him. When that didn't work Joran prompted, "And?" There was still that speculative look in his eyes.

Bojo shrugged. "I started thinking about some of the women we know who show up backstage in no makeup and their hair pulled back, and who are plain - if not ugly. They put their makeup artists to work and go onstage and wow - cheekbones, gorgeous eyes, pouty mouth. You or I hardly recognize them, and I'm sure their fans wouldn't know them without makeup. So I started thinking why not me?"

Joran nodded, thinking of Sinda, Johnny Sun's wife. She was a voluptuous redhead. But her gorgeous mane of hair and her figure were her best points. The rest was a lot of artistry. Cut the hair and even the artistry wouldn't be enough. But with her voice, who cared? Still he understood where Bojo was coming from.

"As to the whats - think of brown muddy looking gunk to make shadows and light creamy stuff to do the opposite and hours of trying to make sure I was getting things looking better not worse." He shrugged.

Joran was shaking his head, wondering why they hadn't thought of it before, but then Bojo would have thrown the idea out before. Before Brys. Instead he asked what he had thought of immediately.

"So are you finally opening your mouth on stage?"

Bojo froze. He hadn't seen that coming.

"I need to think about that," he said cautiously.

"So think. You have a day. Then we have to set the program for the networks."

*****

Chapter 23

"How's Mitra?" Joran's face was taut with concern. "Eli called. He said she had a crying jag."

"Better," Dreen was able to to say with honesty. "She was really worried because Nann - one of the miners and a friend of hers - had slipped back into critical condition. But we got word at supper that she's stabilized again. This time they think she'll really recover."

"Then I can talk to Mitra. Vacate your seat."

Joran looked past Dreen to where he expected Mitra to be. He needed to see her, to say at least a few words like 'I love you Pretty Lady'. It had been too long since he'd seen her face.

"She's not here."

"Where the hell else is she this time of night?"

Joran was in his robe ready to try to sleep. He was currently testing the theory that he slept best naked. At least that way when he was awake and squirming around the sheets felt sexy. It was after 1:00 in Crescent Bay, so it would be after 10:00 at the mining colony.

"In her room, trying to get some sleep."

"Her room?"

"Joran!" Dreen's tone was warning.

A frown crossed Joran's face. The message from Eli was clear. Dreen had Bojo's albums. Weren't they working? Or had they worked too well and been confiscated?

"Isn't it safe to talk?"

With the headset Dreen was using the background noise Joran heard was almost non-existent. Now he strained to hear it. No, the album was playing. No one had confiscated it.

"As long as you don't tell me how to run my life." Dreen's jaw set.

Joran chose to totally ignore the warning signs.

"What kind of job are you doing taking care of her if she isn't with you?"

"The correct kind, thank you! We're in enough trouble you know! We have to act professionally, dammit! Do you want everyone to think there's some kind of collusion?"

Joran was singularly unimpressed with that bit of logic. All anyone had to do was to watch Dreen's face when he looked at Mitra. They wouldn't have to guess a thing. They'd know. And she needed love now, kisses, hugs, reassurances. Not Dreen worrying about legal crap. Legal crap ... Oh yes. Joran decided to give up the argument for now before Dreen really lost his temper and stopped listening.

"While you're worrying about Mitra's position, I have good news."

"Like?" Dreen asked warily.

"Like Juttar is lined up to defend her." Joran gave an almost embarrassed smile. "I couldn't think of anything else useful to do with the concert money, so I told Juttar to put his expensive staff onto boning up about the Farr sector." His eyes got misty. "Our Pretty Lady deserves the best."

Dreen found he had a lump in his throat too. So that's what those cryptic hints had been about. Talking about the best, Joran was the best friend you could have.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"And don't worry your head about details. Chett and your legal staff are telling Juttar all about Drezvir. When he's got it through that thick skull of his, he'll call you."

Dreen took that as an attempt at levity, which it was. Juttar was definitely not dense.

"You and Chett are actually getting along, aren't you?" Dreen was relieved, and somehow felt a little left out.

"No," Joran announced cheerfully. "But I have to remind myself about twice a day I can't stand him, or we would get along."

That had Dreen grinning as he knew it would. Joran gave passing thought to mentioning that the raid on Dellmaice Power Systems was imminent, then decided Dreen needed to sleep. He'd close with good news.

"An update on Bojo and Brys, then we both need some sleep."

"Uh huh?" Dreen prompted. Joran looked like the proverbial cat with a plate of cream.

"Bojo's agreed to sing a couple solos at the concert. Amazing what falling in love is doing for that man."

"Tell him I'm really pleased." Dreen yawned, noticing Joran was wide awake. "Will you sleep?"

"In a bit. Chett and I haven't exchanged jokes yet." Chett had said to wait until he'd talked to Dreen. "And there is this melody -"

"Uh huh. And when's practice?"

"Whenever I wake up. That's the advantage of being the boss. G'night Dreen."

"Goodnight Joran - and thanks."

*****

Chapter 24

And that was that, Tranngol thought. Another single fault, a single isolated event that could have caused the accident, was eliminated. Earlier in the morning they had finished testing the fuel samples. It had been found to be exceptionally well manufactured. Well enough manufactured that the Mining Guild really should think about getting into fuel manufacture outside of the Guild. Tranngol had said as much to Fred Szatt when they finished the tests, but the older man had laughed the idea off. He'd said that even if he hadn't caused it, this accident had been quite enough for him and the Guild. They'd go to the extra extra cost of getting their fuel from the Outsiders.

In Tranngol's mind the high-quality of that work had strongly reduced his suspicions that it was something the Guild had done after Mitra left that had caused the accident. His team was still pouring over operator and maintenance logs, but so far they were in good shape.

Now destructive and nondestructive testing had confirmed what the preliminary visuals with robotics had indicated. The pressure tube had not had any flaws that had slipped past the QA, or for that matter the QA reports had not been falsified. Tranngol had heard enough horror stories about falsified QA documents to be cynical about their accuracy, so everything had been double and triple checked. The tube had simply blown due to gross overpower.

He turned to Azlo.

"Are you satisfied the tests have been properly performed, Azlo?"

"Definitely."

"Is there anything more you want?"

"No. This is conclusive."

Tranngol turned to Javeilm Green with a smile.

"Then you're off the hook, Javeilm. The work was up to your company's usual excellent standards. We'll get copies of all of the tests, and a signed document from Azlo here, and the Judiciary Rep that they are happy. Then you can go home."

Javeilm permitted himself a relieved smile. He was getting too old for this game. He had been totally prepared to hear that one of those kids - at least the young engineers seemed like kids to him - that had checked out the tubes had screwed up. Maybe he should retire again and stay retired this time. Let his wife find a hobby that took her out of the house. As it was, he'd settle for never seeing Drezvir again.

"Thank you, Tranngol, Azlo." This was Javeilm's most formal military tone, his 'for the record' tone.

***

And that was that, Trebur Auta thought. The remaining single fault that could have made the accident a hardware supplier's fault was eliminated. The fuel had tested out to be normal, and now the pressure tube. He knew Tranngol and Azlo were having a long technical debate about whether or not a Tranus Dynamics sensor mis-manufacture could have allowed the overpower but not shown up in routine operations. They were obviously enjoying themselves, but he wasn't impressed. It was simply too esoteric and improbable. The two understandable, and possible if not probable, causes were off the list. They were the only things that weren't design issues and therefore ultimately the responsibility of Dellmaice Power Systems. That was good enough for him. Others, like Nemizcan or ContSaft might be implicated in a design fault, but that would take time to sort out. Right now Trebur was concerned with Dellmaice Power Systems.

Trebur made a face and prepared to call the Judiciary. It seemed to have finally been settled at that end that Cana Gregor was his contact. He would have preferred anyone else, even that old battle-ax of a secretary he hit once who thought she wasn't letting him talk to her boss. She'd thought wrong, lost the skirmish, and now they were best buddies.

He and Cana would unfortunately never even remotely be buddies of any sort. They couldn't stand each other, and Trebur intended to keep it that way. It wasn't that she was unattractive. She was, if you liked anorexic women with mousy brown hair, which he didn't. It was that she was an officious, superior bureaucrat with absolutely no sense of humor. He supposed the Judiciary deliberately hired the type, but that didn't mean he had to like Cana.

Trebur placed the call.

Cana looked at the call identifier with distaste. Trebur Auta, that ridiculous butterball of a geek who couldn't take anything seriously and didn't know the first thing about law. Why, oh why had she been at a dental appointment when they met to decide who his liaison was on this Drezvir mess? If she'd been here she could have told everyone her workload was way too heavy to guide a novice like him. It never occurred to Cana to question the more fundamental decision of why to even make Trebur the Judiciary Rep. If the higher powers had decided that, it must be right.

"Dr. Auta," Cana said trying to instill some formality into proceedings, "what can I do for you?"

"Hi Cana," Trebur said, knowing the casual familiarity would infuriate her. "It's time for the first move. Both the pressure tube and the fuel are eliminated as problems. My instincts say it's a design fault, and that means charge at least Ari Dellmaice before he takes a vacation somewhere we can't haul him in."

We? Haul him in? Was she supposed to participate in a conversation that would be played in court that used terms like that? And Auta wanted her to trust his instincts. Instincts? About to take him to task on that, she remembered first that he was some sort of super specialist the EPA had brought in from Outside, and second that this recording would indeed go to court so she had better both be polite and sort it out.

Cana said coldly, "I assume by 'your instincts' you mean that as an analyst for the EPA your professional opinion is that a design fault caused the accident and we can proceed."

Trebur gave her a reproachful look.

"No Cana. You won't get my professional opinion until a lot more analyses are done. And I didn't say start a trial. I said it looks like a design fault. 'Looks like a design fault' Cana. Not 'is a design fault'. But Dellmaice will get the same results I did, and decide what I did. And on the off chance he is the bolt and run type, I really think we should take action before he disappears to where he can avoid extradition."

Cana thought about this. Why was dealing with Outsiders always so complicated? Within the Farr Sector there was nowhere anyone could hide. But, unfortunately, for once Auta was right.

She inclined her head.

"Preliminary charges with prosecution deferred until the analysis is complete is appropriate in the circumstances." She consulted a corner of her screen. "The charge will be manslaughter against both Dr. Ari Dellmaice and Dr. Mitra Kael. I will contact the Interplanetary Judiciary and Dr. Dellmaice's legal counsel. Since you are on Drezvir, you can inform Dr. Kael of her charges."

"Me?" It was a squeak. What was that hulk of a soldier on guard with his troops here for then?

"You," Cana said coldly, a hint of malicious pleasure in her eyes. "You are the Judiciary Representative on Drezvir."

Trebur left his office and entered the maze of snakes that would take him to the shed where the analysts were. It had really started to blow in the last fifteen minutes. There were standing waves at intervals in the plastic tubes and the sonics made him clench his jaw. Or at least he told himself the sonics made him clench his jaw. If he did not want the people who caused any accident prosecuted, what the hell was he doing in the EPA?

***

She was not going to cry. At least that was a partial relief. Crying would somehow be shameful under the circumstances. Mitra watched the retreating back of Trebur Auta as though that might somehow make it more real. She had known from Ari's first call that she might be charged with the accident. She had worried herself sick that she could be charged for the accident. She had told herself that somehow, if she worked hard enough they would sort this out and she would not be charged with the accident. In the middle of the night she would wake with her mind whirling, sure she knew what had gone wrong only to find it dream-state nonsense. Those times she would be sure the cause of the accident would never be sorted out and she would be charged.

But Mitra had never really accepted that being charged with the accident could be an actual event, an event that had just happened. She decided in a detached sort of way that what she would do was simply sit here in dignified silence until she felt vaguely functional. Then she would go back to work, and do nothing, absolutely nothing except think about work, because it still had to be done.

Dreen was also watching the retreating back of Trebur Auta, wondering what that was about. The man had come in, not even looking at anyone, gone past Dreen's desk to Mitra's, stayed about long enough to speak two sentences, and left. He swiveled around for a look at Mitra, hoping for a clue there. He did not like what he saw. She was sitting there pale and too still. Somehow that bothered him more than the tears he was getting used to.

"Mitra. What's wrong?"

Dreen was on his feet, closing the distance between the desks.

"Nothing."

Her voice sounded surprisingly steady, which pleased her. It just sounded a little far away. She'd be fine if she just didn't have to explain. She'd get busy, and Dreen would see it didn't matter and go back to his desk. Then she could just sit here for a bit. Mitra picked up her stylus, but her fingers were traitors. They were shaking and it clattered to the floor.

"Here."

Dreen retrieved it. He handed it back, then closed a hand over hers.

"You're like ice. What happened?"

"I - he." This was not going to work. Those words were not going to come out.

"Mitra, are you all right?"

It was Tranngol, his eyes deeply concerned. He had intercepted Trebur at the door. She just stared at him, her eyes reproachful, telling him he sure asked stupid questions sometimes. Tranngol turned to Dreen. He should be told.

"The Sector Judiciary has just laid formal charges against Mitra and Ari."

"Oh, Mitra." Dreen's hand closed over hers again, "I'm so sorry."

She really and truly meant to say it was all right, that she would be fine in a minute or so, and they would get back to work, but her fingers weren't the only traitors now. The attempt at trying to control things by denial and sheer willpower was giving way to shock. She was starting to shake.

Dreen could feel it, and see her face, and that was the end of the 'we will be professional and detached until we are out of here' theory. Joran was right. It hadn't been all that great a theory anyway. All he wanted to do was hold her until she was all right, all right being a relative term. He remembered his own state of shock when he was arrested for hacking. All right, in an absolute sense, was a very long way down the road this time. But at least he could see her through the short term. At least he was here this time.

Dreen put a gentle, steadying arm around her shoulders. "Come on, stand up and let's get out of here."

She looked at him like she might want to ask a question, like 'where?'. At any rate, Dreen felt the need to fill the silence with meaningless words.

"We'll go to my room. You can just sit for a while, then when you feel better we can listen to Anton's new album. Okay?"

***

"Dreen!" Mitra discovered she could still talk after all. The first thing he'd done when they got to his room, before she could even sit down, was put Anton's absolutely worst album on.

"Am I supposed to have a splitting headache too?"

She reached a hand out to turn the music off, but Dreen caught it.

"It has that effect on me too, Mitra, but tough it out for a few minutes. It's the album that's notorious for causing feedback that blows systems, and I figure it gives us a chance to talk without eavesdroppers if we keep our voices down."

He would not violate Bojo's secret and tell her the whole story. that this album had deliberately been altered to do just that.

"Oh." Mitra dropped her hand and turned to Dreen. "Not a bad idea," she conceded, wondering what was so important to say. She was too tired, too numb to put any effort into figuring it out though. She just waited.

"First," Dreen reached out and touched her cheek, "I've got to say what I should have said a long time ago on Gingezel. I love you."

He had whispered those words to her as he left her the last time, but she had been asleep.

It was the wrong thing to say. Mitra had wanted so much to hear those words, but not now. She knew she'd cry for sure, and she was totally determined not to. She'd done too much crying already. She wrapped her arms around Dreen and buried her face in his shirt.

"Hey, that's all right," Dreen said rubbing and patting her taut back, wondering when she'd let go a bit so he could breathe. He had to admit that hadn't been very romantic, but he had to get the words out.

"It's all right." He could not think of another thing to say.

Mitra shook her head in vigorous denial. It was not all right. It was never going to be all right.

"Your right," Dreen agreed, stroking the short bristly hair. "What's happening is not all right."

Lying to her was not being supportive at all.

"What I was talking about was us, Mitra. No matter what happens, that will stay right. I will still love you. I'll be here for you, and I'll do everything I can to help you. I know what your going through. I can help."

Mitra gave more violent shake of her head, then stepped back until she could look up at Dreen. He was trying to be so sweet, and she appreciated it, but he was wrong.

She said, "I don't want to sound melodramatic Dreen, but no, you don't know."

He caught her little chin gently in his hand.

"Yes love, I do. You see, I've been further down this kind of a road than you have. Right to a prison cell."

He waited for the shock, the withdrawal, the rejection. The 'I guess I didn't really know you, goodbye'. But Mitra was just looking at him, eyes wide with confusion.

She tried to shake her head to clear it, but Dreen's hand was in the way. She took it in hers, lowered it.

"Am I loopier than I think, or did you just say you've done this scene before?"

"Not this one exactly. No professional negligence. I got caught hacking a military site as a university student. The military didn't take it well."

Mitra didn't think that Dreen could possibly have been up to any mischief. He was no doubt just poking around, snooping, and got unlucky. She did however fleetingly wonder if hacking was a sex-linked thing. She's heard of the odd really good woman hacker, but she'd never met one, and the whole idea had no appeal to her.

Hacking certainly did appeal to some of the young men she'd know when in her teens and at university. C.C. had been the worst. She'd worried about him, because although she couldn't believe C.C. would do any real harm, he delighted in pranks. So she kept expecting him to get caught and get into serious trouble at least with his father, since Ceb was in the Interplanetary Judiciary. But he'd been lucky, and he'd lost interest by the time he got into parties and girls. She wondered now though if hacking had regained its appeal with the loneliness and boredom that was a constant problem for terraformers.

"So what happened?" Mitra asked, really caring.

It was that easy. What Dreen had been sure was an insurmountable hurdle didn't even exist.

"It's a long story you don't need to hear now." He shrugged. "I thought I was terribly hard done by back then, but now I realize I was damned lucky and that had a lot to do with the university. They pulled a lot of strings and got me military service instead of prison for most of my sentence."

He thought he'd never reach the stage where he truly didn't care, but he had. It was nothing compared to Mitra and her problems.

"Let's take care of you. We'd better let this song play out."

Dreen carefully guided Mitra's fingers to her ears blocking the cacophony and led her to the couch. He helped her carefully sit down, then sat beside her, just holding her.

*****

Chapter 25

The economic reporter was not quite able to keep the human 'look at how the great have fallen' tone out of his voice.

"There are further developments regarding Dellmaice Power Systems and the mining disaster on Drezvir."

It had been deemed reasonable to upgrade the term from incident to disaster.

"In addition to the deaths at the time of the disaster, the colony is in a perilous state without full power. Its hydroponics crop and symbiofish are lost, and their severe winter with wind chills commonly below -50°C is settling in."

This was reported in the tone the announcer saved for his worst news.

"It has now been determined that there was no undetected flaw in the pressure tube that ruptured. Therefore the Farr Sector Judiciary has filed charges of criminal negligence leading to manslaughter against the Dellmaice Power Systems Corporation and individually against its President, Dr. Ari Dellmaice, and the Drezvir Project engineer, Dr. Mitra Kael."

"In light of these charges, approval for the multi unit project scheduled to start construction this quarter on Plenata has been withdrawn until safety questions related to this accident have been addressed.

"Trading in Dellmaice Power Systems stock has not been suspended, but all major brokers have downgraded its status ..."

Ghen Kulgalu didn't bother to listen. He was wondering how Ari had managed to get himself into this kind of a mess, everything all at once it seemed. As a major shareholder in Dellmaice Power Systems, it mattered to him. Ari was good, the best. He ran a tight ship -

"A number of other corporations are assisting in the investigations on Drezvir, although none are yet formally charged."

The announcer made it sound however like charges were imminent and Ghen refocussed. His investments were diversified, and another company he was into might be in trouble too.

"Although it is not a publicly traded company, the largest company involved is Tranus-based Nemizcan Computing. The Drezvir disaster has caused a management shakeup there. Founder and President, Dr. Dreen Pendi, has stepped down and has been replaced by Chett Linderson, formerly the Vice President of Field Operations for their hubs.

"Also involved are ContSaft, Tranus Dynamics, ..."

Ghen dutifully listened for other surprises but there weren't any. How did Nemizcan Computing get itself into an energy project? No, something nagged at his memory. When the hybrid reactor project had been reviewed at the shareholders' meeting, there had been passing mention that Nemizcan was going to do operator displays, and what an improvement this would be. That was right. At the time, since he was a big Nemizcan fan he'd liked the idea. And it probably had been a good idea. A good idea that had backfired in a big way if it had meant Dreen stepping down in favor of who? He'd have to re-listen to that part.

But what worried him now was Ari and Dreen. Ari worried him, because he had lot of money riding on Dellmaice Power Systems. Not that he couldn't always use losses, but he did prefer to know about them in advance, not hear about them on the news. He'd have to say a few words to Ari about that. Maybe threaten to diversify into that new company Farolavo Power that was approaching many of the Dellmaice Power Systems stockholders, although they hadn't contacted him. His reputation tended to do that. He always had to be the one to make the moves.

Ghen checked the time on Pendrae in Ari's city. No, it was the predawn hours of the morning. He'd better let Ari get a full night's sleep. He was going to get a rude shock when he woke up, and have a full day ahead of him.

Now, what about Dreen? His reasons for concern here were totally different. He liked the man. That was a luxury Ghen rarely allowed himself. Naturally prudent, he kept his circle of acquaintances small and well researched. Most acquaintances were related to business, or more recently to sports with Ranga getting serious about Octagla. Of these acquaintances there were relatively few he liked well enough to call friends.

As for strangers who tried to be friendly, he was blatantly suspicious. He made a point of being recognizable, and of using his name freely in any chance encounter. That had most people retreating as fast as socially possible. In his experience the rest were either on the make, investigative reporters, or Interplanetary Judiciary drug agents. He didn't need any of those three.

But once in a while he simply met someone who didn't want anything from him and didn't give a damn who he was. Joran was like that. They'd met at some post-Anton concert event years and years ago. He'd been standing around, watching the crowd, and all of a sudden Anton in full make up and that glittery jumpsuit had been in front of him looking furious. There hadn't been a polite social interaction.

Joran had just said, "Get the hell out of here! My band's clean and I'm keeping it that way."

He'd looked straight at Joran said, "Good. Only idiots use the stuff anyways."

That had stopped to Joran in his tracks. He'd stared then said, "You're serious, aren't you?"

Ghen had said, "Yes," since that was the truth. And instead of throwing him out, Joran had stayed talking, and they'd ended up friends. In fact, the only strain on that friendship had been when Joran got into drugs, but, touch wood, that was past.

He supposed he had made a point of meeting Dreen because of and in spite of Joran. He considered Joran his best friend, but he knew Joran didn't see it that way. Dreen was, had been, and would always be Joran's best friend. So he'd been curious. And he'd liked the man instantly. Beyond making it very clear up front he didn't think much of the business Ghen was in, he'd been very decent.

In fact, it had got so Ghen looked for him every time he entered a public place. They'd found all sorts of things to just relax and talk about. Soccer, the music business, finance, Gingezel. And Ranga just loved the computer system Ghen had consulted on with Dreen to buy for Ranga's birthday. Ranga said you could really do things with it, it wasn't just a user system. It was the first thing Ghen could remember Ranga admitting he liked since he'd become a teenager.

And now his new friend was caught up in this Drezvir accident. That bothered Ghen more by the minute as he thought about it. He knew quality when he hit it, and Nemizcan Computing was quality. He also recognized a sound man, and that was what Dreen was. Dreen would no more have messed up, have been involved in criminal negligence than he himself would be.

Ghen did most of his manufacturing on Tamara, legitimate pharmaceuticals and otherwise, and shipped from there. But it didn't matter what planet his factories were on. His standards were the same: exemplary Q.A. and unblemished worker safety. Still, he'd had accidents at his factories. Arranged accidents it turned out, once you dug far enough, damn that Zloenni! The very thought of that woman knotted Ghen's stomach, and he did the breathing exercise Joran had taught him until the knot started to dissolve.

Was Dreen was the kind of man who would think to look for an enemy, or recognize the signs if he saw them? Ari certainly would, but by the sound of it, Ari was firefighting on way too many fronts right now. And the Drezvir situation could be complicated. If it was an accident that wasn't an accident, who was the target? There were way too many players. The Mining Guild, Dellmaice Power Systems, the subcontractors. For that matter even one of the killed miners could have been the target. Ghen sat back, resting his head on the headrest and staring at the ceiling.

Jolin was not particularly busy right now. Their last set of shipments had got off planet exceptionally well. The usual token amount of illegals had been left findable to let the Customs staff save some face, but not a gram beyond that was found and nothing could be traced to him. And that was a credit to Jolin and the Soimvells, since there had been tightened security this time.

He'd heard about the security searches from more than one irate member of the Chamber of Commerce at their supper last night. Tina from ContSaft wasn't there to complain personally, but apparently she'd been trying to get sealed equipment off planet and not fared well. He'd hear about that whenever she got back, he thought with a smile. He got a kick out of Tina.

So, with that success behind her, Jolin was taking a well-earned rest. Perhaps he should put her on this one, asking the usual questions: who makes money on this accident? She would like the assignment. It would give her a chance to use all the tricks she learned doing that fancy MBA of hers.

Jolin was one of Ghen's two executive assistants, the one who did not help him deal with his legitimate pharmaceutical concerns. She was a fresh-faced, wholesome looking blonde who had celebrated her thirtieth birthday earlier that year. And she was one of the few people who, if they talked, would ensure he had a singularly undesirable change of address for the rest of his life. Quite soon she would know as much about the drug trade as he did. If she didn't know more already, he added realistically.

Lately Jolin had been spending a lot of time talking to his father, who adored her. The Old Man assumed Ghen was having an affair with Jolin, which wasn't true, but Ghen couldn't be bothered to correct him. To his surprise, he truly liked his second wife Vailliah. She was a relaxing, undemanding sort of woman. Besides, he knew Jolin wasn't at all interested in him. Ghen suspected his father was half in love with Jolin himself, and was filling her head with romantic stories of the good old days. The days before a mistake in judgment had forced an early retirement, only eight years of which were in prison. The Old Man had been lucky.

That same mistake had forced a young and very unwilling Ghen, who was taking the university degree that would get him out of the drug trade, into total management of the family business. Ghen reflected that he and his father had never got along after that. On Ghen's side, it had cost him a wife he loved and landed him with raising Ranga alone. On the Old Man's side, by the time he was out of prison Ghen was too far down the road to legitimizing the majority of the business to turn back, and his father had been disgusted with what he saw as a ridiculous complication of an already complicated life. But the legitimate pharmaceuticals had given Ghen the sense of respectability he needed to carry on the rest of the business. The rest that Jolin helped with. Yes, he'd put her on Drezvir. She'd like that.

But first, he'd give Dreen a quick call, and see if his corporate lawyers needed any help coming to grips with the reverse jurisprudence in the Farr sector, or if his own lawyers could help. He had a couple who were specialists in that now. Not that he shipped a microgram of illegals there. He wasn't that stupid, neither was Zloenni as far as he knew. But his legitimate pharmaceutical companies were amongst the few in the galaxy with high enough standards to consider dealing with the Farr sector. He simply instituted additional quality checks on all those shipments and had Farr sector representatives supervising and signing those audits. It was expensive, but not to him, and people were people. The Farrese had a right to decent medical care. But the sector did have to be dealt with carefully, very carefully. They were one paranoid crowd, even when you weren't doing anything wrong.

Ghen considered, then decided to simply call the Nemizcan reception. Asking Joran for Dreen's personal number could freak Joran, not a good move this close to the concert. It could also strain their relationship since Joran didn't know he'd introduced himself to Dreen. It would be evening at Nemizcan on Tranus but he'd bet Dreen was still at work. If not, someone would know how to find him.

A pleasant looking oriental woman answered his call.

"Good evening, Nemizcan Computing. How can I help you?" They had instituted call screening at reception for all but priority calls to private numbers ever since all the problems. Otherwise no one would get anything done but answer questions.

"Good evening. I'm Ghen Kulgalu and I'd like to talk to Dr. Dreen Pendi on a personal matter. Is that possible?"

He had to give the woman credit. She didn't so much as blink.

"I'm sorry Mr. Kulgalu. Dr. Pendi is off planet."

"May I ask where, and how to reach him?"

"He's on Drezvir, but I am not authorized to give his number out there."

Galaxy, she shouldn't have said that! She should have left it at off planet, but a call from Ghen Kulgalu on a personal matter yet threw her.

"May I connect you to someone who is available?" And she thought, this one had better go right to the top. "Mr. Chett Linderson, President of Nemizcan is still in his office. So is Ms. Lindy Mikel, Vice President of R&D if you would prefer her?"

Ghen would not prefer either. In fact he would have to think it over before he talked to strangers. Maybe Joran was the best route, but the concert was coming. He would have to think.

"No, thank you." He disconnected.

Maybe he shouldn't call Dreen at all if he was stupid enough to be on Drezvir. Calls were bound to be monitored and one from him would look bad. Damn. He really had to get Jolin to work. But right now he had some financial planning to rethink.

***

"Chett." The receptionist was apologetic. "I know you're in a conference call, but I thought I should interrupt."

"Yes?" He tried for the woman's name and couldn't remember it. "Just a minute and I'll ask both Bojo and Hoffner to hold."

He returned to the receptionist.

"What's up?"

"I hate to be an alarmist, but Ghen Kulgalu just tried to get hold of Dreen, and when I said he'd have to talk to you or Lindy he disconnected."

"You're sure that's who it was?" Chett asked, although he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to look like or be mistaken for that man.

"Yes. He gave his name, and the identifier for the call was listed as a G. Kulgalu. He looked just like on the news too," she added.

Terrific. Chett looked at the woman. She was trying not to look upset, but she wasn't winning. That was just the kind of rumor he didn't need working its way through the company, and it could easily.

He said, "Well, him we don't need!" Why not be blunt? "But I can think of two good reasons for him to call Dreen tonight. The first would be that Joran is messed up again. With the concert coming that would be a crisis, and one that Dreen would inherit. I've been talking to Bojo and he hasn't said a thing. Still he might think it's none of my business. So I'll check."

The receptionist nodded, relaxing slightly. She'd forgotten about Joran and the concert in her alarm.

Chett continued, "The other is the Drezvir mess."

"Drezvir?" she echoed blankly. What would that have to do with Ghen Kulgalu?

"I found out he's a huge investor in Dellmaice Power Systems. He owns almost as many shares as some of the pension funds. He could well have just heard exactly the same news report we did. If he did, he's probably calling every last one of the companies listed as 'involved in investigations' to get their side of the story, not just Ari Dellmaice's. If I had that kind of money on the line, I would." Chett saw her frown disappear.

"So I'll check that out too, call Kulgalu back if I have to, so don't worry. And then I'll tell you which it was, so you're not wondering, all right?"

Chett did not believe in mushroom management any more than Dreen did. The woman deserved to know, or she'd imagine worse than reality. Assuming there was a worse than reality. What the hell could Kulgalu want?

"But," he added, "let's not start everyone speculating. Keep this call between you and me."

"Of course." The receptionist was slightly offended.

Chett saw that, and at last, to his relief her name surfaced. "Sorry to insult you Lynne, now, I'd better get back to my conference."

***

"Well?" Hoffner asked. "That took a while."

"Damping the rumor mill," Chett said. "Ghen Kulgalu just called looking for Dreen and he refused to talk to me."

Chett looked at Bojo. "By any chance has Joran messed up again?"

"Not unless it's in the last hour," Bojo said realistically. "But I'd know before Ghen. Ghen is the last one Joran would tell. He always wants to lock Joran away in a clinic and lose the key until he behaves, and Joran is afraid some day he'll act on that threat."

Chett raised his eyebrows at that, but Hoffner was nodding his gray head.

"So," Chett sighed. "It's probably Drezvir. But why would he refuse to talk to me?"

"He's paranoid about strangers," Hoffner said in that mild manner of his. Then he added apologetically, "I've done a few - well, quite a few - pharmaceutical takeovers for him. Companies do tend to," he coughed apologetically, "resent his interest."

Oh. Chett added that to his mental files. "Well, we were going to have to deal with him anyways. Do you think his wanting to talk to Dreen can wait until we launch the raid? I don't want to be accused of providing insider information, so a call to him is one thing that's not advisable until we start."

"Wait," Hoffner said firmly.

*****

Chapter 26

Erlin Dellmaice hitched up his pajama bottoms and shifted to sit cross legged, intently watching the morning news. His dark brown hair was carefully combed and his fair-skinned face washed. He always watched the news first thing in the morning. Current affairs was his second class in the morning, and he wanted to have his homework done. He was expected to be able to tell about one galactic, one planetary, and one local story. He didn't mind. It was interesting, and he liked the teacher this term. She was young and pretty, and she smiled a lot. Also, he had taken to heart his father's cautionary story about the nasty things that could happen if you skipped your homework.

"Mornin' Erlin." Sander wandered in yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his fists. His softer colored brown hair was a mess. "Any shooting?" he asked hopefully.

"Not today." Erlin didn't take his eyes off the news to look at his little brother.

"Too bad." Sander lost interest.

He'd better go get some clothes on before the new nanny showed up. She was terrible. She treated him like a baby, and tried to tell him what to wear. She even tried to help dress him once when he got stuck in a sweater. That disgusting thought hurried him out of Erlin's room.

Two stories later Erlin heard the same report on Dellmaice Power Systems that Ghen Kulgalu had a few hours earlier. He sat very still, listening. Then he replayed it twice.

***

"Dad, what's criminal negligence?"

Ari was halfway through shaving. He looked at his son's reflection in the mirror.

"Those are big words," he said approvingly. Erlin's working vocabulary was expanding noticeably. "Are you doing your homework?"

Erlin nodded.

Ari considered how to put the concept of criminal negligence into child's terms as he finished shaving the first side of his jaw line.

"Well Erlin, it's when a person does a really lousy job, shoddy workmanship, that sort of thing, and then someone gets seriously hurt by it. Negligence means doing a bad job. And you know what criminal means."

Ari went back to shaving his chin.

"Dad ..." Erlin's voice was small and his dark eyes were huge. "Are you going to get arrested?"

"What did you say?" Ari's voice was sharp as he turned to face his son.

"Are you," Erlin swallowed, "going to get arrested?"

He couldn't believe his dad had anything to do with criminal negligence. He worked so hard, all the time.

"Why do you ask that?"

"On the news." Erlin was determined to sort this out. "They said you've been charged with criminal negligence."

"Hell!"

Ari leaned back against the sink. His family wasn't supposed to find out like this. He wasn't supposed to find out like this! Why the hell hadn't Barloth called him? Woken him up if necessary. Idiot lawyer!

"Are you?" Erlin's face was pale.

"Am I what?" Ari was lost in his own line of thought.

"Negligent."

"No Erlin," Ari said firmly. "I am not negligent. You know we make all kinds of power systems, all over the galaxy. We are careful on all of them, and we were careful on Drezvir."

He had been stretched thin at the end there, putting in sixteen or eighteen hour days, but not negligent. Not negligent, Ari told himself. After all, he had built every possible check and balance into the structure of Dellmaice Power Systems, hadn't he? And it wasn't like he was the actual designer, was he?

Erlin relaxed. "Then it will be fine."

Someone just had it wrong. One thing his teacher said was that you couldn't believe something just because it was on the news.

Ari watched the little face, hating himself, but there was no sense lying to the kid. He'd just get hurt worse later if things went wrong.

"No, Erlin," he said. "I can't guarantee things will be fine. I know I wasn't negligent. And Tranngol Cebron \- do you remember Tranngol - a real big guy with the black beard?"

Erlin nodded.

"Tranngol is on Drezvir trying to figure out what went wrong and why. But there are lots of parts in a reactor. And we will have to convince a judge who doesn't know about reactors that it was just an accident. They might not believe us."

"And then you'd go to jail?" Erlin's voice was small. "That isn't fair."

"No, it isn't," Ari agreed. "But it could happen all the same."

Galaxy, was it getting late enough Naura might have time to catch the news? She couldn't find out that way, instead of from him. They had talked briefly about Drezvir, but he had minimized the legal situation hoping that Cebron could find the problem.

"Look, Erlin. Give me a minute to finish shaving and I'll come watch that newscast and explain it to you."

Ari turned back to the sink and his shaking hand knocked the bottle of shaving lotion into it.

"Damn!"

He picked up the offending bottle and threw it at the wall. The high impact plastic didn't shatter, but the rest of the contents sprayed across the wall.

Ari glared at his son in the mirror. "Look, I can't go to work half shaved and you staring at me isn't helping. Clear out!"

Sander would have shrugged and said 'sure' then forgotten the incident, but Erlin stood his ground. Something was worse than he had thought. His sixth sense on such things had been fine tuned when his parents weren't getting along. He had never known why, why it had been wrong, and why it was now right. But it had been wrong. And now he knew with a certainty he was only getting a part story. But he couldn't go through that again, listening at doors for snatches of conversations and trying to piece them together and laying awake worrying.

The Dellmaice streak surfaced. Erlin dug his bare toes into the thick carpet and said, "Ari, what aren't you telling me? You're lying about something."

He had never in his life called his father Ari, but then he had never called him a liar before either.

"Get out!"

It was too much for Erlin's frail courage. He turned and headed for the door, suppressing a sob.

"Erlin!" Ari turned from the sink. "I'm sorry \- I -"

Erlin was picking up speed, but Ari caught up to him in three strides, putting a hand on his son's shaking shoulder.

"I'm sorry Erlin."

The kid was rigid, head averted, and Ari could guess why. He was damned close to crying himself.

"Come here," he said roughly, heading towards the bench, a reluctant Erlin in tow.

This was not supposed to be happening, couldn't be happening. Cebron was supposed to have found some fault by now. Barloth and all those other lawyers were supposed to have protected him. This was not happening.

"Erlin, I'm sorry." Ari stroked the dark brown hair that was an exact match to his off Erlin's forehead, pretending he didn't see the streaks of tears. "I'm not trying to lie to you Erlin. I'm protecting you. This lawsuit is quite enough for a boy your age to have to cope with."

Erlin refused to meet his eyes. He just stood there, rigid, shaking, halfheartedly trying to pull away.

"Don't you see Erlin, I'm taking care of you."

"No." Erlin found his voice. He didn't see. "You're scaring me."

"I'm scared too." Ari kept stroking his son's hair.

"Of prison?"

Erlin wanted to believe that was all, but he wasn't convinced. He looked up, all the confusion and fear and disbelief showing.

I'm going to have to learn to be a better liar and fast, Ari thought, but not now. He simply couldn't lie now. Not with that look on Erlin's face.

"No Erlin. I'm scared of something that is only a very very remote possibility. It shouldn't happen. I tell myself it won't happen. But people died in that accident Erlin. And in that sector criminal negligence can have the death penalty. It's up to the judge. And oh, Erlin," Ari pulled his son close, hiding his face in the boy's hair, "I'm so very very scared." He stroked his sons back. "And I can't be Erlin. When I walk out of that door behind you, I have to be strong, but I am so very scared."

*****

Chapter 27

Ghen Kulgalu was heavily into his financial planning, leaning towards his monitor, chewing on his lip, his mane of hair tumbling into his face and intermittently being pushed back. His secretary's apologetic voice startled him. She should not have been interrupting. The few calls that always got priority she never even knew about, much less who they were from. She should be dealing with the rest for the next two hours.

"Ghen, I'm very sorry to interrupt, but I have Bojo Camrail on hold, and he's assured me you will be very upset with me if I screen you from him for a couple hours. He won't say what it is."

Shit. Joran was back on drugs somehow and the concert was only a week away. He wasn't sure what he could do besides personally offer to wring Joran's neck, which wouldn't solve a thing. Still, he'd better see how bad it was, and what he and Bojo could work out.

"He's right. Put him through." Ghen pushed his hair back and waited. "Bojo. I take it that Joran's fucked up again."

"No. So far we're all right on that score."

Ghen gave him a cold look. "All right. So what's was worth interrupting me for?" It wasn't the sort of stunt Bojo usually pulled.

"I'm about to do you a major favor, and the timing is crucial."

In their strategy session for the raid on Dellmaice Power Systems the one joker in the deck was Ghen Kulgalu. He was the third-largest shareholder and could rapidly become the largest depending on how things broke. They hadn't been able to predict how he'd react, and he held a lot of resources he could throw behind Ari. After a lot of debate, Bojo had been the one volunteered to try to neutralize him. He would keep it fast and simple. He expected Ghen had even less patience with interruptions than Joran did.

"I've timed this call so neither of us will risk problems about prior knowledge with the Trading Commission. By now, on my behalf, Hoffner has launched a takeover of Dellmaice Power Systems, and you are a major shareholder."

Just to hold Ghen's attention, and to prove that they had done their homework, he listed the degree of investment including a couple companies he'd had no idea were Ghen's. Chett's research was very good.

Bojo had Ghen's full attention, both because of those couple companies and because of the raid itself. Ghen wasn't particularly surprised by a raid. His work so far showed him Ari was vulnerable. But it seemed strange coming from Bojo. So far he'd stuck to Ennup 10.

"All right, you've told me. Are you calling the favor in later or do you want something now?"

"I want you to hear something I have to say, Ghen." Bojo waited for the nod. "This one is personal, for Joran. It's not just business on my part."

Bojo was pretty sure Ghen knew about his games on Ennup 10. Ghen liked to know things like that.

"How so?"

It had been agreed there would be no mention of Mitra. If Ghen jumped the other way it could get back to Ari.

"He set Dreen Pendi up by deliberately stalling for twelve days before talking to him about Drezvir and those days could be crucial. I'm not kidding Ghen. Ari Dellmaice will never run Dellmaice Power Systems again."

Ghen took his time thinking about that. He had no scruples about arranging for someone to take a fall. He had no idea if there was previous bad blood between Dreen and Ari, but he knew instantly where he stood. Joran and Dreen were his friends. Ari was only a business colleague. And you backed those rare friends that you had.

"All right, Bojo. I hear you. What do you want me to do?"

"I don't ask for favors from you, Ghen. It's too expensive when you call them in."

"All right." There was an amused smile on Ghen's lips that slowly spread to his hooded eyes. "Let's keep this strictly hypothetical. In a perfect scenario, what would I do?"

"Absolutely nothing. If Ari pushes, tell him you've got a conflict of interest and that you're sitting it out. Just don't throw your resources behind him. If you decide to sell - for profit or loss depending on what you need - come to us. That's it."

"Can you handle this on your own, Bojo?" Ghen was truly concerned. "It's only a week from the concert. You're spreading yourself thin."

"I'm not solo. Chett Linderson is doing most of the work until the concert is over, and both of us are used to teaming with Hoffner."

That name again. He'd really have to find more information on Linderson. But Hoffner was the best. Ghen used him himself. He relaxed.

"And if I need to talk this over with Joran?"

"Try, and you get me. I've routed all of your access to me until the concert is over, and Joran doesn't know the password to change that."

That got him a broody sullen stare that would have had quite a few men investigating just what exactly was involved in a rapid change of identity.

Bojo said mildly, "Don't bother to be offended. I know you'll be as upset as me if he gets back on drugs. But there is such a thing as association of ideas and I'm not risking it."

They stared at each other for a bit, then Ghen shrugged.

"Fair enough." You never knew how Joran would jump.

Bojo grinned. "And no cheating calling on another number?"

There were bound to be a few he had no idea were Ghen's in Joran's address book.

"You're pushing it Camrail." Ghen laughed, good humor restored. "How's the concert shaping?"

He glanced at the corner of the screen where his secretary was interrupting again. It would be from Ari Dellmaice. So the raid was on.

Bojo saw the momentary flicker of his eyes. So, it had started.

"Well, so far." They were making all their mistakes in practice. He got worried when the practices were too smooth. "Before you take Ari's call, I understand you wanted to talk to Dreen. Can I help?" Bojo asked. "Or would you rather talk to Chett? He's fine, Ghen."

Bojo didn't miss much, with that crack about Ari's call. Ghen took a moment to consider the question, and decided Bojo would be best to talk to.

"What I want to know is if his legal counsel needs help with the reverse jurisprudence in the Drezvir sector. I have a couple specialists on it."

That was totally unexpected.

Bojo said sincerely, "That's good of you, Ghen." He did not feel authorized to discuss the details of the legal arrangements. "I'll make sure the message gets to the right place. Now, I'll let you take Ari's call."

Ghen nodded and broke the connection.

***

Ari Dellmaice knew he was not coping. He should be dealing with the cancellation of the Plenata licensing, but Drezvir was the only thing on his mind. He simply could not get Naura's tear stained face out of his mind. He had told her the lawyers would work it out, but how could they? Along with the charges had come a document for him to sign revoking all rights to fight extradition to the Farr sector.

Decision seemed to be split among his lawyers, half saying a refusal to sign could be taken as an admission of guilt, half saying fighting extradition and forcing trial to Pendrae was their best chance. Barloth had used the term 'only chance'. Hell, it couldn't be that bad. Could it? Barloth and the handful of other lawyers had spent every moment since he'd walked into his office telling him things that as his legal counsel they felt he should know, and that as one of the individuals now charged in the Drezvir lawsuit he did not want to hear. If they didn't lay off the bad news and start on something positive, he'd throw the lot of them out.

The discreet chime indicated his secretary was interrupting them, something she was on no account to do. He frowned.

His secretary was perfectly aware Ari was not to be disrupted from this legal session, but since that little fiasco with Dreen Pendi when her misjudgment had almost cost the company Nemizcan Computing support, she now thought twice about that rule. Now she faced a frowning Ari.

"Sorry Ari, but it's a Mr. Hoffner of Hoffner Associates and he -"

She was saved the problem of explaining by Ari paling visibly, saying 'damn' under his breath, then cutting her off and taking the call. Apparently then Ari knew who Hoffner Associates were.

He did. He even knew Hoffner in a distant social manner. He was a pleasant, charming elderly man, as long as you were only both planning the same charity event. He had always assumed that was the only way he would ever know him.

"Ari."

Hoffner had the same polite smile he used when on charity boards. Ari didn't know if that was good or bad.

"How good of you to make time for me."

"Hoffner." Ari automatically returned the smile. "What can I do for you?"

He was pretty sure his secretary would not interrupt for a charity event. Not the way today was going.

"We are interested in acquiring Dellmaice Power Systems, Ari, and I would like to know if personally the idea appeals to you. I must be candid though, and say a change of management would be planned. But then," he smiled benignly, "in your current circumstances that may appeal."

Hoffner always believed in making a fair offer first. Every once in a while, someone surprised you by saying yes. That saved everyone a lot of trouble and expense, although it made the game very boring and he was the ultimate gamesman.

"Not interested."

"Fair enough. After all, you built Dellmaice Power Systems. Well then," Hoffner steepled his hands, "there is the Board of Directors and shareholders. They may well be more receptive. As a responsible CEO, are you willing to make the case for us to them, independent of your own inclination?"

"No, and you won't get any support there either," Ari growled.

"Maybe, maybe." Hoffner shrugged. "Those things are always hard to predict. Well, thank you for your time Ari." Hoffner seemed to be consulting notes.

Ari let himself relax. Hoffner was just smelling around then.

"No problem."

"And your position is firm?"

"Completely."

"Well then, I'll have to tell Mr. Linderson this will be a hostile takeover. Goodbye."

***

Whew!

Bojo just sat for a few minutes, then called Chett and Hoffner. Chett was looking visibly nervous. Hoffner - Bojo had never heard anyone use a first name - looked like he always did, like a holodrama producer's idea of a benevolent grandfather.

"I assume Ari rejected the offer?" Bojo was sure of the answer, but he had to ask.

"Yes, totally. I know Ari slightly. I rather think this is not his best day." Hoffner asked the question that really mattered. "How did you fare with Kulgalu?"

"It should be fine. He's talking to Ari now and telling him he's sitting this one out because of conflict of interest."

There was visible relief on Chett's face. As Chett started to go on to the next thing, Hoffner caught his eye and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"So why are you unhappy, Bojo?"

"I almost blew it. Either I oversold, or he's softer than I thought on Joran, but Ghen nearly offered to come in with us. He backed off when I said I wasn't solo, but it scared me." Bojo said devoutly, "As a matter of health I do not do business with Ghen Kulgalu unless it's a last resort."

Hoffner was looking as close as he ever did to concerned. He also had a healthy respect for Ghen. He did takeovers for him, but only after having taken time to thoroughly check the legitimacy of every aspect. There was no room for games on Ghen's part on this one.

"So do you think he'll behave?"

"That's a stupid question. He'll do what he always has. Exactly what he wants to." Bojo shrugged. "With luck something will come along and distract him. As it is, he's a little too interested for my comfort."

Suddenly he grinned, "But Chett, you aren't going to have it that easy are you?"

That got him a blank look that had all of Bojo's nerves back. Surely Chett wasn't that stupid? He'd better spell it out.

"The timing Chett. The way that our pace is being forced, odds are you're going to have two companies on your hands at once, and Ghen Kulgalu will be a serious problem at Dellmaice Power Systems if he doesn't decide to sell out."

To his relief Chett's face cleared.

Chett leaned back, stretched his legs, and half closed his eyes, telling Hoffner who knew him better that this was a real problem.

"I know, Bojo. I'd planned to either see Dreen clear and on his way back first, or to have had time to do a little headhunting. As it is -" He shrugged, then smiled, opening his eyes. "How busy are you after the concert?"

It was half teasing, half serious. He wished he knew Bojo better.

"I'll do what I can, but I don't think that will be much."

Chett didn't argue. He didn't know the music industry.

"I take it the crunch doesn't end when the lights go off on-stage?"

"Yes and no. Unless Joran messes up again, we pretty much have the machinery in place for the usual aftermath."

Bojo hesitated, then told himself to not be stupid. He had to start talking about it sometime.

"It's more a personal thing. I'm starting my own singing career at the concert. It's time, and Joran wants to cut way back on his own touring throughout the coming year. He says his head is full of songs he has to write. So I'll be soloing with the band most of the year. And that is new - lots of PR and such at the front end." He shrugged. "Sorry about the timing."

"Don't be." Chett found he was pleased for Bojo. "You'll be great." As Bojo looked confused, he added, "Joran let me eavesdrop on you once when I called during practice."

"You will indeed." Hoffner really did look like the delighted grandfather this time. "Well done lad," he added like Bojo had already succeeded, but they both knew he meant for getting the nerve to try.

Bojo was starting to look visibly uncomfortable at the praise, so Chett bailed him out. "Back to current affairs. I'll work on the two company problem, but to be honest I haven't looked at it from the point of view of Kulgalu calling any shots. I don't know him."

And I don't want to, so pray he sells Chett told himself.

"So tell me what to expect." He sat up and added firmly, "I'll tell you right now I won't play financial games and launder anything."

"He's not likely to ask you to, is he?" Hoffner asked mildly. "You're a total stranger and could talk to the authorities."

*****

Chapter 28

There were times when it was not prudent to be around Ari Dellmaice. The lawyers exchanged looks and exited en masse, but Ari hardly noticed their going. He was too busy thinking, including two bitter thoughts that he realized were a waste of time. The first was that he was getting too much practice with damage control. The second was that Chett Linderson was a first-class pain.

There was no sense calling either of his two largest investors. One was a financial institution, the other a pension fund. That put Ghen Kulgalu at the top of the list. He placed the call, and waited.

While he waited, he reflected on his relationship with Kulgalu. Never, not even in the most extreme scenarios he had imagined in his business planning had he allowed for being involved with the likes of Kulgalu. But one shareholders meeting, oh it must have been seven years ago now, there was Kulgalu controlling a significant number of shares in his own name, more through holding companies, and implying quietly in a coffee break, controlling even more indirectly. Ari's first reaction had been that he would research every investor until he found that last group. His second reaction was that he really and truly did not want to know.

He had waited, wondering what happened next in this kind of situation. The answer had been nothing. Absolutely nothing. Kulgalu had attended every shareholders meeting except a recent one that was in conflict with an Octagla game of his son's. Ari had filed that fact away as useful for scheduling if he ever needed to avoid Kulgalu. At that meeting he had been represented by a competent young woman called Jolin who had introduced herself as Ghen's executive assistant and who had the legally correct proxy forms. But at every meeting Ghen attended he acted exactly like every other major shareholder. His questions were to the point and businesslike, and when eventually out of sheer curiosity Ari had tried talking to him, he had found him a very shrewd businessman.

He had only interfered twice in the running of Dellmaice Power Systems, and Ari was grateful both times. Once, Ghen had bluntly said that the company an off-world partner intended to use to audit their QA was not up to Dellmaice Power Systems standards. Ari had waited for the 'and of course you'll use -', the thin end of the wedge. But that didn't happen. So Ari said he would investigate alternatives. He had, and forwarded a list of three to Kulgalu. The reply had been that they were all fine and to suit himself.

The second time was related to the need for a change on the Board of Directors when an older gentleman retired. Ari had been seriously worried about the change. He had half expected Kulgalu to lobby for the position himself, or force a colleague on him, and he hadn't known what to do if that happened. But again, it hadn't. What happened was that once there was a shortlist of four, he had received an anonymous sealed dossier on one of the candidates. It had spelled out rather shocking, and verifiable details about that candidate's private life. Nothing had been said, but it could only have come from Kulgalu.

Now Ari wondered if the man would voluntarily help him again, or if he would have to ask for help. He also wondered how bad things would have to get, or for that matter if there was a bad enough state possible that he would ask a drug lord for help. He wasn't going to lie to himself and call Kulaglu a pharmaceuticals magnate, although he was legitimately that too. But Ari found himself wanting Kulgalu to know the situation.

The wait dragged on, then Kulgalu was there.

"Ari has Hoffner been talking to you? That's his style."

Ghen was used to the routine by now. The odd, well actually all, legitimate pharmaceutical companies had not appreciated his acquiring them and Hoffner's services had been required.

How the hell did Ghen know?

"Yes. I've just finished talking to him. I -"

"Ari, before you continue, you know I respect you and what you're doing at Dellmaice Power Systems. But you had better know that I'm in a conflict of interest situation on this one."

At the suspicious look on Ari's face Ghen added, "It's just that Anton is my best friend. I don't want to cross him, so I've agreed to sit this one out."

What the hell did Anton and AntonCorp have to do with this? Ari would find out but fast, but first he'd find out what 'sit this one out' meant in detail.

Ari found out. It did not really mean sit this one out. It meant that Kulgalu would do absolutely nothing to help him, but he would, anytime he felt like it, sell his massive block of shares to AntonCorp, which translated into Hoffner, which translated into Chett Linderson. Damn!

***

Chett nodded. "Okay. Now you've got me worried. What is Kulgalu likely to be trouble about - stick to a list of one item for now."

Hoffner looked at Bojo, who didn't hesitate.

"QA," he said. "Ghen is off scale fanatical about it."

"Oh."

That was way off anything Chett had imagined.

"So am I, so we should get along. I started in QA"

Bojo gave him a 'maybe' look.

"I mean fanatical, Chett. Besides all of the in-house testing he does both for his pharmaceutical labs and on the illegals, he's always running spot checks all over the galaxy. He sends someone random in to get a prescription filled or buy on the street, and splits the purchase and runs it through both his own labs and independent labs. Galaxy help his in-house lab if the results don't match."

Chett wasn't buying that last part.

"Bojo, an independent lab is not going to test street drugs and not report the source."

"Yes they will. He just uses labs on planets where they're legal for medical purposes - like Gingezel where visitors can bring in their own drugs for personal use." Bojo was serious. "And believe me, I would not want to be a manufacturer who slips up, or a dealer who tries for a little profit on the side cutting product."

"Bojo, if you know so many details of Ghen's business, why aren't you talking to authorities?"

"Me?" Bojo was wide-eyed innocence. "I don't know a thing, just like if I were you pretty fast I wouldn't know about those two companies you dug up. Ghen did not like that."

Chett was surprised and disappointed. He didn't think Bojo would intimidate so easily.

But Bojo was following his own line of thought. "Speaking of that obsession, is there any chance Dellmaice tried to put a fast one by the Mining Guild? If he did, and Ghen gets wind of it, our little takeover will be the least of Ari's problems."

Chett said dryly, "The Judiciary there has a comparably dirty mind, and they've already pressed charges. Remember? We're already the least of Ari's problems."

Bojo thought about this.

"All things being equal, I'd take the Judiciary over Ghen any day. There you'd sweat a lot with lawyers, but you'd have a fighting chance. Ghen totally skips the hearing stage. You'd be advised to spend that same time with estate planners."

And then again, Chett decided, maybe Bojo's attitude wasn't unrealistic after all. He might ... he might just forget about those two companies as Bojo advised. He did have to set Bojo straight on one thing though.

"If my experience means anything on the Drezvir project, Bojo, they weren't taking any shortcuts at Dellmaice Power Systems. Frankly, I don't think Mitra would know how to do anything but the best."

"The unit blew up," Bojo said realistically.

"But not that way. Either there was an honest mistake like the kind Dreen and I are praying we didn't make, or a subcontractor got her. You know - let something slip through QA, or even falsified records. It happens."

Chett thought about the STD 1027s he'd told Martine were trash and to send back to Tranus Dynamics, and of his friend Milton Trave there. He'd finally had time to call yesterday and been told Milton had volunteered, or in Chett's opinion more likely been volunteered, to go sort out their part in the Drezvir mess, and that Milton had expected to see Chett there. Chett sincerely hoped Tranus Dynamics hadn't become that sloppy on other components. He didn't like to think of his friend in that kind of trouble this late in life.

Hoffner brought him back to the present. "Our next move then -"

"Just a minute." Chett glanced his screen. "Ari's calling. I'll take it."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Ari didn't bother with civilities. He'd bent himself out of shape to cooperate with that man.

"You said if I cooperated you wouldn't raid!"

"No," Chett replied cheerfully. "Replay the recordings I'm sure you made. I said I wanted to be sure you cooperated, and it would be a pity if I had to launch a raid. The shape you got Dellmaice Power Systems into I had no choice. Now let's see if you fight better than you run a business."

Chett broke the connection.

*****

Chapter 29

Niki was just settling into his desk for his morning's work when a call came from Collan Rydler.

"Niki, how goes it? I just heard the news Mitra was charged." Collan's concern showed on this plump middle aged cherub face. "How is your sister holding up."

"It's not good."Niki replied honestly to his old friend and mentor. How could Collan always look so fresh? Niki was sure he looked as exhausted as he felt. "We couldn't get her the lawyer we wanted. Now we're all reassessing options." What options, Niki thought dejectedly. "I haven't had a call from her yet. I'm dreading telling her."

"Then I'm not bringing you the kind of news you need right now, but you'd better hear it anyways." Collan had been giving Niki what support he could ever since Mitra's reactor blew up.

"I'm listening." Niki was tired, too tired. He rubbed a hand over his handsome face with its resemblance to Mitra's if you knew what you were looking for, then moved his hand on to his dark brown hair. He had heard about Mitra on the 11:00 PM news and his mind had spent the night going in circles.

"That energy company I mentioned, Farolavo Power." Collan came to a full stop.

"Yes?"

"I don't know how they did it so fast - someone wasn't sleeping at all these last few days - but they've come up with a very forceful campaign capitalizing on the Drezvir accident. How they will have the reliability Dellmaice Power Systems doesn't, and so on. It's going to weaken the Dellmaice Power Systems position significantly."

"And Dellmaice Power Systems has to fight the campaign. And that takes resources and energy and focus away from Drezvir." Niki rubbed his hand over his face. "How effective will it be?"

"To me their arguments sound good, but I'd like you to read it yourself - and the stuff I sent Sanja." He looked at Niki directly. "It isn't exactly the time to be squeamish about the energy sector. And while you're at it, do a full run through of Dellmaice Power's financial situation."

"Is that a warning of some kind, Collan?"

"I'm not sure. It depends on whether or not anyone else is looking at their situation the way I was. If this new campaign drives their share value down the way I think it will, that combined with Ari's being charged leaves them wide open for a take over."

"Terrific. Thanks."

***

"Niki."

It was Collan again. Niki greeted him with a raising of his eyebrows.

"Sorry to interrupt again so soon, but remember I told you that from my perspective Dellmaice Power Systems was vulnerable?"

Niki nodded, leaning back in his chair. He didn't need Collan to tell him what was coming next, he could guess. But he let Collan carry on.

"Hoffner and Associates have just launched a raid on Dellmaice Power Systems. I realize it's early going, but I think this one is aggressive."

"Yeah." Niki ran a tired hand over his face.

Collan looked at him with concern. This was not Niki.

"Niki, this isn't good news, but is it that bad?"

"It wouldn't be if we could get the legal support Mitra needs lined up. But like I told you, we can't. And I know I should be pushing Roween's lawyer harder, seeing him today. But I simply won't have a chance - it's crazy over here. And I really don't like the idea of a raid right now. That will severely dilute the legal efforts Dellmaice Power Systems puts into Drezvir."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Collan said. "Don't forget, Dellmaice is facing the same charges as Mitra is."

Niki did not deem it appropriate to mention Mitra's fears that if things got rough Dellmaice would make her the scapegoat. An attack from two directions just might be the push that got him thinking that way. He shrugged noncommittally.

"So, have you had a chance to look at that new energy company yet?"

"That's going to have to wait until after hours. Apparently," he gave a wry smile, "every last one of my clients heard the same holo-news about Mitra."

Collan's usually cherubic face turned into a gargoyle. "Guilt by association?" he asked resignedly.

Niki nodded. "I'll just hope that those that leave me are happy to just have a handoff within the firm."

"And why," Collan asked philosophically, "would only about half of those same people have bothered to call if they thought you were running a scam that benefited them?" That at least got him Niki's old smile.

"We've got one already that claims to have found discrepancies going over their old records. So that means audits. Guess who's trying to scam who?" Niki asked, all innocence.

"Well, I'll let you get back to firefighting," Collan said. "But do try to at least take a quick look at that material."

*****

Chapter 30

"Dreen." Juttar nodded gravely at his old roommate, his sallow mongrel face wearing its courtroom mask. "Before you say a word, how good is your computer security? Joran said you would insist I use yours."

Juttar made no attempt to hide the fact he didn't like this. He paid a small fortune for frequently updated custom computer security from Spyworks, the leader in the field.

Dreen grinned. Juttar always had needed to feel he did well, had the best. And he'd always never been able to resist teasing Juttar about that.

"As good as that soon-to-be obsolete stuff you buy. I'm running on Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb Beta to Head Office, and you're quite free to overlay whatever you want on top of it, if it makes you happier. But your Spyworks system is one we benchmarked against - if we couldn't outdo it we're wasting everyone's time and money, aren't we?"

"But you're only beta."

"That's right, and it stays that way until all the hackers in the galaxy have a shot at it, and believe me they are. So relax, or call me back once you've installed a Spyworks overlay your happy with. Our final version will allow users to overlay whatever makes them happy, but right now I have no idea what that would involve. But Gali will help."

As Dreen expected, that last comment worked. Juttar knew perfectly well anything Gali had to help with would be days to weeks of work.

Ever the realist, Juttar conceded the point but not the debate.

"And surveillance?" After all, Dreen was just sitting there on what looked like a kitchen chair.

"I've done what I can. I have privacy panels around the monitor so you can only see it from where I sit. And, I'm using the earsets our customer support uses, encrypted to the Gingezel beta. The voice pickup is from the auditory canal, which is why you aren't seeing much lip motion from me. I'm muttering, that's all. And," Dreen couldn't help grinning, "this is what the room sounds like."

He switched the sound pickup and watched Juttar wince as he got a good blast of Joran's album.

"Sadist!"

Juttar was grinning now too, wondering who thought up that trick, Dreen or Joran.

Dreen switched back to not hearing the room noise.

"Hey, I'm not the one who seems to actually enjoy writing and performing that junk!" He and Juttar were in complete accord over Joran's experimental work.

Juttar shrugged. "At least he wasn't into it when we all shared that flat. Now, is Joran correct that my client is into avoidance at the moment? Or has she calmed down and can I talk to her?"

"I can't say. She was relatively calm about the charges actually being formalized. Joran's sending her his new album was what put her on a crying jag. Her reaction to the charges was to go very quiet and shaky. Shock of a sort, I think, but all the same she'd been half expecting it."

"So can I talk to her?" Juttar persisted.

"I honestly don't know. Once, before I'd had a chance to talk to Joran so I didn't know what you two were up to, I tried to ask her if she was comfortable with her legal support. That did come close to breaking her up, so I didn't push. Then, once Joran told me what was up, I thought I'd talk to you first. Right now she's very much immersing herself in her work."

Juttar considered.

Dreen wondered if he realized he was getting jowls. He really should try to get back into shape. He was too much of a reminder that they were all pushing forty now.

"Why don't you give her a day or so to get more reconciled to the situation, then broach the subject again,"Juttar suggested. "In theory, she should be relieved that she'll have her own representative. If Chett is right, she's afraid she's to be the scapegoat. But my involvement might hit her the other way - that special counsel means she's in really insurmountable trouble."

Dreen listened, nodding. Juttar was talking like a lawyer. Ponderous tones, considered words. Dreen had somehow expected him to act like he did on the rare occasions when they called each other to catch up on their news. But he supposed it was a habit he put on when he walked into the office. All the same, it was making Dreen edgy.

Juttar continued, "If it hits her that way we'd be making a big mistake. Her best chance is that a problem that caused the accident is found, whoever's fault it is. Then we have something to focus on. And she has the best odds of finding the problem."

True enough. But then, Dreen thought, he and Juttar usually did see things the same. However to Dreen Juttar did not look like he was in a comfortable accord. He looked rather like a man who had reached some sort of emotional impasse, and wasn't sure what to do next.

The moment stretched, then Juttar said, "She's also your best hope Dreen."

"I know, and I'm giving her and their risk analyst, Tranngol, all the support I can."

"And what about you Dreen? Are you into avoidance too, where your own problems are concerned? Joran tried to get me to promise not to discuss your situation and to only talk of Mitra and pretend she was my only client. To just prepare a brief for you as well on the quiet. He wasn't sure you would deal with me. But I refused." Juttar gave a rueful smile and shrugged his solid shoulders. "I never was much good at lying to you and it wouldn't work now, you'd sense it."

There, it was out and Juttar felt himself relaxing a bit, but only a bit. He stayed focussed on Dreen's face. Was Joran right? Would Dreen refuse help just because it was coming from him?

So that was why Juttar had been acting uncomfortable. Joran had put him in a really awkward spot with that request. No doubt Joran had meant well, but Dreen was glad Juttar had been honest.

"No Juttar, I'm not into avoidance. I spent a lot of time with our legal staff, and Chett knows the situation here as well, or better than I do. I assume they passed everything you need for Mitra on to you, so you know the status."

"Dreen, either you dodged half the question, or you just implicitly did what Lindy said you'd do, get stiff backed and refuse my help." There was an edge to Juttar's voice now.

That sounded more like Juttar. Dreen smiled. "Not stiff backed Juttar. We just can't afford each other."

"You and I have no financial problems."

He would have helped Dreen for free. That would have eased a lot of guilt he'd been carrying for years. But he couldn't expect that much free work from his associates, so he was glad Joran was footing what was going to be a huge bill. This way he could give Dreen and Mitra the quality of support they needed, not just his personal time.

"If you want to get stiff backed, do it with Joran. He's paying the bills." Juttar's eyes held a hint of a smile. "And Joran said to keep my mouth shut on that too."

That brought mixed emotions. Relief at the idea of Juttar's help dominated, along with the rationalization that if Joran could buy a planet, a lawyer, even Juttar, wouldn't put him out more than small change. But did he want to be that much in Joran's debt, and he wasn't talking money? Dreen knew Joran knew would just say it was a partial evening of the score, but as far as he was concerned Joran didn't owe him anything.

Juttar was watching Dreen's face.

He said, with more regret than envy, "You two have really stayed close."

Dreen's eyes dropped. "I'm sorry Juttar. But that's the rest of why we can't afford each other."

"Spell it out Dreen."

"Do I have to?"

"Considering the mess you're in, yes."

Dreen sighed, then forced himself to look up and meet Juttar's eyes.

"Have you mentioned my problems to Jiane and that you might take me on?"

This time it was Juttar's eyes that dropped and his head turned slightly. There was a hesitation before he said, "Yes. She's worried about you and wants me to help."

"Bull. That's why we can't afford each other Juttar, besides money. You just lied to me and that is not a good start to a lawyer client relationship. Your wife probably said I was up to my old tricks, and to stay away from me."

The truth of that challenge was all over Juttar's face.

Dreen said gently, "What kind of enthusiasm can you put into things, if it means at best you get grief every time you get home, and at worst a divorce. Forget it, Juttar."

Dreen knew Jiane would have never said exactly what he said. She was gentle, cultured, well bred, and well mannered. The perfect lawyer's, or politician's wife, made for the public eye. She would never say anything that would offend or hurt, or that could later be quoted back to her. It had probably taken her days of hints and oblique conversations to convey what he had put in one sentence, and Juttar a couple more days to sort it out. But that was a matter of style, not content, and Dreen didn't doubt the content for a moment.

***

Dreen's mind went back to when he and Joran and Juttar had shared a cheap two-bedroom student flat on Rujjipet. He and Juttar had put single beds in the larger bedroom. Joran had got the luxury of privacy in the small bedroom since he came in at very late hours whenever the band was playing. And if any of them was lucky enough to have overnight feminine company, they got the double hide-a-bed in the living-dining-kitchen room. But after a couple months of Dreen's dating Jiane, and she was around for breakfast more often than not, that had changed. The single beds had been tied together, and he and Jiane had taken over the big bedroom. Juttar had moved into the small bedroom, and Joran got the sofa unless Juttar had a girlfriend in, then they switched.

Enough time had passed that Dreen could now admit those years on Rujjipet had been good times. They had been close friends, the four of them, sharing the extreme economies of student life, the crushing workload, the craziness of Joran launching his first band, then his second band. They had all lived on dreams. Dreen and Jiane would eventually be in a position to marry. Joran would be best man, Juttar bridesman. When they were all established and famous, Jiane would design each of them a beautiful house. Those dreams had occupied a lot of rainy Saturdays when the walls of the flat seemed too close.

Well, at least part of the dream had worked out. Joran had been best man, but he'd stood up with Juttar, not Dreen. And Jiane had designed a lovely home for herself and Juttar. She had also designed Joran and Maillie's home on Laurion, and one for them that would never be built now on Gingezel. She had developed an unexpected talent for theaters as well, and had designed that spectacular performing arts complex on Gingezel. Dreen supposed she'd picked it up being around Joran so much. But she would never be the one to design a home for him.

Dreen remembered the last time he had seen her as an unmarried woman. It'd been two and a half weeks into his psychiatric and psychological assessment prior to his trial for hacking. He had felt real reservations about Jiane coming to see him in prison. He didn't like the idea of her seeing him there, and he knew she'd hate the place, absolutely everything about it. But she had insisted, and in a way he'd been pleased, like somehow it proved how much she loved him. He should have trusted his first instincts.

He hadn't. She'd come, flanked by Joran and Juttar for moral support. Joran had been nervous, talking too much. Juttar had been silent and grave. Jiane had been paler than usual, her face white with strain, her brunette hair looking almost black under the harsh lights.

The minute she'd walked in the door to the visiting room he'd known it was a mistake, that she was more than hating it. She had come dressed up, like it was a date, or her parents were visiting. She looked wrong, too clean, too pretty. She moved like she was afraid to touch anything because it might contaminate her.

There hadn't been much of a conversation.

"Jiane ..."

Dreen had stopped then,not knowing what to say next.

She had said, "I'm so sorry Dreen. I wish ..." She'd stopped, her eyes filling with reproach, then tears.

In the years on the military base there had been plenty of time to finish that sentence. I wish this had never happened. I wish you had never started hacking. I wish I hadn't come. I wish you weren't you. He had never finished it with I wish this was behind us and we could get on with our life. That didn't match her eyes. Somehow he had alienated her, and he never had decided if simply placing her in that situation had been asking too much, or if she had firmly judged him guilty of an intent he hadn't had.

It might have been better if he had been able to hold and comfort her, but he couldn't. A floor-to-ceiling transparent wall separated them. She'd made a few halfhearted attempts to speak again, but the tears had been coming in earnest then. He hadn't been able to stand that.

He'd looked over her head at Juttar and said, "Please, take her home."

That was the last image, Juttar and Jiane walking out, his arm around her slender waist supporting her.

There hadn't been calls, and he had been grateful of that after the visit. There had been e-mails with nothing intimate in them, just text, never a visual message. Juttar had warned them when he was taken to prison that they would probably be read, and Dreen had known Jiane would not be able to stand the idea of that kind of invasion of privacy on anything intimate. They had been full of the everyday details of life in the apartment and on campus, and Dreen had read the warmth he wanted and desperately needed between the lines. Reading between the lines had got harder and harder though. The letters slowly became just schedules of campus events as his first year on the military base wore on. He had been hurt, and confused, but not suspicious.

Then Joran had told him domestic arrangements had changed. He was back in the single bedroom, and Juttar and Jiane had the tied the single beds together again to make a double bed. They had been married four months before Dreen got out of the military. He'd sent his blessings. What else could he do?

*****

Chapter 31

That betrayal was a long time ago, something he had put behind him. As Juttar had said, they weren't as close as he and Joran were, but they were still friends get in a distant, get in touch one or twice a year way. At least, it was something he thought they had put behind them, but now it mattered again.

Juttar broke the uncomfortable silence.

"It isn't quite as simple as you're making it, Dreen. You're partly right. We both know Jiane is an avoider, and she wants to avoid the situation. It reminds her too much of earlier, and she knows how badly she handled herself there."

That had almost caused a permanent rift between Juttar and Jiane, when he learned in the process of a very bitter call from Dreen that Dreen had learned of the romance from Joran, not months earlier when Jiane had promised to tell him. She had said she was waiting for a good time. Juttar figured when they were just dating would have been a lot better time than when they were sleeping together. He'd felt really cheap about that. He'd assumed Dreen had known for months and had bowed out, and had just not wanted to talk.

Juttar continued, "I told her straight up that she was out of luck. She may have even been relieved, I don't know or care. So the question is you, Dreen. I think I can be useful. Do you intend to let the past come between us?"

The answer was ridiculously easy now. There was no past that mattered since yesterday when he had told Mitra about his criminal record, and there hadn't been a moment's hesitation or doubt, much less reproach. That part of his past had ended. All he felt now was intense relief that he was unattached, not married to the wrong woman, one who would no more stand behind him now than she had before.

"I was only worried about you, Juttar. I know what life can be like when Jiane gets upset."

Juttar shrugged that off. "I'll survive. So," he said briskly, "now that you have yourself another lawyer, I want something from you. Promise me you won't go off and do anything creative without talking to me first. I don't expect you to listen to me, anymore than you have to the presumably good advice you've ignored so far, but I hate surprises. Promise."

Dreen grinned. It was starting to feel the way it had before Jiane.

"Promise. So what have I done that you rank as stupid so far?"

"Gone to Drezvir for starters. You have to have been advised against that, and I know damn well you own the best teleconferencing equipment around. Ever heard of that useful concept called fighting extradition?"

"Yes. I ignored that advice. Next?"

"Why?"

Juttar had Joran's version of that one, but he wanted Dreen's. It could be the woman as Joran said, or it could be a control thing, a need to be on the spot.

"Mitra," Dreen said economically.

"Can I at least assume you are both being very discreet and professional until you're out of this mess?"

That didn't get him an answer.

"Oh Dreen!"

Dreen was defensive. "You weren't here yesterday when the charges were laid. I said earlier she didn't go hysterical or anything, but she was sitting there looking like she didn't have a friend left in the galaxy. I was not going to walk away from her."

He finished the sentence there, but the unspoken words 'like Jiane did to me' hung between them.

Juttar sighed. "All right. What did you do?"

"I held her until she stopped shaking and could walk. Then we went to my room."

"Terrific, Dreen."

"This is not a recreational center, Juttar! There wasn't anywhere else to go without oxygen or a few hundred people eating their meals."

"All right." There was another sigh. "And if there was visual surveillance there, what did they see? Presumably you gave the audio another shot of your lousy taste in music."

Dreen nodded.

"And visual."

"There may not be any."

"Dreen. You're stalling and you're not that naïve."

"Then someone saw me hold and kiss her." Dreen was getting cranky. "Big deal."

"That's it?"

"Juttar, you're pushing your luck."

"And so are you buddy, if much more happened, consenting adults or not. There's the concept of collusion. Remember?"

It was Dreen's turn to sigh.

"Constantly."

"Good!"

"Has anyone told you you're one damned pushy lawyer. Is that what you get the big money for?"

"You're not paying me, remember?"

Juttar grinned. It was nice to be sparring with Dreen again. He could remember that when they really got going Joran used to get disgusted and either put his earphones on or leave.

"Next stupid move. I mean this one Dreen. You should never have stepped down in favor of Chett Linderson. The press is taking it as an open admission of personal guilt. If Nemizcan was publicly traded it would be getting slaughtered."

"Well it isn't public, and if you don't know by now not to believe everything the press says, you've got a problem." Dreen became serious. "There wasn't a choice, Juttar. Chett isn't the kind of man who can work having to check in. Either he runs things, or he's heavily hampered. And I needed the freedom too. I don't need constant distractions and a double set of worries."

"Is this you talking, or did you buy a line from Linderson?" Juttar did not know Chett. "As far as I can tell, there were a lot of snap decisions."

"Chett intended to be here, and he fought me all the way. It was my move, Juttar."

Juttar accepted that grudgingly. "Did you have to give him full financial control as well? Do you know that while you were in space he used those resources to launch a takeover of Dellmaice Power Systems?"

Galaxy only knew what the Farr Sector Judiciary would make of that!

Dreen's jaw set. "Yes, that's why he needed control."

Okay ... Juttar wasn't touching that one. He mentally cancelled any plans of getting a briefing on Drezvir from Haran Barloth at Dellmaice Power Systems until he knew what was going on. He'd tackle Chett on that though, not Dreen, just in case the Gingezel Beta system wasn't as secure as Dreen thought.

"All right. What else have you done this creative that I should know about?"

"You mean you're through listing my mistakes?"

"For now."

Dreen thought about it.

"When I first got here I went to the Farr Sector Judiciary rep and told him that if he asked, he would find I have a suppressed criminal record. I figured it was better to be straight up about it."

"Definitely. I'm surprised your lawyer didn't advise you of that."

Dreen looked uncomfortable.

"Oh ..." Juttar shrugged. "I'll bring them up to speed on that for you. I take it they're too young to remember your hitting the news?"

Dreen nodded.

"What else?"

"I also told the Judiciary rep that I would make everything related to the accident available to them, but I intended to do all Nemizcan management and work using the Gingezel encryption software. And I told him that he was welcome to contact Ralin for confirmation that I was doing security work for Gingezel. I also said he was welcome to access the P2 Ralin had done."

This time Juttar was slow responding. He just sat there staring into space frowning.

"Bad move?" Dreen asked. He still wasn't sure himself. "I figured they'd just find out about the encryption the moment they tried to monitor me, so I may as well tell them. As for the P2 ..." Dreen shrugged.

"No, I think it's fine." Juttar was still frowning. "It's just a wrinkle I hadn't thought of. But ..." He shrugged in return. "As a lawyer I'd have used encryption software to talk to you as a client anyways. There isn't much difference."

He asked with some curiosity, "How did this Auta take it?"

Dreen grinned. "He more or less said 'want to bet that we can't bust it'?"

"Well that doesn't sound like he was offended." Juttar filed that one away to think about later.

"One last thing and I'll let you go."

"Mmm?" Dreen asked cautiously. You had to watch Juttar's one last things.

"A very high-powered firm with considerable expertise in the Farr Sector has approached me wanting to assist in representing you."

"So?" Dreen was confused. "Don't you get that sort of approach all of the time from firms looking for work, or," he added, "shouldn't they even know you're representing me? I didn't."

Juttar nodded approval. Dreen was following him.

"They have also indicated there would be no charge. Any idea who's behind it?"

Dreen frowned, concentrating. "If the Old Man was alive, that would be his style. But now ..." he stared off into space. At last he said slowly, "I suppose it could be Nevin. I talked to him before I left and introduced Chett, then he brought Mom to the spaceport. But why would he want to be unknown? It doesn't make sense."

"I didn't say the person was unknown. I asked you for your guess."

"Thanks Juttar. I really need games right now."

"So Nevin is your best guess?"

"And last. I am not playing games."

"Well you're not even warm."

Juttar was relieved. All the same he'd try one more test.

"Ghen."

He used the first name. It was common enough, and he hoped to get the same response from Dreen any potentially successful eavesdropper would have. Ghen who?

"Damn!" Dreen said explosively. "What the hell is he doing in this?"

Juttar hid his disappointment.

"And as your lawyer may I ask exactly how you are involved enough with this gentleman that he is prepared to spend considerable amounts of his however earned cash to save your ass?"

"You can ask."

Dreen ran a distracted hand through the bristles where there used to be hair.

"But I honestly don't know. We met on Gingezel, and somehow he decided we were best buddies. Possibly because of Joran."

Juttar sighed. "Joran is a hazard sometimes. He introduced you?"

"No." Dreen thought about this. "For that matter, Ghen didn't speak to either of us when we were together. He liked to corner me alone."

"And you couldn't avoid him?"

"He picked times when I couldn't escape, like when I was halfway through my main course in a restaurant."

To give Juttar credit, he didn't burst out laughing like Chett had, but that had taken an effort. He could see Dreen in that situation, violently uncomfortable and too well mannered to do anything. Now Joran, he would just tell the unwanted visitor to f-off, and if that didn't work either call the management or leave himself. But not Dreen.

Juttar contented himself with saying, "He's probably turned that trick into an art form. You have no business dealings then?"

He could not believe that Ghen Kulgalu would make a move like this on the basis of a few supper visits. He was familiar with the lawyers who had contacted him. They were excellent, and as, or possibly more, expensive than his firm.

"You know as well as I do that he owns a number of reputable businesses. They use us."

Juttar nodded. That was to be expected.

Dreen made a face. "And he made a point of saying how he couldn't operate without us. Chett took that to mean his personal accounts."

Dreen was making sure that he was vague in case somehow he was being overheard despite precautions. The last thing he needed right now was his name linked to Ghen Kulgalu.

"He's been trying to find the accounts to cancel them, but no luck so far."

"No direct investment then?" Juttar asked.

Dreen simply stared at him like he was crazy.

Juttar persisted. "You haven't needed an infusion of capital and used his?"

Dreen exploded. "Where the hell did you get an idea like that!"

"Easy! He controls a lot of money, so it was possible. He's one of the largest investors in Dellmaice Power Systems you know."

Juttar had done his standard check on Dellmaice Power Systems' position as research on Mitra's brief. His check had found about 70% of the investments Chett had dug up and told him about, but then he wasn't digging very hard.

Dreen hadn't known.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

Dreen felt a temporary sympathy for Ari.

"I'm glad I stayed private."

"It has its advantages," Juttar agreed. "So the question is - and," he added before Dreen exploded again, "I can discretely do the hiring and make sure the firm is paid by mine- do you want me to access that expertise? I have plenty of experience with the Farrese and a good record, but so so they."

Dreen exploded anyway.

"No bloody way! I don't want to ever be even remotely indebted to that man!"

*****

Chapter 32

Niki ran a hand over his face trying to erase the exhaustion. Everything was in order at last. He gave a wry smile to the empty office. There was one thing to be said for the day anyways, he now had lots of time to focus on Mitra's problems. Still, not every client had bolted and run. He should be pleased that his largest had not only stayed with him, she had gone out of her way to give him a vote of confidence. An elderly widow who had been in business with her husband, she had called to sympathize. In fact, she had said she was sure those people who had charged Mitra must have it wrong, because she couldn't believe his sister and Roween and Chelan's daughter was anything but competent and honest. Niki wasn't sure that criminologists would agree a family can't have a bad apple, but since she was right in this case he thanked her.

He reached into a desk drawer and extracted the memory pacs Sanja had given him earlier in the evening. He really didn't see what difference a startup company competing with Dellmaice Power Systems could make, even if it did look like they were really good, beyond diluting Dellmaice's focus he supposed. But that would be nothing compared to that takeover bid. The potential takeover had him worried. Niki had thought about it off and on while he made routine comments like 'Of course I appreciate your position. Is there someone else in the firm you would like to transfer your portfolio to?' to former clients.

Still, he'd told Collan he'd look at their pitch before he went home, so he had better spent a few minutes doing that. Then he would go home, eat something, and see if he could focus on the lawyer problem. Niki still didn't see how firm the size of Juttar Kommur's could not be able to take clients. He wondered if they were being tactful and 'the clients' they weren't prepared to take was really only one, Mitra. They would not be prejudging the legal situation, so not being willing to take her would mean a conflict of interest. That idea disturbed Niki. He didn't like the idea of Juttar Kommur assisting the prosecution.

With less than a quarter of his mind on the material in front of him, Niki scanned the documentation provided. It was very slick, very professional. He approved. By now in his career he had seen a lot of these pitches. Not in the energy sector of course, he stayed out of there ever since his disciplinary hearing. They had warned him off insider trading just in case the market swings he had caused were not from his chaos theory code. He had personally defined the energy sector where Mitra worked and biotech where Roween worked as off limits. But he'd seen a lot of startup companies and this one definitely had its act together. He could see why Collan saw them as a serious contender, assuming they had the technical wherewithal behind the slick business front.

Getting more interested now, Niki shifted to the supporting technical documentation. There wouldn't be anything proprietary of course, not in a general circulation document like this, but he'd get a rough idea anyways. As he started reading, he was mildly amused. No wonder Collan had asked if Mitra had jumped ship. The company didn't claim the breadth of product of Dellmaice Power Systems, but what they had was a load following unit very similar to Mitra's hybrid.

Well that was one of the oldest games in the book, wasn't it? Let someone else bear the development and prototyping costs and come into the market second, with a product that had a couple improvements and just enough differences you didn't get sued for patent violation. Still, Niki found himself wondering if someone, not Mitra, had jumped ship because this timeframe really was crowding her prototyping. He tried to remember if she talked about anyone leaving the project, but he drew a blank.

Any amusement disappeared as he read on. Niki's mobile face hardened into a frown. Galaxy, he wished he wasn't so tired! He wished he'd listened to Mitra on her visit home. He finished reading, then sat staring out into the wintry night, seeing not the sky and city lights beyond the window, but Mitra curled up on their parent's couch. Mitra, her face alive with excitement, talking so fast the words tripped over each other. He hadn't listened. He never really listened when she got technical. But some words stuck in his mind, words about how she had worked with the Farrese mining crews so she knew Dellmaice Power Systems was seating their geothermal units wrong. Something about the accepted losses in heat transfer weren't necessary, they were because of mining techniques. Something about- hell! He was too tired.

Niki massaged his face again, then started rereading the geothermal section. His frown deepened as, non-expert that he was, he tried to assess their claims of potential efficiency increases against the Dellmaice Power Systems benchmark. Maybe he should call Mitra to see just how much this sounded like her new design idea, and if she had any idea who these people were ...

No. She had enough to worry about. He would see how much he could dig up on his own. He started researching.

***

"Niki. Do you have any idea how late it is?"

The voice startled him, and he jumped.

"Sorry," Sanja apologized. "I thought you heard me coming. What are you working on so hard?" She moved closer to the desk.

Niki pulled his elbows back, flexing his back and shoulders and studying Sanja. A couple hours ago he'd turned off the lights except for the two on his desk, and she looked wonderful in the soft light, her black hair gleaming and her soft brown skin glowing. Today she was wearing navy, another thick, soft easy fitting sweater, a slim cut skirt, and below that knee-high boots of glove soft leather dyed to match the skirt. He had teased her once about the way she bundled up at the first flake of snow when the offices were the same temperature year round. She said yes, she knew that, but outside her office windows she could see all the snow.

"I could ask you the same. I thought that you went home hours ago."

"Don't I wish." Sanja raised a hand to smother a yawn. "Does it bother you if I'm honest and say it was a couple of your clients?"

"What's the sense of being bothered?" Niki was pragmatic. "It wouldn't change anything. At least most stayed with the firm."

Sanja looked at Niki in his pool of light. He was looking terrible. The shadows made his face look gaunt and drawn, and the lines from nose to chin were all too visible through the dark stubble. By the dark smudges under his eyes she'd say he'd forgotten to sleep at all recently.

"How about packing it in? We could go for supper somewhere."

Normally Niki would have been delighted with an invitation from Sanja. They were all too rare.

He shook his head. "Another night Sanja, but thanks."

She was sure he didn't have other plans. If he did he'd have been home hours ago and in bed with whoever the plans were. And exhaustion was evident in his voice as well as his face.

"Niki," she said reasonably, "you aren't doing yourself or your remaining clients any bit of good exhausting yourself."

"I know."

Niki reached for his coffee cup, saw it was empty, and put it back down on a cluster of coffee marks.

Sanja saw them, and the fact that Niki didn't even notice them. That really alarmed her. The immense wood desk was Niki's treasure, and she was sure he took better care of it than himself.

"So why not pack it in and get some sleep?."

"Because clients aren't what I'm working on, and I won't sleep anyways. I'll just lay there." He looked back of the display. "It's that damned startup company!"

"Startup company?" There were always dozens around.

"Farolavo Power, the energy sector one Collan tipped us off to. It looks good, almost too good, so I decided to dig a little."

His hand rubbed the stubble of his jaw line.

"I thought I was at least competent, Sanja, but this one - it's driving me crazy. At the surface, it's all very respectable, straightforward, a probable win. But if you try to get past the front - it's impossible. I can't get anywhere!" There was a raw edge to his voice.

"Well, you're usually competent," Sanja said. "But right now I wouldn't swear to it. I'm serious Niki. You need supper and a good night's sleep. Then all of whatever is driving you nuts will look a lot better."

"Sanja. We've been over that."

He was avoiding his empty condo. At least if he was busy he felt less guilty.

"Home."

Sanja stepped around the desk and turned his computer off.

"I'm not as good a cook as I hear you are, but you won't starve. And I've got a comfortable guest room. You need a hot bath, food, and some company."

She started to rub his knotted shoulders.

Sanja's place? Niki didn't even know where she lived. They weren't that kind of friends. She'd spelt that out in capital letters when she joined the firm, and let him know that she wanted nothing to do with the kind of bachelor lifestyle he lived.

"Sanja, I'm sure you're being kind, but I'm not a charity case. I'll just finish what I'm doing and go home. Promise."

"I'd never have been a good trader if I suckered on that kind of lie," Sanja said in her soft voice.

She swiveled his chair.

"Get your coat, and we'll go to your place and you can pack what you need to stay for a while. I've wanted to see that place anyway - it has a reputation."

That at least got a normal response from Niki. He made a face.

"Good or bad?"

"I'm not telling." She smiled a soft secretive smile.

*****

Chapter 33

The apartment was an interesting mix of what some expensive decorator thought a wealthy bachelor should live like, and Niki Kael, Sanja decided. There was the low-slung, masculine furniture, vast expanses of plush carpet, and unobtrusive lighting. The media wall that must have every device known on it. That was the decorator. But there was dark wood, not chrome or brass or glass, for all the tables. And in front of the intimidating media wall was a beat up old high-backed leather lounge chair that obviously predated the decorator, and he or she hadn't persuaded Niki to part with it. And in front of the balcony doors was a huge set of glass shelves with pots of herbs that must have had the decorator cringing, because each pot was a different bright color, some with roughly hand-painted designs. That had to be Niki. She could imagine him buying them in some little shop because they amused him.

Sanja liked Niki's touches, but she was neutral on the rest. To her mind the condo demanded that you live up to it. She couldn't imagine coming home alone after a bad day being calming, or cheering, or comforting. But then, unless her information was totally wrong, coming home alone was the last of Niki's problems. She restrained the impulse to go see how Niki was doing. She'd heard quite enough about that bedroom without seeing it. Instead, Sanja went into the kitchen to see if Niki really was a serious cook. He talked a lot about cooking anyway. She was still contemplating the well organized contents of a drawer when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Are you amusing yourself?"

Niki had his business overnight case in hand. It held grooming materials, a clean shirt, underwear, and pajamas and robe, and was always waiting in his closet ready to go. The case was was larger than most, because he didn't like hotel robes and packed his own. It differed from his 'at a girlfriend's condo' overnight case that was also always waiting in the closet ready to go only in the color and style of the pajamas and robe. It hadn't felt right to pick up the girlfriend case to take to Sanja's. That overnight case was largely a habit he hadn't felt like changing yet. The contents were washed more often to keep them from getting musty now than because they'd been used. The time had not been spent packing, but shaving. It was a minor improvement, but only minor.

"I decided I'm definitely outclassed. You'll have to tell me sometime what half of this stuff is." Sanja shut the drawer. "Still, you won't starve."

***

Niki looked around Sanja's apartment with interest. It was not at all what he had expected. Her image at work was one of subdued elegance, head to toe. Her only minor idiosyncrasy was to occasionally wear an elaborately tied scarf around her head ever since Chelan had taken one look at her coloring and lovely almond eyes and told her her family must be traceable right back to the Indian subcontinent on Terra. Niki knew Sanja hadn't tried any genealogical research, but she had looked up that part of Terra and loved their clothes. Apparently she considered the scarf the only aspect suitable to the office, and then only occasionally, although at times Niki had amused himself imagining her in a sari.

Her apartment though, Niki decided, could only be described as organized chaos, and he wasn't too sure about the organized part. He stared, trying to come to grips with enough plants that it must take her hours to water them, a sofa you could hardly see for dozens of cushions, each in a different pattern and color, and small objects that had no apparent purpose other than decorative on every table surface. His exhausted brain was spared coming up with a tactful comment by the sudden appearance of the small furry creature that came into the room at a full run, gave a noise that was somewhere between a yelp and a squeak, and was gone so fast he wasn't sure what he'd seen.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"That's Peony, my dog. She's also the worst coward in the galaxy." Sanja was scanning the room.

"Where did she go?"

"I think she's under the sofa. That's her normal hiding spot."

Sanja walked over, knelt on the geometric patterned carpet, and put her head down to peer under.

"Peony, you really have to get over this fear of strangers. Now, be sociable and come here."

Despite his fatigue, Niki was amused. There were no coaxing noises, no baby talk. This was definitely a peer-to-peer discussion.

It didn't work.

Sanja tried again. "Peony, I already have a tired back without this, and I want to get Niki settled, and to cook. Now, come here so I can introduce you."

This must have had some success, because so fast it made Niki jump and couldn't have done the Peony's nerves any good either, Sanja shoved an arm under the sofa.

"Gotcha!"

Niki watched as she extracted a reluctant, squirming Peony who was the ugliest mutt he'd ever seen. The majority of her fur was reddish brown and long, but there were touches of brown, mustard, and slate so she looked like she'd been tufted. She was quite small but not all of a piece there either. The ears, feet, and tail were wrong. He couldn't think of anything less like a beautiful peony.

Sanja brandished Peony in Niki's direction.

"Niki, meet Peony. Peony, meet Niki."

"Sanja, that's the ugliest dog I've ever seen. Why did you get her, much less name her Peony?"

Peony growled.

"Niki, be polite. Peony is very sensitive and intelligent, aren't you Peony?" Sanja held her up to look into the brown eyes. "My second cousin on my mother's side is a dog breeder, and one of her bitches got out for a night on the town and met Peony's father. He must have had most interesting blood lines. She couldn't bring herself to put the pups down, so we found homes for them in the family. And I'm serious, I think the mixed blood is good. Peony is smart. The bitch she is from is really, really stupid."

Niki was giving Peony a doubting look, and Sanja's chin came up.

"And she is called Peony because all the females in her bloodline have flower names and her father isn't her fault."

"A mild case of love me, love my dog, Sanja?"

"Something like that. Now, make friends. Hold out your hand."

Niki did, and Peony resumed growling, baring her teeth and taking a snap.

Niki snatched his hand back.

Sanja was aghast. "She's never done that before."

To Niki's acute embarrassment she reached for his hand and smelt it herself self, wrinkling up her nose in a fair approximation of Peony's.

"Niki, you reek of exhaustion. No wonder Peony doesn't like the smell. Let's change those plans. A nice relaxing bath while I cook. And you," she gave Peony a shake, "are banished to my bedroom until your manners improve. Follow me Niki."

She headed down a short hall and stopped in front of opposing doors. She opened one and more or less tossed Peony in, then turned to Niki.

"This is your room."

He followed her in, mildly fearing more chaos but too tired to care. He was pleasantly surprised though. There were no small items disturbing the tranquility. The room was certainly casual, with blond wood furniture, scattered rugs, and a bed cover woven in the beige and rust tones he was coming to realize were Sanja's favorites. There was one gorgeous palm-like plant that Roween would covet, and a floral watercolor on one wall, that was all.

"This is lovely, Sanja."

"Thank you."

Niki had learned that Sanja was not into false modesty, and was not embarrassed by compliments. If they were due, she accepted them. If they were misplaced, she corrected you. So she was proud of her efforts here.

"I'm sorry Niki, but we share a bath. There were two floor plans available. Two tiny baths, or one decent sized one. I have very definite opinions on baths. They should be places to relax and meditate."

She opened the connecting door, and Niki decided she had made the right choice. The room was spacious, quiet, and elegant in gray slate and granite. It was a total contrast to the rest of the place except there were a dozen or so plants scattered about.

"Now soak yourself and I'll cook up a nice pot of pasta."

"Thank you, Sanja."

Niki was sincere. It sounded wonderful.

*****

Chapter 34

"Morning Niki." Collan eyed the younger man critically. "You're looking a little better. Did yesterday go better than you thought?"

"No. Worse." Niki didn't elaborate. He wanted to do a lot more research before he voiced any suspicions about that energy company.

"I must have responded to T. L. C."

Collan's eyebrows rose in encouragement for Niki to expand on that theme. None of the women he had seen Niki with in the previous months were exactly caregiver types, and for that matter it wasn't Roween's style either. When nothing was forthcoming though he got down to business.

"A bit more information is available on the attempted Dellmaice Power Systems takeover." Collan smiled. "You like weird ones, so figure this out for me. According to my unofficial sources," Collan was remarkably good at getting news, "Nemizcan Computing is behind this one. What the hell do they have to do with an energy sector takeover? They aren't even public, so why are they suddenly moving into that arena? I mean, the first time I heard of a link to Dellmaice Power Systems is that Nemizcan is somehow in the Drezvir mess - although I suppose the offices at Dellmaice Power Systems are Nemizcan clients like we all are."

Collan shook his head. "The even less official word I have is that the new head of Nemizcan, Chett Linderson, is personally calling the shots, and he's working at the very extreme end of how dirty old Hoffner will play. After all, the old lad is quite a gentleman. Crafty as they come, but a gentleman nonetheless. What's this guy out to prove? After what - three weeks of running Nemizcan - he's bored out of his skin?"

Niki was watching Collan with amusement. Collan hated unanswered questions of this sort, so no doubt he would keep calling his contacts until he heard answers he could buy into.

"So," Collan advised Niki, "meditate on that when you can't sleep and let me know if you get anywhere."

"Sure, when I haven't another twenty things to worry about."

Niki really couldn't care except about the diluted legal efforts at Dellmaice Power Systems. Then the stray thought hit him that they apparently weren't worried about diluting legal efforts at Nemizcan. Strange ... maybe they had a real clear conscience around the place, or maybe he should meditate on this aspect of the mess after all.

Collan knew Niki very well. He was getting curious. Good. Niki had an original mind.

Collan concluded, "Now, when you think you've got a handle on what I just told you, let me tell me where the money is coming from. I mean Dellmaice Power Systems was wide open for Hoffner, and I don't know the liquidity of Nemizcan, but the style for this raid isn't Hoffner's style on the money side at all. They're acting like they have access to a bottomless pocket. An even less creditable source says it's AntonCorp money they are pouring around."

"AntonCorp?" Niki was sure he'd heard wrong.

"AntonCorp. You figure it. If you ask me, the whole galaxy's gone crazy."

***

Mitra looked at her wrist cuff. It was only 12:45 in the morning back home. There was no way, Niki would be asleep yet. Martine had the grid up, and the hyperweb was stable. She would call him. She just couldn't keep waiting, not knowing if he'd found her a lawyer. Mitra placed the call. And waited. And waited.

Niki surfaced from a deep sleep disoriented. He thought he'd turned the damned call tone off. He reached out, but objects weren't where they should be on his table and he fumbled. What the ... oh yeah. He was at Sanja's. He'd better answer before the tone woke her. Or worse still that yappy mutt Peony. Sitting up Niki grabbed his compad. As the fog cleared he recognized the call tone. Mitra. That was why he got the call. Hers and his father Chelan's were the only two tones he hadn't turned off. Right. He tried to focus.

"Mitra, are you okay?" Something else could have gone wrong. That worry brought him wide awake.

"At last." Mitra smiled, but Niki wouldn't see that because there weren't visuals for this kind of call on the Farrese hyperweb. Maybe she should have used Dreen's system, but she didn't want him to know she was worried.

"Who have you got home with you?"

"No one. I was sound asleep." Niki hated these calls with no visuals. "You okay, Sis?" he repeated.

Mitra shrugged, then realized Niki couldn't see her.

"Sort of. I just wondered what happened about a lawyer. You didn't call."

"I'm stalling." Niki suppressed a yawn. "I wanted to get Juttar Kommur, or someone in his firm for you. But they aren't taking clients."

He would have preferred to be less blunt, but he knew the call was time-limited.

"Oh."

Her voice sounded so little and sad. Niki couldn't stand it.

"It's okay, Sis. There are plenty of other good lawyers in the galaxy. I was just trying to get you the very best. So now I'm trying for Number Two."

Whoever the hell that was. In the morning he really did have to give the family lawyer Arol a hard push to line someone up.

"And Arol Mertel has got Roween out of a lot of scrapes. He's briefed."

"Yes." She didn't like her mother's lawyer.

Mitra didn't sound any more enthusiastic about Arol than he was. "Look, Sis –"

The connection dropped.

Niki stared at the compad. Hell, what did he do now? He tried reconnecting and was told the number he was trying to reach was out of service. The door opened and Sanja was there, Peony at her heel.

"Niki, I heard you talking. Is everything alright?"

Niki rubbed his face.

"No, not really."

***

Mitra shut her eyes. She wasn't going to get a good lawyer. Just the one Roween used. There was no way he could get her out of this mess.

*****

Chapter 35

"Well, how's it going, Leeth?

C.C. rested a hand on the older man's rock hard shoulder and tried to figure out by the screen what Leeth was up to. He could never tell anything from his impassive weather beaten face. C.C. figured that guarded expression had been acquired in prison.

"I've decided I should never have made that crack that pollution would be an improvement," Leeth said, though secretly he was pleased.

Pleased that C.C. had listened to him when he said that the Drezvir atmosphere was so devoid of any complex molecules that pollution would help. Pleased that C.C. had talked to Rostin, and that C.C. was involving him in the simulations. Leeth had always been a computer person, but his interest was in the operating systems and inter-platform communications side of computing. He'd never given any thought to simulations, not even into how they were coded, much less into the concepts of the mathematics the code represented. Doing the simulations for C.C. has got him thinking about that.

Leeth knew perfectly well that C.C. didn't expect him to do much more than mindlessly run the simulations like they were games, and that C.C. was only involving him to be nice, but he couldn't leave it at that. Once he'd run a couple simulations, he simply had to look at the code behind them.

"So you're working on the simulations?" C.C. asked. "It looks like your programming."

"I am, and I am." Leeth wobbled his hand from side to side. "I'm not an expert in these things, but I didn't like the particulate deposition pattern I was getting. I did their test case for a plume over a seaside city, and I could see it worked. But the results felt wrong for poor old Drezvir. So I've been reading some dispersion texts, and I decided that maybe the cell size is wrong for the less dense atmosphere and the permanent dust suspension. So, I'm going to play around with it. That's what I'm doing now."

"Oh." It took C.C. a moment to absorb this revelation. Then he got sidetracked. "How? This isn't open source software."

"So?" Leeth grinned.

"Stupid question. So how do they determine the cell size? I've never seen it."

Leeth hesitated, then mentally shrugged. C.C. never seemed offended by anything and he'd just admitted he'd hacked the code.

"Before we start C.C., how good are you with this dispersion stuff?"

C.C. was in the process of pulling up a chair on his own initiative since Leeth hadn't invited him to sit down. They were in the small room in Leeth's quarters that was devoted to his computing equipment. In the Mining Guild it would have slept up to four children.

"I passed," he said with an easy smile.

Leeth knew C.C. well enough now to know that meant that either he was being modest and was very good at dispersion theory, or was dodging because he didn't know much, but he couldn't tell which.

"Yes. But having looked at those texts, I expect that by the end of a term I could pass too if I tried hard. But that wouldn't mean I knew where some of the material they presented came from, or be able to develop or modify it. There is a lot of fast skating on the mathematics as far as I could tell. I mean, " Leeth didn't want to alienate his boss, "if you're only a smarter user than me, it's fine. But if you're seriously into this stuff, I have some questions."

C.C. was really curious now. "What books did you try?"

The answers were Master's level texts for breadth courses not a specialty, so it wasn't surprising that weak spots were showing. What was surprising was that Leeth would have understood the theory well enough to spot it. C.C. wondered, not for the first time, just how smart Leeth was, and how long he would have stayed a janitor if they hadn't run into each other and he'd hired Leeth despite his mother's warnings that an excon was a bad risk in the tight terraforming group. C.C. didn't see hacking as a major sin though since he'd done it himself.

"I can probably help." C.C. stopped shrugging off the answer. "When I was at the Master's stage I thought I wanted to be different from my mother Beti, so I did a theoretical degree. That meant for breadth I had to do global atmospheric modeling, but my thesis concept was to improve the local atmospheric models so that you could get a decent microenvironmental idea of how much tall tree planting affects climate. I wanted the theory to be detailed to a level where you could model the species.You know, how large a forest of a given tree species it takes to change wind speed, precipitation pattern, that sort of thing."

"Was." Leeth keyed on that word. "Did it work?"

"No." C.C. grinned. "It was too much work for a Master's, and my thesis supervisor knew it. But she didn't tell me because she figured I was setting myself up for my Ph.D., a couple post doctoral positions, and nice tenure somewhere. But after two years in a cubicle I knew I had to be like Beti and walk around outside. So I shifted to applied work for my Ph.D. All I got was a very basic relationship for flat ground wind velocity reduction versus height and breadth of one certain type of forest. But it was worth the Master's.

"Another of her students has just finished a really good model for for foresting up-slope conditions and impact on the fog and precipitation patterns. And she has a new student, a bright girl, who wants to look at my velocity distributions and see if the type of planting matters like I thought it would. She's looking at height and respiration processes for a different species. Both differ a lot when that species is introduced from world to world."

"So you started something."

"Maybe."

"Anyways, you're way ahead of me. And trees don't matter here on Drezvir. There's just thin air and particulates, and here -" Leeth pointed to the screen.

***

They were still at it a couple hours later when Neetha stuck her head in.

"C.C., you asked me to come get you before we released the fish." She looked at the screen curiously. "What have you two been up to anyways?"

"Leeth is giving me a brush up on my programming." C.C. said as he rose. There was no way he was admitting they were poking at the guts of some copyrighted and protected code.

"Leeth, let's say goodbye to the poor things."

"Poor things?" Neetha looked at C.C. questioningly.

"Well, considering that it's pretty much them and the algae they lunch on, that sea isn't exactly a rich environment. The are no plants and such."

"But the currents are strong, there are a few thermal sources, and some of the underwater geological formations are stunning."

Leetha was one of the avid scuba divers on the team.

"So you wouldn't mind being a fish and exploring that sea?" C.C. teased.

"Not at all." Neetha took him seriously.

She usually missed C.C.'s jokes and teasing, which from his perspective made teasing her all the more tempting.

***

They were at the fish farm now. C.C. stood on the wall of the tank designated for release.

"Well?" He looked at the team. "Who does the honors?"

"Leeth," came the unanimous answer. "He did all the dirty work."

Feeling self-conscious Leeth climbed up on the wall and walked to the gate, the wind whipping his brown hair into his eyes.

"Here goes then."

He opened it, and the tank full of fish each with their radio source swam free into the mineral heavy turquoise blue water. He looked across to the barren red shore and was inclined to agree with C.C. Poor fish.

***

Even by the terraformers high standards,it was a good celebratory supper. This was a practice of theirs, to celebrate pretty much any event they could think of. It broke the monotony of their solitary existence. C.C. knew that most were also celebrating the fact they were returning to the settlement in the morning. Any company, even the dour miners who would be mourning, was something to look forward to, and since the terraformers complex there was stand-alone, the loss of the power system didn't really affect them. So why not celebrate?

But C.C. was not feeling celebratory. He did not want to go back and see just how bad it was. He had offered Rostin any help he could provide, from using the terraformer supply chain for food to assisting as laborers when they got there, but the offer had been declined. Apparently Dellmaice Power Systems had taken over the supply function, shipping in food as well as power, and most of the clean up outside the reactor hall was done.

C.C. would have felt better though if he could do something useful. As it was, his mind kept flashing to, then shying off the fact he had to see the injured Ken Kwan, and the fact that adorable little Tessa was now without a father. And the worst was that he had to talk to Mitra. Why the hell hadn't he made the connection this was Mitra's project before he had done half of the things he had done? Well, it was too late now.

C.C. looked around the table. Everyone was largely finished the layer cake and the group would break up soon. There was no sense bringing them down with his guilt. He rose and walked to a monitor, calling up the fish.

"Well, they are still alive and swimming!"

He raised his glass.

"To the fish!"

One everyone raised their glasses of sparkling fruit beverage in response. It was one of the rules he was very firm about when they were on site. No alcohol. No drugs.

"To the fish!"

***

"I like it."

C.C. looked at the proposed settlement and factory site and the projected gaseous and particulate dispersion plumes. He had to admit he'd enjoyed getting back into some modeling, and the changes he and Leeth had made to the dispersion code were a definite improvement for the Drezvir situation.

It was about 2:30 AM seashore time, and C.C.'s internal clock had adapted to that by now. He usually packed it in at 11:30 or 12:00. C.C. pulled his silky robe tighter. Tonight he had tried sleep with no luck. He should have put something warm on when he got up to see who was awake to keep him company, C.C. decided as he looked with envy at Leeth who was still in his day clothes plus a heavy cardigan. But then Leeth was a nighthawk.

"So what should we call it? Kembelton?"

Leeth looked at C.C. with real alarm.

"C.C.! You can't be thinking of siting anything there just because we've been fooling around here for a couple hours."

"No, but instinct tells me that once everything is properly done this guess won't be that far off."

C.C. yawned and stretched, trying to gauge if he was exhausted enough to sleep yet. Probably not.

"What does 'properly' involve?" Leeth was curious.

"That theory I used to recalculate the grid size was strictly a first-order approximation, and a very loose one even for our context. Someone will have to sit down and work it out properly. And when they do, I expect they will find more that they need to change than the grid size. We focused on that because any numerical integration like this is grid dependent.

"Then, the code will have to be changed. I hope it's no offense to you since you've already figured out most of what needs to be changed, but I'd prefer not to admit we've played around with proprietary software. And whoever else has a shot at it may not be as bright as you are, so it's bound to take a while. Then, it's a case of getting detailed emission estimates from the industries involved and doing the runs."

"It sounds slow, and expensive," Leeth observed. "And it sounds like you aren't volunteering us for any of the work."

"Like I told you Leeth, I'm not a theoretician. I need to walk around outside." He looked meditatively at Leeth. "But maybe it's the direction you should go."

"Maybe," Leeth said noncommittally. He had a pretty good idea what his reception would be in academic circles.

"But I was thinking about the Mining Guild. I get the impression this whole Drezvir development is really strapped for credits. So can they afford it? Or will you run it through this project? Or is that none of my business?"

"It isn't really your business, but I don't mind your asking. No, I will not run it through on this project. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a charitable foundation. I run a business."

C.C. had received a lot of trouble on that score, with people expecting free help ever since his media exposure as an environmentalist. He couldn't figure out why. He yawned again. Maybe he was finally getting sleepy.

"What I was thinking about was approaching the heavy industries that might site here and let them take the cost since they get the benefit."

"C.C., it's definitely time for you to get some sleep. Your brain just quit on you."

"How so?" C.C. frowned.

"Do you honestly think after the number you've just done on Dellmaice Power Systems that a single one of those industries will give you the time of day? You call, and everyone will be busy, and you will die of old age waiting for the return call. And if you make the mistake of trying to visit, some nice smiling lady at the reception desk is going to touch a contact. And all of a sudden up a couple guys who could've been Octagla defenseman are going to be escorting you off the property then they will triple perimeter patrols. Forget it!"

"You could be right." C.C.'s grin was slightly embarrassed. He yawned again. He'd think of something.

*****

Chapter 36

This dedicated hyperweb was a blessing, Elin thought as Mitra appeared. The time differences were a pain though. With a two hour commute she'd had to be up at 5:30 for this 8:00 AM talk with Mitra. There wasn't a choice though. If it was any later the Drezvir cafeteria would be closed for the night by the time they were finished. Elin knew Mitra had food in her room, but she didn't like to think of Mitra eating alone.

At least Ari had finally had some sense and taken her off the megacity project put her back full time on re-analyzing the safety system. So she had quit her leave of absence without pay where she was redoing the analysis of the hybrid on her own time at home, and come back to the offices. He had even apologized for losing his temper. That was a first. Elin still wasn't sure she'd stay beyond sorting this out though. Her girls were grown up so pay mattered less than it used to. Over the years she had forgiven a lot to take those extra credits home.

She started without preamble, her plump middle aged face serious.

"Milton is right. Any Tranus Dynamics sensors as out of spec as the one unit he found are dangerous."

***

The murmur of voices from behind him finally stopped, and Dreen turned to see if Mitra was finished. She seemed to be. She was just sitting there staring vacantly into space. Standing up, he arched his back. Even with those back strengthening exercises Trevarr had taught him back at the Sports Medicine Clinic on Gingezel, he was feeling the long days. Dreen was missing his regular exercise routine too. There was nothing wrong with the equipment here, but it wasn't what he was used to and the gym was so heavily booked he always felt like he was doing one of the locals out of their time. So he tended to shorten his regime.

"How's it going?"

He walked to Mitra's desk, then stepped behind her, rubbing her shoulders.

"Mmm, that's nice." She leaned back into the massage. "Fine, I suppose. At least progress is being made."

It wasn't exactly the progress she would have liked, because it was just confirming more things that could not have caused the accident. Even if they had unintentionally installed an out of spec sensor that was dangerous, it couldn't have caused a gross overpower. Mitra kept feeling they were going to end up in an 'it couldn't have happened but it did' scenario. But each step was progress, and conclusively showing various components could not have contributed was essential to clear the various suppliers with the reverse jurisprudence of the Farr Sector.

"Elin has redone her safety system analyses on the assumption anywhere from one to all of those sensor units were off by the amount that the one Milton brought along is. Milton was right to contact everyone to increase the safety margins until the problem is sorted out. We would have been a little slow on the trip. Probably slow enough to cause some internal damage, but not enough to blow the system the way it did."

She sighed and shrugged, and Dreen could feel the tension knots.

"How about you?"

He came around to perch on the desk.

"I wish I could say progress." Dreen mentally shook himself. Mitra didn't need an attitude problem from him. "I should correct that. You saw me talking to Jann and Chett earlier?"

Mitra nodded.

"Well they've pretty much finished looking for ways the screens could have misled the operators. Looking to see if there was somehow the screen could make an operator misunderstand the state the system was in, or miss a transient. Chett has even taken the initiative of bringing in a bunch of operators from a utility that doesn't use Dellmaice Power Systems equipment including a group of trainees. He's run simulated inputs on the screen for them, including what Tranngol says an operator must have seen for the accident. They all initiated manual trips. And I've arranged for Sam Ieono to get the results. That's all good."

It was good. He was very relieved that Jann's screen designs were holding up to scrutiny. Dreen shook his head, trying to clear it.

"It's just that while I was waiting for you I was trying to give myself a refresher course on quantum effects." He yawned. "Sorry. It hits me like that. My brain seizes up and wants me to nap off as a reward."

He gave a rueful smile. "I mean, I know I'll never be anywhere near as good as Tina, but I do not want to misinterpret anything she says. So the only lack of progress is me."

Mitra looked up at him, focusing on the fatigue in Dreen's face and eyes. He was trying so hard, not that they all weren't. But she knew that for Dreen there was the personal component, the fear of ending up back in prison, and he was wearing himself out.

Impulsively Mitra said, "How about a night off?"

They had tended to just nip down to the cafeteria for a sandwich then come back for a couple of hours work, sometimes more than a couple hours.

"Does that cache of food in your second drawer run to space rations as well as chocolate bars?" she asked with a smile.

Dreen grinned. "Space glop. That's what Joran calls it."

Mitra made a face.

"He would. The stuff doesn't taste that bad."

"No," Dreen agreed. "But we haven't spent most of our lives touring. Fresh cooked food is one of the real luxuries in his life. As for space glop, I have a whole box of it in the bottom of my drawer unit. You're welcome to some. I have no idea what kind of selection there is."

He didn't care if what was there was good or not. The thought of Mitra's company to himself, not sitting with her at one of the long cafeteria tables was very appealing.

Then Dreen hesitated. "But I really should finish what I'm reading."

"Tomorrow," Mitra said firmly, swinging her legs out from under the desk.

"Do you always wear turquoise safety boots?" Dreen asked to change the subject.

"No. They're what Elin packed for me. I have purple, green, and a really great lemon yellow too. And you're dodging. Do you agree to the night off, or do I go get Azlo?"

She waved part way down the shed to where Azlo, Tranngol, Tina, and Milton were watching a couple technicians work.

"He can give you the tired people make mistakes lecture. His Master's is in human factors so you might listen to him."

Mitra realized as she talked that maybe she was the one who needed the time off. She was bone tired, and the idea of a quiet night with Dreen sounded so good. She might even be able to sleep, curled up to him.

Dreen hesitated, looking at the dark smudges under her eyes and her drawn face. He was tired, but not all that tired. Once his brain recovered from the session of quantum theory, he'd be up to tackling something easier for a couple hours. But Mitra was totally exhausted and if he came back to work she'd come there with him, and she needed some rest. They could eat, then find a short holodrama to watch. He'd see her back to her room nice and early and maybe she'd get some sleep.

Then he could catch Chett and Joran saying goodnight to each other at 2:00 AM Tranus time, midnight Crescent Bay Gingezel, and 9:00 PM here on Drezvir respectively. The couple of times he'd caught their goodnight ritual was rather interesting. Neither Joran nor Chett seemed to have decided whether they were best buddies or squaring off, and it seemed to vary from minute to minute. Then he might really relax and treat himself to a couple hours of working with Brys on her idea to make it impossible to deflect traces for the Gingezel Ultrasecure Hyperweb. That was the kind of break he could really use.

"I'm not arguing," Dreen said. "Let's go before someone else finds something for you to do."

"On the way out, I'll tell Milton that Elin is finished her analysis and I've finished checking what she's done. So he can talk to her anytime."

Mitra looked at the group down the hall.

"He's quite a character isn't he? I've never heard anyone have the nerve to call Martine 'my dear' in a patronizing tone. I don't think she knows what to do." Mitra smiled at the memory, then frowned. "Still I think behind all the joking he's the kind who really cares. I think he was seriously upset about that really out-of-spec instrumentation assembly they found and he brought here."

"Oh, he cares alright."

Dreen didn't know enough about the structure at Tranus Dynamics to tell how much clout Milton had, but he suspected someone heard about that slip-up and good. He was the type that only seemed easy-going, and behind that was a perfectionist.

"Did I hear Tina say he was Chett's first boss?"

Mitra nodded.

"That seems really hard to believe, doesn't it?" Chett was so elegant and ... and ... Mitra mentally searched in vain for a better word than slob to describe Milton.

"Not really," Dreen disagreed.

He could see where Chett had picked up elements of his management style and his insistence on details.

"Now who's stalling?" Dreen asked since Mitra was fussing with the desktop. "Let's go."

***

The noise behind him made Dreen turn from clearing away the debris of supper so they could watch that holodrama. The quiet supper had been a good idea. They had taken their time, mostly just sitting there and reminiscing about the sights on Gingezel. Just relaxing had been great. It was their only time alone together except for the day Mitra had been charged, and he didn't want to remember that day. Taking Juttar's scolding to behave very discreetly to heart, Dreen had kept them in public places. But even if this room had video as well as audio monitoring, tonight there had been nothing anyone could to draw inferences from, either in their conduct or conversation. They were just friends having a quiet supper.

"Mitra! What are you doing?!"

"Making up the bed," Mitra answered in a tone that said ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.

She grabbed two cushions and piled them against the wall.

"I really don't think -"

The mechanism she had been tugging at gave and the bed unfolded to reveal a rumpled mess of sheets and blankets.

"Dreen! This is a mess! Don't you know you are supposed to strip the bed each morning and fold the blankets and sheets back on the closet shelf where you found them? That way they air at least a bit, and every now and again housekeeping cleans them." She corrected herself, "Well they will clean them if we ever get enough water."

The first supply ship with water to replace that lost the night of the reactor accident had arrived, so drinking water was no longer severely rationed. But there wasn't enough yet for showers much less laundry, other than at the hospital.

She was working as she talked, stripping the bed, then remaking it with brisk movements, her actions interspersed with under the breath mutterings. Dreen couldn't make out what she was saying but they presumably referred to his domestic competence. She was so cute, darting around. Dreen went to lean on the wall and watch. Well as long as this was just maid service, and she knew she was going back to her own room after the holodrama, it was fine. Considering how uncomfortable the sofa was, watching the holodrama propped up on cushions on the bed couldn't be worse.

The bed tidy, Mitra turned, hands on hips.

"Seriously Dreen. How can you sleep like that?"

"I like it that way," Dreen said, and got such an obviously reassessing look that he felt compelled to explain. "Mitra," he said mildly, "I can make a bed. The first morning here I did strip it and fold everything away. But that felt so much like being in the military that I thought I should be getting into a uniform and going down to the mess hall."

"Oh."

Mitra was immediately contrite. She could imagine that Dreen, being Dreen, had hated his military time because he'd felt so guilty. She turned and looked at the bed.

"You want me to mess it up again for you?"

Dreen smiled. "No, and thank you for making it. Now, which holodrama -"

Dreen stopped cold as Mitra perched herself on the edge of the bed. She started pulling her fleece top over her head.

"Just exactly what you think you're doing?"

"Stripping." The answer was muffled by fabric.

Dreen waited until she emerged.

"Mitra, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Why?"

She crossed her arms across her chest to not shiver.

"For starters to room is monitored quite possibly with visuals as well as audio."

It was obviously too late to try to tell her that Juttar said to be very discreet. There hadn't exactly been a chance to tell her, since he hadn't felt up to telling her about Juttar. That was a very pretty blue floral bra though ... nice. He remembered the day she bought it on Gingezel. And it wasn't like he didn't want her. He'd thought of their making love again ever since they had been separated. But their reunion was not supposed to be like this, not in a dingy little room and a few moments snatched from the nightmare.

Words stuck in his throat.

At last Dreen said helplessly, "Mitra, I can't, not here - not ..."

"Oh Dreen ..."

He obviously meant it too, and she wanted so much to just escape and forget everything in their loving for a few hours. Mitra shivered again, but she couldn't tell if it was nerves or that the room was so damned cold. She rose and turned off the light.

"Does that help?"

Big mistake. The soft strange reddish light of Sinnia flooded the room. And feeling as aroused as she did, she flashed back to the same soft light playing off Chett's tall blond body. They were laying on the same kind of bed and ... She shook her head to clear it of that unwanted mental infidelity. Chett might be one of the sexiest men in the galaxy, but he wasn't her man. He would never be any woman's man. And he wasn't the one she was in love with. She crossed to where Dreen seemed determined to keep leaning on the wall.

***

Dreen wasn't sure which woke him, Mitra's jerking around, or the funny little noises she was making. She was having a bad dream, poor thing. He discovered he was sleeping with his back to her. He had no idea what time it was, or when he had rolled over, but now he rolled back closing the distance between them and put an arm around her.

"It's all right, don't worry, it's all right."

Dreen was barely speaking. In fact he wasn't sure what to do because his mother has always maintained it was very bad to wake someone from a dream, but Mitra was obviously in distress.

She was too. They had gone shopping in some megacity, and she had said she knew how to get to this nice place. To get there they had to go through this mall. At first it had been pleasant, then they had taken a wrong turn out of the mall into a really tough area, and everyone was hostile and staring at them. Then she had gone to look at a map to see where they were, and when she turned around Dreen wasn't there. And she was hunting, and hunting, and the crowds were in the way blocking her, but she couldn't find her way back either, and ...

Mitra slowly became aware of the fact that her back was warm, not icy cold like it should be, and of being patted, and a voice. Dreen. She didn't really wake up. She was too exhausted, but she pressed back against him and grabbed the arm that was around her so he couldn't get himself lost again.

Her breathing slowly became regular again which was a relief, because Dreen hadn't dared move. The way she'd grabbed his arm, his other lower arm was going numb and his back was all twisted. Very carefully Dreen shifted position until he had a reasonable chance of being able to move in the morning. He wasn't likely to be comfortable enough to get back to sleep. That was fine though. He was content to lay there holding her. Juttar's advice might have been legally correct, but that was all. This was right. They were a couple, and they belonged together. Dreen had never realized he could feel so protective, possessive.

Having convinced himself sleep was impossible, and settling in to think the implications of this revelation through, he fell into the deepest sleep he'd had since their separation.

*****

Chapter 37

You could hear the terraformers well before you could see them - laughter and raised, excited voices. Within a week they would be complaining to C.C. and trying to dodge the daily lunch in the cafeteria he insisted on, but not today or tomorrow or the next day. They burst into the hall, so many exotic birds in brilliant plumage, jostling each other to get trays and peer at the food.

Mitra scanned the crowd, trying to get a clear look at everyone, trying to find C.C. There were three orientals, two men and a woman. One man was way too tall, the other slender. She tried not to be disappointed. After all, she would see him eventually. He probably had to report in to Rostin the minute he got here.

"Mom! There's C.C.!"

Tessa's voice was high with excitement. She was so pleased she forgot he was supposed to be called Dr. Windegren and wondered why Ginny kicked her under the table.

"Can I go tell him how the chicks have grown?"

It was the first spontaneous animation Lilla had seen in her daughter since Blayne's death, and it pleased her.

"In a little while Tessa. They have to eat. How about when he's having dessert? You can go get another dessert for yourself and Ginny, and you can both go eat with him." Dr. Windegren wouldn't mind. He was very good with children.

"And I can tell him two of the lichen actually grew!" Ginny's eyes were glowing.

"That stuff did not!" Tessa disagreed. "You just kept measuring until the numbers changed because that's what you wanted to happen."

"Tessa." Lilla's tone was warning. "I'm sure Ginny was very careful."

Ginny was eating with them because Ken and Ginena had a conference call with this lawyer C.C. had arranged for him, and Ginena didn't want Ginny upset. Ginny had been rather strange since getting lost, and no one knew if it was an after effect of the hypothermia or some sort of post traumatic stress effect.

"Now eat your lunch. It's good today."

It was too, Lilla thought with satisfaction. There were still lots of the exotic Gingezel supplies Mitra had brought left, and a Dellmaice Power Systems freighter full of basic supplies had docked last night. Today the cooks had decided to make a smoked fish casserole with rice and herbs. And they had their first produce from the hydroponics complex, enough bean sprouts for a simple salad with nuts. It had felt so good, packing the sprouts to be taken to the cafeteria.

"Tessa, where's C.C.?" Mitra asked, looking for someone she'd missed.

"There." Tessa pointed at the terraformers. "In the blue and green and pink flowered jumpsuit."

"Tessa, it's rude to point." Lilla reprimanded her daughter.

"Do you know C. - Dr. Windegren?" Tessa corrected herself at her mother's glare.

But Mitra didn't answer her. She was up and winding her way between the tables as fast as she could manage.

Dreen watched her retreating back, then transferred his attention to the man Tessa had pointed out. So that was C.C. Windegren, the terraformer. Somehow, he wasn't what Dreen had expected. He was too handsome. He looked more like a holodrama actor playing a terraformer. Right now though, he mostly looked worried and anxious as he was apparently systematically scanning the tables at the far end of the room.

"C.C.? C.C.!"

Mitra had her voice raised not quite to its reactor hall level, but enough to carry easily across the cafeteria. She still didn't believe Tessa that this slender man was C.C.

C.C. knew the voice the moment he heard it, and the questioning tone. Well, she had every right to be a lot more than displeased with him. She had every right to be furious. He'd done one hell of a number on Dellmaice Power Systems without even thinking about the fact this was her system. Bracing himself, he turned. He'd obviously started looking for her at the wrong end of the cafeteria.

"Mitra?"

The build was wrong, but the face and eyes were right. Mitra got past the last table and covered the remaining distance at a run.

"C.C.! Oh C.C.!" Her face was one delighted smile.

"Mitra!"

Galaxy only knew why, but she wasn't furious. C.C.'s face broke into a smile that mirrored hers. Putting his tray down, he threw his arms open in welcome. She hurled herself into them to be hugged. But C.C. stopped her at that last moment as he remembered Darwin in the soft pouch across his chest.

"Easy there. You'll squish my buddy."

"I'll what?" Mitra demanded, with one of C.C.'s arms around her, the other holding her a bit away.

Then she became aware of excited chittering about at her ear height. Even while she was trying to place it, a small furry head poked out of the pouch centimeters from her nose.

"Oh!" Startled, she stepped back.

C.C. reached into the pouch and extracted Darwin.

"Mitra, meet Darwin. Darwin, meet Mitra."

He held the little dappled fawn rodent at her eye height.

"C.C. He's the same kind I saw on Gingezel!"

"That's where he's from."

Mitra held out a finger like she had to the animal on the trail. "Hello, Darwin."

Darwin in turn held out a paw and touched Mitra's finger. Remembering that the little animal there had rubbed her with its nose next, she withdrew her finger and presented a nose. Darwin leaned forward to give her an enthusiastic rub, then started chittering loudly.

"Hey you! No fair kissing my girl before I do." C.C. informed Darwin. He looked around. "Leeth, feed him something. Bean sprouts at least." C.C. unceremoniously plopped Darwin on the other man's tray.

"So, where did you see a pikkant?" C.C. asked.

"At Crescent Bay on Gingezel. That's where I holidayed."

"Nice for you!" C.C. held her out at arm's length again. "It really is good to see you! You're as pretty as ever you know."

"And you've got thin. It suits you."

This arm's length was no good. She needed a proper hug with no pet in the way.

"So do I get that kiss?"

"Sure do."

C.C. gave her an enthusiastic kiss, then picked her up and twirled her around like he had when they were children.

"How's that?"

"Much better. So how long are you here, or is it right back to the seaside?"

"Here."

He looked at the line. Everyone else had their tray full.

"Look Mitra, there's tons to catch up on, but I've got a meeting with Rostin right after lunch. How about I cook you supper in the terraformers' habitat? We can talk all night."

He'd like that. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her. Then he remembered she was here for the accident post mortem.

"If you have time. You have to eat anyways, and we can talk while I cook."

"Great." She stretched up to kiss his cheek. "See you then."

C.C. picked up his tray and absentmindedly started down the line, more watching Mitra than the food being placed on it. They'd been apart way too long. They should have never let their mothers get on their nerves - or in their way. Despite his claim of being in a hurry, C.C. watched until she reached her table and sat down.

"Say Leeth," he asked as Leeth was consulting with Darwin as to what cookie he wanted, "do you recognize that man with Mitra and Lilla? The distinguished looking one."

Leeth looked up.

"Yes."

He went back to the cookie selection.

"Leeth," C.C. said testily, "let's try this again. I don't remember him as one of the miners. Who is he?"

"Dreen Pendi, Head of Nemizcan Computing and a galaxy class piece of slime."

***

"Mitra, I didn't know you knew Dr. Windegren. How long have you known him?"

Lilla had watched the obviously joyous reunion along with the rest of the cafeteria.

"We grew up together as kids!" Mitra's eyes were glowing. "His house was just down the block from mine."

"Did you play together?" Tessa wanted to know. She'd bet C.C. was fun to play with.

"We sure did -"

"Mitra, excuse me," Dreen said. "I have a couple business calls to make before I get back to work."

He stood up.

"Sure."

Mitra didn't turn to look or say goodbye. She was still twisted around watching C.C.

"I'll see you later." Then as Dreen was turning away she added, "Oh, I forgot. I told C.C. he could cook me supper. You don't mind?"

It would be two nights off in a row, but she and C.C. had so much to catch up on. They had been idiots to let their mothers come between them.

"Of course not," Dreen said stiffly. "Enjoy your reunion."

***

Dreen closed the door to his room and leaned on it. Well, there was obviously no doubt who the absolute idiot in Mitra's love life had been. All you had to do was to have seen C.C.'s face while he was looking for her, then the relief and sheer delight when it was obvious all was forgiven. What a reunion. Why couldn't she have looked a fraction as pleased when he'd walked into the analysis shed after searching the galaxy for her, he wondered, instead of half sick. So, C.C. Windegren, terraformer, was the man in Mitra's life. Why, why, why when he'd told himself at least one thing was going right did his own personal history have to be repeating itself? He was going to lose the woman he loved to another man again.

The sofa bed, now carefully made-up by Mitra with nice messy sheets, mocked him. That was what - five, six hours ago? Dreen shut his eyes, remembering. Remembering, and feeling sorry for himself. He opened his eyes and the sofa bed was still there. He was being an absolute idiot. A totally exhausted, overworked, stressed out idiot. Was Gingezel a fantasy? Was last night fantasy?

Disgusted with himself, Dreen walked over to the collection of Anton albums and selected one. It wasn't one Bojo had changed. It was one from the second or third year of Joran's marriage. Joran always referred to it as his summer album because it was upbeat and sunny, with a judicious mix of sultry and sexy thrown in. He turned it on loud and went and stretched out on the sofa, letting the music flow over him. The album invariably made him smile, partially because it was happy music, partially because he never heard the lyrics. What he heard in his head was a rewrite that Joran and Johnny Sun had amused themselves with one long hot summer weekend. They had then 'performed' the rewrite to the house party. It would never see publication, unless Joran had it posted for hackers to find on his website, but the words were hilarious. Shutting his eyes, Dreen took a mental vacation back to that weekend.

The music ended, and Dreen decided it had more or less worked. He was still tired, and still unhappy with the situation, but he'd be a fool not to be. His sense of balance was more or less back though, and he could think. History was not repeating itself. Mitra was not Jiane, and he wasn't a stupid kid.

He hadn't asked Mitra to marry him. He couldn't in a place like this. But she knew how much he cared. He'd screwed up and not been there when she got the call about the accident. But he had been, and would be, with her for the rest of this nightmare. And the man before him had made a much more serious mistake. He'd been cheating. Cheating enough to make Mitra wary of men. She might forgive him enough to be glad to see him, but she wasn't the kind to forget something like that. C.C. Windegren would have a very hard sell on his hands. History would not repeat itself unless he let it.

That raised the relevant question though, didn't it? Should history repeat itself? If worst came to worst, was Mitra turning to C.C. the better solution? Dreen sincerely hoped worst wouldn't come to worst, but he'd had an early on learning curve on that kind of reality.

Tranngol's team was very dedicated and professional. On a daily basis they were conclusively eliminating more and more of the possible causes of the accident. If they kept it up, pretty soon they'd have eliminated everything testable and still have a blown up reactor on their hands. That left the two things no one could ever be conclusive about, quantum effects in a computer, and the reactor operating envelope. To Dreen's mind, that would bring it down to lawyers - whose could best confuse the non-experts of the Farr Judiciary with the heavy-duty experts they called. He was simply not prepared to play that game against Mitra: you did it, I didn't.

So, should history repeat itself? Chett, he knew, would say he was crazy, or at the very least defeatist, but Chett wasn't here. Chett kept insisting there must be a rat somewhere, but if there was he sure couldn't smell it. Dreen realized the representatives he'd met were small groups of large companies, but to him they'd all seemed like himself - worried half sick and trying to sort things out. And when it came right down to it, he couldn't see Ari using anyone other than the best.

True, Milton Trave had brought the problem of a possibly out-of-spec detector to light, and quite frankly Dreen sincerely hoped when they dug down that far that's what they would find, a detector that somehow mis-performed. Better them than me, even though Mitra swore that kind of out-of-spec detector couldn't have caused a gross overpower. But if Milton was typical of Tranus Dynamics, it wasn't criminal intent- Chett's rat. At the worst, it was a company that had done the same thing for too long and had become complacent. In fact, the only two he disliked and distrusted were Trebur Auta and Olan Rostin, and both were certainly not rat candidates. Neither had any reason to cause the accident.

All the same, somehow he didn't trust Auta. The man was too smooth, too bland. But then Dreen understood Auta was in a very awkward political situation with the Mining Guild claiming autonomy from the Sector Judiciary and Auta as the Judiciary rep out to teach them that they were wrong. So maybe he was chosen for that very smoothness. And Rostin, well, he was too much the hard-line autocrat for Dreen to warm to him. But the man was coping, and very effectively too, with bringing a dangerous and difficult situation under control. Dreen knew it was a rough job to manage a planet, and this was Rostin's third. Autocratic was probably a job requirement.

Which left him right back where he was, with an accident that had no cause. So, should history repeat itself? He'd have to talk to Juttar about how easy that would be to achieve on the legal side - exactly how he could take the fall without Mitra being implicated, but it seemed easy. All he had to say was he wanted Nemizcan to diversify and misrepresented the risk to Dellmaice Power Systems. Unfortunately that would mean intent on his part, but that was Juttar's problem. Chett would be furious because that line would get Ari off the hook as well as Mitra, but that was Chett's problem. He seemed to be handling Ari quite effectively on his own with the takeover attempt.

*****

Chapter 38

Mitra froze in the entrance to C.C.'s suite, the noise of the rest of the terraformers having dessert loud behind them.

"Do they bite?"

About a third of one wall had some kind of planter in front of it, filled with plants about her height that seem to be thick red stems topped by cream-colored, eyeless heads - that was the only term she could think of - with huge red beaks. They swayed on those stems, giving the impression the eyeless heads were searching for food.

"No silly." C.C. gently pushed her aside so he could get past her. "They're holograms." He ran a hand through the garden to prove his point.

"Nice equipment," Mitra said with a self-conscious laugh, but she really had not put it past C.C. to have carnivorous plants he'd come across somewhere as house pets. "What are they? I suppose I mean where are the real plants from?"

"Drezvir." C.C. grinned.

"Right. You found some hidden valley somewhere, with this incredible microclimate, including I might add viable levels of oxygen and carbon dioxide - I suppose venting somewhere from some miraculous underground source. Try again C.C."

His grin broadened.

"You haven't lost your touch. I still don't see why you aren't a terraformer." He regretted those words instantly as the smile on her face faded. "Mitra, I'm sorry. But be realistic. The galaxy was big enough for both you and Roween."

And Mitra's mother Roween wasn't actually a terraformer. She was a biophysicist who worked with terraformers like his mother Beti, and now that he could afford her, himself. Mitra could have terraformed with Beti or him.

"No it wasn't." Mitra's chin had a stubborn set.

She tried to lighten up. This was supposed to be a pleasant reunion, not a rehashing of old problems.

"Besides, I really like being a power systems engineer - usually anyways."

That wasn't an improvement was it? She saw the real concern and sympathy in C.C.'s eyes.

"So seriously C.C., where is that vicious looking stuff from?"

"Don't insult my pets." C.C. was also consciously trying to ease the mood and correct his mistake. "And seriously, they are from Drezvir. You step on the stuff every time you go walking."

"The lichen?" It had a reddish cast to it.

"That's right. Since it's the most advanced plant form around, I've been doing preliminary genetic assessments." He deliberately did not add 'prior to bringing someone like Roween in'.

"I found an easy way to increase size, although it's anybody's guess whether or not those stems could support the mass of the flower heads scaled up if there's any wind. And there is always a gale here. If it works though, I figure that stuff would get a first for exotics in any horticultural show. What do you think?"

"I think you'd better check for carnivorous tendencies!" Mitra shivered.

"You really don't like it do you?" C.C. asked curiously.

"No," Mitra said firmly. "Do you have any other simulations you've done to project?"

"No, but I have some nice footage of forest on Gingezel. Would that do?"

"That would be great."

Mitra walked to the brocade sofa. The print was distinctly tropical, and a bit vivid for her taste, although it wasn't overpowering because the rest of the room was a pleasant mid-tone aqua. The room made her think of a high-class business portel. These terraformers did well for themselves.

"How come your quarters are all blue? I didn't think it was a favorite color of yours."

"It's a break from all the red on Drezvir. My rooms seaside are pine green and beige. I think they're nicer - I should have done them here."

C.C. walked to the door as a midsummer forest scene sprang to life.

"Darwin, I've got images of home if you're interested."

"You talk to Darwin like he understands everything," Mitra observed.

The same thing had happened at supper. The terraformers had even set a place setting for the little rodent.

"Have the pikkants proven to be smart?"

"Nope," C.C. announced cheerfully. "The sentience crowd tested them and decided they're so dumb that the only reason there's so many of them is that they must breed like crazy."

She knew that tone of voice.

"Seriously C.C."

"The sentience analysts are totally serious. They have to be. What they are doing is no joking matter. And I can show you the results, and for that matter holograms of some of the tests. They always got one of two responses. The little things would run around shrieking at the top of their lungs and bouncing off the walls, which was interpreted as terror in a situation totally beyond their comprehension, or they would go to sleep.

"The interpretation of the sleep response was harder - was it an even more extreme terror response, or total disinterest, once again in something incomprehensible. I think the reason they weren't sure was that when these guys nap off, they nap off. They have a really good subcutaneous fat layer, and they can out-sleep the patience of any post doc or technician by a month or so. It didn't matter what the testers tried - identify a symbol for food, get through a maze, they got the same response. They kept simplifying the tests until they gave up."

Mitra had been watching his face and thinking about Darwin at supper. That had not been a terrified, confused animal, and the pikkant she'd seen on Gingezel had seemed bright and alert.

"And they got it wrong?"

"Of course not." C.C. was firm. "The sentience testers are careful and competent, and in the Gingezel situation, more careful than usual."

Mitra was confused. "What's special about Gingezel?"

"The rate of development. There you saw in weeks - or at least say a couple years - what could take centuries on another planet. So there wasn't going to be much of a chance for the sentience researchers to say 'Oops, let's rethink that and pull out.' I mean, how the hell do you pull out when there's a megacity already built and populated? Believe me, they tested and triple tested every life form."

At that point the focus of the discussion came in the door, gave a chirp that could have been hello, took a quick look at the virtual forest, and went and sat in front of the food cupboard chittering loudly.

"Darwin, you can't be hungry. We just had supper."

The volume of chittering increased.

"All right, all right! Excuse me Mitra." C.C. rose from where he'd joined Mitra on the couch. "I think Darwin's biological clock is telling him to lard up to hibernate. I wish," he said over his shoulder as he rummaged in the cupboard, "I knew what diet they prepare to hibernate on."

C.C. selected four bags of nuts and knelt down, offering them to Darwin.

Mitra watched as the little creature inspected them carefully, choosing one. Then rather to Mitra's surprise, Darwin took it from C.C.'s hand.

C.C. stood up. "What about you Mitra, while I'm up? A drink?"

"Sure, whatever you're having."

The answer was automatic. Her full attention was on Darwin as he carefully unsealed the pouch, extracted a single nut, then resealed it again. Dumb as they come? Come on C.C.! If Darwin had torn into the pouch maybe, but she had trouble opening then resealing those things.

That focus was not lost on C.C. He came back and handed Mitra her glass of sparkling juice.

"To reunions."

He raised his own glass in a toast.

Mitra smiled and raised hers in return.

"And old friends."

She took a sip of the sparkling fruit blend.

"This is nice."

It was tart enough to be a wine, but she knew terraformers didn't allow alcohol or drugs on their away sites.

"It's from Gingezel. We're pretty good friends with an orchard owner there."

C.C. sat down on the couch.

"Do you have any idea how good it's been to see you again?"

He meant every word of it. He'd been glad to see Mitra, but as the evening wore on he'd been surprised at how much he enjoyed her company.

"It has been very nice," Mitra agreed. "When was the last time we spent any real time together anyways?" She couldn't remember.

"The summer we both worked for Beti," was C.C.'s immediate reply.

They had been summer students, doing the kind of manual work Leeth did on one of her terraforming projects. He could remember every day of that trip.

"That's right." Mitra smiled. "Didn't we have fun!"

"The great explorers," C.C. agreed.

They had been in a tropical area and probably driven his mother frantic with worry most of the time. That was one terraformer problem the average galactic citizen didn't think about. There were no GPS systems or communications towers, so people could get lost, like poor little Ginny had here.

Mitra looked around the room.

"Did we live this fancy then?"

"I honestly don't remember. I suppose so, since mother and I use the same supplier and I don't think she's changed for decades."

He looked around the room, seeing it instead of just using it.

"It's not that fancy Mitra, and we are both from good homes. You're just seeing the comparison to the Mining Guild complex. Theirs is all bottom of the line, this is the top."

"I suppose so."

Mitra took a sip of sparkling juice, wondering what to talk about next. There was so much to catch up on they hadn't even tried over the communal supper. Maybe it was best to just pick up from now, like they saw each other every day, and talk of inconsequential things. Besides, they'd sort of been kept up by family.

C.C. sat watching her, reacquainting himself the planes of her face, her expressive eyes, the shape of her mouth, her tiny size, her intensity. But he wasn't only remembering, he was seeing her from a very different perspective than he had as a young man. Then she had been the sister he'd never had. But now ...

C.C. said softly, "So how come we let our mothers mess things up for us? How come we aren't together?"

"We were never that kind of friends," Mitra reminded him.

"No, we weren't," C.C. agreed. "But it doesn't have to stay that way, does it?"

He reached out to trace the line of her cheek.

The touch startled her, and Mitra looked at him, realizing for the first time that this man was not exactly C.C. from down the street who treated her like a sister. He was attractive, confident, and unless she was a totally inadequate judge of the situation, he was quite prepared with the slightest encouragement to start the kind of moves that would have her staying the night.

"Forget it, C.C.!"

"Why? There's a lot to be said for being with someone who really knows you."

His hand was tracing the line of her neck now, making her uncomfortably aware both of the touch and the fact that ten years ago she might have welcomed it. She squirmed away.

"C.C. lay off!"

This time the tone got through to him. He looked at Mitra with concern, and automatically reverted to his old friend role.

"What's the matter? I heard you got yourself tangled up with a real bastard a while back. He put you permanently off men?"

C.C. had heard two versions of the engagement and estrangement. The one from his mother had made no sense at all, but it had left him curious enough to tackle Niki on his next trip home. Niki had apparently been not at all disappointed at the disappearance of the potential brother-in-law. He'd told C.C. a blunt and coherent story of professional jealousy and plain old infidelity.

Mitra sensed a change and relaxed.

"Not permanently, no, but Mark did leave me wary for a few years."

"Real bad news?" C.C. asked sympathetically.

Mitra was surprised that she could almost laugh about it now. "He was my boss. He asked right up front if I could handle that kind of situation. I was just too dumb to return the question. It got pretty bad." She shrugged. "Eventually Ari gave up and fired him and kept me."

"But it's all ancient history now?" C.C. asked cautiously.

"Definitely. He's gone who knows where, and as long as I never see him again, I don't care where."

"Okay. So how come I got so thoroughly frosted - or," he asked candidly, "is it a case of strictly one-sided chemistry?" There really were advantages to knowing someone so well he didn't have to play games. "I wasn't kidding there, Mitra. From my side I've been wondering all night if our stupid mothers really cost us a good thing."

"And from my side," Mitra was equally candid, "the thought never entered my head. I was just glad to see you again C.C."

"Okay. So let it enter now."

He was serious, but he said it lightly and kept his hands to himself.

Mitra laughed.

"C.C., know when to quit! You're coming into the game way too late. I'm seriously involved with someone."

This was news he hadn't heard from home, and hadn't counted on. Still, on reflection that might not be surprising. His understanding was that Roween had sided solidly with this Mark fellow, so Mitra might be keeping things to herself.

"So how seriously is seriously?"

"Quite."

"Anyone I know?"

"Dreen Pendi. You know him?"

"Know him, no. But I've heard a lot about him. I hope you're being careful, Mitra."

"C.C., you make him sound like a worse risk than my brother, Niki, is!" Mitra was laughing.

That was one thing she couldn't see Dreen doing, having a new woman each month. And she knew he'd never be sneaky like Mark. Still, she was curious.

"What have you heard?"

C.C. felt compelled to be honest.

"Mostly, I've heard things from Joran." Mitra must know or have heard of Joran if she was involved with Dreen. "They're all good. Joran thinks very highly of him."

Mitra was diverted. "How did you get to know Joran?"

C.C. didn't want to mention Gingezel, because he wasn't sure if Mitra knew Joran was in the Gingezel Consortium and he tried to respect their secret.

"Oh, we both travel a lot and our paths keep crossing."

Mitra accepted that.

"And Joran wouldn't warn me off Dreen. So?"

"I've also heard him described as a galaxy class piece of slime."

That startled Mitra. Dreen was nice to everyone.

"By some woman?"

"No."

He'd check what Leeth meant before dragging him into things.

"But why?"

"I don't know. I didn't care, since I didn't know Dreen, so I didn't follow it up. I think I will now."

"It won't turn out to be anything."

"No doubt," C.C. agreed. He didn't want to spoil the night.

*****

Chapter 39

"So how was the holiday on Gingezel?"

The word attracted Darwin's attention, and he looked, hoping C.C. was talking to him. But he was focused on the new female, like he had been all night. Darwin went over and tugged on Mitra's pant leg.

"Hello Darwin. Are we neglecting you?"

Mitra reached down to pet the thick soft fur, and Darwin leaned into the caress.

"Hey, how come he's faring better than I am?" C.C. teased.

"Darwin isn't making passes."

"I wasn't making passes," C.C. protested. He hated that term. "I was suggesting possibilities, that's all."

"Mmhm."

Mitra stopped petting Darwin and gave C.C. a skeptical look.

Darwin tugged her pant leg again, chittering this time. As Mitra reached down to resume petting, he backed off a step or so, still chittering.

"He wants you to play with him."

"All right." Mitra obligingly slid off the couch onto the carpet.

Darwin looked at her, apparently confused, then at C.C.

There was only a brief hesitation, then C.C. made a decision. If Mitra was around much, and he certainly intended her to be, because as far as he was concerned one Dreen Pendi now had competition, she'd figure things out fast enough.

"That isn't the kind of play he means Mitra."

It was Mitra's turned to look from one to the other, confused.

"So, what does he mean?"

"How good are you at 'Don't Come Crying'?" C.C. asked.

'Don't Come Crying' was one of the currently favorite computer games if you liked a mix of fast-paced action and logic. It seemed a non sequitur, but maybe C.C. was thinking games now himself.

"A Level 2 Master," Mitra said with some pride. She'd spent time practicing to un-tense after long days building the damned reactor.

"I suppose that will have to do." C.C. was grinning. "What do you think Darwin?"

Darwin chittered.

"All right then." C.C. waved in the direction of his computing room and office. "Go set things up."

"So you think you're better, do you?" Mitra asked.

C.C. had always been very competitive at games.

"Actually, not at this one. I'm only Level 1."

"I'll be easy on you."

"You won't have to be." C.C. was grinning again.

Mitra watched Darwin limp through the door.

"He moves slowly and awkwardly, C.C."

"It's a congenital hip deformity. He's been examined by a veterinary surgeon, but not much can be done for it."

"Is that why you've made him a pet?"

Mitra knew C.C. had a soft spot for defenseless animals.

"Partly," C.C. said evasively.

He stood up and extended a hand to pull her up.

"Come on."

They went into the room that served both for recreational computing and as C.C.'s office. Darwin was sitting on the desk beside the computer, a fact that puzzled Mitra until she saw the ramp.

"That's sweet C.C."

"Mmm." C.C. was noncommittal. Actually it was easier than continually lifting Darwin up and down.

Mitra took the chair. "So, are we playing the computer in turn for points, or each other?"

"Why don't you play the computer so I can see your style?"

Mitra smiled. "Still competitive?"

"Some things don't change."

As Mitra slid up to the console, Darwin started to protest.

C.C. picked him up and said firmly, "Ladies first, Darwin. Mind your manners."

Darwin gave him a quizzical look, but subsided.

Mitra played the short version, then turned to C.C. feeling rather pleased with herself. She hadn't played since leaving Drezvir for Gingezel, but her score was high.

"Well?"

"Not bad," C.C. agreed. "Come sit by me and let Darwin have his turn."

C.C. put Darwin back on the desk.

"You let Darwin have a turn. That's cute."

She pushed her chair back beside C.C.'s to watch, wondering what exactly a turn for the little rodent meant. Presumably he liked to push the rollerball around, and hear the noises as he got blasted out of existence.

There were a series of short, high-pitched squeaks and the difficulty level moved up to a Level 4 Master.

Mitra turned to C.C.

"Wh ...what -" She couldn't frame the question.

"Voice commands," C.C. said succinctly. "I haven't the foggiest what they mean if you're a Pikkant, but as long as the computer recognizes them as the command to launch Level 4, who cares. Now, watch this. With those tiny hand-like paws you won't believe the control he gets on a rollerball."

After the first few seconds, Mitra couldn't have taken her eyes off the game. This was no random process. Darwin was breezing his way through the Level 4 obstacles like they didn't exist. And C.C. was right. His coordination was incredible.

C.C. said, "I tried to get him to play at Level 5, but he loses about half of the time there, and he doesn't like it. I honestly don't know if it's the losses as such that bother him, or the sound of the booing you get."

As Mitra well knew, 'Don't Come Crying' was set up to support newcomers, but got progressively more aggressive as you worked up. There were novice, intermediate, and masters levels. There were only five masters levels, and Darwin could win in half of the time in the fifth? She wouldn't have a chance of a win at all.

"Right," Mitra said, trying very hard not to think. If she did, she might decide she'd finally snapped from the stress.

Darwin finished to applause, and turned, making an assortment of sounds.

"He wants you to play him, Mitra. He likes playing people better than the computer. We are more erratic. I think that amuses him."

"Right."

Mitra slid her chair forward. Don't think. You're about to get wiped at 'Don't Come Crying' by a rodent. Don't think. Just do it.

She did get wiped too. Besides having a coordination advantage, Darwin was downright devious. He was a good winner though. When the game was over he came and leaned against her hand in a manner that could only be called apologetic.

"Thank you, Darwin. That was a good game."

If he could be a good winner, she could be a good loser. She extended a finger, which Darwin touched, then he tipped up his nose. Mitra lowered hers to tabletop level to be rubbed.

"Hey, I'm registering another complaint," C.C. said. "You're definitely showing favoritism."

Darwin went back to the rollerball, and made an acquiring chirp.

"No Darwin," C.C. said.

To Mitra he added, "He'll keep you there all night if he can."

"Actually, I'd like one more game." It might convince her she wasn't hallucinating.

"Suit yourself."

So, she played again, lost again, thanked Darwin again, and declined to play a third time. Leaving Darwin to his own devices, they went back to the living room.

Mitra sat down, carefully watching C.C. as he refilled their glasses. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something first.

"So the pikkants aren't sentient, C.C.?"

"That's right."

He handed her the refilled glass.

"I can show you the certificates, and the tests themselves. Dumb as they come."

She felt herself shiver slightly.

"C.C.," she said slowly, "are you telling me Darwin is some sort of super intelligent mutant?"

"Nope. Totally normal. In fact, judging by the other Pikkants I know, I'd say he's more sociable than bright."

"Right."

A dumber than average pikkant just wiped her at one of the most demanding games around. Twice. That wasn't luck. She eyed C.C. over the rim of her glass.

"C.C., are we playing some game I don't understand? If Darwin isn't a member of a sentient species, who is?"

"Not sentient, Mitra. Pick another word. Bright, intelligent, reasoning. There are lots of them. But not sentient. Sentience is a measured quantity with precise legal meaning. They were processed, and they aren't sentient."

Mitra took her time with this one. So, she wasn't totally mad yet. C.C. acknowledged Darwin's intelligence, but denied sentience.

At last, she said carefully, "But isn't the legal definition of sentience on purpose, C.C.? So that if we ever do run into intelligent creatures, there are guidelines on how they are to be treated by us? Guidelines to protect them, and prevent conflict."

"That's right."

Every terraformer lived with those guidelines.

"And Darwin is smart enough to beat me soundly at 'Don't Come Crying', but he isn't sentient. Come on C.C. What game are you playing?" Then, before he could answer her, she answered for him. "C.C.! You're protecting the Gingezel Consortium!"

Mitra was shocked, and disappointed. This man was obviously not her old childhood friend.

"No Mitra," C.C. said firmly. "I'm protecting the Pikkants. You see, they've opted out."

*****

Chapter 40

"Opted out?" Mitra repeated blankly.

"Opted out." C.C. was intense, completely serious. "These little guys have really had me soul-searching, Mitra. They're smart, as smart as they come. You've played Darwin. He was reasoning. So, if you grant them intelligence and the ability to reason, you have to also grant them the right to make their own decisions.

"For whatever reason, and I can't even speculate on a reason since I'm not a Pikkant, they took one look at the sentience assessment process and said no thanks. We do not have the right to force them. For that matter, how could we humanely?"

"C.C. You can't know they didn't want to participate. Maybe they didn't understand. Maybe they were scared."

"Not a chance. There were enough complex lifeforms on Gingezel that it took some while to process everything, and the Pikkant weren't very high in the queue. They started with some of the larger mammals and marine species, then birds. By then the colony Darwin is in had been around us."

"I'm waiting for us to totally screw up and miss something because we never assess plant life," Mitra chipped in. "Collective intelligence, that sort of thing."

C.C. was not about to be tempted by an argument as old as Galactic exploration. He simply said, "If there is such an intelligence, and there may well be on every world, it's so foreign we probably wouldn't be able to recognize it or understand it. So it's out of luck.

"But the Pikkant were assessed, Mitra, and I tell you they consciously decided to fail the test."

"How can you know that C.C.?" Mitra was still inclined to be outraged at this potential for abuse of a sentient species.

"In the tests they were incapable of even pushing a green circle to eat, and they acted terrified. Now, in the first round of testing the sentience people picked their own Pikkants, so that was the first human encounter and I'll grant you it could have scared them. But on the second round we asked them to use Pikkant from where we'd been working and Darwin was in the group that went. Exactly the same results.

"But that group had been underfoot for months. They were as curious as can be around us. No fear at all, and a real nuisance. They pushed every contact button or lever they could reach to see what it did. So the only thing I can see is they took one look at the assessment process and decided they wanted no part of it."

He added reluctantly, "And that left me in a really awkward spot. Did I respect their wishes? Presumably any truly viable relationship with a sentient alien species must be based on respect for their culture and wishes, amongst other things. Or did I do something sneaky like get records of how they acted around us? And even if I did, and then they insisted on playing stupid again, would I be believed or would it be assumed that I somehow cooked up the images?"

C.C. looked at Mitra. "You know, I could really stand to talk this one out with someone, but I don't know how much time you have."

"Didn't you talk to Beti?"

"No," C.C. said firmly. "She would have insisted I somehow convinced the sentient assessment professionals to believe me, and to do it all by the book. She's got no choice after all, with Ceb being so high up in the Interplanetary Judiciary."

Mitra frowned. "What about the Gingezel consortium? If this comes out later, you yourself said there is a real problem if a sentient species is discovered on a planet that is already developed. It's a nasty surprise."

"They know," C.C. said, surprised she would even think he wouldn't tell them.

"They know," Mitra said blankly. "So what are they going to do about this? Just ignore the Pikkant and put buildings on them?"

That idea really upset her.

"Of course not. J -" C.C. caught himself. "A member of the consortium has been appointed liaison and he is trying to keep them happy."

Mitra looked at C.C., her mind framing a sudden insight.

"You almost said Joran, didn't you? You know him from Gingezel, not traveling."

Why deny it? C.C. nodded.

Mitra tucked her feet up, thinking about this. When she thought about it, she could imagine Joran in the consortium. Compared to either the tourist service industry musician he had pretended to be with the steel band, or the typical rich vacationer, he had consistently acted different. The first were very professional. The latter kind either dressed up in an 'aren't we having a fancy vacation' mode, or deliberately didn't dress up, but either way they were obviously sight seeing.

Joran just slopped around like it was all his house, and it was his day off, and damned if he was even going to try beyond more or less getting dressed. Which she supposed, could be how Gingezel might feel if you owned it, at least it could feel like that if you were Joran. But she could not imagine Joran dealing with the Pikkant, much less being an ambassador or liaison.

"How do you mean liaison? I mean what did Joran do?"

"Did, I suppose is the right word. After Maillie died he refused to come to Gingezel, but he was the early one who set the approach."

Darwin appeared, lured by the mention of Gingezel and one of his favorite humans, Joran. He gave an inquiring chirp, looking around the room.

"Sorry Darwin, Joran's not here. We're talking about him, that's all."

Darwin went and pointedly sat by the telecommunication equipment, giving the high pitched two-tone sound that was as close as he could come to Joran.

"No Darwin. We can call in a couple days to congratulate him on his concert." At least C.C. hoped it would be to congratulate him. "But he's busy now."

Darwin give a chirp that could be interpreted rather easily as disgust, Mitra thought. He tugged at her pant leg again.

She looked at C.C. "Does he want another game?"

"Most likely, but we're talking." C.C. reached down and picked Darwin up, putting him on the couch between them.

Darwin gave C.C. a dirty look and curled up to Mitra.

She reached out to stroke him like she would a cat, and caught herself. If he really was sentient -.

Darwin gave a noisy protest.

"Pet him. They seem to be a very sociable species. They spend a lot of time grooming each other."

Mitra put out a tentative hand.

"So you like Joran do you?"

It was C.C. who answered, or at least gave his guess at the meaning of Darwin's enthusiastic sounds. "I think he's their favorite in the consortium, and Joran and Darwin get on the best."

"What do they do?"

Darwin had climbed up on her lap now.

"Well, when Joran meets one of the Pikkants, he plops down on the ground if they are outside, or lifts the Pikkant up on the table if they are inside. Then he puts his hand out like you do in greeting. He says that's the test. If they're happy, they'll shake hands and if not, odds are he'll get bit. Then, when the creature greets him with the touch, he rubs noses, even if that means sprawling on his belly. That really goes over well.

"Then, very seriously, he says 'so what's new?' And then the Pikkant starts chattering. Joran will nod away, and sometimes smile, and once or twice I've heard him laugh. Then all of a sudden he'll say 'Hold it. Say that again. You aren't happy are you?'

"And the Pikkant will make more noises. And Joran will say 'I'm sorry, but you know I'm an idiot and I can't understand a word. But if you show me we'll sort it out'."

"So how does he have conversations he doesn't understand?" Mitra asked.

"He swears it's just like being onstage on a world where he doesn't speak a word of the language. Apparently he always turns his translator chip off onstage, because a voice right in his ear throws him when he's performing. But he claims that after all those years he can judge the emotions of the audience, not any words, to a hair's breadth. And I can believe that."

Mitra nodded. "And what does 'sort it out mean'?"

With Joran that had a lot of possibilities, and they could be very interesting.

"Well, Joran works on the basic premise that the Pikkant is by definition right, and we're wrong. It is their planet after all. He uses a lot of sign language and goes from there."

C.C. smiled suddenly at the memory of the first major meeting of the Pikkant and the consortium. "I've got a really cute story, but I'm still afraid I'm imposing on your time."

Mitra shook her head. "This is interesting. Tell me."

C.C. hesitated. She sounded like she meant it, but there were dark smudges underneath Mitra's eyes and she looked exhausted.

"On one condition. You're exhausted Mitra. Forget my stupid moves a while ago, and relax like you used to when we were kids."

"What does that mean?" Mitra was sudden wary.

"What it means is if this were Beti's suite, and this was the summer we worked for her, and we'd gone exploring and generally goofing off and calling it work, then came back exhausted, you wouldn't be sitting at the far end of the couch struggling to hold your head up. You'd be curled up with your head on my shoulder while I talked."

His smile was engaging. "I always was a talker. Still am. So come here."

C.C. spread his arm along the back of the couch.

Mitra was reasonably sure this was a bad idea, but her brain was too fuzzy to come up with a good objection and she wasn't inclined to try very hard. The old memories were tempting, and subconsciously the idea of just sitting there half listening rather than pushing herself back to work was immensely attractive.

"Come on Darwin."

Mitra slid down, nestling into C.C. and closing her eyes.

"So what's the cute story?"

*****

Chapter 41

"I'm talking about the first time the consortium met the Pikkant, just after I broke the news they were highly intelligent but judged as not sentient."

"How did you decide that anyways?" Mitra asked.

"I suppose it was cumulative. But they made us curious early on. On our first couple of visits, they were obviously watching us take soil samples and such, but they stayed more or less out of sight and definitely out of reach. We commented they were cute. That was about it.

"Then we were doing some early experiments to decide whether or not any variety of grape vine could thrive in totally unmodified soil so the consortium could claim a completely Gingezel vintage. From the soil analysis we ruled a lot of areas out, but there were a couple promising areas near Crescent Bay. We came up with about two dozen possible vines that might work in the area. We were planting them early on in our work since it would take quite some time to see if they thrived. And no time at all to see if they croaked," he added. "But they weren't likely to. Marginal, nonproductive growth was most likely, and the consortium wanted an answer as soon as possible.

"This seemed to make the Pikkant more curious. They weren't as careful about hiding and several came quite close to Leeth. He's one of those people animals like, and he kept talking away to them as he was working. Then at break time, he said more to them than us, 'I bet you little guys wonder what all this work is for.' He went and got a whole clump of grapes from the refrigerator and came back and hung it on the plant. Then he took a couple off and ate them, then offered some to the Pikkant. I honestly expected them to run at that point, but Darwin came up and did the hand touching trick and took a grape."

C.C. ruffled Darwin's fur. "Talk about one excited little guy after the first cautious bite. Next thing you know they were all crowding around smelling it, and I thought there would be a stripped grape cluster. But the Pikkant are very polite. They quieted down in a bit and waited for Leeth to give them grapes, one at a time. Each one touched his hand first before taking a grape.

"After the break, while we finished up planting vines they were really underfoot, more or less with their noses in everything we did. With them close like that, we paid more attention to Darwin's deformity, and the fact they took care of him. They were the topic of conversation at supper, and we decided that they were definitely past the survival of only the fittest stage. That's when someone decided we should call Darwin Darwin.

"In the morning we left. When we came back in a few weeks checking out the grape vines was the first order of business. They were obviously still alive, but from a distance it looked like there was a major weed infestation. That was bothersome because it meant Gingezel weeds had an incredible growth rate. But when we actually got to the plot, the soil between the vines was totally clean except for what we'd taken as weeds. However the soil around the 'weeds' was disrupted like they had been planted, and there was a pile of the same leaves at the bottom of each vine.

"We pretty much all reached the same conclusion, and it wasn't a very comfortable one. So we did the 'let's take it one step at a time' approach. We collected leaves both from the piles and the plants for analysis and got on with our other work since tending the vines was obviously under control. To make a long story short, the Gingezel plants contained natural pesticides and besides them being present in the leaves, a growing plant releases them to the air if there's an infestation. Like I said those grapes really went over."

C.C. shrugged without thinking, and Mitra opened her eyes and shifted position. Disturbed in turn, Darwin resettled himself, kneading her thighs like a cat.

"Sorry. Anyways, there were enough incidents like that that while we weren't using the word sentient, we were really starting to expect a rating of high intelligence in the testing. But the little guys bombed. So we said maybe the test animals were scared, and would they please try again immediately with ones used to us. That didn't go over well - those sentient types are pretty arrogant ..."

C.C. missed the smile that statement coming from a terraformer brought to Mitra's lips.

"But they didn't refuse. I think they were scared of screwing up on the Gingezel job. As I said, the results were just the same and I really got a chewing out for interfering in their test sequence for a bunch of stupid rodents. I didn't know what to do. I thought for weeks. Then in the end, even though I was afraid of traumatizing him, I showed Darwin the hologram results of the testing. By then he was into computer games. He gave the video one really dirty look, turned his back, and went back to where he was teaching himself 'Don't Come Crying'.

"That was when I called Joran. Back then he was the only member of the consortium that didn't intimidate me. I said we had a problem. The sentience testers had screwed up on some rodents. They said they were almost too dumb to survive and they weren't. I guess something in my face or voice got through to Joran because he just looked at me for a while, then he said very quietly 'just how bright are they?' and I said 'well, one of them who flunked the test and who has obviously never seen technology in his life is sitting on at my desk right now playing master level 'Don't Come Crying'.

"There was a very very long pause, and Joran said, 'Right ... I really think you'd better transmit copies of those tests to me, C.C.' I did, and about five hours later he called back to say the consortium had cleared their schedules and they'd all be on Gingezel in four days.

"They were, too. We all met at the first spaceport on Gingezel. That was one really interesting dogfight. There were two camps. Joran was the odd one out, not in either camp. Everyone else wanted to cut their losses and pull out fast, but the split came on whether or not they could succeed in going after the insurance they'd taken out to cover discovery of a sentient species. One camp said it would never be granted with two negative tests. The other said just keep testing until the Pikkants showed they were smart."

"And Joran?"

"He said both positions were unfair to the point of being immoral. To pull out without a reason and let the 'stupid' rating stand would mean Gingezel would be opened to general settlement, and odds were the Pikkants would be screwed at best, and possibly eradicated as pests. To force them to be subjected to more testing when they had obviously opted out of it was cruel, and no way to start a relationship.

"He said to think about that one. How would you feel if you were on a world where you didn't speak the argot and your translator didn't handle it either. All of a sudden a couple people grab you and you're put in this stark cell and you're expected to do tricks like push buttons to get a simple drink of water or a lousy food pellet. You wouldn't know what the hell was going on. Had you broken an unknown law? Got in the middle of a political feud? Were you being held for ransom? Were they some kind of nut cases and this was how they got their jollies? You'd conclude one thing fast though - you weren't playing voluntarily.

"Joran was pretty worked up and it was quite a lecture. Next he said something like, 'Then after a week or so of softening you up like that, and just getting on your nerves staring at you, they slap you in a maze. Are you going to go stumbling along just so they can laugh when something these nuts have hidden around the corner scares the shit out of you? No way. You'd know damned well it wasn't some freedom offer - go through and walk out the door. So if you had any sense you'd literally sit it out.' Joran said he just figured the Pikkants were lucky with their subcutaneous fat so they could sleep for a month or so. Eventually, get him hungry enough, and he'd jumped through the hoops to eat. But he wouldn't like it.

"He got challenged at that point - if he was so bright, how did he want to handle it? He said that was simple - coexistence. It seemed to him the Pikkant were a pretty tolerant crowd. They didn't seem to be holding the testing process against the terraformers, so what the consortium should do is convince the Pikkant they were all right and play it totally straight. The Pikkant were the original inhabitants, we're the uninvited guests. So simply don't do anything that the Pikkant don't like, and if they're upset, they win, no argument."

"That can't have gone over with a bunch a rich developers like that!"

C.C. grinned. "Actually, it did. The Pikkant aren't that widespread. They've only colonized about half a continent, and their presence in much of that is pretty sparse. Old -" C.C. checked himself from saying old Jorgus Brenya. "The oldest member of the consortium started to laugh and said great. He'd trade Joran his land in the Pikkant area one-for-one for land outside the Pikkant area, and so would everyone else. Joran could own all the land where the Pikkant were and they were his problem. Then he was the one in trouble, and he was the one that lost his shirt if the bright idea blew up. The rest would be saved a lot of trouble and expense."

"And Joran agreed?"

"Oh yeah. He was pretty worked up by then - somehow seeing the testing records really bothered him. He said great. He said he'd transfer the deeds then and there, and he didn't give a damn what part of the rest of his land was wanted in trade for Pikkant land. He just wanted to get on with it. I think," C.C. added slowly, "an alien intelligence really intrigued him too."

"I think it could," Mitra agreed slowly, turning the idea over in her mind. She could imagine Joran really worked up, on total overdrive.

"I started to go. I thought they'd want me out of there while they dealt with business. But Joran said to bloody well sit down and stay put, he needed someone on his side. Then he called Juttar at home -"

"Who?" It came out sharper than Mitra meant.

"Juttar Kommur, the consortium lawyer."

Juttar still intimidated him, actually terrified him. He had not been present since he'd been in court representing a client. C.C. frowned as the name brought no response from Mitra, not even a murmur.

"Come on Mitra, you have to know who I mean. He or his firm handle all the high profile cases and you've seen him hundreds of times. Dark hair, heavyset, jowls."

"Yes," Mitra said quietly.

Juttar Kommur, the lawyer Niki had admitted in his last call that he was trying desperately to get to look at her case, or at least to have someone in the firm look at it. They wouldn't even answer the calls. 'No new clients at present.' And Joran has the guy immediately available. Well, she tried to be philosophical. If the firm handled all the Gingezel legal work, they probably were tied up for the indefinite future. Maybe though she should talk to Dreen about it, have him talk to Joran and see if someone could at least call Niki and suggest an alternative. But she knew she wouldn't. First off, Dreen had probably never met this Juttar man, so it would be asking him to impose on Joran for her. And second, she would have to admit to Dreen that she didn't think Dellmaice Power Systems was taking care of her. He'd just think she was paranoid like her mother did.

"Go on."

*****

Chapter 42

The scene was as clear in C.C.'s mind as the day he'd lived through it.

"Juttar, we've just come unglued here on Gingezel. I want you to sit there, listen to me, keep your damned mouth shut, and do exactly what I ask. Understand?"

Juttar was in rumpled pajamas, his hair unkempt, his jowls dark with black stubble. He ran a hand over his bleary eyes. He knew Joran in this mood.

"I understand."

Their meeting about the Pikkant was bound to come unglued, but he hadn't expected it this soon. And of course it had to be in the middle of his night.

"We're all on Gingezel right now, here in the Allegro. The species C.C. discovered has been thoroughly tested and judged non-sentient, but they are intelligent, and I want special treatment for them, not," Joran glared at the rest, "further testing, which they obviously hated. So I'm acquiring all the land they occupy. I'm prepared to trade it one for one for any other land I hold. I want to do that transfer now."

There was a prolonged pause, then Juttar said mildly, "Joran, I know I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut, but I can't transfer land until I know where it is."

"Oh, right. Sorry about that."

Joran sent the information.

"And what land of yours goes in exchange?"

"No one's decided yet."

"Then I'll set it up as an exchange for land of equal area, that land to be specified by two weeks from today. Is that acceptable?"

"Fine."

"All right. This will take a bit. Have a cup of whatever."

They did, while Juttar worked away. It was all very civilized and friendly again now that an arrangement was in place.

"All right, this should do it. All I need is witnessed signatures and biometric seals. Should I go wake-up Jiane?"

"Don't! Don't tell her! C.C.'s here."

The last thing Joran wanted was Jiane to know the Pikkant were sentient.

"C.C. come witness this and give us your seal."

"And, that's that." Juttar yawned. "Can I say something now Joran?"

"You always do sooner or later."

"Two things. First, do you have the slightest idea what you're doing, or are you just playing this one by ear?"

Joran smiled then, his first smile in that long, long session.

"By ear, but have you ever heard me muff a note that way yet?"

Juttar returned the smile. "No. And second," the smile broadened, "Joran, I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks. Now, go get some sleep."

Juttar looked at the time strip on his wrist band. "It isn't worth it. What are you doing next anyway? By the way – sheer curiosity – what are the creatures like live, not just seeing recordings, and how smart are they?"

"They've been named Pikkants by C.C. here, and they look just like the holograms – kind of like a brown Terran squirrel with its tail whacked off. And as for smart, I understand I'll meet one who flunked the sentience test but could beat you at 'Don't Come Crying'." Joran grinned. "That's not a big deal. I beat you all the time."

There was a pause, while Juttar looked at Joran with much the same expression Joran had looked at C.C. with. Then he said the same thing.

"Right."

Another pause.

"So what are you doing next?"

"For lack of any better ideas, I thought I'd take them to a nice business lunch and try to sell the development we thought of for this area."

***

"A business lunch?" Mitra echoed, expecting to be corrected, and teased for being half asleep.

"That's right. Joran asked me if he moved the Allegro into Pikkant territory if I thought they'd come on board. I said I honestly didn't know, but to try. So, he invited anyone who wanted to watch to come as long as they didn't screw things up.

"No one was going to miss this, so they all transferred from their space yachts to the Allegro, and we moved to very near Crescent Bay. Then Joran and Maillie got busy setting up what he thought was a good business lunch for the Pikkant. The best china, but no utensils because he was afraid they might be taken as weapons. Crystal goblets for the humans, finger bowls for the Pikkant to drink from. A really lavish blown glass centerpiece - you wouldn't believe what he has for entertaining on the Allegro.

"The fact that they were small had him scratching his head on seating. Eventually Maillie suggested pillows beside their plates to sit on, and cushions on the human's chairs so they didn't feel different. And as for the menu, he simply went for every nut, fruit, and cookie the Allegro had in stock.

"Then he asked me to come along while he introduced himself and invited them in. It was interesting. They seemed to like him on sight. He just crouched down and waited, hand outstretched until one came near, then he started talking like it could understand him. He told me the content was irrelevant. They'd read the tone and his face.

"They did the handshake, and he said 'I'd like some of you to come to lunch and visit me, and some friends,' and mimed taking food from the ground and eating it, and offering imaginary food to the Pikkant, then pointing at the Allegro. That got a lot of chat, but no takers. Joran said 'Those testing idiots have you spooky, hmm? I don't blame you. C.C., who is your game playing friend?'

"I pointed out Darwin, and Joran said, 'Darwin, if you'll at least come look, I'll play a couple games of 'Don't Come Crying' with you. I am a Level 4 Master.' That really got chat, and then Darwin came forward to touch hands. This time, Joran flopped on his belly to touch noses too. 'From what C.C. says, I'd better play you now 'cause in a month or so you'll be wiping me.'

"Darwin followed us in, and Joran had me pick him up and put him on a cushion. Then Joran sat down opposite, and Maillie offered Joran a bowl of nuts. He took one and ate it. Then Maillie offered one to Darwin, who took it and also ate it.

"Joran carefully pointed to the remaining cushion on the table and said, 'Will some of your friends join us?' He'd decided to simply have the same number of Pikkants and humans. As he'd said, he had no idea how big the town council was, and a business meeting with too many people never worked anyway.

"So, I took Darwin out, and he came back with the right number of Pikkant, proving they can count. Then everyone got introduced to everyone, and we ate lunch, until Maillie said to Joran, 'Joran please refuse the next thing I serve. I think you're little guests think they have to match us to be polite, and they'll burst.'"

"Poor things!"

But Mitra was giggling. She stroked Darwin.

"Did the Joran try to feed you to death?"

She got a sleepy chirp in response that could have been yes or no.

"I honestly don't know what the Pikkants thought or talked about – they chittered a lot – but the consortium talk was all Octagla. That was the year Superstud came up from the minors and everyone was comparing him to Torin and various other centers they'd known in their day."

"Tamara was on Gingezel while I was there," Mitra volunteered. "Trevarr had them in preseason training."

As always, Mitra assumed everyone knew everyone she did.

"You know Trevarr then?" C.C. asked.

"Not exactly know. I had a few massages from him. I liked him."

"Everybody does. That's why Joran made him ambassador to the Pikkant when he stopped coming to Gingezel. He told Trevarr that since people liked him, odds were the Pikkant would too. And he must be really good at body language since he must have jocks lying and trying to tell him nothing hurt all the time so they would get back on their teams fast and not get replaced, when they belonged in a hospital bed." C.C. laughed. "And he told Trevarr he had the other absolute necessity for the job – a great pair of legs. All that crouching is rough." C.C. considered. "I don't know why Joran won't sit on the ground, why he usually crouches."

"He's too edgy?" Mitra suggested. "He has to be able to get up and pace around fast?" She tried to remember Joran being still and couldn't. "So, it's all worked out has it, no problems?"

"I wouldn't put it that way. The cultures and priorities are just too different. Like after that get to know you lunch. Joran then went on to the 'sell' stage. He took the Pikkant and sat them down to watch simulations of what was proposed for their area. I don't think they knew what to make of it – it showed all sorts of human activities and structures they'd never seen, but the geographical landmarks were very recognizable. It's the only time I've seen a group of Pikkant not make a sound.

"I think Joran realized they were stunned too. I mean, a small city the size of Crescent Bay is pretty different from a group of a dozen or so terraformers. We hadn't even moved into the habitats by then. How would our parents feel if developers just came along and showed them plans for the new homes that were going to go up in their backyards?"

"Personally, I wouldn't want to be that developer."

"Exactly," C.C. said. "So after about ten minutes, Joran said, 'Look guys and I suppose gals, I hate someone breathing down my neck while I evaluate a proposal. How about you do this at your own speed? Darwin, if you can play 'Don't Come Crying', running this system's a snap'. So he taught Darwin how to use the controls, and he and the rest of the consortium went into another room to hammer out what land Joran was losing.

"I figured I wasn't welcome, so I stayed with Pikkant. With just me there they started talking, and watched the whole simulation twice, then went back to some parts. What totally fascinated them was any images of boats. They don't have floating structures. And I think windsurfing blew their minds."

But C.C. was talking to himself now. Mitra and Darwin were sound asleep.

***

Mitra licked a drop of ice cream that had somehow managed to drip from the ice cream sandwich to her finger.

"That was good."

It was too, chocolate wafers and cherry ice cream with more cherries than ice cream.

C.C. was watched her. She was tidy, like a cat grooming itself. She looked too thin and drawn though. She wasn't taking care of herself.

"You need someone to take care of you." It just sort of slipped out, but he was feeling protective. She had seemed so tiny and vulnerable sleeping there on his shoulder.

"Like you?" Mitra gave him resigned look.

"Why not me?"

"I told you C.C., I'm claimed."

She was getting a little tired of his not letting it drop.

"I don't see any evidence."

He looked pointedly at the ring finger on her left hand.

"You don't expect Dreen to propose in the middle of this mess do you?"

She couldn't imagine him even thinking of it other than in total privacy somewhere romantic.

"Why not?" He challenged.

"Well, for starts there's nowhere romantic here and -" She didn't like being put on the defensive.

"It doesn't have to matter. I'll show you how it's done." He slid off the couch onto one knee in front of her.

"Marry me, Mitra."

She got the giggles.

"C.C.!"

"I'm serious, Mitra."

He reached for her hand intending to press it to his lips but she caught him in the chest with her foot and sent him sprawling. C.C. propped himself up on his elbows long enough to take a look at her total amusement, then flopped back onto his back.

He announced to the ceiling, "I've definitely misspent my youth. The woman doesn't gaze at me with undisguised ardor." He slanted a look at Mitra through his thick lashes. "Is that the words they used to use in those gushy romances you liked? She thinks I'm - funny."

On the last word his feet snaked out and he caught Mitra's legs, pulling her off the couch

She landed on her tailbone was a thud.

"Ouch. That hurt!"

But she was still laughing. She'd missed C.C. and their clowning.

"Serves you right."

He did a sit up, laughing too, then stood and extended his hand to help her up.

"What do you want to eat as a chaser to the ice cream? You're too skinny. Darwin recommends the peanut butter cookies."

He couldn't believe how much he'd missed her.

She took his hand and let him pull her up, took a step and winced. She freed her hand and gingerly felt her tailbone.

"Did I hurt you?" C.C. wasn't smiling now. "I honestly didn't expect you to take a fall. You've sure lost your reflexes."

He couldn't remember once winning a match fighting her.

"It's fine," she lied. "Drezvir has low gravity, remember?"

It did too. Not by much, but by enough that they'd had to reengineer parts of the prototype because she had assumed it would be built on Pendrae, which was one of the heaviest settled planets.

"Not low enough for that not to hurt."

"I'm fine," Mitra repeated, mostly to reassure herself. "C.C. let it go."

His smile was back. "Do you remember? There wasn't a single martial arts competition I won between ages thirteen and seventeen if you were competing? You know now how relieved I was when you got that silly idea it wasn't ladylike? It's hard on the adolescent male ego to continually be wiped by a pipsqueak like you, especially when he has an oriental family tradition to uphold."

She smiled with real pleasure. Pipsqueak was an arcane word he'd picked up from some book Chelan had been translating.

"You didn't have a chance with all that puppy fat you insisted on carrying."

"Thank you very much." C.C. feigned insult.

She looked at him assessingly.

"You've outgrown it very nicely. And talking about reflexes, who ended up talking to the ceiling?"

"I had my mind on higher things," he said with mock dignity.

"Hah!"

"Come on." C.C. held out an arm. "Twelve years old again and milk and cookies? Real milk too, not powdered reconstituted. Peanut butter cookies for Darwin and me, oatmeal raisin for you - nice crunchy dunkers too." The memory they were her childhood favorite had suddenly surfaced.

Mitra gave a sigh of pure pleasure and let C.C. drape an arm around her shoulder.

"It was one of my biggest mistakes not consulting you terraformers on all the tricks on the food supply chain before coming here."

He wasn't listening.

"You're lying, Mitra. You're tensing on every step. Turn around."

When she hesitated he said firmly, "Dummy, terraformers all have Level 7 paramedical training."

They had to. You never knew when a team member would get hurt or sick, or who it would be. Fast decisions had to be made on whether to send that individual to a space station or settled planet, or not. But first you had to stabilize them and get them back to base. They all used medic guide programs of course, rather than trust to memory under stress, but fingers and eyes were still important sensors and hands dealt with the problem.

"Turn."

She turned and he carefully inspected the tailbone.

"There seems to be a break that is causing a displaced edge. I'm not sure, but I think the fracture is here."

He gave the offending spot enough pressure that she pulled away.

"Okay. You proved your point."

Hell, why did he have to clown around? As if he wasn't feeling guilty enough for setting her up with the reactor. Guilty enough he'd never mentioned it all night. And now she was in for a few rough days.

"You'd better get a scan as soon as you can." He looked at his time strip. "Galaxy, it's after midnight! Will anyone be there?"

Mitra shook her head. "They'd have to wake the doctor and technician up. I'll live till morning. Cookies?" she added hopefully.

*****

Chapter 43

Chett looked at Loana's tousle of dark curls as she slept peacefully beside him and wondered in an academic, disinterested sort of way just how much trouble he'd just got himself into. Personally he was happy. In fact, he felt better than he had since he'd come back to Tranus. He'd just had a few hours of the best sleep - almost the only sleep - since then. He wasn't unduly worried about Loana either. She was proving to be exactly what she seemed on the surface; playful, good-natured, and rather sweet. She wasn't the best bed partner he'd ever had, but she was far from the worst either, and that good-natured sweetness made her very accommodating.

What he was wondering about was Lindy. He rather suspected she was not going to be much impressed with his not adhering to Dreen's standard of hands-off the employees. But it had never been a standard he'd maintained, and there were a half dozen female hub managers he'd spent a night with on their invitation. He just simply made damned sure they both agreed in advance on the rule that any sexual involvement was strictly after-hours, and there would be no emotional blackmail in either direction back at work, then said thanks.

The current situation was a little different. He'd taken the initiative of asking Loana to supper, something he rarely did with employees. But he'd spelled it out that there was no pressure to accept, and if she did the evening was strictly relaxing with a meal and a show. Chett had desperately needed a night off. Things were moving fast, way too fast, and he was off balance. Initially he hadn't meant to ask Loana out. He hadn't even thought of her. He'd called all his special friends on the flight crews. Every last one was sorry, but they wouldn't be on Tranus for weeks or months.

He'd shrugged, and decided to just keep working nights since he didn't fancy his own company and a solitary dinner out. Then he'd thought of Loana. He'd liked her the limited times he'd run across her after the staff meeting where Dreen announced he was turning Nemizcan over, and leaving for Drezvir. Chett smiled in memory. He'd really had trouble keeping a straight face when she let slip in public she was one of the hackers Dreen was giving the behave yourself lecture to. Sweet. It showed on her face sleeping there.

The current situation was an unexpected bonus, at her initiative. One, Chett decided as he returned to his initial thoughts, that was unlikely to be seen that way by Lindy. He could of course always tell Lindy to mind her own business. Politely, but tell her. He had no idea how she'd take that, but he doubted it would do any good at all. She would ignore the warning off and shred him anyways, which was unfortunate, because right now he and Lindy needed to be a team.

Oh well, the morning would have to take care of itself. Right now he would try to get some more rest, maybe even more sleep. Loana's presence might help with that. Chett slipped an arm over her, and nestled close, gently kissing the tangle of hair.

But Loana stirred, waking to the sense of a male presence and not quite sure where she was. Then she remembered and smiled to herself and stretched.

"Are you awake already?" She asked in a sleepy murmur.

"Sorry Loana. I was just resettling myself. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't?"

She sounded so honestly disappointed that Chett laughed.

"That doesn't mean I'm objecting."

He let the hand he'd slipped around her start to stray.

***

An unfamiliar sound brought Chett to the surface and he automatically checked the time. Had he slept! He rubbed his bristly face, sat up, and went to investigate the noise. Loana was sitting at the kitchen table showered and dressed, her hair styled, her makeup perfect. She was about halfway through a substantial breakfast. Chett stopped in the doorway, uncomfortable with this domestic scene, and even more uncomfortable with it being in Dreen's kitchen. He was used to hotel rooms, and if he woke up with company their both grabbing a fast roll from the cater unit before they headed for meetings.

Loana smiled.

" 'Morning. I thought you were out until noon at least."

"I should have been up two hours ago."

"Yes. Well ..."

She looked so guilty that Chett found himself suppressing a smile again. He cocked an eyebrow.

"That alarm of yours makes a racket. When it got to where I couldn't stand it, I turned the stupid thing off. You didn't even change breathing. So I exercised and hit the shower. You were still out cold." Her voice softened. "You looked so peaceful. I hated to wake you.

"I didn't know what to do - I mean you could have had important appointments, so I called Lindy. She said to let you sleep, you were overextending yourself."

That was what Loana had heard from the nighthawks too, that Chett was routinely there until at least 2:00 AM and back before 7:00.

"Thanks."

So much for Lindy not knowing. Chett poured himself a glass of juice.

***

Chett looked up warily as Lindy entered carrying a late morning coffee tray. That was not necessarily a good sign. Usually she let Arla bring it, so it could well mean she intended to tell him off in private.

"Well, are you going to give me a lecture on corporate moral ethics?"

Lindy took her time setting down the tray and studying Chett. He was still looking drawn, but better. It was really too bad Hoffner was pushing the pace so hard on this takeover.

"No. In some cases I might, but not with Loana. I think she can keep the boss and Chett Linderson separate in her head."

"But?" He prompted, sensing reservations.

"Are you really asking my opinion on your love life?"

It was Chett's turn to hesitate. Hadn't he been trying to avoid this conversation?

At last he said, "I think so."

Lindy busied herself with her coffee, trying to find some words that wouldn't offend Chett's masculinity. Then inspiration struck and she smiled.

"Let's say I'm willing to place another bet with you."

"Like?"

"She dumps you first. Loana is truly a sweet young woman. I don't think there is a mean bone in her body. But she's definitely out for a good time before settling down, and I don't think she'll make an exception for you."

Chett relaxed. "And that's a problem? By the way, that was a stupid offer for a bet since I'd control the situation."

Lindy didn't make stupid bets. She thoroughly doubted he would control this situation. But she contented herself with saying, "You're vulnerable right now, Chett. You don't need to get hurt." She almost said 'hurt again', and stopped herself.

He looked at her. Lindy meant what she was saying. He rose and went and stood looking out the window at Pendi Industries. Today was clear and frosty, the plumes of steam white against a very blue sky. How long ago had it been that he had stood here staring at the drizzle while Dreen decided their fates? Eight days Chett decided.

He did not agree with Lindy at all where Loana was concerned. He was not that kind of vulnerable. Well, not usually, he amended trying to be honest and remembering Mitra. But another couple weeks like this, living Dreen's life and running Dreen's business, even if he was doing it his way, and he'd forget who Chett Linderson was. He'd never felt so disoriented in his life. So Lindy was right to that extent. He was vulnerable in ways he had never imagined.

It had felt uncomfortable and peculiar taking Loana back to Dreen's condo. She'd said quite firmly there was no way they were going to hers. If it didn't work out she didn't want to be in the position of kicking out the boss. He smiled at the memory. That little lady had the instincts to be great spaceflot. Still, having a woman in Dreen's place had felt wrong, too personal. Even though he was using the guest room, it was like he was invading Dreen's territory. It had felt even more invasive finding Loana having breakfast in the kitchen.

Abruptly Chett turned and asked, "Lindy, do you think Dreen would be offended if I moved out of his place?" Then before she could speak, "No Lindy, I don't mean to Loana's place. I'm not hurrying into that mistake. I mean get a place of my own."

This was very unlike Chett, Lindy thought as she found an excuse to play with the tray a little longer. Portels or a rented furnished flat were his style. He'd never shown the least signs of looking for anything settled and he was only staying in Dreen's condo because it was a fast solution.

She said carefully, "I'm sure Dreen wouldn't care as long as his tea roses get fed. The condo staff is doing that anyways. Chett," Lindy hesitated, "are you feeling like Dreen's presence is crowding you even though he isn't here?" She waved a hand at the office.

"Not yet, but I want to head that possibility off."

Lindy nodded. That was sensible and she approved of sensible. Chett needed a few hours a day somewhere that he felt was his and only his.

"I'm sure Arla can call the agencies you've liked before and get you something comfortable."

But Chett found he was shaking his head. "I don't want a furnished apartment. That's too much like a portel. I \- I think I want a condo if anything good is on the market, and to furnish it myself."

Then at the look of what might have been horror on Lindy's face, Chett said hastily, "I know I'm not domestic Lindy, and I'm not taking on yet another job. All I'd need at first is a bed and a table and a media wall, and -" He stopped himself. The list was staggering just for basics. "Maybe you could think of a good decorator? It might be fun after a day here to pick out chairs and such."

As usual, having made a decision Chett was already halfway to implementing it.

"And rugs and paintings and tea roses?" Lindy suggested. "Would you mind sitting down and having your coffee while it's still hot? It's a cold day."

And I assume this means Dreen, or you, are going to have to find a new V.P. of Field Ops, Lindy thought as she watched the sudden animation on Chett's face. This sounded an awful lot like putting down roots.

"Not tea roses," Chett said firmly. "Mitra said some green stuff in the cafeteria on Drezvir was called mother-in-law's tongue and you can't kill it. It doesn't look half bad either. Maybe it isn't only in the Farr sector. Or there must be something else easy to grow."

He sat down and picked up his coffee cup.

*****

Chapter 44

Mitra was, in her totally subjective assessment, in an absolutely foul mood. She eased cautiously into her snug fitting pants and got stuck one leg half way in. How the hell did she get the next leg in? If only Elin had packed a skirt for her. She used her hand to lift the second leg and swore. Definitely a foul mood. That was just fine with her. The way things were going one was long overdue, and she thoroughly intended to make the most out of this one, starting with shredding the first person that so much as looked at her wrong. She hadn't slept. She knew there would be a doctor on call at the hospital for emergencies, but a cracked tailbone was scarcely an emergency, just a nuisance. That nuisance sure had hurt though, and so had her jarred back.

She had spent the night not tossing, but very cautiously shifting position and thinking about what C.C. had said about Juttar Kommur. If he was totally tied up with the Gingezel Consortium, who was next best? And how, with all conversations monitored could she have a really candid talk with Niki? Be like Dreen and play Anton so loud you couldn't think? That trick had fretted her. What was Dreen hiding? But after chewing on that for an hour or so, she'd gone back to her main worry. She needed a lawyer.

Paranoia, maybe. But if finding a lawyer didn't get sorted out soon, the worry would interfere with her work. Mama just didn't know Ari Dellmaice. He had majored in survival, first personal survival, then corporate survival, and no matter what way she looked at it, she was expendable. Ari could replace her with a hundred others, and would, without so much as hesitating.

She could hear him. 'The risks were totally misrepresented to me, and I mistakenly trusted Dr. Kael's professional ethics. I had reservations – you can see in these documents where I insisted the ratings be taken down...' How many statements like that would it take to have the overpower not an innocent accident, but a result of her overselling her own design? She needed a lawyer. No matter which side she'd lain on, or how she curled her legs, the conclusion hadn't changed. She needed a lawyer, and not the family lawyer Arol Mertel. Someone competent to deal with the Farr Sector.

Skipping breakfast, Mitra walked very carefully to the hospital.

"Can I see a doctor?"

Gwen was at the desk.

"Mitra! You're barely walking. What happened?"

"I think I broke my tailbone".

"Dr. Liberty is in. She will be available in about five minutes. Can you sit?"

"Not voluntarily."

Mitra started gingerly moving and wishing this wasn't Dr. Liberty's shift. The woman didn't like her. They had tried dealing with each other when Mitra first arrived and had allergy problems with the dry shampoo. No, that was a bad thing to think about since she needed the woman's help. Mitra took an energy bar out of her pocket and ate breakfast.

At last the office door opened and the dark haired middle aged doctor nodded for her to come in.

Dr. Liberty took one look at her swollen bottom and started a tongue lashing for not reporting in immediately.

"Mitra, your tailbone is severely broken, badly enough for a risk of a perforated bowel, and if that is the case and you've left it this long –"

Mitra tuned out. Of course it had to be Dr. Liberty's shift. She hated Outsiders, and had made it clear to Mitra within a day of her return that all of the suffering the colony had gone through was Mitra's fault. She kept up variations on that alternated with being irresponsible for not coming in, solidly scolding Mitra through what seemed like an endless and unpleasant examination to make sure the bowel was still intact.

Mitra spent that interval distracting herself deciding who all she was furious with. She started with C.C. Windegren in the number one slot, and put Dr. Liberty in number two. She couldn't see any reason to quibble with shooting the messenger, or more accurately in this case, the caregiver, especially since the care was being given so grudgingly.

Then she moved on to the people she just plain didn't like anyways and who were currently making her life miserable. Olan Rostin, Ari Dellmaice, and Durstin Fallor, who was still semi-sedated if you could believe it, instead of helping her. Then there were the people she normally liked who were making her life difficult by either making too many demands, or telling her things she didn't want to hear, like the various things that couldn't have caused the accident. Finally, there was that large percentage of the general population who were not suffering themselves at the moment. Why should they be lucky?

But she wasn't mad at Dreen. Dreen, as always, would understand without being told. He would know that all that was wrong was that she'd simply had it with everything, and that she just needed to have a really good snit and get it out of her system and then she'd be fine. He'd hold her, and let her sound off, and not mind. And if he could, without everyone watching, he'd kiss her and make it all better.

She winced at a bad move by the doctor. Clumsy bitch! Well, maybe it would take more than a kiss to make it all better. But Dreen's just holding her would make it a lot better if not fine.

"Well, you're lucky. Other than a broken tailbone, everything else is fine. But healing will take a while."

Mitra imagined Liberty was disappointed nothing more was wrong.

"Do you want a painkiller? A neuroblock will only give partial relief for a limited time."

"No painkillers, just a neuroblock." She was afraid of being wonky. "I don't want to impair my focus."

"The pain will be a distraction and not exactly help your thought processes," Dr. Liberty said. "Neither will lack of sleep."

They stared at each other, then Mitra compromised.

"I'll take something to sleep."

While conscious, she would simply live with the fact that anything involving motion below her waist would hurt like crazy for a while. Mitra left clutching a ridiculous looking inflated doughnut-shaped cushion Gwen gave her, and telling herself to count her blessings. She was bound to have some somewhere. She thought about that, then decided it would be easier and more satisfying to just shred someone.

***

"Dreen." It was Tranngol. "Where's Mitra? I've got some questions for her, unless she's decided to sleep in of course. She's stretching herself too thin."

"You're right there, but I have no idea if she decided to sleep in or not. I haven't seen her since we all quit yesterday. She went to have supper with C.C. Windegren – the terraformer chap."

"Oh. I just assumed she was with you." Tranngol looked at his wristband. "I'll give her an hour, then risk waking her up."

Tranngol turned and walked towards Dana's workstation. Azlo had raised a theoretical question about how they were using one module of the Fault Tree Analysis software, and Dana would have the answer.

Dreen had assumed Mitra was up early with some call from Tranngol when he didn't see either of them at breakfast, but obviously he was wrong. He stared, unseeing at his terminal, telling himself it was really good if she'd relaxed enough visiting C.C. to sleep in. Dreen had taken some time off himself in the evening to research C.C. Everything he found was good. The younger man had an impressive list of terraforming projects to his credit. He was an outspoken environmentalist to be sure, but for a terraformer Dreen was more inclined to view that as an asset than a detriment.

And of course that was where she was, wasn't she? Asleep in her own bed after a night of catching up on family news. Everything else was unthinkable, and an insult to Mitra.

Dreen had forced himself to think the unthinkable last night though, then had put through a call to Juttar before he lost his nerve. It had gone pretty much as he had expected. Juttar had started by flatly saying how could Dreen possibly expect him to throw the case and set Dreen up for the fall when they were friends. Then they had gone over the high likelihood there would never be a clear resolution but the Sector Judiciary would want one anyways. They had talked for a long time, but to Dreen's mind Juttar didn't have any better ideas than his of taking the fall and at least one of them getting out of this.

At that point Dreen had been specific and talked about C.C. and Mitra. He had been surprised, then later not surprised when he thought about it, to find Juttar knew C.C. through professional contacts. What really surprised him though was that Juttar also knew him personally from times they were both house guests with Joran and Maillie. But then that was a time Dreen had been busy and not around much, and now Joran never referred to those days.

Juttar liked C.C. and hazarded an opinion that if there had been a relationship between C.C. and Mitra then a falling out, it was more likely to be because of sheer stupidity on C.C.'s part, not infidelity, unkindness, or intent. He'd seen him once at Joran's just out of three months' isolation, and C.C. had been in a wild enough party mood that Juttar could believe a spouse could get pretty upset if she wasn't either the wild party type herself or else very forgiving. Dreen had been forced to admit Mitra was neither.

Once Juttar understood Dreen was thinking about a relationship between Mitra and C.C., they had gone back to the suggestion he take the fall. Dreen had been more aggressive and Juttar more comfortable with the idea. This time the answer had been 'What do you think I am, incompetent? I can't guarantee wins, but I can guarantee a loss, if that's what the client is stupid enough to want, and it wouldn't be the obvious kind causing a retrial. But seriously Dreen, don't even start thinking that way. It's defeatist. It might change your mindset enough you could miss the real solution if it's subtle. And Galaxy, don't even mention the idea to another soul!'

Galaxy was about as close as Juttar came to profanity, and Dreen had agreed. But he wasn't sure Juttar was right that it was mentally bad. The idea that at least Mitra had an out had relaxed him into a good night's sleep.

He was replaying Juttar's words in his mind in enough detail that he didn't notice Mitra until she was almost at his desk. Then his concern took a totally different direction. She was pale and moving like it hurt.

"Mitra, are you all right?"

The concern in his voice and on his face were all she needed. Mitra headed for the comfort she desperately needed like a homing pigeon.

"No! I broke my stupid tailbone. That's where I've been. Waiting at the clinic to see a doctor, then getting it checked out."

"I'm so sorry."

Dreen went to give her a reassuring hug, but it was awkward given whatever she was holding. He backed off.

"What's that?"

"A cushion to sit on so it will hurt less." She put the ridiculous thing down on Dreen's desk so she could get a proper hug.

"You really did a good job then?"

Dreen got what felt like a nod, and he stroked her bristly hair.

"Why didn't you call me? I could have gone down to the clinic with you so you wouldn't have had to wait alone." And I would have known what to worry about he added to himself.

"I didn't want to waste your time."

But maybe that had been stupid. All this sympathy and fussing and petting were a lot nicer than she'd expected. She'd just become too used to going it alone.

"Well," Dreen said firmly, "waste it next time, okay?"

That got another nod. He looked over Mitra to where Tranngol was approaching.

"She's been at the hospital with a broken tailbone."

With his first surprise and worry over because she seemed more upset than anything, curiosity surfaced.

"How did you break it, anyway?"

The single rooms they had were so compact they were hazardous. If you tripped you were pretty well guaranteed to connect with something solid on the way down.

"C.C. and I were fooling around and I fell off the couch." She added with feeling, "That metal under the carpet is hard!"

Bad engineering too. A nice really thick under pad would improve insulation as well as safety. Talk about false economy. She'd had lots of time to think about that overnight when she wasn't worrying about lawyers. She'd composed an e-mail about it she intended to send the habitat manufacturers.

Dreen froze, his worst fears confirmed on a rush of anger. How could Mitra be like that, then discuss it casually, like having a cup of coffee? He thought he knew her, but –. No! She simply couldn't be like this! He knew some of Chett's female friends were as casual discussing sexual relationships as they were about having them, but he and Mitra were not in a casual relationship. They were a couple, a permanent couple if he could get them out of this and propose.

That brought him up short. If. Wasn't what was happening exactly what he had talked to Juttar about? But that had been hypothetical, a last resort, one he would have to subtly push a reluctant Mitra into. She was not supposed to be back in C.C.'s arms within hours of meeting him.

Dreen's instinct was to sort it out with Mitra, to tell her he loved her and wanted to marry her, and to hell with the fact Drezvir was probably the least romantic spot in the galaxy. Then he could go tell one C.C. Windegren to keep his bloody hands off his future wife. But he couldn't could he? Not until he knew how the accident analysis played itself out.

Very carefully forcing himself to neutrality he did not feel, Dreen said, "I see."

Mitra had stood there through the silence feeling his sudden stillness, the withdrawal. And now there was the tone of voice. Dreen could sometimes read her mind at the strangest times, but right now any idiot could read his. Was every male in the galaxy predisposed to think sex first? Didn't he know she loved him? Of course the fool did. And for that matter, she knew perfectly well he loved her.

That made it worse. How could he even think she'd look at C.C.?! And she'd never once in her life so much as encouraged C.C., and certainly not last night. Even allowing for the stress they were under, could Dreen possibly think she'd stray just like that?! If he did, Dr. Dreen Pendi could just go to the top of the unpopular list, about a light year ahead of C.C. Windegren!

Mitra carefully extracted herself from the embrace she had until a moment ago found so reassuring and picked up her pillow.

In tones of pure ice she said, "I sincerely doubt you see a thing."

Turning her back on him, she rounded on Tranngol glaring up at the big man.

"And what the hell do you want?"

*****

Chapter 45

"Brys, dear."

Keya put her bright blue shoulder bag back down onto a kitchen chair and waved Brys into the kitchen. Brys was looking good she decided. Her frizzy blondish hair was tied back with a pretty purple scarf, not the usual clip a little girl would use. And Keya wasn't sure, but it looked like Brys was wearing a touch of lipgloss. She scanned Brys's pretty oval face for other signs of make up. No, she had been imagining. And the baggy sweatshirt and pants were the same too.

"You just caught me on my way to the market."

Keya tugged a paisley scarf back off her own long true blonde hair. She didn't like wearing a scarf, but she'd misplaced that adorable little hat Gali had given her, and it was really blowing outside. And the wine shade in the scarf really did pick up the color of her new blusher.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Brys prepared to retreat. "I'll come back another time. It isn't important."

"Nonsense."

Keya knew the warning signs by now. Brys would never come back. She pulled out a chair for Brys.

"I've all the time in the world. In fact, my dear, that's my current problem. Before this I've always been working while Gali is. I don't know what to do with myself."

Brys looked at Keya with real concern. She'd never thought of that. But now she thought of the dreadful two day weekend holidays Gali had made her take ever since the night she'd got dizzy from not eating. They had been so boring until Bojo came along. She tried multiplying them out to months on end. How did Keya cope?

She said with real feeling, "It must be horrid." Then without thinking, "Why did you agree to come?"

Brys realized what she'd said, and looked rather like she wanted to hide under something.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I should never ask something personal like that."

"Why not?" Keya asked in honest surprise. "People always have the most interesting reasons for doing the things they do. And it's rather amazing, nine times out of ten if you just ask them, they tell you."

Keya didn't have the slightest idea that this latter was strictly a Keya effect, and if Brys tried it she'd get thoroughly snubbed.

"Now Brys, why did you come over?"

It had to be important for Brys to come this far outside with her agoraphobia, not just call. And she would never spend money on a taxi.

"It's about the concert ..."

***

"Ignore it!"

Joran didn't raise his hands from the keyboard. The access chime was clearly audible despite the band playing, and with part of his mind Joran wondered what in the galaxy had made him allow that feature to be left on. Anyone who should be accessing the lounge with them practicing there knew the access code and also knew better than to use it during practice. The chimes stopped. Good. They kept playing.

The chimes started again.

"Damn!"

Joran's hand came down flat on the keyboard creating a cacophony that had everyone but him clenching their teeth. He was off the stage and halfway across the lounge in a flash. The band exchanged grins as they rubbed their aching ears. Some poor tourist was going to be very careful to never get carried away by curiosity again for the rest of their life.

Joran slammed a palm against the contact that would release the door.

"Listen you –" He stopped short, his scowl changing to a delighted smile. "Keya!"

She found herself getting a slightly sweaty kiss on each cheek.

"Did you get curious about how it was coming?"

Joran slid an arm around her waist drawing her into the lounge.

"Or have you finally come to your senses and decided you can't live without me?"

She smiled happily. That was the one really nice thing about Joran. He was always the same. You never had the slightest idea what he'd do next. The smile was a mistake. She found herself dodging a for real kiss. She gave him a solidly distancing shove.

"I think I can manage for a few more days," she told him firmly.

Every now and again Keya thought about calling his bluff on this particular game just to see how far and fast he ran. But she was ever so slightly worried he might not run. She'd tried a similar stunt at some party or other early on where Joran was being a bit of a pest. She'd finally let him kiss her, and kissed him back figuring he'd run like hell. Only it hadn't worked. It had taken her a solid five minutes to extricate herself from the kiss, and another ten to explain herself. Joran had thought it absolutely hilarious, but for once in his life Gali had been furious with her. So she was cautious now.

"What I've come to do is talk to Bojo."

The arm that had come back around her released her waist. Joran stepped back and gave her a wary look.

"What about?"

Keya looked at Joran in surprise.

"Brys, of course."

What else would she be talking to Bojo about?

"No way, Keya. I know you've been playing mother to her ever since she got here, but she isn't just a kid like your girls still are. She's of age, and Bojo loves her."

Keya stared. What was the man thinking, that she would try to split them up? Really!

She said with more than a hint of exasperation in her voice, "Of course he does. Bojo is one of the sweetest men I know, and he wouldn't have his clothes hanging in her closet if he wasn't serious. And as for Brys," Keya had a rather misty smile that had Joran envying Gali, "she is as far gone as Bojo must be. I've never seen such a change in a girl. She even talks now, and it's all about Bojo."

"All right," Joran said carefully feeling his way. "You're happy for them. Is that why you interrupted practice, to congratulate Bojo?"

In his opinion Keya was quite capable of doing that.

"Of course not."

Joran really was being dense today. She supposed his mind was full of music, just like Gali's was full of computing when he was being dumb.

"I came to tell him she needs a dress."

"A dress?" Joran echoed.

Keya nodded encouragingly. They were starting to get somewhere. Sometimes with men it was like teaching math to the grade twos.

"For the concert," she added as a self-sufficient explanation.

"The concert?"

Joran wasn't following the conversation, but Keya's face was easy to read.

"Keya, dear, I know I'm being unbelievably slow, but I'm simply not with you. Try to explain with real simple sentences and preferably short words."

"Oh, all right."

She didn't know why Joran was running interference on Bojo, but obviously he had to understand and be happy before she got to talk to Bojo.

"You know Bojo invited Brys to your concert?"

Joran nodded. So far so good.

"Sure. She's going to travel with the band and the wives so she won't have to travel alone."

"How nice."

Keya beamed. She'd worried about the trip, but she hadn't wanted to put Brys off it.

"Well, all she has that is pretty is a kind of silky blouse Lindy helped her buy. She wears it with nice pants if she has to dress up."

Since she'd come to a full stop, obviously wanting reassurance he was with her so far, Joran nodded.

"Okay so far. I get you. What's next?"

Men! Well, she'd keep explaining the obvious in simple sentences.

"Brys wants to just buy a long skirt to go with the blouse. Joran, I'm no fashion expert, but she can't do that! Think of the gowns the women will be wearing. If they are kindhearted, they'll take a look at Brys and say 'how sweet' or 'how naïve'. But we're cats sometimes Joran. Most will be jealous because she's obviously with the band and they'll laugh at her, or say nasty things just loud enough that she'll hear.

"And you know Brys. She doesn't say much, but she watches and hears everything."

This time there was a look of enlightenment and Joran nodded slowly. Relieved Keya nodded too.

"Yes. And Brys will be embarrassed and hurt, and she'll be out of there so fast you won't know what happened. And then what?"

Keya looked down to the stage where the band had decided it was obviously a break and were joking about something. Bojo was laughing too, looking more relaxed and happy than Keya thought she'd ever see him.

"If Bojo is feeling responsible and loyal, he'll stay on stage with you, but he'll be upset and worried and distracted." The words and sentences were getting longer as Keya's explanation got intense. "But – you know him better than I do – but I think there's a chance he'd just take off after her."

Keya turned back to Joran, sincerely troubled,

"Either way it leaves you in big trouble, doesn't it, if you mess up again." She hated to say it, but it was true.

When Keya was right, she was right! Not once in his hours and hours of trying to allow for any and everything that could go wrong had Joran thought of this, and hours more wouldn't have got him there. But she was right.

"Keya, you're wonderful!"

She didn't manage to dodge this kiss, and it left her slightly disoriented.

Joran turned to face the stage. "Hey Bojo! C'mere."

***

Bojo heard her out patiently. They were sitting at a table near the rear of the lounge. The rest of the band had slipped out the rear exit for some sun. His reaction was distinctly less enthusiastic than Joran's. He was truly appalled that he had almost put Brys in that awkward a situation. He could appreciate even more than Keya how mortifying it would be for her.

"Thank you Keya," he said gravely. "I don't know how I could have been so stupid, and you're right. She needs a suitable dress. Will you help her buy one? I don't know the first thing about women's clothes. All you have to do is tell me what credits you need – the amount doesn't matter."

"Me?" Keya shook her head. "I'll love to see it when she gets it, but that isn't my league, Bojo. I'd get it all wrong. Surely one of the band wives can help?"

"Yes, I suppose so." Bojo said it without enthusiasm.

Until this concert was over and a success, he and the band were in an awkward position and he didn't want to owe them more than he already did. If Joran fell on his ass, he'd personally stay with Joran as a composer, but the band would split. They were stage musicians.

Joran was shaking his head.

"Bojo, I know you aren't into such things, but why don't you and I arrange to get her a nice surprise on our own? For these concerts Maillie always used Neselli." He could say it now. "Why don't I give him a call and he can make Brys something? I mean, I suppose he'll need a hologram for size, but it will be a special gift from you that way."

Bojo brightened. He hadn't given Brys a real present yet.

Keya felt obliged to introduce some reality

"Joran, the concert is in days. Do you really expect you can get a Neselli dress for Brys by then?" She was drooling just at the name.

"Sure. He used to do them in less time for Mallie when I forgot to tell her about invitations. He's used to me."

*****

Chapter 46

There was, of course, the inevitable wait in getting through to Neselli. Keya went home, and an uncomfortable Bojo rounded up the band and got them more or less back to work on the stage, although they were more inclined to fool around and tease him than to settle into any serious practice. Joran however had opted to wait until Neselli answered. He didn't want to get into a call back tag scenario, and he wanted to pre-think what to say to that professional gossip, Neselli.

At last the call came through. Neselli was an attractive, fairly tall man in late middle age. His features were clean-cut, slightly squarish. He had allowed his short dark hair to gray slightly at the temples only. The rest was firmly kept under control by an excellent hairdresser.

They smiled at each other, polite, professional smiles.

"Anton, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, but I was personally attending a fitting."

Neselli shrugged his apology and frustration. That particular matron was going to either have to come to grips with her diet or her self-image. Miracles were not his business. Illusions yes, but not outright miracles. Then his smile became sincere. He liked Anton.

"It's a real pleasure to talk to you again. It's been a while."

Since Maillie died, to be precise. He'd sent condolences but they hadn't been acknowledged, and word was you did not mention Maillie to Anton.

"Since Maillie died," Joran said. Then at the guarded expression on Neselli's face he added, "I can talk about it now."

"That's good."

Neselli did not intend to push his luck. His expression was usually pleasant, and often noncommittal, and it stayed noncommittal now. He tended to only get really animated and excited around the time of release of a new collection. He was, like Anton, an artist overlaid with very solid business sense. Perhaps, he thought, that was why they got on.

Now he asked, "So, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing for me personally, but Mrail has a new lady in his life, and I said I'd ask if you could make a dress for her for our concert."

Thank you very much, Anton. That short notice concert has already turned this place into a madhouse.

His polite smile stayed in place as he answered, "Of course we can accommodate you. Is the lady someone I know? That would make it easier."

Joran shook his head. "She's a software developer at Nemizcan."

"Ah, so Mrail has been holding out until he found an intellectual, has he?"

"Not exactly." Joran grinned. "A hacker. She's one of the designers of the Gingezel UltraSecure HyperWeb."

Neselli would know about that since his on planet houses would use it.

"Even more intriguing." He cocked an eyebrow at Anton. "I suppose that's something I can't mention?"

"That's right. Mrail is even more of a privacy nut than I am."

"Well, I must tell you that if the sudden demand I have for gowns is any indication, anyone who is anyone will be at the concert. It will be the social event of the year."

"I hope so."

Joran smiled at the good news. A flurry of new gowns meant everyone was coming prepared to enjoy themselves, not to just watch him fall on his face again.

"I don't suppose there is anything you can tell me about the concert? After all, it is about time to get the rumor mill going, and so far it hasn't had much to go on. Leave it too long, and people will start making things up."

"And we can't let that happen, can we?" Joran grinned at the open fishing.

He didn't mind. A few leaks now were of mutual benefit. It established Neselli as in the know, and he was one of the few gossips Joran could count on to be accurate and not elaborate on facts.

"You've heard our new album?" Joran asked. He'd learned never to assume which people listened to him.

Neselli nodded. "I truly enjoyed it."

"Then you have a partial idea of our new sound – soft and romantic. It required a new look. There won't be glittery jumpsuits or heavy mask makeup. And I'm giving up the Anton blue. Mrail will take it."

A new look to go with the sound wasn't surprising, although it was hard to say how fans would accept it. But Anton not wearing his trademark blue was shock. Neselli raised his eyebrows.

"What will you wear?"

"That shade of purple Maillie loved."

Neselli gave him a professional, assessing look.

"It will suit you, and it's a lovely tribute to her." Then with a half smile, "Out of professional curiosity, who is doing the new costumes?"

It was about even odds whether or not he'd get an answer. But if it was the woman Anton had used from square one, while the look could be different, it would still have a hard, aggressive, sexy edge.

Joran gave a name.

Neselli's eyebrows rose.

"Johnny Sun's costumer. That is a change. And of course that's all I get until you walk on stage, right?"

"Right."

Well, that was enough, more in fact than he'd expected to get out of Anton.

But Joran wasn't finished. There was something else he wanted to leak, but to the audience, not the media. Bojo was going to be under enough pressure without a shocked silence when he started to sing.

"There's going to be another change. I'll be sharing vocals with Mrail again as well as Des."

"Indeed."

Neselli tried to remember if he'd ever heard Mrail sing after that terrible accident, or if he did any of the songs on the album, but he couldn't come up with anything. He had assumed his voice was damaged by the terrible head and neck injuries. He decided to go with candor.

"I don't think I've ever heard him since his accident. What has his voice leveled out at?"

"No one's heard him, but he'll start recording after the concert. His voice," Joran pause to consider, "I guess the best description is that he now sounds pretty much like Johnny Sun. He has his own phrasing, and there is a velvety tone Johnny Sun doesn't have, but until people get used to them I think there will be some confusion."

"Indeed."

Well, Anton could hardly say the man wasn't good if he was going to sponsor him. But sounding like Johnny Sun wasn't likely.

Joran regarded the polite, noncommittal face with amusement. He wondered if it was the same one Neselli used when a client assured him they would lose two kilos by the next fitting.

"You don't believe me, hmm?"

Joran's amusement increased as Neselli now looked uncomfortable.

"Want to listen? Mrail and the band are fooling around now. The acoustics won't be great, but –" Joran shrugged and without waiting for an answer opened the door to the privacy booth.

The acoustics might not be great by Anton's standards, but by his they were just fine. Neselli listened carefully. Anton was right. Unless he'd been told, he'd have said Johnny Sun was visiting, and the acoustics were just a bit off.

Neselli smiled. "I apologize. One should never question a professional."

"Or totally trust someone who does their own PR work." Joran wasn't offended.

"If Mrail is this good, why hasn't he done vocals sooner?"

As soon as the question was out, Neselli could have bitten his tongue because he knew the answer before Anton waved at the side of his face.

"Vocals put you in the spotlight."

"I'm truly sorry. That was thoughtless of me."

Neselli smiled his apology, trying to make amends. "I take it the change is a case of it's amazing what love will do for a man?"

"More or less," Joran agreed, "and that's in the 'not for publication' category. You keeping the sides of the list sorted out?"

It was Neselli's turn to be amused.

"Pretty well. I'll check what I can say before we quit here."

Neselli looked somewhere Joran couldn't see.

"Excuse me a moment. Lyn, something has come up. I'll be roughly an hour. I'll call you when I'm free."

A well modulated female voice said, "Of course."

Joran intervened. He vaguely remembered the name being mentioned by Maillie.

"Could I possibly borrow three or four minutes of Lyn's time and get a feminine reaction to the next song?"

"Of course. Lyn, please join us. I'm talking to Anton."

Neselli wasn't sure if he was supposed to say they were listening to Mrail or not, so he left it there.

He was joined by a woman of thirty or so, beautifully dressed and polished, but not especially attractive. Joran knew that was Neselli's policy. He kept the glamour for his seasonal shows and used modeling agencies for them. In house, he wanted the clients to feel they would look at least as good, or better than the staff once he was finished. Lyn's most noticeable feature was hair of an impossible shade of maroon that only the best hairdressers could achieve, and she wore the dramatic makeup that it demanded.

She said in a pleasant voice, "I'm pleased to meet you, Anton. How can I help you?"

Joran decided she was probably very good at her job. She somehow managed to seem truly eager to please, without appearing either servile or condescending.

"Just listen to a song we haven't released yet and tell me what you think. I'm sorry, I'm just in a privacy booth – no proper audio, but it will do."

He had a pretty good idea what would happen on the next song. There was a spot about halfway through where Bojo liked to let his voice take a drop in range to a husky whisper. It had become a game with the band to egg him on to see just how low he could go and still have his voice stay true. Joran had said no way onstage – moderate the drop because if you do something extreme once and can't do it again, everyone will say you're losing your touch. But today he'd guess Bojo would go along with the band.

The song started and Joran kept his eyes on Lyn. If the look on her face was typical, Bojo would go over with the female fans. Her eyes widened slightly at the drop, and there was a half smile.

"Well?" Joran demanded when it was finished.

"Absolutely lovely." Lyn was sincere. "Does this mean Johnny Sun will be at the concert, or is he just practicing with you? I haven't heard."

Joran answered the question with a question. "How do you like to drop in the middle?"

"Sexy! I don't think I've heard him do that before."

"That is because Johnny could no more do that than I can. You were listing to Mrail."

"I was?"

Joran decided he might be wrong saying she was plain. Lyn was rather pretty confused and embarrassed like that.

"Sorry. I set you up. Now, Neselli, about that dress ..."

*****

Chapter 47

"Coffee time, Lindy."

Lindy looked up. Was it that late in the afternoon already?

"Hello Chett."

She looked past him to where Vennbir, not Arla was holding a tray.

"Hello Vennbir."

Vennbir had become a frequent visitor to the executive suite, and she honestly didn't know if this was good or bad. She knew Chett was interested in the young man both because he had the same potential as a hacker as Brys, and because he identified with him. But Vennbir was obviously uncomfortable every time he was here, she didn't think he felt Chett was doing him a favor. For that matter, Chett might well not be. Vennbir wasn't from R and D where hierarchies didn't exist. His old coworkers in data entry were probably very resentful by now.

"Hello Lindy."

Vennbir didn't like calling Mrs. Mikel, Lindy, or Mr. Linderson, Chett, but they insisted. He concentrated on the very difficult task of putting the tray down without spilling any liquid or make anything clatter because his hands were shaking.

Lindy watched the process and the intense concentration. Vennbir's fair skin was so white it looked like porcelain and his fine dark hair wasn't hanging soft with its usual forelock in his face and a shapeless mass elsewhere. It was a damp and pressed to his skin.

"Are you all right, Vennbir?" she asked with some concern. A number of minor viruses were around, and having more impact than usual with everyone so stressed.

"I'm fine thank you."

Vennbir's eyes as he looked up from his task to answer had that slightly unfocused look that had made Lindy seriously worried that their new hacker was a drug user. She'd said as much to Chett, but he'd reassured her that Vennbir had been tested and was clean. So presumably Vennbir managed to have a slightly loose grip on reality without assistance. Lindy looked past Vennbir to Chett, her eyes questioning him in turn.

"No, Vennbir is not all right. He's just been sent back early from a shift of psychological testing. In the middle of one of those tests where they require really high-speed responses so you can't analyze your answers, he totally lost focus on them. According to the staff member there who called me, he scared them pretty good. It took them quite a while to get him back into the here and now. They checked him out thoroughly and couldn't find anything wrong beyond exhaustion. That's why they called me. They wanted to make sure I understood that if I wanted the P3 done quickly for Gingezel that Vennbir can't have a workload."

"And does he have a workload?" Lindy asked.

She gave Chett a hard look. Vennbir had not been working in data entry since the testing started. She'd arranged that.

Chett had the grace to look uncomfortable.

"It's my fault. I thought that it might be interesting for Vennbir to have a shot at breaking the Gingezel UltraSecure HyperWeb security before he knew a thing about the system. So I told him to try it. I thought he'd have the sense to get the rest he needed."

"Look who's talking," Lindy said dryly.

Chett's fair skin was almost as pale as Vennbir's and he had dark circles one night of catching up on sleep hadn't helped at all.

"So," Chett said firmly, "we're here for chocolate chip cookies and mothering, not scolding." He headed for the wall unit housing the fridge.

Lindy suppressed the retort that the two, scolding and mothering were not mutually exclusive. Instead, she turned Vennbir.

"Please sit down." He really did look shaky. "Vennbir, have you had time for lunch today?"

"I don't remember."

It wasn't an evasion. He was still disoriented. Vennbir gave the question an honest try, but trying to remember back before he went weird made him feel strange again.

Lindy was watching his face.

"Don't try to remember. Let's assume not."

She didn't like the quietness in his face. Vennbir was usually animated, if rather unfocused.

"Do you eat ham? I'll get you a sandwich."

"I eat ham, but," Vennbir didn't like to be impolite, "I'm not sure I'm hungry."

Food really didn't sound good.

"Well, you'll never know until you try."

Lindy went over to the cater unit in the same wall unit as the fridge. Chett seemed to have decided to do a complete inventory in the fridge just in case something better than cookies was lurking in a far corner. That meant he was hungry too.

"What about you Chett? Did you eat lunch?"

"I don't remember," he teased.

"Liar!"

"A sandwich would be good, Lindy."

He liked Lindy's idea of a ham sandwich. Thick crusty rolls, lots of butter, three or four wafers of thin sliced ham, and a tiny pot of sharp mustard on the side. She said it had taken her about seven months to get the caterers to match the ones she made at home.

Lindy added a large green salad for each man, and got a small fruit salad for herself. Her problem with stress was the opposite. She ate steadily and gained weight, and she was determined not to this time.

Vennbir took a polite, cautious bite of sandwich served him. It tasted good, and a very embarrassing rumble from his stomach announced that he should keep eating. He had honestly thought he couldn't. Whatever the testers had given him to drink to get his electrolytes and blood sugar back in line had really put him off. He took a bigger bite, chewed it, then smeared some mustard on the edge of the sandwich for the next bite.

Had he had lunch? The question interested him a bit more this time. Vennbir rather suspected not. It had been just after 10:00 AM here when Brys had announced it was 8:00 AM in Crescent Bay and Gali said it was time for her to quit for the day. And he'd had to catch the train at 10:40 to make his appointment. That hadn't given him enough time to get home. Just enough to shower and shave at the Nemizcan gym, then to bicycle full speed to the station. So he'd had to show up for the psychological testing in the clothes he had worn the day before and all night, but at least his face wasn't all stubbly. He had a vague memory of a poor quality fruit milkshake he'd bought on the train that was carrying him to the far side of the city. It had been skimpy, thin, and too expensive. That was it. He'd had supper the night before. He did remember that. And he remembered his intention to knock it off after 3:00 AM or so and to go home to sleep until 9:00. But it just hadn't worked out. Oh well, he would survive. Vennbir took another bite.

Lindy watched until Vennbir looked comfortable eating then turned her attention to Chett. She knew from experience he could keep up a steady conversation and still pack away the substantial amount of food he seemed to need to keep his long lean frame going.

"So Vennbir has been trying to hack the Gingezel system?"

It was a good idea to see how the system looked to an outsider. She suspected Dreen would have tried having someone hack it if he hadn't had all of the hackers he knew of working on the project. What was lousy was Chett's sense of timing, or maybe his sense of urgency, pushing Vennbir to do two things at once.

"Was it really so urgent that he couldn't get his P3 first, then try before he got into the project?"

"Not exactly urgent. I think the other hacker that keeps taking the system down is getting on Gali's nerves, but the timeline allowed for that sort of thing. It was more a case of it being a good thing to do, and I thought Vennbir might enjoy doing something other than just being tested and mentally poked and prodded."

"Mmm." Lindy was unimpressed. She took another look at Vennbir's waxen face.

"It didn't exactly work out, did it Chett?"

Chett stretched his legs out. "Not exactly Lindy."

He pointedly reached for his sandwich.

Vennbir was surprised that Lindy would so openly criticize Chett, and even more surprised that he appeared to be taking it. Like the rest of the Head Office workforce, Vennbir was wary of the new boss. No, that wasn't quite true. He couldn't speak for Jann and the team that had worked with him on the Drezvir design, because they were closeted off by themselves working too hard to talk to anyone. But pretty much everyone else was nervous.

Those with contacts in the hubs had called them, and the message was consistent. Linderson is a good boss. He knows what he wants and communicates it well. He demands a lot, but he makes sure you have the resources and training to do it. And he isn't unrealistic. If you mess up, as long as you are honest about it and fix things, that's fine. He'll even help. But don't cross him at any cost. The explosion may blow over as fast as it comes, but if it doesn't someone is in big trouble.

This had been reinforced by Klarak Voroth being fired. A couple of the nighthawks had been around when Chett personally saw him out. The report was that both men had obviously been furious, but while Chett was in icy control Klarak had been past the stage of any restraint. Klarak had been sounding off and abusive when they walked into the work area. Chett had told him to shut his mouth, close up his desk, and keep his hands off anything but personal effects.

Klarak had started clearing his desk, but had ignored the advice to shut up. Chett had just stood there, stony, until Klarak started talking about wrongful dismissal. Then Chett had interrupted him, saying that if Klarak wasn't recording everything to please record this. Then in a voice of pure ice he'd told Klarak that if Klarak wanted to waste his severance on lawyers that was his privilege, but he'd lose. What had happened was perfectly legal under seven sections of the Galactic Labor Code. Chett had then rattled them off. And listed another related to doubts about the honesty of an employee. Vennbir could see where in the part about honesty Klarak didn't have a chance, since he'd admitted to hacking. Apparently Chett had concluded by saying that the severance pay had already been transferred and was correct to these standards right down to the hundredth of a credit.

Klarak had shut his mouth then, until he was finished emptying his desk. Then he had said he wanted to say goodbye to a few people. Chett had replied firmly that goodbyes would be on his own time and not on Nemizcan property. He'd added that given that Klarak was an acknowledged hacker, and Nemizcan was a computing company, and the parting was acrimonious Chett would personally see Klarak off the property. Any further contact would not be allowed. Chett would ensure a restraining order was in place. The order would state that no further physical, voice, or web contact of any sort was allowed including using Nemizcan office products. He trusted Klarak would find the competition's products adequate.

Vennbir had looked acrimonious up. He hadn't heard the word used before and wondered what world Chett had picked it up on. No, it was definitely not a good idea to cross Chett, and Lindy seemed to be doing this on his account. Vennbir felt obliged to intervene and set the record straight.

"It isn't Chett's fault. I've been having fun and going home to bed around 2:00 or 3:00 AM, then sleeping until it was time for my appointment. Last night just didn't work out. That's all." He stopped, not sure how much more to say.

"Well, I sincerely hope Chett has told you to back off until the testing is over," Lindy said. "I'm sure they need you more on the project then they need you to try to hack into the system before hand."

"No." Chett grinned. "And before you jump all over me, Lindy, it's because it would be irrelevant to tell Vennbir to back off. It was success that gave Vennbir a sleepless night."

Lindy stared from one to the other, finally settling on Vennbir.

"You've hacked into the Gingezel system?"

*****

Chapter 48

Did Chett know for sure Vennbir had hacked the system, or was he taking Vennbir's word for it?

"But ..."

The idea was ridiculous. Brys and Dreen and Evrit had personally put man-years into the system and Lindy couldn't guess how many more man-years various other staff had put into it. She found her voice and tried again.

"But how long have you worked at it?"

"Three nights. Four if you count last night." Vennbir was talking to the carpet.

"But ..." This time Lindy turned to Chett. "I thought that system was as close as Dreen could get to unbeatable. I asked Gali, and he said pretty well every hacker in the galaxy was having a shot at it, but only one got in, and that was after the system was up for some time."

Chett nodded confirmation. "Vennbir says this has happened to him twice before. He pokes around in the defenses of the system, and all of a sudden he just knows what's there, like he's the one who wrote it. Interesting, no?"

Lindy would have used the word disconcerting. She looked back at Vennbir who had returned his attention to his food. This time he was focused on the salad which he had drenched with dressing. He must have felt her look though, because he glanced up through thick black lashes. This time his eyes were bright and alive, with no lack of focus.

"It was fun."

He couldn't remember when he's had such a good time. Life was usually so boring.

"We all have our own definition of fun," Chett said dryly.

"Apparently he happened to go into an area Brys was working on, and she thought she'd found the hacker. She went after him with a vengeance. I'm hazy on the details, but she traced the hacker back to here, and then she went ballistic. She thought it was a Nemizcan employee who had been driving them crazy. Before Vennbir knew what was happening, they were face to face on their communication units and he was being told off but good." Chett chuckled. "We're lucky I suppose that she took it personally, rather than called the cops. That would have been embarrassing."

Lindy nodded, significantly less amused than Chett. That would have been all they needed right now. The police arriving in the middle of the night would have meant distorted rumors for days. She looked at Vennbir, but he was busy eating his sandwich, and it was Chett who resumed the narrative. She would have preferred the story firsthand from Vennbir, but he seemed to do his best to limit conversation with her to hello, yes please, no thank you, and with relief, goodbye.

"Apparently Brys eventually ran out of breath, and Vennbir got a chance to say that no, he wasn't the hacker, and he'd been told by me to give it an independent try. Once Brys bought that, they spent the night sorting out just how he got in so easily." Chett grinned. "Gali says they were still at it when he got there in the morning and made them both quit for the night. Otherwise, Vennbir would have probably forgotten his testing and still be at it."

Despite Lindy's suspicions to the contrary, Vennbir was listening. "No I wouldn't have."

"Want to bet on that - I mean next time you and Brys get going?"

"Don't," Lindy advised. "Chett's tricky on bets. He likes to fix the odds. He'll find some way to twist it."

To her surprise that got her a shy grin.

"I found out a couple days ago."

"Chett! Vennbir can't afford your bets."

"It was only for who had to walk to The Scoop in the rain, then bring the milkshakes back. Besides, Vennbir is going to pay a lot more attention to exactly how bets are worded from now on, aren't you? He was half daydreaming as usual and walked right into it."

Vennbir half smiled again and nodded.

Lindy decided she wouldn't embarrass him by asking how Chett had suckered him. Instead she said, "So did you like working with Brys, Vennbir?"

His eyes went dreamy again. "She's fantastic."

Chett felt obliged to encourage his protégé. "You're going to be just as good. Look at how fast you hacked into the system."

Lindy looked at Chett, amused. For once he was the one who had missed something. That 'fantastic" had nothing to do with computing, she'd swear to it. If she didn't know bedroom eyes by now when she saw them, she was getting senile, and she wasn't. Vennbir was an attractive young man in his own way, too. And he had a lot in common with Brys, like being so busy computing together they'd forgotten the fine points like food and sleep. It looked like Brys was going from no man in her life to too many all at once. She really would have to tell Chett the news from Keya about the designer dress Bojo was buying Brys for the concert. But obviously now was not the time.

Looking for something harmless to move the conversation to brought the milkshakes to mind. Lindy had seen deliveries from The Scoop a couple times and once she'd seen Chett coming in with milkshakes for himself and Arla. Milkshakes and ice cream were something her figure didn't tolerate, and she never touched them, so she had no idea how the shakes from the caterers were.

"Chett, don't you like the milkshakes from the caterer?"

"No. They're way too runny, and they don't have cloudberry, rum and butter, or boysenberry. I'm working at getting Vennbir addicted to The Scoop's cloudberry. It's the best I've found on any planet."

"But since you're running things now, why not have the caterers provide things the way you like?"

Chett feigned shock.

"Lindy! Three times as many employees go to The Scoop to goof off and clear their heads as use the meditation garden. It's an institution. You'd know that if you ever worked out in the gym, so you could slip down there and eat the stuff." He grinned teasingly. "And if you ever come down to the building gym you'll meet the rest of us ice cream addicts."

"And still go up two dress sizes," Lindy retorted. "No thanks."

Chett sat for a moment, finishing his sandwich and watching her. At last he said, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You're missing something obvious about Vennbir."

"Besides he likes ice cream too?"

"Besides that," Chett agreed.

Lindy thought for moment. They had discussed his tests, the fact he was bright, and the fact he was lucky Brys hadn't had him arrested.

"I don't think so."

Unless it was the fact Dreen would be very upset his system was hacked into so easily, but that would not be something Chett would discuss in front of Vennbir. And if he'd caught the thing about Brys, he's be teasing Vennbir mercilessly right now, not placing bets.

"Oh yes. Want to bet?"

Lindy laughed. "What this time?"

"You cook the first supper in my new apartment."

"You're on. If I win, you take me out for veal at Georgio's."

But by the look on Chett's face she was walking right into something. That didn't matter. He was actually relaxed and having fun for a few minutes. She'd be glad to cook supper just for that, and to make sure he was eating. Then the wording got to her.

"Your apartment?"

Chett shook his head. "Our bet first. Then I can start planning menus."

"Chett, you're impossible!"

Lindy picked up the plate of chocolate chip cookies and offered them to Vennbir, wondering when in the foreseeable future she'd have time to bake more. The canister was getting empty.

"Thank you."

Vennbir was feeling better for the food, and finding all of this rather educational. Chett seemed to like Lindy giving him a bad time, and to really enjoy being teased. Maybe he could relax a little.

"Well?" Chett demanded again as the plate was offered to him.

Lindy shook her head. "Sorry. I don't know where you're coming from."

"The simple fact that all of this testing of Vennbir so that he can work on the Gingezel system has become largely irrelevant, or should I say largely a matter of form to satisfy the client. Vennbir has obviously figured out the key system features and since last night has in fact been working with Brys."

He stretched his legs out and stared meditatively at the painting on Lindy's wall. "I think I'm going to have some explaining to do to Ralin Heusgar. And, I think I'd better interrupt Dreen's work on Drezvir for a good briefing on what that man is like."

Vennbir decided that then again maybe he couldn't relax. He had no idea who they were talking about, but it did not sound good.

Lindy was watching Vennbir who was watching Chett through his lashes.

"Ralin Heusgar is the Head of Security for Gingezel, Vennbir. And you can't be in trouble for doing what you were told to do. Chett may hear about this bit of creativity, but you won't, will he Chett?"

"Of course not. And I'm not personally worried in that sense either. I simply don't know what kind of sense of humor the man has. I think it's funny."

"If that's all, I can save you the call to Dreen. He hasn't and he won't."

"Then I'll sell it as we accidentally overachieved, that neither Vennbir or I had any idea he'd get into the system before he was cleared. I just wanted to get the perspective of an outside hacker, and I'm not one myself."

Lindy nodded, eyeing Chett suspiciously. "Chett, you are seriously thinking about using a fait accompli argument to have Vennbir continue working with Brys while he's still being tested?"

"I most certainly am, and that's what is going to happen Lindy, unless my discussion with Ralin blows up. And that's why I'll still call Dreen." His tone allowed no opposition.

The Drezvir mess was really hurting their corporate image and the longer it dragged on in the news, the worse it would get. Anything positive they could get out of the Gingezel project, even just a simple announcement of a beta release would help. Chett had examined the the contracts in detail. They were under a gag agreement until delivery of a useable product, which was fair enough, but once there was a successful release, even a public beta, they could claim it but not use it in advertising. Vennbir would provide a fresh perspective and they needed that.

He would also have to see whether or not Ralin wanted him to get a P2 like Dreen had, or if his existing P3 psychological and psychiatric assessment was adequate. If Ralin wanted a P2 he would simply make the time to do it. He couldn't manage and be responsible for a project where he wasn't even authorized to read the documents, and Chett intended to look at every aspect of the Gingezel system with a microscope. They couldn't afford more trouble. But he had no intentions of mentioning this to Lindy. In her mind Gingezel was Dreen's project, and he would be back to handle it.

Chett wasn't so sure Dreen would be back. Every day it looked less and less like a solution would be found. That displeased but didn't surprise him. He'd figured out on the flight back from Drezvir that ambiguity was the way it was likely to go. Juttar would just have to counter it with a good Act of God argument. What bothered Chett was watching Dreen the last two times he and Dreen and Tina had discussed some of the quantum effects that couldn't be ruled out. Dreen didn't seem angry, or grim, or even resigned. He seemed more meditative and thoughtful, like he was assessing every word Tina said for usefulness, not as a threat.

The first time that happened Chett had written it off as fancy on his own part. The second time had unnerved him. It had left him suspicious that Dreen was getting ready to take the fall. He was tempted to ask Dreen, but he didn't want to give Dreen ideas if he was wrong. It would help if he knew Joran or Juttar well enough to ask them. He didn't, so his only option was to prepare for that eventuality.

Right now it was time to get Lindy distracted.

"So, I get that supper. How creative can I get on the menu?"

"You pretty much know everything I can cook." Lindy decided Chett was looking almost smug. "Was I mistaken? It almost sounded like you have an apartment."

Even for Chett that was fast.

"Almost. I just have to physically go see it this evening. After we were talking yesterday - was it only yesterday?"

Lindy shook her head. "It was this morning."

"Was it? Anyways I started to think that even though I eventually want something I own, what I really need is not to commute to the city core. I mean, I know you and Dreen enjoy the amenities there, but when I do have time for supper or a show, I can go in for that. So I called a real estate agent who has done furnished units for me before, and told her I wanted something decent unfurnished with a twenty minute commute max. After all, the industrial park is ringed with bedroom communities. So ..." he paused and took another cookie from the plate.

"She called up just now to say there was an acceptable penthouse free. It's rental, not a condo, which is a disappointment, and there's no exercise club in the building." He shrugged. "But the gym here is well-equipped and she says the penthouse itself has facilities. So unless there's some major flaw, I'll take it."

Lindy said, "So I'd better start thinking supper."

"Once there's somewhere to eat. Which brings the next thing to mind. Do you know any interior decorators who could take it on for me? I was hoping to get something thrown together so I can move in."

"MmHmm. When are you thinking of Chett?

"The day after tomorrow?"

For a moment Lindy thought he was teasing, but he was dead serious. "I'll think about it," she said noncommittally, trying to decide between bribes, blackmail, or pleas which of a couple friends to hit for the impossible.

*****

Chapter 49

That was very interesting! Klarak stared at the screen where he had been easing his way through the outer defenses of G.U.S.H., the Gingezel UltraSecure HyperWeb. The hyperweb system wasn't there anymore. It had crashed, totally crashed. It was the third time that had happened. The first time was about two hours into his first attempt to hack the system. He'd been learning some rather interesting features of the linking process and hadn't wanted to lose his train of thought. So he'd kept checking back to see if it was up yet. But the system hadn't been restored for half a day. The second time G.U.S.H. crashed it was down even longer.

Klarak tried to remember any gossip going around Head Office about serious bugs or instability problems, but he couldn't remember any. And even on something as proprietary as G.U.S.H., there would have been gossip on this big a problem. Maybe nothing specific, but you'd run into someone on the project and ask how it was going and they'd pull a face and say, 'Don't ask.' But it had all been optimism and sunshine.

So maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone. Klarak stared out of the window at the gusts of rain darkening the pale sand to a muddy tone. If there was another hacker after G.U.S.H. – he meant seriously after, because everyone who fancied themselves as a hacker would be having a shot at it – this person was very, very good if he or she had taken it down several times since he'd been poking around. They must really understand the software. And that wasn't trivial. He'd just gotten into the core of the system himself.

It would be interesting to see how long G.U.S.H. was down this time. Then, when it was back up, he just might have a shot at taking it down himself. Klarak smiled a tight, bitter smile at the idea. He'd enjoy that. And if someone else was giving Chett Linderson grief too, so much the better. And in the meantime he had equally interesting things to do.

"Klarak dear."

Zloenni's voice was a purr as she rested a hand lightly on the nape of his neck.

He started, then mentally cursed himself. If he hadn't heard her coming, and he probably couldn't have since Zloenni was as soft footed as the cat she resembled, he should have smelled her. The musky spice of her perfume was as heavy as the storm wet air.

"Zloenni."

His tone was not encouraging. While this was her estate, and he couldn't avoid her at meals in the big house, this was the first time she'd invited herself into his guest house. He'd counted on an evening to himself using the storm as an excuse to just get a sandwich from his cater unit. Ignoring Zloenni's flirtations through a six or eight course meal was getting tedious. Storm. Shouldn't the storm have kept Zloenni in the big house, as she called her mansion?

Klarak turned to look up at her. Her fine red hair was frizzier than usual, but there wasn't so much as a drop of water in it. He transferred his gaze to the window. The sun had long ago set. There were heavy sullen clouds blocking the moon, but the rain had stopped and it was calm.

"I take it the storm is over."

"A few hours ago. And for that matter you've missed supper. You weren't answering calls and my chef only has so much patience."

The chef really was attractive when he was angry, but only up to a point. Then he got sulky and the meals were terrible for days. So Zloenni had eaten alone, something she didn't enjoy doing.

"So ..." the purr continued, "I came to see what you were doing that was so interesting."

Her voice was taunting. Zloenni was starting to rather enjoy this cat and mouse game with Klarak. But she was honestly curious too. Klarak did the most interesting things.

"Making money," Klarak said matter-of-factly.

"Mmm. So do we all dear."

She let her hand stray from his neck to his well muscled back. Pity she hadn't met Klarak first. He was much more of a challenge than Mark had been and just as attractive. But he seemed to have this idea that she was his brother's woman. As if any one man would ever own or satisfy her.

Klarak clenched his jaw. Could the woman possibly keep her hands to herself? He knew if he said anything she would be after him worse. He stared at the screen. Maybe if he got technical she'd get bored and go away. She seemed that type.

"I'm playing the high-tech stock market on Rujjipet."

"Well, Klarak," Zloenni's voice was dry as she leaned against Klarak to peer over his shoulder at the screen, "if that's the stock you're investing in, you won't make money. It's a loser."

Why did every man think he was a financial genius when it came to playing stocks?

"Was a loser," Klarak said, calling up another screen. "This is what it's going to do."

Zloenni chuckled, a soft throaty noise. These people who sold market simulation packages should be behind bars.

"Not in your wildest dreams, Klarak."

"Tomorrow," Klarak said, "it will be here." He pointed. "Do you want to know why?"

Without waiting for an answer, he started a detailed lecture on chaos theory. That should drive Zloenni out, fast. Klarak wasn't using a commercial code. It was his own, based on an amusing incident Mark had told him about when he was living with Mitra. Apparently Mitra had a brother who was both a financial analyst and a bit of a mathematician. He'd done some extensions to chaos theory making it possible to apply it to current trading volumes and practices. For his efforts he almost got his license pulled, something both Mark and Klarak had found hilarious.

But the idea of such a code had stayed in Klarak's mind, and off and on he had worked on one until he had a satisfactory product. He was very careful how he used it – he wasn't above learning from the mistakes of others and he was not looking for trouble with the law. He moved around what exchanges he played on, and hid whose account was really buying. Until recently he had only caused small, infrequent swings. But with all the financial demands lately, he'd been going for larger effects. Still, no one would catch him. Why should they? If anyone even figured out what was going on, they'd just assume Niki Kael was up to his old tricks and Mitra's brother would be the one in trouble.

***

The clouds had passed and a sliver of moon hung in the sky. The pinpoint of light that was the smaller moon was a thumb's breath from the lower edge of the sliver. Zloenni was sitting beside Klarak, intent on the screen, predatory instincts totally forgotten. She hadn't understood the computing lecture. She'd understood even less of the math lecture. But she understood the two vital points. First, this really was about her favorite thing, money. Second, as long as Klarak understood the math and the computing, she didn't have to. He was so like Mark, and so unlike Mark. And he was right. She was watching the trading on Rujjipet, and already that loser of a high-tech stock was rising.

"No, Zloenni."

He was watching her face.

Klarak's voice made her jump. "No what?"

"No I will not give you my code. No I will not sell you my code. No I will not help you with some investing."

"Klarak."

The purr held mild approach, asking how he could think such a thing of her. Zloenni yawned and stretched sensuously.

"It's getting late."

The invitation was obvious.

"Definitely no, Zloenni. Mark will be home tomorrow. You'll live."

There was a flash of anger, then Zloenni had herself under control. "I don't know what that means, Klarak dear. But while we're talking about your beloved brother, he called. He won't be home tomorrow. The investors are wanting another couple days of his time."

She just might wake up the chef and compliment him on that meal.

Hell. Mark had promised to be back.

***

Gali sighed and ran a hand through his nondescript thinning hair.

"Our friend is bored tonight, Brys."

He'd just come back to work half an hour ago to hear from Brys that their hacker had taken the system down about 2:00 AM Crescent Bay time. Brys had pretty well had the damage repaired when he arrived at 7:00. He'd helped her get the system up, and when Evrit arrived yawning but perfectly dressed as always at 8:30, they'd decided to try to figure out the motivation of the last attack before Brys headed for her breakfast on the beach with Bojo and a good day's sleep. They'd been at it for ten minutes when the system went down again. Usually they had twenty-four to forty-eight hours between attacks, sometimes more.

Three sets of eyes focused on screens, scrolled, studied.

Gali looked up, startled, as Evrit said something under his breath that sounded like profanity. Evrit never swore. He looked upset enough to though. His narrow face was taught with anger, and his too close together eyes were intent on the screen.

"Look at this."

He was pointing and Gali and Brys rose to peer over his shoulder.

Gali was silent for a full minute, while the two young hackers watched him nervously.

At last he said, "This is someone new."

Someone new, and destructive. It would take days to undo the damages – and how would they prevent it happening again? It was an attack he had never thought of – never seen –

Gali stared at his hackers. "Did either of you think of anything like this?"

Two heads shook 'No'.

Brys added thoughtfully, "But I almost think I should have. It – it reminds me of something, sort of."

Some advice she'd seen in a newsgroup? Not exactly the same of course, but the way it was structured, the destructiveness.

Abruptly she said, "I've got to call Vennbir."

He might know. They'd compare notes. They both used the same newsgroup. He was iDream, she was Library Girl.

"You have to sleep. And Bojo will be here in a few minutes."

"He can come back."

Gali wavered, checking the time.

"No luck, Brys. Vennbir will be off for testing now. Have your breakfast and get some sleep. It will keep."

*****

Chapter 50

C.C. walked towards the desk he'd been told was Mitra's. It was empty. She was standing beside some piece of equipment talking to a big guy in a ski jacket and some very businessman type, and hadn't acknowledged him even though he'd crossed her line of sight. That either meant she was very busy, or very furious. Most likely both, C.C. decided. Oh well, he'd better wait until she was free. It was lunch time, so they couldn't be that long or they'd all miss the meal at the cafeteria. And he knew Mitra when she was angry. It was better just to let her tell you off, then get on with life. She'd be back for her shoulder bag. It was on her chair.

He put his peace offering, a carefully wrapped carton of what used to be both their favorite chocolate bar, and the last box in his personal stash, on the center of her desk and looked around. The size of the workspace didn't surprise him. After all, he'd ordered it for a greenhouse and nursery. The amount of equipment he could only vaguely guess the function of and the level of industry did surprise him. It made the seriousness of the accident, and the potential seriousness of Mitra's role in it all too real.

Shying away from that thought, C.C. turned instead to look at the back of the man at the nearest desk. He had to be Dreen Pendi, head of Nemizcan Computing until this accident occurred, and the competition for Mitra's affections. At least, C.C. thought realistically, he liked to think of him as the competition. But after last night he was probably personally less in the running than when their mothers had been pushing them together. Still, there was the concept of a long shot, and C.C. was having to come to grips with his strong physical reaction to meeting Mitra again.

It would have helped if he'd had time to ask Leeth what his crack about Dreen meant, but he'd missed Leeth at breakfast then been stuck in meetings with Rostin all morning. He'd heard nothing but good from Joran though, and had kept hoping to meet the man some weekend at Joran's place. Well, he might as well now. Dreen seemed pleasant enough. He'd nodded and said hello as C.C. walked past.

Dreen looked up as the man he had been trying to not think about, and had been managing to do nothing but think about, approached his desk. Well, he'd been telling himself he had to get to know C.C. and decide what he thought about him. Was he really capable of being cruel to Mitra, or was it like Juttar said, he was just capable of being really stupid like anyone could be? All the same, his stomach knotted as he stood up.

C.C. felt ridiculously nervous. This bothered him and he reacted by acting even friendlier than usual.

"You must be Dreen Pendi. I'm C.C. Windegren. We have a common friend, Joran." He smiled and extended his hand. "I thought I'd come ask if you've heard from him lately and how he's doing. Mitra looks busy."

Dreen automatically took the hand, his mind trying to react to an approach he'd never thought of. His mind was totally on the Mitra's link to C.C. But of course C.C. knew Joran. Juttar said he'd been at Joran and Maillie's house a lot. Automatically he indicated a chair.

"Please sit down Dr. Windegren."

"C.C. please, unless I've offended you by not calling you Dr. Pendi."

Dreen made a face.

"No. When someone uses the honorific I always think they expect me to be carrying medical equipment."

C.C. sat down, amused. That was a sense of humor he hadn't expected in a corporate type.

"I haven't seen Joran since Maillie –"

Dreen cut in. "C.C., excuse me but I have to tell you everything here," he waved at the room, "is recorded, both audio and visual. For that matter the same is probably true of Mitra's room. Since we both know Joran is a very private person, please be discreet. I don't mind talking about him, but choose your words."

A look of intense distaste crossed C.C.'s mobile face. He took another slow look around the room and sighed.

"Yes, I suppose it has to be done doesn't it? Still it must be unpleasant for everyone."

"The accident was more than unpleasant."

"Yes."

Dreen watched the look of pain on C.C.'s face as he turned to look at Mitra. She was still totally absorbed with Tranngol and Azlo.

C.C. made an effort. "Sorry. I've just got here from the coast. I'm not used to things."

"You don't get used to this sort of thing." Dreen made an effort too. "You were asking after Joran?"

"Yes. I haven't seen him." C.C. paused, trying to decide what was allowed. "He's been avoiding a few of his friends."

He left it unsaid that the friends he was avoiding was everyone who was around that last weekend he was home with Maillie.

"I simply wondered how he's doing."

C.C. had decided he and Darwin would call after the concert, but not before. They couldn't risk putting Joran on tilt.

C.C. looked like he really cared. Dreen said more candidly than he'd expected to, "I won't lie and say he's totally recovered. But he's making a lot of progress. Whether or not it's as much as he thinks, we'll find out soon enough."

C.C. nodded. The concert was only a few days away.

"You have your doubts?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. I have my worries, and my hopes, but it's always that way with Joran, isn't it?"

C.C. nodded. "Predictability isn't his strong suit."

Dreen smiled. "And understatement is yours?"

It was C.C.'s turn to smile. "You requested discretion."

There didn't seem to be anything left to say after that, so they both turned to watch Mitra, Tranngol, and Azlo.

***

Mitra was exhausted from the pain, the lack of sleep, the cumulative strain, her burst of fury with Dreen, and a very demanding session with Tranngol. Her desires in life had simplified considerably. She wanted to go to the clinic to see if the doctor, with any luck not Dr. Liberty, could use a neuroblock again this soon. Then she wanted to somehow get through the afternoon, go back to her room, take a painkiller, and sleep for at least ten hours. Oh well, at least the measurements Tranngol had wanted her to oversee were finished and she could go back to the clinic. She headed for her desk.

"Hello C.C., Dreen."

She continued past without stopping. She was too tired to bother being angry with either of them. That would take energy. She was also too tired to care at all about why they were sitting visiting, or to remember that they didn't know each other.

"Mitra."

C.C. rose, and as she obviously wasn't stopping fell into step beside her.

"I've come to see how you are. I hope you'll accept apologies and a peace offering." He waved towards the parcel. "Then maybe you'll have lunch with me."

Mitra was totally ignoring him, but Dreen was studying C.C.'s face. It looked exactly the same as it had yesterday in the cafeteria, very worried, nervous, and concerned.

Mitra reached her desk, grabbed for her shoulder bag, and almost swatted the unexpected object on her desk with it. It looked like a prettily wrapped present, which made no sense at all. She looked blankly at C.C. to see if he had any ideas since he seemed to be hovering around being useless.

"That's an 'I'm sorry' present Mitra," C.C. repeated since she obviously hadn't listened.

"Thank you," Mitra repeated the obligatory phrase, and shoulder bag secure on her shoulder, reached for the ridiculous pillow. She'd probably have to wait for an hour at the clinic. Pillow in hand, she turned to go.

This was not Mitra. Treating him like he was invisible might be some very effective frosting technique she'd perfected, but C.C. couldn't believe Mitra now ignored presents. The giver, maybe. The present, no. She adored presents, and he meant presents as such, prettily packaged question marks. Once open, she might like or dislike the contents, but that never detracted from her love of pretty packages. C.C. found himself turning to exchange looks with Dreen, who looked as worried as he must.

"Mitra, are you all right?"

Talk about a stupid question. Mitra tried to think up a smart reply but couldn't come up with one. So she simply said, "No. I'm going to the clinic now to see if the pain can be taken down a bit. It's bothering my concentration."

"Mitra! I told you to get that tailbone looked at right away."

Maybe she had enough energy to be cranky after all.

"I did. As soon as I got up. But the neuroblock wore off about an hour ago, and I'm not taking any damned painkillers until my technical work for the day is over. The clinic will probably take an hour, and I've a long afternoon and you're wasting my time C.C. Get lost!"

Yes, please, permanently Dreen thought. He did not want anything more to do with C.C. Windegren. He was in danger of liking the man, and that was not allowed in any of his mental scripts. The scripts had allowed for grudging admiration, possibly the acknowledgement that he would try to make Mitra happy given a second chance. But all scripts presumed he personally detested him. He had done the losing your woman to a friend route before with Juttar. He didn't need that kind of a mess again.

C.C. said, "But if you're at the clinic for an hour or so you'll miss lunch."

"Genius. So why are you compounding those odds?" Mitra turned again.

C.C. reached out, put a none too gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned her around.

"Hey, bite my head off if you want, but I'm trying to help. Did you even have breakfast?"

"Yes," Mitra said virtuously. "A pouch of vanilla flavored space glop standing waiting at the clinic. It guarantees to contain everything needed to sustain human metabolism."

She knew. She'd read every last word on the label, trying to distract herself from the pain of her tailbone and the worse pain of her mental problems. There had been two trace compounds listed she'd had no idea humans needed. She'd killed time at the clinic getting Gwen's permission to use their database to look up the evidence these compounds were needed – pretty dubious science in her estimation – and where they occurred naturally – only in foods she detested. She decided to continue trying to metabolize with a possible deficiency.

"Can I go now so I have a chance of something better for lunch?" She put her hand up to remove C.C.'s from her shoulder, but his grip had definitely improved. "C.C.!"

"I said I'm trying to help. Let me finish. I'm licensed to use a neuroblock. It'll just take seconds to access your record, see what you need, and treat you. Then," his eyes were pleading, he really felt terrible for hurting Mitra, "will you have lunch with me? It will have to be at the cafeteria or I'll have open rebellion in my crew. But we can talk some more about the idea you had at supper about using those trees as a mist block seaside to precipitate out moisture. I haven't had time to research what tree, but I think you must mean either that Laurion weed tree or Terran aspen modified for low oxygen."

Mitra eyed C.C. suspiciously. "You really know what you're doing?"

"You can check my qualifications, but yes."

The idea of relatively immediate relief, plus an hour of forgetting her problems sounded wonderful. She gave C.C. a tired smile. "Thanks, C.C."

"That's better." He reached for the cushion. "Now, just one more thing. You don't trust me. Well, I don't trust you. Dreen, come here a minute please."

If C.C. intended to warn him off, public place or not, he was in trouble. Dreen forced his face into a neutral expression that could not possibly look natural and went to join them.

"Dreen," C.C. was still watching Mitra so he didn't notice the strain on Dreen's face, "you've got to be trying to take care of Mitra too, so can we collaborate on this? I simply don't trust her to not get too busy and either forget to eat, or end up feeling too lousy to want food. So would you take responsibility for supper? I'd cook her one myself with our fresh stuff, but I'm in for a long session with Olan Rostin and he said something about sandwiches in his office."

He and Rostin had spent the morning discussing how to get the terraforming experiments back on track once the worst of the disaster was over. The replacement habitat hadn't arrived yet, seeds had to be ordered, and so on. After lunch they were due to move on to bringing in dirty industries to enrich the environment. C.C. suspected Rostin wanted to discuss the heavy industry now to distract himself.

He didn't mind. C.C. hadn't found any records of it being tried except at the earliest stages of galactic settlement, but his simulations all looked good. Leeth's simulations he corrected himself. Leeth had solved the simulation problem they were hung on. But Rostin would never accept anything done by a manual laborer as a basis for financial decisions, so C.C. was passing it off as his work exclusively.

"We usually have supper together," Dreen said firmly.

No way was C.C. going to start claiming Mitra's company every night with the excuse of cooking her something better than the cafeteria provided. With all of the food supplies Mitra, Dellmaice Power Systems, he, and the other subcontractors had brought the food there was fine, if institutional. C.C. wanted an excuse to have her to himself, that was all.

Mitra turned to Dreen. He really and truly was jealous of C.C., the sweet idiot. This time the idea amused her. Still, the last thing she needed was C.C. and Dreen making a scene here, and C.C. was quite capable of doing just that, if Dreen wasn't.

She said placatingly, "And you do a good job of trying to take care of me too, making sure I eat all the stuff I don't like."

Her eyes held the kiss she couldn't give him in public.

Watching Mitra's face, C.C. felt even more invisible. He wished she'd look at him like that, even if only once. Oh well, he knew he was playing a long shot. He touched Mitra's arm.

"Let's get you that meal."

*****

Chapter 51

Dreen finished his current segment of analysis, then went to the cafeteria. Mitra and C.C. were already there with the other terraformers and there were no free seats in that vicinity. He hesitated, tray in hand, then saw Milton and Tina by themselves at one of the small side tables ringing the cafeteria.

"May I join you?"

Tina smiled. "Of course. On your own for once, Dreen?"

Dreen nodded.

"Mitra's with the terraformers."

They all looked at the long table the terraformers had claimed near the center of the hall. If they were talking about trees, trees were a lot funnier than Dreen had ever imagined.

Tina sighed. "It's nice to see someone around who can still have fun."

"Yeah."

She suppressed a smile at Dreen's lack of enthusiasm. She didn't think he had a thing to worry about on that score, but that probably didn't stop him from being jealous and driving Mitra crazy. Milton wasn't looking any more enthusiastic than Dreen. Males sticking together, she thought.

Tina turned to Milton. "Milton, at least you must be happy to hear some laughter."

Milton was jovial enough back at Tranus Dynamics. She shot a sideways glance at Dreen.

"No vested interest."

Milton gave her his old smile at that, then returned to his frown.

"Actually, I wasn't even thinking of Dreen. It's that terraforming crowd. They're trouble."

That got him a polite look from Tina and Dreen's full attention.

"Don't get me wrong," he said in his slow manner. "I won't pretend I'm not from a company that sells exclusively to heavy industry and all too often that puts environmentalists and me on opposite sides of the fence. But I don't work at it being that way. I've got kids and a grandchild on the way. I like fly fishing myself when I find the time.

"I respect their position too. When a person spends their life creating something that's the best they can do, they want to pass it on and have other people respect it. It doesn't matter if it's an instrument I design, one of your control systems Tina, or your software Dreen. Well, terraformers are creating worlds aren't they? So they're bound to want any world, theirs or another, respected. It's this particular crowd I have no use for."

"But C.C. Windegren is one of the best," Tina protested.

She was surprised both by the long speech and Milton's attitude. He was usually only censorious when it came to shoddy workmanship.

"Technically maybe, but he's not the person his mother is. You'd know that, Tina, if you'd been in on the Plenata power systems sessions instead of Andrai." He smiled. "Andrai isn't the complaining type. I suppose he never said anything to you?"

"Only that there were licensing delays, so don't factor revenue from Plenata into anything crucial," Tina said.

She'd been too busy with Drezvir to pursue her husband's comment. After all, there were always licensing delays. Now she was curious though. She looked at the laughing handsome face.

"C.C. doesn't look like a troublemaker."

"Maybe not, but he isn't his mother," Milton repeated, standing his ground. "I admire Beti. I can't count how many times I've seen her work together with Ari to resolve siting concerns. She's always fair and she's good at creative solutions too. But C.C. doesn't see gray. He's an extremist. And that guy sitting four down from him. No -" he saw Tina turning the wrong way, "to the left. He has some kind of prison record."

"As an environmental activist?" Tina was shocked.

Milton was honest. "I couldn't say. I just don't like his style. He's destructive." He looked sincerely from face to face. "Why are people like that with all the problems there are around needing to be solved? You'd think they'd have better things to do with their time."

It was an exact echo of Gali's words from the night before when Dreen had called him to see if they were winning yet on the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb. They were both getting tired of the hacker even though they were trying to tell themselves they were getting high-class debugging.

Dreen said to Milton, "I don't know why either, but some people seem to be that way."

He tried to pick out the individual Milton had indicated. The man was tough looking, and middle-aged. Dreen could believe he was capable of being trouble. The man looked up, caught Dreen looking at him, gave him a hostile glare, and pointedly turned to talk to his neighbor. Yes, the man definitely had an attitude problem if that was his reaction to accidental eye contact with a total stranger.

Dreen returned his attention to Milton. "It's a good thing then there's nothing for them to cause trouble about here. I mean, there can't be five thousand settlers, and Drezvir hasn't much of an environment to protect."

"I wish you were right, but in this case I think they're going to bring even more grief on these poor people, as if they haven't already had enough."

"How so?" Tina asked. She hadn't heard anything.

"Well, I've had lots of time to listen to the maintenance crews and the mine night shift before they go down to the mine."

Milton had never needed much sleep and without the chance to spend his time visiting Chett, he had been working at making friends with the miners. They weren't exactly a lively crowd, but it beat being stuck in that terrible room.

He lowered his voice confidentially. "I understand there are plans afoot to turn worked out mines into waste repositories, including biohazards. That's a red flag to this Windegren. Now that the terraformers are back from the seashore, they're doing their best to get everyone scared, especially now that there's been one accident. I ask you, what's that going to achieve with the way this place is run? No one is going to get a say. They're just going to be frightened and unhappy. Well," Milton shrugged, "at least that isn't my problem."

The control and shutdown instrumentation was quite enough of a problem for him. Still, every unit they had pulled from the reactor and tested so far has been within the stated bounds. At least that was one thing to say for Drezvir. With the extreme cold and strong winds it had been relatively easy for that Durstin chap to keep the reactor hall cold enough the damage had been confined. The poor man, having to cope with the accident and saving the colony, then collapsing.

None of the simulations Elin had run with the precise characteristics of each of the extracted instrumentation assemblies gave any evidence of their causing the accident. So, maybe it wouldn't be that long before he could go back to Tranus. He would stop en-route home and take Chett out for a good supper, then go home and shakeup Tranus Dynamics until they had the best and most consistent quality control in the galaxy. None of them needed this kind of scare again.

His next statement followed this line of thought. "You know, the more I've been around this mess, and listened to Tranngol and Azlo and watched them check off promising lead after promising lead, the more I've got it into my head that this has to be the result of some kind of mistake. You know, like the operator makes an honest mistake entering data. But they tell me there would be full records on one of your systems of something like that."

Dreen was only half listening. He was thinking about Gali. Milton and Gali, thinking alike about destructiveness. Now Milton saying it had to be a computing problem, but not design. Something someone did. But there were no errors in the operator logs. So if Milton was right, could Milton and Gali be looking at the same problem? Maybe, just maybe. It was an idea anyways.

Dreen said slowly, "I'm not sure, Milton. Any operator changes to data would show in the logs. But what about unauthorized access?"

Tina stared at him.

"With your system I don't know if you can have unauthorized access, Tina. But I've used a commercial platform, and there's a lot of code there we've never thought of looking at because we haven't touched it. But a hacker could have been at it. You wouldn't find a trace of a good hacker unless you knew exactly where to look."

Tina shook her head.

"Dreen, you're grasping at straws."

"Have I got anything better to grasp at?"

*****

Chapter 52

"Chett ..."

Arla was hesitant to interrupt him. Chett had sent Vennbir home and told her he had some heavy-duty planning to do before calling Dreen, then Gingezel.

"There's an interior decorating firm calling, and they assure me both that you're expecting the call and will want to be interrupted."

Chett looked at the time strip on his wristband. Lindy moved fast when she wanted to.

"Great. Put them through."

As Arla broke the connection he realized he hadn't asked the name of the firm or individual. Just as Chett was starting to visualize some personable young woman, perhaps a friend of one of Lindy's daughters, the image of a businessman in his late middle age appeared. He could have been in senior management in any of thousands of companies on any world.

"Mr. Linderson, I'm Harvey Scherr. Lindy tells me you're establishing yourself in a residence, and due to work pressure both want it done yesterday and can't be too involved personally. She thought we might be able to work together to solve your problem. I'm willing to give it a try, but I've got to be totally upfront about one thing."

Harvey gave Chett the easy smile of one who has spent his lifetime dealing with clients. "I usually do large projects; portels, hotels, luxury condos, pre-furnished apartment blocks. I haven't done a personal dwelling other than my own for over thirty years. Flatly refuse to work with any of my children. I know I'd never please them, and so far none of the grandkids have gone beyond the one room student dump stage. So you're taking a risk. But Lindy says you like some of my portels, so to sound you out."

"Which portels?" Chett asked warily.

The whole point of getting an apartment was to not feel like he was living in a portel. Usually Lindy didn't miss the point.

"Tier 2, The Uplands, and Westumble."

Chett relaxed. They were all favorites, and that was because none had that impersonal processed portel feel he hated.

"I like all of them, but are you sure this isn't an imposition?" He was definitely not talking to a man in need of work.

"Not at all. We are currently doing a group of furnished apartment blocks in the city core and - touch wood -" he reached out and stroked an abstract sculpture on his desk, "nothing is going wrong. I can spare a day or two."

Chett shrugged. The man knew what his staff could handle. "Great. If you can introduce me to -"

"You misunderstood me, Mr. Linderson."

"Chett, please."

"You misunderstood me, Chett. My staff is all going mad right now. The project is at the 85% complete stage which means we're into the finicky details. I'm the one with a little time. I'd planned to do some desk work. You know, the kind that seems to expand to fill the time you give it. So, if you're happy," there was the professional smile again, "I'll just give it less time."

Chett found himself smiling back. Lindy's friend seemed easy to get along with.

"Thank you then. I'm happy to give it a try. But you don't seem worried that I might take up more time than you have."

"I'm not. Before I agreed to call you, Lindy swore you're fast with decisions. What you want is achievable, but only if you don't take two months to settle on the sofa covering." He made a face. "That sort of thing is why I got out of the domestic side of the business. You present a megadeveloper with the same decision and he says 'I'm paying you to fuss colors, man. Just tell me the relative costs and wearability.' That's the attitude I like."

Chett laughed. "I'll try to be as little trouble."

"Well, we can get a long ways right now. Which is your favorite portel?"

"Westumble."

Harvey's eyebrows rose. "You surprise me. I thought that was just on Lindy's list because you ended up there when everything else was full. It's not executive class or even business-oriented. It's family. Is that why you like it?"

"You mean urchins waking you up racing down the corridor or bouncing balls off the wall? No. Definitely not. But I like the ambience. I'm from a more northern, drier climate and the gray weather here drags me down. That place is bright and cheerful."

"That's for the kids. Lots of use of primary colors. The floors are each a different color. Have you stayed there enough to have a favorite?"

Chett didn't hesitate. "There's one that's bright blue with yellow on small stuff, lamps and such. I ask for that."

"Okay. Cancel the standard beige and brown, or wine and gray, decorators give bachelors and give you brights instead, predominantly blue. How intense a color I actually use will depend on the apartment. I probably have to work with beige walls and some kind of brown textured carpet, unless it is more than five years since the carpet went down. If it is, they'll be salt and pepper. Either way, no problem. Did that take too much time?"

"You mean that's it?"

Chett was staring, a bemused look on his face. Well he'd asked for a solution, not a problem.

"More or less. I'd like to go through the apartment with you and finalize a palette there in the actual light, and then agree on what you need immediately in furnishings. But that depends on when you're free. Obviously the earlier the better."

"I'm supposed to go see the place at 7:00 tonight, go over it with the building manager, and sign the lease. If that suits you, you can save me from agreeing to potential problems. I wouldn't know if anything was wrong short of big cracks in the wall."

Harvey smiled. "I doubt there will be. Lindy gave me the address. It's one of Nevin Pennell's buildings and he runs a tight ship."

Chett was surprised. "I didn't think Nevin did that sort of thing. Small apartment blocks I mean."

"He hasn't for two or three decades now, but he's kept ownership of this one for sentimental reasons. It's some of his earliest work. He did a series of apartment blocks out there for Oren Pendi. They were close friends, but of course you know that. I do hope you realize though that the unit is bound to be showing its age, even if it's been well maintained."

Chett nodded. "I'm looking for convenience right now."

"Fine, then 7:00 is good. I'll finish up a few things here, swing out that way, and barring unforeseen problems I should still have plenty of time to get home, shower, dress, and pickup Lindy for that gala tonight. So I'll see you at 7:00."

***

"Thanks, Lindy."

Chett stopped in the doorway to her office.

Lindy looked up, pleased. "So you and Harvey will be able to work together?"

"Definitely." Chett smiled. "I got the five minute quiz and gather that my job now is to transfer the credits and butt out."

"Chett!"

"Seriously, it will be fine and thank you again, Lindy."

Lindy watched as Chett stood there, hesitating, biting his lip. If it had been Dreen, he would have simply satisfied his curiosity by asking, 'Is Harvey one of your boyfriends, Lindy?' And she would have said 'yes', and that would have been that. But then, Lindy reflected, she and Dreen had a very good relationship. They worked well together. They were friends. They talked about whatever came into either of their heads, appropriate or inappropriate. He teased her, she flirted with him. All this was possible because while they liked each other, neither was the least attracted to the other.

Her relationship with Chett was more intimate, more distant, and infinitely more complicated. This was becoming a problem. Like this morning when he'd been embarrassed about Loana, or now. As her boss, he seemed to be having trouble establishing a working balance. The teasing on each side that had seen them through till now didn't seem to be working for him any more. It came and went unpredictably. And since she saw the problem as her fault, she'd better keep bailing him out until he got his balance back and settled down.

Lindy's mind went back to her inadvertently complicating their relationship. Chett had been with Nemizcan for six or seven months and had made an unexpected return to Head Office with some problem or other. All the decent hotels and portels had been completely booked for a huge trade show and conference. Dreen had had guests. Chett had said not to worry, that he'd sleep on the Exec. The idea had appalled Lindy.

That had been one of Chett's first moves, to have better sleeping space built into the already crowded space yacht. Lindy couldn't imagine anyone sleeping there for a night or so other than in transit, much less the week that Chett proposed. So, without thinking, she had said he could stay with her.

Why not? Half of the Anton crowd called her place home. Chett had demurred. It was an imposition. She had pressed again, thinking he was being polite. He had hesitated, visibly shrugged, and said thank you. She hadn't thought about it again.

***

The misunderstanding surfaced while Chett was supposedly helping her make supper. In reality he was making her efficient kitchen crowded, getting underfoot, and more or less being a nuisance. Partway through chopping vegetables, there were hands on her waist that were definitely not there to move her aside and get to the cutlery drawer. At his height there was no way he needed to be that close to see past her to the spice rack.

She made the three cuts left to finish julienning the vegetables, put down the knife, removed his hands and said, "I think Chett, by your spaceflot rules anyone can say thanks, but no thanks, with no hard feelings. No thanks, Chett."

That man could move! Lindy decided she'd never seen anyone retreat quite as quickly. She turned around. It was obvious that those spaceflot rules only worked in a bar where you could leave, and not see the person again for months, or forever. Chett was obviously mortified. His fair skin was scarlet and he was obviously not going to make it through supper, an evening of watching holovision, and then an impersonal breakfast.

"Lindy, I'm truly sorry, I -" Chett broke the sentence off.

Galaxy, how could he have been so stupid, and with Dreen's executive assistant yet, even if she was gorgeous and had been flirting with him all day.

He changed what he was going to say. "I'm not unpacked. I'll get my bags and head for the Exec. I am sorry."

"And waste supper? Calm down Chett. I'm not offended."

She looked at the long lean frame, the boyish face that was certainly disruptive when he hit Head Office, and no doubt disrupted the hubs too. She decided if this was typical behavior for Chett, and no doubt it was, life would get a bit sloppy at Nemizcan from now on.

"If anything I'm flattered. You're attractive." And you know it perfectly well. "And if I was your age and single I might even be taking you up on things. But I'm a good ten years older than you." And damned if I'm going to admit that fifteen plus would be more accurate. "And that bothers me, if it doesn't bother you. So, like I said, no thanks."

Chett was deciding that whoever had laid the tile in Lindy's kitchen had really known their craft when a glass of white wine was put in his hand.

"Chett. Please sit down or I'll end up embarrassed too."

Was that Lindy's idea of understatement? Since the floor didn't seem to be opening up in answer to prayer, and he didn't know what else to do, Chett sat.

Lindy opened the refrigerator unit and took out the cheese she had intended for dessert. Putting it on the counter between them, she sat down to explain house rules.

"I really didn't mean to set you up, Chett."

If he didn't look so uncomfortable, it would be amusing. She expected the discomfort was because he figured the story would go straight back to Dreen in the morning, not because of damaged male ego or concern for her sensibilities. She was sure Chett had a thoroughly robust ego, and enough experience to gauge a woman's sensibilities pretty well. Still, to even mention Dreen would make it worse.

So she said, "I'm used to providing free bed and breakfast to the space weary in the Anton crowd. It never occurred to me that you haven't been around Head Office enough to know that this place has someone underfoot more often than not. I thought your reluctance was politeness - not reservations about my motivation. Sorry about that."

She took a lump of cheese.

Chett was starting to recover. "Haven't you got it wrong Lindy? Shouldn't I be doing the apologizing?"

"Not really. You also probably haven't been around Head Office enough to realize I flirt with every male as a matter of principle. It amuses the guys and makes my life less boring. Otherwise, I expect you're a pretty good judge of when to make a pass or not. So, why blow things out of proportion?"

Suddenly her eyes narrowed as a thought crossed her mind.

"You and Jon Melcrist are getting to be friends, aren't you?"

"Yes. Angus introduced us." This twist had Chett lost. "Why?"

"Because if that man has misrepresented his stays here, the next time he shows up at my door he can go sleep in a tent. And I hope he gets frostbite."

"I didn't even know you knew him."

Lindy relaxed.

"Oh, I know all the Allegro pilots. They're the most frequent visitors next to Bojo. And of course I invite Joran for supper when he descends on Dreen and Dreen is hitting the climb the walls stage."

She'd lost track of the conversation. Oh yes.

"So as long as you promise to be less of a hazard than Arn, you really are welcome to stay."

"Arn?" Arn was a quiet easy going type.

"That man is allergic to clothes, and I do appreciate a male guest at least wearing shorts. I mean, how he sleeps is his business. But Arn has this habit of thinking he's sleepy, undressing, then heading for the fridge instead."

She rolled her eyes. "I was working on him, but Rhea said it was a dead waste of time, that he and Joran treat the Allegro like one big men's locker room and you can go the whole flight with the pair only totally dressed when they put on their SecondSkins."

"And this doesn't bother Rhea?"

"I think it would take a lot more than that to bother that young woman," Lindy said dryly. "But she says it causes trouble now and again when Joran is giving a promoter a lift. Joran will be behaving, sitting with whoever in the lounge, wearing AntonCorp loungewear, and Arn will trot through stark. Conversation will stop and the promoter will say 'Who was that!'. It doesn't always go down too well when Joran says 'Your pilot'."

That appealed to Chett's sense of humor. He laughed, took a chunk of cheese himself, and told himself she was right. Don't get uptight over a little embarrassment.

Lindy watched the tension ease.

"So, if your mind is on it, can you actually cook?"

***

It had turned out that Chett could, and he'd taught her a salad dressing recipe that she still used. He'd got it from a chef in the tropics on Laurion. By the end of that week they had dropped into an easy bantering relationship. But he still tended to choke on personal topics like Harvey or Loana.

So now Lindy volunteered the information. "Harvey and I go way back. He's a distant cousin of my husband and stood up with him at our wedding. When we were raising families, we did things like take the kids camping or to the beach together. But his marriage didn't survive the youngest leaving the nest. So now and again I provide him with a date if he thinks there will be too many predatory females around."

And if that's all, he's a fool Chett thought, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Well, thanks again Lindy and enjoy the gala. You deserve the night out."

*****

Chapter 53

"Dreen. You just saved me a call."

Chett had been wondering how to give Dreen time for his noon meal and still make his appointment to view the apartment. Independent of Lindy's reservations about his calling, Dreen had to know about Vennbir, and the fact that he was going to call Ralin Heusgar.

"What's up?" Something obviously was by the look on Dreen's face.

"What is your attitude at grasping at straws? That's what Tina says I'm doing."

"Have we got anything better?" Chett echoed Dreen's words. "What straws?"

"Hackers may be getting to be an obsession with all the trouble Gali has been having, but I wonder if a hacker could have got into our computer system on Drezvir."

Chett really and truly felt bad. It was the first time Dreen had looked even vaguely optimistic since this mess started. But he'd obviously been so busy focusing on the interface with Tina's control and safety system that he'd forgotten.

"Dreen, I'm sorry, but if you remember, it's an isolated platform except for the link to Tina's system. There isn't even a link to the site administrative system. The system is strictly sneakernet."

"I know that, Chett. But what I was thinking was wireless, combined with the fact it's a commercial platform. As far as I know, your team just denied access from the wireless ports. We didn't physically disable or remove them. I mean why would we? No one here should be messing around."

"No ..." Chett said slowly, trying to suppress his own rising excitement. "There were no physical mods to the equipment. And we didn't try to prevent anyone coming in at a software level like you're doing for Gingezel. We just set up the system to ignore wireless inputs."

They looked at each other.

It was Chett who broke the silence. "And I'm the one who thought he was suspicious and could smell a rat, and you were the nice guy. And I never once thought hacker!"

"Chett, if I'm right – and it's grasping at straws, remember – I'm sure that it's someone who didn't mean anything malicious. After all, it would have to be someone on Drezvir. Someone like Vennbir that no one even knew was a hacker type."

Dreen made a face. "The hyperweb access here is absolutely abysmal. You couldn't blame a kid for poking at everything they could get at. A kid wouldn't appreciate what they did to our custom software.

"Or," Chett said slowly, "it could have been someone who wanted an accident and had the expertise and knew damned well what they were doing."

"A domestic dispute? You don't kill off half a mining crew to get rid of your spouse, Chett."

"Of course not. You trip them on the stairs they have between levels of those snakes. It's a wonder they don't lose a couple people a month. The group I was thinking of was C.C. Windegren and his crew. They have it in for Dellmaice but good from Plenata."

And Milton Trave had said they objected to the proposed waste storage here, and that was largely what the extra power from Mitra's unit was needed for. They would be achieving two goals at once.

That's what he should have said. But Dreen heard himself say, "I don't believe it!"

"Do," Chett said. "Do you want me to send you some of the cute tricks I found Windegren's crowd were using to stop the Plenata project when I was digging into Dellmaice Power Systems? That crowd plays dirty, and I mean dirty. And I only saw what was on public record."

Dreen shook his head stubbornly. He'd met C.C. He simply couldn't see him risking the colony.

Chett sighed and shrugged.

"I'm not looking for a fight. We are hypothesizing anyway until we have evidence of a hacker. Once we do, we can worry about who. I'll get Brys to work on it as soon as she wakes up for the night. I'll put Vennbir on it too, but he has to have his sleep tonight. So any involvement from him will have to be after his testing tomorrow."

Dreen felt a pang of guilt. Vennbir. He hadn't even thought of him. He remembered the bright eyes, the casual admission of breaking into sites Evrit probably couldn't access – not of course that Evrit would ever break into anything.

"How's he doing? Not everyone likes the invasion of privacy of a P3."

"The testing he's fine on, except for his being overtired. That's why he's sleeping." Chett said.

Uh huh. Legs stretched, gentle dreamy voice. "So what isn't fine?"

There wasn't time to be embarrassed. "I screwed up really good, Dreen." Chett made a face. "I was like you, I thought he'd hate it. So I told him to have a little fun trying to break into the Gingezel project as an outsider."

"It wasn't a bad idea," Dreen consoled his friend. "I suppose the young idiot got carried away and that's why he's tired and the psychologists complained bitterly?"

That would be about par for the course. You could really get absorbed and lose track of time.

"A little more than complained. He passed out on them today."

"Ouch." Dreen was sympathetic. "So now he's had the 'wait until the testing is over and then try' lecture and he's sleeping it off?"

"Not exactly," Chett said so softly and gently Dreen hardly heard him. "It would be irrelevant to tell him to back off. He broke into the system."

"He what!"

He couldn't have. Not in days.

"He claims this has happened a couple times before. He'll be poking around at the edge of a system and all of a sudden he knows what's there, like he was the one who wrote it. He said suddenly he just knew how to get in. What's more, he ended up in the exact area where Brys was working." Chett was watching Dreen carefully. "This is your territory, not mine. Does that make sense?"

"No. Unless..." Dreen thought about it. "You know Gali has that exceptional ability to see and maintain patterns. Maybe Vennbir has some similar gift, and that's the experience he's trying to describe. He sees something somewhere in a different context and his subconscious brings it up." Dreen frowned. "The problem there is I didn't use, or at least I didn't think I used, old patterns beyond the very outer layers. How far did he get?"

"Like I said, to where Brys was working."

Chett was still watching Dreen's eyes.

"Oh. Oh."

Dreen was amused. He could imagine Brys's reaction. But Vennbir? He didn't know him well enough.

"Then what?"

Chett relaxed and smiled. "Never knew what hit him is my guess." Dreen didn't seem to mind Vennbir's success.

"He's still kind of dazed when he talks about it." Chett's smile faded. "Dreen – could he have cheated – accessed documents here at Head Office, or on Gingezel for that matter?"

"No. There isn't online documentation at Head Office. The memory pacs are all stored in biometric vaults, and they're viewed on standalone units with biometric access controls and no links. At Gingezel there is obviously daily online access, but we set up sneakernet. I was careful there. Like I should've been on Drezvir." Dreen shook his head. "No. If he broke in, he broke in fair."

Chett nodded. "Actually, I'm relieved. I'm starting to like the kid. All the same, I had to ask."

Chett shifted, stretching his long legs. His voice dropped back to its drawl. "And, speaking of security, have you any advice on how to break this to Ralin. Lindy said he has absolutely no sense of humor, so he won't find Vennbir breaking into the system before his P3 is on file amusing at all."

So that was what was bothering Chett. Lindy had scolded him, and Lindy was smack on, as always.

"She may have overstated the case, but not by much. Ralin comes across as totally unimaginative and pragmatic. How much of that's real is anybody's guess. You only see what he wants you to." Dreen considered. "If he has a sense of humor, it's very subtle and dry. Still," Dreen was less worried than Lindy, "my guess is he'll simply take the fact as something he can't change and more or less shrug. So I wouldn't worry much."

Dreen suppressed the impulse to offer to call Ralin for Chett. It would only take a couple minutes, and in his mind Gingezel was still his project. But that was a lie, wasn't it? Either Chett was running things or he wasn't, and obviously he was. Look at how he'd put Vennbir up to trying to break the system – his system – without so much as mentioning it. Not of course that he would've done anything except say 'good idea' Dreen reminded himself. But Chett hadn't asked him. So maybe now was a good time to sort that out too.

"Chett, while you're talking to Ralin, have him qualify you for access to all the Gingezel material," Dreen said matter-of-factly. "I doubt he will require a P2 like I have. And you won't need the P3 you had when you joined us updated. Essential characteristics don't change. You're honest, and not prone to blackmail." There was the slightest smile. "In fact, I'd feel sorry for anyone who tried to blackmail you. They'd get rougher treatment than Ari is. So with your biometrics on file, it's just a matter of Ralin's authorization."

Which was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it? Access to the project he might eventually have to be responsible for. But Chett wasn't happy. Dreen was acting weird again. Sure, he'd been too focused on Drezvir to pay attention to the details of how Dreen handled Gingezel, but he knew a happy man when he saw one. Dreen had loved the Gingezel project. But here he was, signing off that same project without so much as a sign of regret.

Chett made one of his instant decisions. He said in that same soft voice, not attempting to hide the worry in his eyes, "Don't do it Dreen. Don't take the fall."

For a long moment they watched at each other.

Then Dreen said, his voice as soft as Chett's, "I won't ask how you reached that conclusion. But you're right, it may come down to me taking the fall. I'm not planning to if I can help it, Chett, believe me. But I've had a long talk with Juttar. He said he can make it look like it's not a fall."

"You've gone far enough down that road to talk it out with Juttar?" The drawl was gone. Chett was shocked now, as well as concerned. "That doesn't sound to me like something you weren't planning to do. Please Dreen! Don't rush into that route."

Dreen shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not the one setting the time frame, Chett. I couldn't say if it's Auta personally or not. He's starting to act uncomfortable. But obviously the Farr Sector Judiciary wants this finished. They aren't going to wait around for a lot of speculative scientific debate on whether or not there was a misestimation of the full set of operating conditions on Mitra's part, or a freak quantum effect in our computer. Maybe that straw, that hacker idea, will save both of our skins, but I can't count on it. In a couple weeks at the outside, Tranngol will have finished eliminating all the easy to prove or disprove causes. The Judiciary will make final moves then, I'm sure of it."

He was right of course, but Chett was inclined to be into denial.

"Mitra won't let you do that. She'll insist Juttar defend you both – that it was either an Act of God or an honest mistake, not negligence. And she'll be right. He's good Dreen – he can probably pull it off."

"No." Dreen set his jaw. "I lived with Juttar for years. He's good, and if anyone could pull it off, he could. But he's not a miracle worker. That route could equally well see us both going down, or just Mitra. She couldn't stand it Chett, being in prison." His eyes darkened. "I couldn't stand her being the one to lose." Prison might not be the only consequence.

"Dreen, this is a hypothetical waste of energy. She won't let you – and if she did, how could she live with herself? Mitra loves you!"

"I don't intend to ask or tell her," Dreen said pragmatically. Then, because Chett looked about to speak he added, "Besides, she might not take it is hard as you think."

Dreen heard the bitterness in his own voice. But that was all right. It wasn't like talking to Juttar where he had to pick every word to avoid reminding Juttar of their past. Chett was totally uninvolved, and Dreen needed desperately to talk to someone.

"Mitra's very closed about her past love life. But I've known from early on there was someone. Someone who didn't treat her well. Made her very wary of men. Well," Dreen shrugged, "he's resurfaced, and whatever was wrong, it was kiss and makeup. In front of the whole cafeteria too," he added bitterly.

Chett couldn't believe it. Dumping Dreen. He truly believed Mitra loved Dreen. He'd seen her eyes when she thought of him. Dumping him for that cheating bastard, just like that?

"I don't believe you," he said bluntly. "Who?"

"C.C. Windegren."

*****

Chapter 54

"C.C.? You're wrong! The bastard that messed her up so good was Dellmaice Power Systems staff. I don't know his name, but he was Dellmaice Power Systems." Chett's voice was forceful.

"And how," Dreen managed to find his voice and keep it more or less level, "do you know that?"

He couldn't maintain eye contact though. He turned away. That was specific information from Chett, not the routine denial of a loyal friend. Specific information Mitra had gone out of her way to keep from him.

"Dreen," Chett said desperately, knowing it wouldn't fly but having to say something, "you've been on Drezvir. It's dead boring. There was a lot of time to talk."

"There was a lot of time," Dreen said harshly, "but not to talk." Not knowing Chett, not knowing Mitra. "Next try?"

He got total silence, which was an answer, wasn't it? Well, if he'd bothered to think, which he hadn't, what the hell else should he have expected? Mitra was a lovely, passionate woman. He knew perfectly well he wouldn't go through life never meeting an old lover of hers, anymore than she could expect to never meet an old lover of his. That was inevitable, and history.

Except for one fine point. Mitra had allowed Chett more intimate knowledge of her past that she had him. So was it history? That doubt, he suspected, was why he felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Not the shock. The doubt. All the same, if an old lover had to be someone he met, someone he knew, he didn't want it to be Chett.

Dreen turned back, looking haggard. "I'm sorry Chett. You didn't deserve that. I don't own Mitra, and I certainly don't own her past. I was..."

He hesitated, not wanting a discussion and worse still, not wanting unsaid things between them forever.

"I think I was shocked she confided her problem. I'm sorry I overreacted. Let's get past it."

Chett shook his head. How the hell had that slip happened? Galaxy, he was tired. He'd better not make any more mistakes of that magnitude. But he had made this one. And they weren't getting past it.

"It won't work, Dreen. You're human. You'll end up wondering what the hell went on. And you won't know what to say to me – or Mitra. And truly, it wasn't that much." Chett ran a hand over his face, stopping to rub the bridge of his nose. "What you are probably picking up on is that casual wasn't the way I wanted it."

Chett shrugged and without waiting for permission started talking to the scarred beige wall visible behind Dreen.

"It's a simple enough story. Mitra had been on Drezvir about a year when, you're right, we decided to make a visit of mine more entertaining. As far as she and you are concerned, story ends there, and it's history."

He ran his hand over his face again.

"I'm the one with a problem. On my next visit, I discovered about halfway through a swing to the periphery that she was all I could think of, and when I saw her..." He shrugged. "It was strictly one-sided. To be honest, I made an idiot of myself. First," Chett grinned, "she tried snapping my head off. When I showed signs of being a terminally slow learner, she got us both trickle tubes and took me for a long, long walk.

"She told me a bit about the mess she was recovering from. By the way," Chett added matter-of-factly, "so you aren't imagining things there, she hit large-scale infidelity and the fights trailed over to work – or maybe vice versa. Anyway, Ari had to fire the guy."

That did get a reaction from Dreen. "I can't see Mitra not being professional at work."

"She was, he wasn't."

"That can't have gone over with Ari. Any idea how important the guy was at Dellmaice Power Systems?"

"Her boss."

No wonder she didn't talk about it. He'd have to think about the implications later. Right now Dreen just wanted the conversation over.

"So you admired the stunning landscape."

"Actually, the landscape is in an eerie sort of way. Especially once you get into the hills. Anyway, I think more or less for peace on the project Mitra suggested we just be friends for the time being. She said to let her get Drezvir behind her and she'd take a long, long holiday. Then we'd get together again to see how we felt.

"Only, of course," Chett shifted in his seat, repositioning his legs, "I found her back on Drezvir, in one hell of a mess, and in love with a mystery man from her holiday. I figured that was my chance – I would be there and he would be who knows where." Chett sighed. "Trust Mitra to really set me up. That woman is lousy with names and connections!"

"She says she assumed I was a promoter for AntonCorp," Dreen volunteered.

"Well, that's closer than she usually is. At least she recognized the connection with Joran. Although you'd think she might know who the head of a major supplier of hers is!" Chett was disgusted.

"No." Dreen shook his head, a smile lurking in his eyes. "You should hear her trying to tell Tranngol who to call with questions. That's people she presumably worked with."

"You're right." Chett sighed again. "So that's it. End of story. I got back, found out you were the mystery man, and canceled a lot of fantasies. And that's what they were Dreen, fantasies."

He was sincere, studying Dreen's face for signs of belief.

"Have you seen the look on her face when she's talking about you? I never had a chance."

Poor Chett. Not a first chance, not a second chance like he'd been granted when he found Mitra. Dreen actually saw Chett for the first time in days. He was looking worse than he had that day he got back from Drezvir, if that was possible. Drawn taut, his face lined with exhaustion and worry. Dreen wondered if he was even sleeping. Still, there hadn't been a word of complaint, not even the simplest request for help. All that had been the other way, Chett spending time and energy he didn't have on Drezvir. Dreen wondered now if he should offer to help, to simply say is there anything I can do. But that would cost Chett even more energy bringing him up to speed.

Chett was watching Dreen now, seeing the mix of pity, regret, and indecision. Well, he'd ask for it, hadn't he? He couldn't fault Dreen. But neither of them needed this sitting here agonizing just because Dreen was a nice guy and having trouble getting the words out.

Chett made a point of looking at the time, and said briskly, "So, now that you've had that little story, I have to make a quick call to a real estate agent and cancel an appointment. Then I'll have the company lawyers transfer control back to you. There's no way you'll be able to trust my acting in your best interest now, is there? And that sort of worry you don't need."

Talk about screwing up. He was really setting a record. His hand went over his face again, but Chett couldn't erase the exhaustion.

The man was insane. For a moment Dreen was sorely tempted to use that bit of stupidity as an excuse to really lose his temper. He was starting to look for an excuse to fight with just about anyone, and he and Chett could get really vicious fighting. But he couldn't, not seeing Chett's face.

So Dreen said as calmly as he could, "Well, it's nice to know you're human too. That last guess was dead wrong. I wasn't even thinking of anything like that, Chett. I know you. I trust you. You wouldn't be dishonest and cheat me.

"Like right now – you told me a lot of private things you didn't have to and probably didn't want to. What I was thinking is that you are exhausted and maybe need help."

Then the thought struck Dreen. "Or is getting out of things what you want now? Was all this just an excuse? I'd understand. You're doing all the work, and I'm the potential winner."

Or big loser, Chett thought, trying to get his balance after that misjudgment. That was two beauts in a row. Was he going to go for three? Chett started to sweat at that thought. Refocus! Dreen was a potential big loser, and apparently thinking of deliberately being the loser to protect Mitra. Well, they'd save that fight until he'd had a long talk with Juttar. He'd find out just how untenable all the other defenses were. At least now he could talk openly with Juttar since he had the full story from Dreen. But now was now.

"No. I don't want out. Although," there was a hint of a smile, "maybe I should be out if I keep making that kind of mistake. But seriously Dreen, the worst was familiarizing myself with the R and D side. I'm pretty much up to speed there. I know what everyone should be doing, and they all seem to be more or less doing it. And Lindy is holding her own as VP."

Chett's smile was real now. This R and D environment was controlled chaos.

"So it's a case of resisting the temptation to try to impose some order on what Lindy swears functions. She seems to have the right touch herself. She had a design review meeting and was sure at least one designer would be up complaining to me for her tuning them up and it didn't happen."

That was better. That got a smile from Dreen.

"And I'm trying to back off." Chett took a deep breath. "Related to that – are you insulted Dreen if I vacate your condo? I just don't need the commute and a penthouse about fifteen minutes from Nemizcan is on the market."

"Suit yourself." Dreen didn't care. "I was just trying to make things easy. There are a lot of quite nice bedroom communities out there."

He thought for a minute. "Nevin built a few of them when he was starting out on small stuff. But you're probably heading for a newer area. Which one?"

"Actually, it is an old building of Nevin's. Hang on a sec."

Chett called up and read the address to Dreen.

Dreen nodded.

"You'll love it unless they've let it run down. But I doubt that knowing Nevin. That penthouse was custom-built for Oren you know. He needed somewhere to use when he was working late, or there were problems at the chemical plant keeping him in the city. Sometimes both of them would stay there when there was a party in the city and he and Gemma didn't want to go back to the estate afterwards. She designed an atrium garden for him, but that must have been redone by someone else by now. I used to use the place now and again, or sometimes I would just stay there with him so we had some time to ourselves."

Those had been good days, rebuilding a friendship with his father after the alienation when he'd been caught hacking. Dreen sighed. How many lifetimes ago was that?

"It will be perfect for you Chett. It literally has every convenience an exhausted manager can want, from a full spa complete with steam room to the atrium meditation garden. I almost kept it when he died, but when it came down to it, I'm a city core man and I didn't want two places. So, go keep that appointment."

*****

Chapter 55

Ari stopped in the shade of one of the spreading trees that dotted the perfectly manicured lawns of the main building of the Dellmaice Power Systems complex. It was quiet at the moment. Only the night security staff, the usual night shifts, and various maintenance crews were there. He wiped his brow. It was going to be a scorcher. The heat and humidity had been building up for five days now, and even this early in the morning that heat had a heavy breathless feel to it. The rising sun was still hanging red and low on the horizon, so the shade really didn't make any difference. But the illusion of at least a bit of relief was welcome. It didn't require listening to the meteorologists to know there would be violent storms this afternoon.

Kael had arrived at Dellmaice Power Systems on a day like this. Ari remembered because she had shown up for work in the skimpiest camisole he'd ever seen, a purple skirt, and sandals. Her suit jacket had been draped over her arm, so he hadn't noticed it. He had been too busy staring at all of the skin. Ari had assumed she was someone's teenage daughter there visiting and only nodded on his way past. He usually made a point of greeting new employees. But she had looked so young and so unlike the perfectly dressed woman in a business suit he had interviewed that he hadn't recognized her.

It had only been mid afternoon when he'd gone down to talk to Laratte about something or other that he'd realized his new employee had arrived. And Laratte had been as taken by all the skin as he was. Laratte hadn't been in his office where he should have been. He'd been perched on Kaels's desk getting a good look at her bare legs and cleavage.

And since then? Ari shook his head. Kael had certainly continued to cause more than her share of trouble. She never meant to. She just managed. If he'd had any brains he'd have fired her, not Laratte and saved himself a lot of grief. But if he had done that, Laratte's system would have probably never got beyond a prototype and there would be no megacity project. And they wouldn't have the hybrid.

Despite everything Ari still believed in the hybrid. It was the perfect load following unit. Kael had just finally overstepped herself. That was all. She'd been bound to sooner or later. She was just too much on overdrive. Ari was now completely convinced that she'd made a mistake somewhere in the envelope of power distributions she'd given Kubo for the safety system design. That unit was so damned fast the slightest error got you right where they were - with an accident on their hands. It wasn't criminal negligence. If anyone would get the distribution right, Kael would. It was simply the problem of simulating a very, very complex system.

Still, the fact was she had got it wrong. There had been an accident. And now? Given the way the Sector Judiciary had stepped in with troops despite all of the early assurances he'd received of Mining Guild autonomy, Ari could not say he was remotely comfortable with the situation. But his panic after hearing they had pressed charges was subsiding. After all, it was Kael's power distribution that was off. And he'd made her take the unit power rating down 6%. There was no way that could be construed as negligence on his part. After all, he couldn't be expected to personally check the details of the work of every engineer. He was sweating all right, but Kael was in a lot more trouble than he was.

No, what had Ari up at dawn and furious was the fact that he could perfectly well lose Dellmaice Power Systems thanks to that little bitch screwing up. That was inconceivable. He'd spent his lifetime building Dellmaice Power Systems. Then, in what - a matter of days, a couple weeks - it could be gone. Between the accident and the negative publicity job that damned C.C. Windegren had launched, and the even worse negative publicity job that startup company was doing, it was distinctly possible that Hoffner's takeover bid would succeed.

Ari knew perfectly well that Hoffner wasn't the problem. It was that damned Chett Linderson. What Pendi had been thinking putting that man in charge he'd never know. Most likely, Ari thought realistically, Pendi simply hadn't been thinking. Pendi had probably just been scared and reacting. After all, if the problem wasn't Kael's design envelope the other option was a computing problem and Pendi had made the key decisions there himself. His signature was on every last design document. That would be enough to rattle anyone.

But enough was enough! It was time to put that damned Linderson on a leash. Permanently. And he knew just how to do it. Kael would be useful at last. His jaw set, Ari stepped back out into the choking heat and walked to his office.

***

Chett leaned back in his chair, staring off into space with a bemused expression. His hand cradled the container of cloudberry milkshake he'd bought on his way back to the office, but he hadn't so much as taken a sip. He was now the proud owner of a lot more condo than he thought he'd ever own, and Chett didn't know whether to be amused or appalled. He hadn't been prepared for plans swinging back to buying, but Harvey had called Nevin to ask something or another about ripping things out when the building manager had waffled. When Harvey had explained that Chett was the client and had hoped to buy not rent, Nevin had said Oren had owned the penthouse, not rented it. It had just reverted to the building owning it because Dreen didn't want it, and Nevin had no objections to Chett owning it. So Chett had said he'd buy.

What was he going to do with all that space? Keep most of the doors shut all of the time? Dreen was right though, it was quite the place. It had everything you could think of and then some. And Lindy's friend was working out. Harvey wanted to redo the floor coverings and replace some kitchen appliances. But having seen the place, Harvey assured him that even with the floor coverings to do he should be able to move in within two or three days. Having been with Harvey when he saw the place, Chett didn't believe that for one minute. A week maybe. One thing for sure, it would be great to just have a few minute drive like tonight.

The communications unit tone chimed and Chett's eyebrows rose. It was shortly after 6:00 AM there. Ari was up bright and early, and probably not in a good mood. Chett took a moment to put the milkshake in the refrigerator and to order his desk to his liking, with nothing Ari could see. If there had been anyone to bet with, he'd have made a good-sized one that this call was about the takeover, not Drezvir. The takeover was going well, very well. The one pension fun was listening, not icing them. With that satisfying thought he accepted the call.

"I want to talk to you, Linderson."

Ari was eyeing Linderson warily. He'd made the mistake of underestimating him before and he didn't want to do it again.

"I'm listening."

Chett had developed a grudging respect for Ari. He might not like the man, but he was intelligent, resourceful, and a good fighter.

"You're getting to be a real pain in the ass, Linderson."

"I sincerely hope so," Chett replied equably. "And it's going to get worse. Is that all you called to tell me? Then you got up early for nothing."

"No. I want you to back off. Fighting you and the Drezvir mess at the same time is diluting my resources."

"Haven't you got that the wrong way around? The Drezvir mess is what's taking up enough of your resources that you haven't got a chance on the takeover. That's why I'm in, not why I'm going to help you. Besides, you have plenty of friends. Cry to them, not me."

"I'm serious, Linderson. I need my lawyers concentrating on our legal defense, not your antics."

"After you almost hung me out to dry on Drezvir do you think I give a damn how hard you sweat?"

Chett was countering each statement as a matter of practice, but he was getting confused. This kind of blustery aggression was not Ari's style. He usually went straight for what he wanted, and he didn't start without plenty of ammunition.

"Pendi might not see it that way."

"You seem to be a slow learner on that point. I'm Nemizcan Computing now, not Dreen Pendi."

Maybe Ari was more rattled than he thought if he was going over that old ground. Maybe, but looking at the face opposite him Chett doubted it. He was missing something, but what? What? He was tired, way too tired.

Ari's face didn't change, but he knew then that he had the winning position. His reference to Dreen and the legal defense hadn't meant a thing to Linderson. He was going to enjoy this. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this.

"All the same," Ari said slowly and deliberately, "I think Pendi is going to call this one. And he's going to tell you to cool your heels while I get my legal defense in order."

"Dreen is out on Drezvir and you have damned near hung him out to dry like you did to me. He's going to be as glad to see you take a fall as I will."

"Yes, but if I fall, I won't fall the hardest. I guarantee that. And I would really hate to have to focus our limited resources onto one issue and not another."

Chett felt something inside him freeze.

"Spell it out, Ari. Nice simple words."

"Mitra Kael, Linderson. Dreen Pendi's lover. Don't you think Pendi just might want to have a say in how she fares?"

He watched the mask that was Linderson's face. It didn't quite hide the shock. Linderson hadn't known about Kael and Pendi anymore than he had until Mardin told him once when she was answering a call for Cebron. Cebron had never said a thing, but then women were smarter about things like that. Linderson didn't have an out.

"She is your employee, Ari. Are you seriously saying you wouldn't put your resources behind her before you would protect yourself?"

Chett had suspected this from the start. After all, that was why he and Dreen were preparing a private defense for Mitra. But he couldn't believe the man would admit it, use it as a threat.

"How I run my business is up to me, Linderson."

"Let's be glad it's not going to be for long then. Not with that attitude!" Chett's voice was pure ice.

"It's staying at my business, Linderson. You are going to disconnect and talk to Dreen Pendi. Then you and all of your friends are going to get off my back and stay off it. Permanently."

"No."

It was preemptory.

Ari's voice was soft. "Oh, I think so. It would be a shame to have to make some really drastic additional resource allocations to fight you, wouldn't it?"

That was open blackmail, not just bluster. The son-of-a-bitch was seriously threatening to completely cut legal resources for Mitra if they didn't back off on the takeover. He'd hoped Ari was just bluffing now, trying to buy a stalemate while he put resources into the Drezvir defense. But this was putting a life on the line for a stupid business deal.

Chett's voice was soft as Ari's. "I think you need to get something straight. My friends and I play rough, but we have a set of ethics. We don't take on anyone who isn't fair game. And we don't put innocents in the middle of the fight. You even think about withdrawing support for Mitra, and it's you who changed the rules not us."

His voice hardened. "But we can change the rules as fast as you do. I'll give you a count of ten to think about it."

They spent the count of ten watching each other behind frozen masks. Chett's expression was quiet, almost gentle, exhaustion showing in his eyes, in every line of his face. Ari's expression was grim, eyes hard, chin aggressive, comparable exhaustion showing only in the smudges under his eyes and the line from nose to mouth.

"Nine, ten ..." Chett counted it out. "Well?"

Linderson was bluffing. Ari was sure of it. Linderson didn't have a single additional resource to use. He would never have to act on his threat. All he had to do was make sure that news got to Kael of legal problems he suddenly 'found at Head Office that were tying the lawyers up and causing problems with her defense'. She would tell Pendi.

"Call Pendi."

"You just made a big mistake."

Chett slapped the contact to disconnect, and sat there for a moment shaking with fury. Then he made his call, but not to Dreen.

***

That bastard! At least they were prepared, and it wouldn't have any effect since Juttar was making good progress preparing his legal defense. Impatiently he counted the call tones. As he went past the twelfth tone, Chett gave fleeting thought to Jon, Arn, and Rhea's code for when they were having sex and not answering Joran, but only fleeting. The only thing on Brys's mind was computing. The rare times he had seen her at Nemizcan Head Office she'd been hugging the wall and not making eye contact with anyone. And he now had the full story from Gali of how she had panicked just at the idea of going into a lounge with Bojo and Joran to discuss some computing.

Dreen was right that she was past the wall hugging stage, but she was still shy. Chett knew he should call her regularly to talk about computing, but beyond calling her to introduce himself the day after he took over, there simply hadn't been time. He'd give it twenty call tones, then see if Gali had any idea where she was. After all, she didn't go to work for three or four hours. Eighteen ... Maybe she was a sound sleeper and he should have Gali go shake her awake.

Brys answered on the nineteenth tone, wearing a hotel robe.

"Chett?" It was a gasp.

Brys was terrified of Chett Linderson. She had sat and watched Dreen's company meeting where he handed Nemizcan off to Chett, and she had seen how Chett came down on the one hacker. The next day when she got her nerve up and asked Gali what had happened, he had said bluntly that the man was fired. Then in an alarmingly short time Chett had set up a teleconference interview.

***

Chett had been at his pleasant best, smiling, keeping his style light, insisting on first names. He'd asked her how she liked Gingezel, if she was having any trouble shifting from Dreen to Gali as her boss. He'd made sure she understood her job spec. Then he started asking her about hacking, and how she used what she knew in her job.

Chett had simply been curious. He was totally prepared to take Dreen's estimation of her value. But new things fascinated him, and this was a whole new game.

Brys didn't know this and before long the questions were coming so fast and in such strange directions she was scrambling. She had finally met a mind that moved at the speed hers did. She might have enjoyed it, except before each answer she was trying to decide if he was testing her competence so she should elaborate, or if he hated hackers so she should shut up. There was another problem too. His charming manner was having the dead wrong effect. Every street survival instinct was screaming that this was a very, very dangerous man. She disconnected from the interview sweat-drenched and with one conclusion. She was keeping out of Chett's way until Dreen came back.

***

Chett gave her one experienced, expert look and revised his assessment.

"Brys, I need to talk to you. Now. I don't give a damn who's there, get rid of him!"

Brys flashed a panicky look at Bojo.

The voice from outside Chett's line of sight was aggressive and warning.

"Get off her back, Chett! These aren't her working hours. What the hell is eating you anyways?" Bojo added an opinion of the interruption he assumed Chett would understand and Brys wouldn't.

"Bojo?" Chett couldn't quite hide his incredulity. "You were next on the list. You just saved me a call."

"Did I?" Bojo relaxed a bit. "Then do you want my ass out the door, or over there?"

"Here."

"Hang on then. Housekeeping screwed up and there's only one robe."

Brys listened to this conversation with an open mouth and wide eyes. Bojo was defending her, the dear. But he didn't know how dangerous Chett was! He should just leave. She'd be all right. But ... wait a minute. How did Bojo know Chett and Chett know Bojo? And where did Bojo learn to talk like that? He was always so sweet and gentle, but he was swearing at Chett and some of it was pretty rough too. And Chett was letting him. And... Brys was starting to have trouble formulating thoughts.

Bojo appeared shirtless but in pants. He sat down beside Brys and put a protective arm around her. She was trembling.

"Hey, it's okay. Chett won't bite. Besides," he turned her face towards him, "this kind of embarrassing bad timing happens to everyone sooner or later. It was just sooner for you, okay?"

He tried a smile. She did not smile back.

"Not okay. Well, let's try an etiquette lesson then. This is how you handle it."

Bojo turned to Chett.

"You've got damned poor timing, Chett. Whatever the hell you called about had better be more important than what you interrupted."

Bojo turned back to Brys and added gravely, "A lady may of course delete the profanity."

He turned back to Chett.

"What is it anyways?"

*****

Chapter 56

"Dreen. I feel lousy enough. I don't need a headache!"

He had that damned Anton album on that he was convinced no one could eavesdrop through. Well, in her case it might prove true. If she heard that thing one more time, she wasn't coming here again which would solve that, wouldn't it? And if Dreen got eavesdropped on in her room, she didn't care.

It was after supper and Mitra was exhausted. The neuroblock had got her through the day, but it couldn't totally erase the effects of the shock and trauma. The day had been long too. She and Azlo had got into a difference of opinion on heat transfer around some complicated structures, an argument that would have exhausted her at the best of times. But today, by the time all the appropriate experts had been called, consulted, listened to, and had all disagreed with each other, she'd been literally too tired to move. The fact that Trebur Auta from the Judiciary decided to hang around and listen hadn't helped either. Ever since he'd told her she was charged with the accident she couldn't stand having him around.

So when the session was over she'd just sat there, staring into space, her mind too numb to think until Dreen had finally come over and insisted she go to supper. It was easier to go than say no. And she'd watched from what seemed like very far away while he put food she couldn't possibly eat on her tray. She'd taken a few polite forkfuls, and quit, but that hadn't worked. Dreen had given her a while, then asked, politely but firmly, if she intended to eat, or wanted to go back to her room and be spoon fed. She'd been too tired to even give him a dirty look. She'd eaten.

Now they were in his room, partly because that had been easiest too, partly because the idea of being held and told everything was okay even if it wasn't was irresistible. But if he wasn't going to hold her, if he was going to play that Anton noise, she was leaving. She was going to go to her room, take a painkiller, put on her flannel nightie and her chenille robe – Martine had the grid a bit more stable but it was still too damned cold – and go to bed and feel sorry for herself. So there.

"I know, love." Dreen pulled Mitra close.

That was better. She snuggled into the offered comfort.

"It's just that I have something to say. It will only take a moment." Dreen stroked the bristly cap of cropped hair. He was kind of getting used to it.

"Mitra, I have to apologize for this morning. I was jealous of C.C. You've never said anything, but I knew there was some man in your life that you cared about and he really hurt you. I thought it was C.C., and I was wrong. And I'm so sorry, because you were hurt. You didn't need me being stupid."

That, Dreen figured, was the longest 'I messed up' speech he'd ever made to a woman, and possibly a record for males in general.

That was sweet. Mitra nestled close.

"C.C. set you straight?" Mitra asked, giving Dreen a hug that turned into petting his back.

"No," Dreen said. "We don't know each other that well." He hesitated, then added, "Chett straightened me out."

The hands on his back froze their motion.

And what exactly did that mean? Mitra tried to think, but she couldn't get past the fact Chett and Dreen were talking about her. Her love life. Not today. Oh, please, not today. She gave thought another try, but didn't get much further, although she decided panicking seemed a good option except it would take energy.

Dreen stroked her soothingly.

"It's okay. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. But something that's over doesn't matter does it?"

Mitra was still a statue and Dreen felt himself tightening up too. Hell, why had he added that? He'd just wanted everything open, no awkwardness. That was all. Like with him and Chett. That was all. Wasn't it?

Liar, Dreen called himself. He took a step back and tilted Mitra's face up so he could see it.

"Or am I wrong? Does Chett still matter?"

He looked like she'd hit him. Mitra managed to shake her head.

"No. Chett never mattered, not the way he wanted." She looked down. "He tried so hard. When I left here I was even thinking I might call him for my last week on Gingezel, to see if he was right, to see if it was just Drezvir and my earlier problem messing me up. Then I met you and never thought of Chett again. Poor Chett."

"Poor Chett," Dreen agreed, doubting he sounded anything but happy and relieved. But if he was going to get past this, he had to sort this out. "But if it doesn't matter, why are you so upset?"

"Because you were obviously talking about me!" Mitra blushed.

Every so often an all-male crew would forget she was around. And Chett was a pretty open talker, even to her.

It was Dreen's turn to be mortified. "Not like that Mitra! We wouldn't! All I know, or ever want to know is that he loved you. And I suspect for all his saying he's a realist and knows it's a dead end, Chett probably still loves you very much."

He took her back into his arms. "So do I."

"Poor Chett."

"Poor Chett."

This time Dreen even managed to sound sincere as he bent to kiss her.

*****

Chapter 57

As far as Brys was concerned, for a major corporation the hyperweb security at Dellmaice Power Systems was pathetic. She'd been expecting to have to mount a number of attacks: one to learn whose security they were using, another to work around customization, one where she scared herself thinking she'd been traced, then more attacks to find the files she wanted, and so on. But they were using standard off-the-shelf stuff. Sure, it was from one of the major security software vendors, and it was one of their most expensive packages, but to Brys's mind these were both negatives. Some of the security software vendors were very good, but this one wasn't. Any serious hacker had had a shot at cracking this company's software so early in their career all it did was keep out novices, and you could get around the upgrades in an hour or so after release.

She also wasn't much impressed with the in-house staff. With the package they were using there would have been one alarm, or to be more accurate, one error message posted before she could disable that part of the software. It wouldn't have been a full-fledged intruder alert, but it should have made someone nervous at least. They should have come online manually, found her, and booted her out. She hadn't worried about being traced. A ten-year-old could deflect this security software's trace. But no one had found her. She'd been quite happily wandering through the system at her leisure for hours now.

In fact, the only real problem was the sheer volume of documents to be mined for financial data. Brys had never had a reason to do much data mining, although she understood the concepts from a few competitions she'd tried. Now she respected people who wrote information mining software. It had taken her the longest time to learn the Dellmaice Power Systems storage system. The copies of the documents Nemizcan had provided Dellmaice Power Systems helped. They taught her the basic type of numbering scheme used for technical work so she ignored all similar codes for the first pass. If she came up dry, she'd have to spend the time seeing if Dellmaice hid stuff there, but it was a last resort.

That still left huge volumes of administrative documents. Her approach here was simple, go after anything with cryptic titles or passwords first, or fancy encryption. She didn't try to break passwords or encryption online. Her approach was to set herself up to look like one of the employees entitled to access the documents. Then she just ported copies out like she was another Dellmaice Power Systems site on their intranet. After that she did some searching of the rest of the nonsecure documents. Chett had given her guidelines. Take anything financial or that had the names of any of six particular companies in it.

***

Brys straightened and stretched. That was that. It was all downloaded. Presumably someone sometime would notice that error message and get the wind up, so she left a little calling card. It was standard hacker stuff, be a nuisance and disable a few screens and erase a few logs. Then she slipped into Dellmaice's three major competitors' systems and did the same thing, left a nuisance calling card. That way if they compared notes, they'd just think someone had it in for the energy sector tonight. Now it was time to see if the decryption key she had given herself from the Dellmaice software worked, and sort the documents for Chett. Boring.

Brys yawned. The job was boring but done. She deserved a chocolate bar. Bojo kept her stocked with them, but they were still a luxury in her mind. She had done all she could do until Chett said whether or not he had the documents he wanted, and he wouldn't be awake for a few hours more. So, the question was what to do next? Of course she could get some work done on the Gingezel system, but in a couple hours Vennbir would be awake and they were both supposed to concentrate on Dreen's idea that a hacker might have caused the Drezvir accident. That idea was intriguing – trying to find any proof someone did anything. It wouldn't be easy if the hacker was competent and didn't want damage to be found. She could start, but in the long run it would be faster to wait for Vennbir. Otherwise they'd waste all kinds of time telling each other what they'd done.

Besides, she wanted to work with Vennbir. Brys was quite aware that she and Evrit only barely tolerated each other and only worked together because they both wanted their jobs. Vennbir however was fun to work with. He was smart, and he said silly things, and he smiled at her a lot. She liked his smile, and the way that messy hair of his kept falling in his eyes and he'd brush it away. She'd get that chocolate, and wait for Vennbir.

Brys returned to her computer with a chocolate bar and an apple, doing some serious thinking. She still did not want to jeopardize that holiday Dreen offered her. Maybe Bojo could take one too, and they could go to one of the megacities together. But surely, if Chett was actually telling her to hack, it wasn't forbidden anymore? So what she might do was find the current hacker sites. They moved to stay ahead of the cybercops but you could find them if you knew how. That boring file stuff had given her lots of time to think. Once Chett said he had the files he needed and she knew she wasn't going back, it might be to Chett's advantage to have the general hacker community launch a series of denial of service attacks on Dellmaice Power Systems and its partners. It would keep them busy and totally disrupt their communications. She'd clear it with Chett, of course, but right now she'd see what the old crowd was up to. Brys smiled as she unwrapped the chocolate bar, thinking how off-base her estimate of Chett had been. He was dangerous all right, but not to her.

It took a while, but she found a site. It looked like they'd launched a denial of service attack on a server about seven minutes ago. Brys checked the pool status – how many hits there had been, the hit rate, exactly how long the run had been, and in her mind made her own guess as to when the server would go out. Then she went to check what the betting was. All you got was your codename posted if you won the bet of when the server would go down, but it was fun.

Unless the server they were going after had changed significantly, everybody was off except Plantman. Still, if she was betting she'd guess about ninety hits lower than he did, assuming the attack rate held, and it was bad form to drop out to change the rate. Brys thought about entering – you could come in any time up to about the halfway point, but that might be seen by Dreen as violating his 'behave yourself' so she let it pass. She wanted that holiday. Plantman would probably win. He did a lot just like iDream did, but Brys noticed he wasn't in. She imagined Plantman was a poor guy in a boring factory job all day. iDream was Vennbir she had found out the other night. It looked like he was behaving like she was. She'd have to ask him when he showed up. He might even tell her. Brys watched a few moments more. Plantman looked spot on.

She bit into her apple, thinking again. The other thing she should do is see if the activist sites all had a thorough writeup on the Drezvir accident. A lot of environmental activists were hackers and they'd be all over Dellmaice Power Systems in no time. But there too she'd clear it with Chett before posting anything. She started looking.

***

By the time Brys was finished looking at the environmentalist sites, the apple and chocolate bar were long gone and she was thoughtful. Someone else had it in for Dellmaice Power Systems worse than Chett did, or maybe he'd set coverage up already. She'd have to ask, not that he'd tell her anything he didn't want to. Anyways, the accident was heavily covered on 70% of the sites, and mentioned on the rest. The ones that had heavy coverage made Dellmaice Power Systems sound totally to blame, enough so it was a miracle they weren't getting major grief already. All she'd have to do was put the word out for the hackers to check the worst couple write-ups and say Dellmaice's security was lousy, and a just-for-fun denial-of-service attack like she'd thought of would be the least of Dellmaice's problems.

Brys looked at the time. It was 3:40 AM, or 5:40 AM for Chett. He'd told her she could call any time after 5:00, and if it was before 6:00 he'd be at home, after that commuting but call anyways because he didn't drive, he used a driver so he could work on the commute. Brys placed the call.

" 'Morning Brys." Chett was wearing a cool down robe. "You caught me just about to hit the shower after my workout. How'd it go?"

Chett noted Brys was back in an oversized sweatshirt and baggy pants that certainly did a wonderful job of hiding the charms that had been evident last night.

"Dellmaice Power Systems security is pathetic," Brys said bluntly. "I've got everything that looked vaguely relevant here from their system and decrypted it. They should have found me, but no one even tried to boot me. So it's re-encrypted with decent protection to send to wherever you want."

"Don't look so disappointed," Chett said with amusement. "I'm sorry it was boring, but better luck next time. I need a copy, and offer one to Bojo."

He did not include Hoffner on his list. He doubted this particular bit of dirty work would appeal to him, although he'd accept the facts from it without question.

"Then please get thoroughly rid of all records of your work."

Brys nodded. "Chett ..."

She hesitated. She wasn't terrified of him anymore, but she was still feeling her way on how to get along with him. Like now. Should she tell him her idea, or let him shower?

"Out with it Brys. Was there some problem after all with their pathetic security and I'm going to have to have another interesting talk with Ralin?"

The first one, about Vennbir hacking into the Gingezel UltraSecure Hyperweb had gone as Dreen predicted. Ralin had not been amused, but he had been a realist and accepted the situation. This time Chett hadn't wanted his initiative with Brys to reflect on Nemizcan so he'd requested she work out of her room with her computer on the hotel's standard Gingezel system. He also hadn't told Gali anything about it since Gali would not approve at all. He had instructed Brys to keep quiet to everyone.

Gali's understanding was that Brys was not doing her usual overnight shift, but coming down late to the Nemizcan facilities closer to morning so her time would overlap with Vennbir. Gali had agreed their checking out Dreen's idea should have highest priority and he would fend off their persistent hackers solo for a while.

It was Brys's turn to be amused. He didn't seem to mind that idea at all.

"No. What I have is a couple suggestions."

*****

Chapter 58

The day had lived up to its promise. Torrents of rain were lashing Ari's study window, and the time between seeing lightning and hearing thunder was so short you couldn't count out the words one thousand and one. Convinced a tree at the neighbors had taken a direct hit, he tried to look, but the rain was coming down too hard to even see to the end of his own garden.

Well, as far as he was concerned it could keep storming. That suited his mood and went with the totally impossible day. In fact, now that he thought about it, impossible was a gross understatement. For once in his life Ari had simply quit. He had looked at his desk at Dellmaice Power Systems, looked around his austere office, said aloud 'I've had it', packed up and gone home. He'd arrived in plenty of time to have supper with the boys. This had delighted Erlin and Sander and obviously frightened Naura, but before she could open her mouth he had said 'don't ask' and held her like he might never hold her again.

Now though, with supper behind him he was going to force himself to make one more effort to get things under control. He was going to call that damned Chett Linderson. There was another brilliant flash and deafening thunderclap. Ari placed his call.

***

Ari eyed Linderson with distaste. The man was showing signs of being a real slow learner.

"Linderson, we need to talk."

Before he could elaborate, Chett heard a commotion and a high piping voice.

"Dad! Dad!"

"Excuse me."

Ari moved out of his line of sight and Chett heard the sounds of muffled conversation with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ari was calling from home, not simply a different office. He'd never thought of the possibility Ari had a family. You didn't think of that. But all of a sudden he was back in that spinny little subsidiary that had been his first management experience, where all of the innocents had families. Was he any better than Ari? Ari was putting Mitra's life on the line. What kinds of games was he playing with Ari's kids?

No, a stern voice somewhere inside him told him. It isn't the same. Ari has made all the bad choices. He is the one who put his own skin and his company ahead of you, and who knows how many other suppliers. He's the one who sent Mitra to Drezvir instead of going himself. And he's the one who is blackmailing you with her life. Anything that happens to him is the consequence of his own choices. He made the choices, and he's counting on you being soft and not making him pay for them.

The conversation rose slightly in volume until Chett could pick out voices.

"And I said no, Erlin."

"Aw Dad!"

"Later!"

There was a firm shutting of the door. Ari returned.

"Seven year olds." He gave an apologetic shrug.

Stern mental lecture or not, Chett found himself saying more tolerantly then he might have, "What's the problem, Ari?"

It was always possible Ari had belatedly come to his senses. Chett didn't know if he'd compromise or not in that situation.

"I'm calling from home because our intranet and hyperweb communications are totally screwed up."

Chett was immediately professional and concerned.

"Look Ari, we both know our personal differences have nothing to do with our technical positions. If a Nemizcan interface is causing your company grief we'll make it top priority."

One could be. They made the interfaces as benign as they could, but intranets were touchy. Every now and again a system manager made what they thought was a harmless change and got you.

"No one there needs that stress on top of the Drezvir mess. So tell me who's in charge and I'll call our hub manager handling your account. If he can't get things sorted out from our end, he'll fly in and sort it out at your facility."

Their Pendrae hub was half a continent from the Dellmaice Power Systems site.

Ari was surprised, both at the offer and its tone. but he wasn't quite sure what Linderson meant. Was the 'I'm in charge now' Chett Linderson now dancing to Pendi's tune like he hoped, or just being professional? He inclined his head.

"Thanks, but your interfaces aren't our problem. We've had two denial of service attacks in the last three hours and now it looks like someone has done system damage too. Given the, um, temporal coincidence and the fact you're a computing company I thought you might know something about it."

So, Brys's friends were a lot faster than he had expected.

Chett said smoothly, "As a matter of fact, I might."

He saw the flicker in Ari's eyes.

"One of our staff members monitors the environmental activist sites." Chett gave an apologetic shrug. "You know how it is – you get all sorts working in a big company. Anyway, they drew it to my attention that the Drezvir accident is suddenly plastered all over them. That crowd can cause a lot of grief.

"And by the way," Chett continued, "I'm sure you didn't mean to do me any favors, but thanks for the warning. We're bound to get attacks from the same crowd if they're getting active. Those websites listed everyone involved in the Drezvir accident."

He and Brys had foreseen this. There was no way to get the hackers only onto Dellmaice Power Systems for the Drezvir accident without giving away her identity, which apparently hackers never, never did. But neither of them was concerned. Nemizcan hubs attracted denial of service attacks now and then anyways, and had enough capacity that they rarely went down. And Nemizcan was relatively hacker resistant between having its dedicated web and Dreen's work on security over the years. Still, he'd send a warning around to the hubs now if things were moving.

"Damn."

Ari shut his eyes. He should have seen that coming. He was on the run in too many directions at once. It was decent of Linderson to pass on the information though. He had definitely changed his tone. Pendi must have set the new rules. A man like Linderson wouldn't take that well though. It was best to be matter-of-fact and get it over with, not rub it in.

"So what did Pendi say?"

The bastard hadn't backed down a millimeter. He was still using Mitra as blackmail.

Chett said an even voice, "I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to him about that, and I don't intend to."

He broke contact.

*****

Chapter 59

It was about ten minutes before they usually went for lunch when C.C. arrived at the shed. Dreen looked up without enthusiasm. He'd thought about what Chett said, but Mitra was still way too happy to see C.C. for his liking.

"Hullo Dreen. Making any progress?"

"Not much."

"Sorry to hear that." C.C. turned to Mitra. "Can you break early for lunch? I spent the morning putting the finishing touches on that seashore simulation we've been doing, and I think I've narrowed the tree choice down to two. I don't want to take ownership, so if you can come," his eyes teased her, "and shut your eyes and point, I can get the purchase order out this afternoon. Then I can use the neuroblock on your bottom. Then I'll break my own rule that we have to eat lunch in the cafeteria and cook you a lunch there to fatten you up. But it has to be short." He made a face. "There's one of those deadly meetings with Rostin coming up."

"Poor you!" Mitra turned back to Dreen, eyes alive with excitement. "Coming?"

"Yes, why don't you, Dreen.?" C.C.'s tone was as unenthusiastic as Dreen's had been. "You haven't seen the terraforming quarters yet."

This was sheer politeness on C.C.'s part that he felt was required since Mitra had already invited Dreen. The last thing he wanted around was the competition. Besides, getting Mitra involved in the simulations would get her mind off her problems. Also, he needed a few minutes alone to talk to Mitra about Dreen. He'd finally had a talk with Leeth, and he didn't like what he had heard at all.

Dreen knew when he was not invited. He gave a meaningless social smile.

"Thanks, but I really have to finish what I'm doing. The train of thought is complicated."

"Another time then," C.C. said politely, and held out his hand to help Mitra up.

Dreen watched them leave. By the time they had gone ten steps, they were deep in conversation. By the time they had gone twenty, C.C.'s arm was companionably around Mitra's shoulders. He should have been impolite and invited himself along. Chett was presumably right about whoever at Dellmaice Power Systems, but C.C. was here now and he was definitely after Mitra.

***

"I don't believe it!" Mitra rejected Leeth's bitter account of Dreen at his trial.

Her hand fidgeted with the touchpad, sending the cursor dancing wildly across the screen. Lunch was long over and Mitra suspected Rostin would be calling for C.C. any minute because he was now a good twenty minutes late. They had been working on that simulation in Leeth's suite because he had the better computer system. She'd wondered why in an amused sort of way. Well, now she knew, Mitra thought bitterly. Another hacker.

"She thinks she's in love," C.C. apologized to Leeth for the outburst.

He slid his chair closer to hers and put an arm around Mitra's shoulders. She was shaking.

"Mitra, be a realist. Leeth was at his own trial."

C.C. couldn't read Leeth's face. Leeth had got edgy telling his story, and had started pacing the cramped quarters. Now that the recital was over he was leaning on the wall watching both of them with that mask he could put over his already impassive tough features.

Mitra frowned, biting her lip. She didn't like the story she'd just heard. According to Leeth, Dreen gave all kinds of testimony on the details of Leeth's hacking that got Leeth a long jail term, when Dreen had essentially done the same thing and pretty much got off. Leeth said Dreen hadn't once met his eyes in the whole trial. And why would Dreen do all this? Just to make his stint with the military a little easier? Buy himself a softer ride?

It didn't go with her image of Dreen. Dreen was good to people, took care of people. Didn't he? But he was in a real corner then, and that can bring out unexpected sides to people. And Leeth sounded sincere. Bitter, but sincere. Her mind spiraled. Dreen was in a corner now, and he was taking care of her, taking care of all his employees. Wasn't he?

Was he? She thought of that faraway, cold, assessing look he had so often now in their sessions with Tina. She thought of the lengths he was going to to try to not be overheard by the authorities. Why, unless he was doing something wrong?

She didn't ever try to hide anything, and Dreen avoided even coming to her room most of the time. He insisted on his with that damned Anton recording. Is that what he was doing now, taking a good hard look to see how he could be the one who came out best? At whose expense this time? Hers? Tina's? Chett's? It simply didn't fit. Not Dreen.

Mitra said, but less forcibly, "I'm sorry Leeth. I don't mean to doubt you, because you obviously had a very bad experience. It's just," Mitra shrugged helplessly, "it just doesn't fit Dreen. I can't help thinking that two people will always see things differently. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he seemed to you, Leeth. You have to have been upset."

"Check the transcripts." Leeth wasn't budging a millimeter. "They're bound to be archived somewhere."

"Mitra," C.C. added, "you only got to know him while holidaying on Gingezel. Anyone would look good then."

There was no answer to that. Mitra just sat there, staring at her hands. Darwin gave a sympathetic chirp and touched one of them. She moved him to her lap and started petting him.

***

Dreen walked over to where Mitra was intent on a screen that looked totally unintelligible but very technical. He stopped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and starting to rub them. She'd been doing whatever she was doing for a couple hours.

"Come on, it's time to go get some supper."

He'd been waiting for her to quit for about half an hour now. Leave it much longer and it would be sandwiches at the cafeteria, or space glop in his room, not the meal for the night. Dreen was getting used to the cafeteria, and was starting to enjoy the meals. He made a game of trying to find the imported donations amongst the very basic Drezvir fare. Since he'd started the game he'd become impressed with the cooks. They were doing a good job of stretching out the treats and making sure everybody got some. At noon there had been quite a decent pudding with some kind of exotic dried fruit he'd only run into on Gingezel before, so presumably had come with Mitra.

Mitra shook her head, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"Sorry Dreen, I have to finish this. And when I do, I think I'll just eat some space glop in my room, take something for my tailbone, and call it quits for the night. I need some quiet time for myself."

All she had wanted to do for the last couple hours was sleep. Her eyelids were so heavy. But she had to finish this or she would lose the continuity of her reanalysis. And then she had to think. She had to think about what C.C. and Leeth had said. She also had to think about the weird call from Ari she'd had about half an hour ago. It hadn't made a lot of sense, but then Ari wasn't making much sense in his calls lately. He was getting more and more paranoid about not having something recorded that could be used against him. You tended to get cryptic words and significant looks, and most of the time she just didn't bother trying to figure out what the hell he meant. Anything technical she could sort out with someone else, and that was all that mattered, wasn't it?

But this time he'd been saying something about a session with that stupid lawyer Barloth being deferred during what was today for them on Pendrae, and something about Nemizcan and Dreen like the deferral had something to do with them. It had been getting harder and harder to concentrate while he talked. She kept imagining things Ari hadn't actually said, like somehow something Dreen was doing was upsetting their legal defense. And that kept getting mixed up in her mind with Leeth's story – how Dreen was just out for himself. She needed to do some serious thinking, the kind that wasn't going to work with Dreen around.

Dreen tried to hide his disappointment.

"Of course. You have to be exhausted coping with the pain."

She looked tired, and strained. She'd seemed to visibly fade late-afternoon after a call presumably from Ari. He had hoped to be able to comfort her, but maybe some quiet time to herself and sleep was what she needed. He moved around to where he could see her face.

"Promise me you will eat though."

"I promise."

Mitra deliberately did not say what, or how much. A chocolate bar sounded perfect.

"And if you change your mind and need company, I'll be in my room. I have to talk to Chett. But we are totally interruptible."

It would be late, but Chett would still be up, and Dreen wanted to know if the hacker idea was going anywhere. He didn't intend to say anything to Tranngol or Azlo until Brys and Vennbir said the idea was feasible at least.

*****

Chapter 60

Mitra hesitated outside Dreen's door. She'd been over and over everything Leeth had said and none of it made sense. None of it fit with her idea of what Dreen was like, and despite C.C.'s crack that anyone would be in a good mood on a Gingezel holiday, she was sure she was right. So instead of medicating herself and going to sleep she had decided to get Dreen's version of things. But would he be irrevocably insulted? And, although she knew she hadn't the slightest intention of admitting it, she also knew she was hesitating because she wasn't 100% sure he'd have the right answers. That was ridiculous! Of course he would!

Mitra pressed the contact.

Dreen opened the door with a pleased smile.

"Mitra."

It came out in a rush. "Dreen, I have to talk to you. I -"

The rush stopped as fast as it started as Mitra realized there were a number of voices in Dreen's apartment.

"You have company?"

Dreen made a face that was half amused, half resigned.

"Joran has sent another care parcel, only this time there's a lot more than albums. He's giving me instructions on how to use it."

Dreen stepped aside.

"Come on in. He'll be glad to talk to you. Half of the stuff is yours anyways."

Mitra stepped in. The little apartment was so jammed with boxes and packing material you couldn't walk from one end to the other, except for a space it was just possible to squeeze through along the same wall as the bathroom door. That corridor to the toilet looked like a good idea since unpacking was obviously going to take half the night. At the far end, jammed up against the wall and carefully digging through a box was a slender dark-haired man in an I.C.E. uniform, and it sounded like there might be someone else out of sight.

Dreen carefully guided Mitra past the various obstacles to the computer he was using as a communication unit. She didn't need another fall.

"Joran, Mitra just made a liar of me. Eli could have taken her stuff down to her after all."

"Pretty Lady, come let me take a good look at you. Dreen says you hurt yourself."

Mitra obediently stepped into range.

"Hello Joran."

She was trying to decide if this was exactly the last thing she needed, or a good comic distraction. Joran was wearing red sweats and a matching sweat band and by the plastered down look of his curls he was recently in from a run.

"Hello Mitra."

Joran gave Mitra an assessing look. It was the first time he'd seen her since she left Gingezel. She did not look great. She looked exhausted and uncomfortable and had lost weight she didn't have to lose.

"Smack your rear pretty good, huh? You look rough." Joran had never believed in little lies about things like that. "But your hair is great! Really sexy."

"My what?"

"Your hair. There was a girl band that wore their hair just like that when we were in first year university. Dreen, do you remember them? There was a while we went to watch them once a week. It would have been more often, but you wouldn't believe the bar cover charge. They wore -"

"Joran!" There was a warning note in Dreen's voice.

"All right," Joran said placatingly. Dreen was getting stressed out and cranky. "We'll skip what they wore, or didn't, to be more accurate. But believe me," his tone was professional and assessing, "it was a good career move. They packed the lounge every night and they were lousy."

Mitra found she was smiling. "So -"

From the back corner Eli shouted, "Joran, I've inspected every scrap of packing material! The connectors simply aren't here!"

A female voice from behind the boxes where the couch was said, "Well, that's where the packing list says they are and nothing else looks likely."

"Then come look yourself if you don't believe me." Eli's voice was testy.

Mitra turned, asking the pile of boxes, "Kim?"

A pretty blond head appeared above the boxes.

"Sorry I didn't say hello when you came in, Mitra, but I was sure if I so much as lost focus for a second I'd have to read those damned lists end to end again. The computer search was getting nowhere, so we are trying human ingenuity. Imagining what some cargo officer might have entered when he really meant something else."

"I thought you'd had it with this place."

"I have!" Kim rolled her eyes. "But money talks. Eli and I hadn't made it back to the first I.C E. base in our respective ships when Joran had a message he wanted to use us. Since then we've been on a planet hopping shopping spree."

She waved an elegant hand at the mess.

"What fun! Besides, I like to fly with Eli."

The looks they exchanged had Mitra wondering what they meant, and Dreen sure that I.C.E would definitely not like whatever they'd been up to.

"Mitra," Dreen said, trying to forestall any embarrassment Mitra's inability to place people might cause, "do you remember Eli from when he delivered Joran's albums? I think you may have left before he introduced himself."

"No, I don't think I do."

Mitra smiled politely at the man they were calling Eli.

"Then let me do a formal introduction. Mitra, this is Eli Heron. You have to remember that name from when he and Rhea raced Genie doubles."

She did. "Of course. I'm pleased to meet you Eli."

Then she remembered what Eli and Rhea were even more famous for than their racing, and wondered if that was what that look between Kim and Eli was about. Her glance became speculative and she met open amusement in Eli's eyes.

Kim said in her soft drawl, "Don't even think that, Mitra. Eli is not my type. We stick to flying."

Mitra was too embarrassed to know what to say. She was saved the trouble by Joran chipping in.

"Eli is still stuck on Rhea."

"But then why aren't you flying the Allegro?" Mitra was curious now.

It was Joran who answered her, not Eli.

"Eli is my fourth pilot, but Jon likes to run a team of three, and right now Eli is trying to prove to I.C.E. that Tribe pilots are a good choice for their new Genie service. There aren't many tribal options unless they want the traditional deep space construction jobs. His efforts to broaden that choice are important, so we fly Jon and Arn and Rhea when we can."

Mitra was impressed. "That's good of you, Eli. It isn't easy to break those kinds of barriers." He had a funny look, sort of embarrassed, sort of sad, and she found herself adding, "It must be hard on Rhea though."

"I sincerely doubt it," Eli said bitterly.

She had enjoyed their time together here a few days ago as much as he had, but that interlude hadn't softened that woman's heart at all. Rhea still wouldn't even talk marriage, being his second wife.

"Eli Heron!" Kim said in a hard voice."That was a cheap shot at Rhea and you know it. Apologize."

They stared at each other, and to Mitra's surprise Eli dropped his eyes first, a flush on his bronze cheeks.

"Kim's right. Joran was putting a good face on things. Jon doesn't like to fly Rhea and me as a team because we haven't gotten along since I got married. She refuses to accept second wife status."

"Funny thing," Kim said wryly.

That did get her the angry look Mitra would have expected from her first criticism of Eli. He did not strike her as the type to take criticism well. He surprised her again though.

"I never said accepting the Tribe tradition and getting married wasn't the stupidest thing I've ever done, but I'm in it and I can't get out." Eli's voice was soft and dangerous as he continued. "So get off my back, Kim."

Tribe tradition insisted on marriage between genetically selected couples, without the option of divorce. They allowed for sentiment in the form of second wives and second husbands, but the tradition was firm. Since the primary marriage of Tribe members was for genetic optimization, and cohabitation was not required, just sperm donation from the male partner, divorce was considered meaningless. Social arrangements including divorce were reserved for second marriages. Children were also allowed if the second marriage was between Tribe members as that introduced useful randomization into the gene pool. Children were not allowed between Tribe and non-tribe members. Permanent sterilization was required of the non-tribe partner.

It was time to intervene, Timoth decided. He'd heard Kim go at Eli on this score before. While Rhea simply said the arrangements were not for her, Kim had fundamental objections to the genetic program of the Tribe. This had always struck Timoth as a bit of double thinking since as a pilot she was one of the heaviest users of the various deep space stations that would never have been built without the Tribe. But then, people were inconsistent, weren't they?

"While we're making introductions," Timoth said in his clear carrying voice, "I'm Timoth, Sound Master for AntonCorp."

"Hello Timoth."

Mitra returned her attention to the screen with a mixture of relief and fascination. Sound Master, if she'd had any musical ability at all, was an aspect of engineering that had appealed to Mitra. She saw a very ordinary looking man near her own age. He was mid height with hair a shade somewhere between blonde and brown. There was an ugly looking bruise on his bare forearm.

"It looks like you did a worse number on yourself than I did."

For a moment Timoth was puzzled, then his face cleared and he waved his arm.

"No. I'm used to this. We had a pickup Octagla game the other night. I'm goal for AntonCorp."

"Joran, you didn't!" Dreen was incredulous.

"Of course I did. Do you want us to all get totally out of shape? We were just getting decent in the court when I crashed, and the guys have kept it up, but I want to get back in shape."

"And the concert coming up doesn't matter?"

Joran was honestly confused. "Should it? I mean we play all the time to wind down on tour."

"Never mind." Dreen gave up.

Timoth laughed. "He's not that foolish. I've got the dangerous job in goal because I'm expendable. There isn't heavy checking in the pickup games."

Turning to Joran Timoth added, "If Mitra isn't feeling well, why don't you deal with her stuff first? We don't have to keep her waiting while we get Dreen's sound system working."

"Sound system?" Mitra looked from the pile of boxes to Dreen.

"And a holo projector, household stuff, and a crate of frozen pizza in cyropac -"

"But Dreen! We've got a power shortage."

"I know that, Pretty Lady. There's battery supplies for everything. Even the refrigerator. It's the kind used on tropical expeditions on Gingezel. Really cool, pun intended." Joran looked pleased with himself.

"Refrigerator?"

"For the frozen pizza of course," Dreen explained.

"Of course." Mitra was not going to meet his eyes or she'd burst out laughing.

"And don't forget the soccer ball," Joran added. "I swear it's in there somewhere."

Mitra couldn't help it. She was giggling.

"Do I want to ask?"

"Dreen likes to kick a soccer ball around when he's cranky."

"But there's nowhere to do that."

"He'll just kick it off the wall. That's what he used to do when he roomed with Juttar and me. Drove us nuts."

Right. Mitra tried to desperately remember who was on either side of Dreen. Then the sentence sunk in. Dreen used to room with Juttar. Presumably Juttar Kommur, the man Niki couldn't get hold of, the lawyer for the Gingezel Consortium. Any resemblance of a smile faded.

This time it was Dreen who laughed. He couldn't help it, looking at her face.

"Mitra," he chided. "I wouldn't do that. I'll use it in the gym even if there's not much space. Now, let's find your things and get you safely to bed. You need your rest."

"Thanks."

It came out automatically, while she tried to think out the implications of Dreen and Juttar being friends. She was too tired. She couldn't get there. Mitra looked at the chaos and totally gave up on talking to Dreen tonight, although when they did talk there certainly was going to be a lot to talk about. However it obviously was not going to happen now.

"Eli. Can you find the box with her sleeping bag?" Joran asked.

"Yeah. I can see it. I'll try to get it."

Since he'd thought they weren't disturbing Mitra, it was under a bunch of Dreen's stuff.

"Dreen said it's cold in the rooms there, that you're sleeping in a fuzzy nightie and robe, and that it's not likely to improve in the near future. He said that while Dellmaice Power Systems has shipped in as many batteries and fuel cells as the original colony had plus a few more banks, the base load has really expanded since then. But once everyone took a good look at things, it was decided that the fastest and most sensible route was to get the geothermal base back online, not to try to modify the grid for enough additional batteries and cells to carry the colony at full power for the whole winter. So you're more or less in a permanent brownout except for essential services."

Mitra was staring at Joran openmouthed. He sounded like he understood what he was saying, not just parroting Dreen.

He grinned. "Hey, Pretty Lady, musicians aren't dumb. Besides, my honors physics degree doesn't hurt even if I always detested the engineering courses.

"Anyways, back to freezing. I got you and Dreen both nice double sized polar expedition sleeping bags. They're good stuff." He grinned again. "You can make love in them at room temperature and not sweat to death, or you can tent at -30° or -40°. Dreen says you've used a sleeping bag so you know what to expect. They're what I have on the Allegro in case we have major power problems, but they're so comfortable I use them all the time."

"Oh..." Dreen nodded. He'd slept in one on his way to Drezvir. "They're comfortable. I won't mind being warmer myself."

"And you can't be happy sleeping in a flannel nightie, Pretty Lady."

"Yes I can. I like my nightie."

"Well, you'll like what I got you better."

"Joran's right," Kim chipped in. "You'll have to see what he got you. The stuff is divine. Wait a minute!"

She made a fast grab for a box Eli was about to bury.

"Let me open this for you, Mitra," Kim said as she slit open a heavy packing box.

Mitra noticed with amusement that even the packing box had an elaborate floral pattern on it. She watched as Kim lifted out a large fairly flat box in the same pattern, reverently opening the lid to expose lavender tissue.

Kim started to lift the tissue then caught herself, and stretching, slid the box along the top of the other boxes to Mitra.

Curious now, Mitra turned aside the tissue.

"It's beautiful!" Mitra said in an awed tone as she lifted out a puffy quilted robe in watercolor shades of blue and turquoise and purple. "It even looks like my size."

"Of course it's your size," Joran said.

"We had to double way back to Tamara to get it," Kim added. Tamara sure wasn't losing its touch with fashion.

"Oh, of course. You asked Dreen." Mitra decided pain and not sleeping well was making her stupid.

"Of course I did not," Joran retorted firmly. "That would have ruined the surprise, wouldn't it? I just did some basic detective work. I called around all the shops here until I found the one you liked." As Mitra was putting the still folded robe back he added, "Try it on."

Mitra looked at the folded robe. She'd never get it folded nice again. She firmly believed they sent women who worked in shops to a folding course no one else got to go to. Then she looked at Joran's face. He looked like an eager little boy. Reluctantly she unfolded the robe, shook it out, and let Dreen help her into it. She could feel the warmth at once, and her tense, exhausted muscles started to relax.

"Joran, it's great." This must be two or three times as warm as her robe.

"Leave it on, Pretty Lady." Joran was watching her visible fatigue. "Kim and Eli, apply yourself to finding the rest of Mitra's stuff so Dreen can go tuck her in bed."

"Well, while I hunt, check these out."

Kim slid another large flat box in the same floral pattern down to Mitra.

"Eli! Isn't that the sleeping bag there, halfway down the row and buried?"

"It would be."

Eli went to look at the box Kim was pointing out.

"There's nothing on it, just name of the manufacturer."

He read the name and Kim consulted her manifest.

"That's it."

"Right." Eli said in a resigned tone and started to shift the refrigerator and a few other heavy things off it.

Joran couldn't see, just hear noise.

"What's the problem?"

"It's under the fridge and other stuff."

"That was real bright," Joran said in disgust.

"Well, we're not some of your cargos," Eli reminded him.

Mitra finally and with infinite care finished opening the second box. She inspected the contents. There were three very elegant nightgowns to match the robe. One was in violet satin, one in turquoise satin jacquard, and one a powder blue in some fuzzy fabric she didn't know, but the fabric was so fine the gown was see-through. She had never seen anything like them, not even on Gingezel and she had checked out some pretty fancy boutiques.

"They are absolutely beautiful." But there was no way she was wearing them here. She'd freeze.

Eli gave a determined tug to the sleeping bag box, bracing another with a foot raised half to waist height so the lower box didn't shift too and cause an avalanche.

"Got it!"

"Great!" Kim said. "Here's the opener."

She tossed it to him.

He threw it back.

"Here's the box. You open it!"

"It's your turn for a while." Kim insisted. Her hands were getting tired.

"Not unless you dig out the AntonCorp box." Eli said with a wicked smile.

He'd seen a corner of it, right in the middle at the bottom.

"Sure."

Kim didn't mind. She was stronger than Eli anyways, but he'd never admit it. So he could probably stand to break. They traded places and he showed Kim the box, which was no surprise to her. She remembered putting it there. She started re-piling the boxes above it in a tidier order than Eli had.

*****

Chapter 61

Joran was still watching Mitra. Her initial delight at simply seeing the pretty things had become the polite expression people wore when they are not sure what to do with a gift.

"Honest. They're supposed to be warm and that's not some manufacturer's claim. I called up a friend of Maillie's who has taken up ski trekking. She's one very feminine, classy lady and she refused to give up feeling pretty while having fun like that. So she put her designer to work with a fabric specialist and these are what she got. She says the satin is the warmest but they're all fine unless it's really blizzarding outside the tent. Then she gives up and leaves long underwear on too. But she thinks that's psychological."

Mitra felt the satin wistfully. There was something fuzzy on the back of it.

She said hopefully, "You didn't pack long underwear?"

"No."

Joran had assumed since it was just a semi-heated habitat, not a blizzard outside a thin walled tent, that this would be good enough. Now he felt bad.

"Should I quick get some to you? I mean, it's not my area of expertise - women's long undies. But if you know what you want -"

Mitra was appalled. She could imagine Joran doing it too, when he should be concentrating on his concert.

She said quickly, "Of course not. That's something I'm sure I can get if these aren't warm enough."

How she would get them was a good question, or she'd be sleeping in them now, but she couldn't impose on Joran.

Dreen had been watching with interest. Now he said, "Do I get something too?"

He was making a point of not complaining about anything, but he'd had no time to pack, much less shop. And the pajamas that someone had packed and sent to the spaceport were totally inadequate.

Joran cocked an eyebrow. "When did you start wearing women's nightgowns?"

Eli and Timoth laughed.

"Thank you, Joran."

"Actually, I did throw in some of those thermal unisex AntonCorp nightshirts in your size. They should be in the box so try them if you want." Joran shrugged. "I mean, they're bestsellers and Jon won't sleep in anything else. But when I tried them..."

He turned to Mitra. "I won't market anything I haven't tried - except for the women's stuff of course. I thought these nightshirts were the most uncomfortable things I've ever slept in."

When he slept Joran was a mobile sleeper, all over the bed. The fabric had stuck to the bedding and he'd spent the night picking his comforter up off the floor.

"Still, there was a 75% favorable vote from staff so we tried selling them and they do move." He shrugged again. "But they're the ugliest thing I've seen to sleep in and I can't imagine anyone male or female looking good in them."

The elegant Kim had been about to put an enthusiastic vote in with Jon who had talked her into trying them, and say she slept in them all time. She decided to keep her mouth shut, even though she thought she looked cute in them.

Instead Kim said, "Eli, haven't you got those sleeping bags open yet?"

"Sure. Ages ago."

"Well why didn't you say so?" Kim was exasperated.

"Because everyone was busy talking sleepwear."

He raised his voice. "By the way, Joran, you're wrong. Kim looks adorable in an Anton thermal night shirt."

He gave her his wicked, teasing smile. With the I.C.E. genies optimized for cargo, the pilot's quarters were cramped and he knew perfectly well what Kim slept in.

You're going to pay for that, Eli, if I know Kim, Joran thought.

Aloud he said, "I stand corrected. The lovely Kim, and a few other women in the galaxy, could look good in anything."

"Eli! Toss me the damned opener and we can give Mitra the rest of her stuff and let her get some sleep!"

"Sure."

Eli tossed it across. He enjoyed baiting Kim. She lost her temper very attractively.

Kim opened the icy blue box with the AntonCorp logo. It looked like the things for Dreen were on top. She picked up the two night shirts one in blue, one in purple.

"Here you go, Dreen." Kim hesitated then added shyly, "Despite what Joran says, I find them comfortable."

This was the first time she'd met this friend of Joran's and while he seemed pleasant enough he was very quiet and reserved, almost withdrawn.

"I probably will too, Kim. I roomed with Joran for a few years. He has his own view of sleeping."

Joran's insomnia was a real problem, and the list of items and events that he had rightly or wrongly decided contributed was long and constantly changing. Dreen fingered the thick soft fabric and decided it could well land on Joran's hate list.

"And," he added to save Joran the trouble of taking a shot, "I'll probably look ridiculous but as long as it's warm, and it's certainly warmer than my pajamas, I won't care. Thanks Joran."

Joran nodded.

"No problem. Happy insomnia."

Kim was continuing unpacking.

"Kim - there should be workout gear too." Joran instructed.

"If you say so." She shifted a few items. "Here we go. Shorts, T, shoes, socks, sweatband, and sweats."

She handed over a set of exercise shorts and a tank, light weight sweats, really heavy-duty sweats, the kind you could rake leaves in on a frosty morning, a matching jacket, and a thick thirsty bathrobe.

All were favorites in Dreen's wardrobe back home on Tranus, but they hung in his locker in the building's athletic facilities. He used the shorts or light sweats in the gym, the heavy sweats when he decided to run outside in the fall and winter, the robe to dry off in. Whoever had arranged to have his stuff sent to the spaceport, possibly Lindy but more likely Arla, hadn't thought of his gear. So he'd had to buy the basic minimum to exercise in here, shorts and shoes. He'd felt like getting anything else was depleting the miner's supplies. He'd mentioned this to Joran who had obviously remembered. These weren't worn in, but they looked like home.

"Thanks," Dreen said gruffly.

It was heart felt. Besides getting old friends back, if the sleeping bag and nightshirt weren't as good as claimed he could always sleep in the sweats.

Kim grinned as Dreen lifted the shorts off the pile. "Sexy."

"Well," Joran said, "we can't have Dreen looking unfashionable and getting morale down. That would make him quit earlier at the gym."

"And you figure this stuff helps, do you?" Dreen threw back at him.

Actually, Dreen liked the AntonCorp workout gear. It was very comfortable, restyled frequently to be trendy, and trust Joran, blatantly sexy. As he had explained to Dreen, any guy who told himself he was working out just to stay healthy was feeding himself one hell of a lie. The males of the galaxy obviously agreed. He outsold the closest competition by seventeen percent. But Joran didn't touch women's gear although he did women's casual clothing. He said that half of what he saw women wearing working out looked like it should hurt, but they wore it anyways and damned if he'd sell what he couldn't understand without Maillie there to explain it and design it.

Joran's ad campaigns didn't hurt either, Dreen thought. He currently had a set of four going, all featuring star Octagla center Superstud in a gym with various groups of females draping themselves all over him. Joran always used one of the athletic sex symbols, and kept the ads somewhere between provocative and so explicit they wouldn't get carried on any non-restricted network.

The Superstud ones were pretty mild though, Dreen thought. They were mostly word games playing on his nickname. The one that really stuck in Dreen's mind was the one about five years ago with Eli Heron. It suddenly hit Dreen as he remembered the ad, that Eli Heron wasn't just a celebrity name to him anymore. He was a real person, sitting on that grimy lumpy sofa, running a hand through his hair and swearing under his breath as he returned to manually scanning the packing lists to see if he could find the elusive connector.

That realization coupled with the ad made Dreen slightly uncomfortable, and worried he might say something awkward and embarrass himself. Or worse still, that Mitra would remember it and say something.

That had been the one ad Joran had really got himself in trouble with. It started out showing close-ups of Eli after various racing wins, some of Eli alone, most of him embracing and kissing Rhea. Then it shifted to a gym and a rear view of Eli only wearing athletic shorts and shoes. He had a woman pinned to the wall in an embrace. You couldn't tell who it was. You could only see blonde hair, her arms around Eli, and her lovely hands stroking his back. The view of her hip made it clear she was wearing less than Eli was. Then those lovely hands started sliding Eli's shorts down, exposing among other things a Tribe tattoo that was definitely forbidden to be on public view. The Tribe had a strong taboo on that.

The tattoo was never totally exposed in the ad, one hand kept sliding across it. The other finished sliding off Eli's shorts. They landed, ignored, around Eli's ankles as he muttered 'Oh, woman' and the holo-commercial ended.

The loudest complaints had been from the Tribe Elders. Joran and Eli had told them they should get a sense of humor. The offended morals group had been a close second. Joran had publicly shrugged. All he'd done was show off Eli's ass, with Eli's obvious consent, so why the fuss? If some people had vivid imaginations, that was their problem, not his.

Dreen knew that privately Joran had found all the furor intensely amusing, and now that Dreen was getting to know Eli, he suspected Eli had been as amused as Joran. He had probably thoroughly enjoyed being the center of the storm. Dreen had been curious enough to ask Joran who the woman was, but Joran had grinned and said, 'No way. That gets out and the campaign loses half of its effectiveness. Guess like everyone else.'

At the time Dreen had voted with the majority and guessed it was Rhea, but now that he knew her he didn't think so. She had conducted a very public love affair with Eli, and the ad came out at the height of it. But he honestly didn't think Joran or Eli could have talked her into it. The sort of thing she might have agreed to was -

"And the rest of this is yours, Mitra." Kim said in her soft voice. "Why don't you take a quick look and then Dreen and I can help you carry stuff down to your room."

Kim had come to like Mitra on their flight from Gingezel and Mitra was looking like she felt really rough.

"There are sweats and a robe like Dreen's," she handed them down, "and a lovely lounge set."

Mitra accepted the items, not really looking at the sweats. The loungewear was luscious though, sweatsuit style but in a thick plushy fabric inside and out, and in the gorgeous purple used on the M album cover. Mitra lifted the top up and pressed her cheek against the soft fabric.

"Thanks Joran. It's great."

She couldn't imagine a time for lounging, but someday. Then a thought struck, but she hesitated. People could be touchy about gifts. Still -

"Joran. About the sweats. Would you mind terribly if I gave them to a little girl that lives here? She lost her father and she's a real Anton fan like her mother. It might please her."

Joran's eyes were moist. Dreen had told him all about Lilla being Mitra's closest friend on Drezvir.

"You do exactly what you want with everything, Pretty Lady. But your little friend, isn't she Tessa and her mom is Lilla? They should have their own stuff now. I sent a set of Anton everything for each of them. The stuff you and Dreen just got plus the standard fan stuff. T-shirts, games, all our albums, videos. I told the cargoes to go deliver theirs first. That's why Dreen is stuck with Eli and Kim."

"Quit griping," Eli said good-naturedly from the back of the room. "With all of the stuff you have the cargoes unloading, they won't show up here tonight."

"You mean there's more?"

Mitra was already overwhelmed, and had been about to thank Joran profusely for even thinking of Lilla and Tessa. They would be so touched once they got over being stunned. And there was more?

Joran looked uncomfortable, so Kim spoke for him.

"Oh yes. There's the same kind of parcel for that poor little girl who got lost, and for her dad who was shift foreman. That family must be having quite a time."

"Her family, yes," Eli agreed. "I wouldn't like to have been responsible both for the accident shift in the mine and having everyone wandering around in the dark looking for my kid. But the kid probably had the adventure of her life."

"Quite possibly," Mitra conceded. "But Ginny is a quiet, thoughtful girl. I think she knows she's very unpopular."

"Poor kid. It's rough being a kid when people are down on you," Joran put in.

"And you know all about it?" Mitra couldn't help smiling. She was sure Joran had been adored and the center of attention all his life.

"As a matter of fact, yes, starting at about this little girl's age. My parents made it clear music was not an acceptable ambition. I was to be a nice employable engineer, or scientist, or accountant, or laborer, or essentially anything else but what I was."

Mitra made a sympathetic face. "Like I was supposed to be a biophysicist or a terraformer. I think my mother wouldn't have minded music though. She's always wished she could play anything!"

Dreen applied a firm pressure to Mitra's shoulder. This was not a conversation Joran needed before the concert.

She misinterpreted it as sympathy.

"Do you all laugh about that now that you are the kind of success you could never have been in the sciences?"

"No. Now we don't even speak to each other," Joran said curtly.

"Joran -"

Joran looked at Dreen's strained, worried face. "It's all right Dreen. I decided I have to start doing some growing up, and this is one thing I'd better grow up about."

He returned his attention to Mitra. "My parents are nice, decent, hard-working lower middle class people. What the neighbors, and their coworkers, and their bosses think matters very much to them. They might have tolerated music if I'd joined a symphony or been a studio musician, but I didn't choose that route. As far as they're concerned I've spent my life making an embarrassing spectacle of myself."

Joran grinned suddenly. "If you leave out the word embarrassing, you know, they're right! I'd prefer to use the adjectives amusing and lucrative though."

His grin broadened. "I think the ad Eli and I came up with was the last straw. They haven't spoken to me since."

Eli looked up from the compad where he was scanning another manifest and frowned.

"Joran. You never once said that stunt caused you grief with your folks too. Now I do feel bad."

"Why? Besides making both of us a small fortune, it was fun. And as far as my parents are concerned, the split was due. If it wasn't the ad it would have been something else. Anyways, you were getting your own share of the heat back then from the Tribal Elders, especially your own mom."

"Well," Eli gave a rueful smile, "I was never in danger of her not speaking to me. That woman has one vicious tongue!"

"And as for my parents," Joran shrugged, "their problem is their problem. I've sent them tickets to the concert and a message that I will charter a space yacht if they want to come. It's up to them whether they reply or not."

They hadn't and there wasn't time for them to get to Gingezel now, but why worry anyone else.

Mitra stood there patiently, trying to remember what in the galaxy Eli and Joran were talking about. She didn't pay much attention to ads.

Dreen was watching the obvious thought process. He could see her remember all of a sudden as her mouth formed a silent 'Oh'.

He said hastily, "Deliberately changing topics, Joran it was very kind of you to remember the two families here."

Eli was all in favor of a change of topics. This woman Joran was in love with did not look like she was in the group who had found the ad amusing. In fact, she looked distinctly disapproving, even if you allowed for her feeling lousy.

His wife was in that group too. Quite innocently from his perspective, he had tried making love to her standing up one night. She had told him very acidly that she was not the woman in that terrible tasteless ad, and if he didn't start treating her with some respect, the rest of their children would be by sperm donation. He had been hurt and lashed back saying he would have preferred that from square one. That had been pure spite and pride, because it was really starting to hurt that he was not the man who could please her.

His big mouth had got him a slapped face, and he'd been told to pack up and leave then and there. Eli had, and he had spent the rest of one of his rare leaves from working for I.C.E. alone in a portel room meditating on life. He had wondered if he dared called Rhea or if he'd get slapped again, verbally of course, and if his ego could stand it. He hadn't called to find out. Ever since then he'd been wary of negative reactions to that ad, instead of laughing at them.

Actually, Mitra hadn't particularly minded the ad and at a personal level she had been amused when a couple weeks after it first aired Mark had switched to Anton workout gear. She'd had a great time teasing him. But right now she was thinking about the fact Eli's mother was a Tribe Elder and was trying to imagine a comparable situation in her own family. How would Roween react to her brother Niki pulling a stunt like that? The idea made her shudder, and her frown deepened.

Eli noticed and said hastily, "Joran has individual packages with everything for all of the miners on that shift, and sweats and jackets and such for the rest of the place."

The distraction worked. Mitra swiveled in unison with Dreen to stare at Eli.

"Joran sent stuff for the whole colony?" Mitra asked.

"Yeah. Heavy sweats, warm stuff."

Mitra turned back to Joran.

"But that's almost 4000 people!"

Joran looked acutely embarrassed.

"Please Mitra, don't make a big thing out of it. We sell more than that a stadium concert."

"But you're busy with the concert."

Mitra jumped as Timoth made one of his rare interjections.

"No he isn't. He always has a concert as planned as it should be a couple three weeks ahead of time. Then he goes nuts trying to keep busy so he doesn't over-rehearse and ruin it. This was a great distraction. And it kept him from bugging people who do have last-minute work to do, like me."

"Oh." Mitra wasn't sure what to say to that. She knew nothing about the music business.

"Timoth is right," Joran assured her. "It's kept me busy doing something useful." He added, "The hardest part was to get permission to do it. That Rostin fellow gave me the best frosting I've had in years. Assumed it was just publicity hunting and turned me down flat."

At Dreen's agonized face he made a face back and said loudly, "And for whoever is electronically eavesdropping, he was right to do that. It's happened all too often."

Curiosity got the better of Dreen. A squaring off between Joran and Rostin would have been interesting, and he was rather surprised Joran had won.

"So how did you turn him around?"

"Never even tried," Joran said cheerfully. "I just gave him fifteen minutes to get busy with something else. Then I called back and tackled the secretary. Secretaries are the ones that really run things anyways. And I was smarter with her. I started by saying I didn't expect her to trust me, but she could check with the two major Outsider charities AntonCorp backs to make sure I'm not just a pain in the ass. Then I told her what I wanted to do, left her the names of the contacts at the charities, and transmitted the full list of items AntonCorp sells. I asked her to go to it and figure out what was useful and we'd ship it."

Grinning Joran said, "A couple hours later I got a call back from the guy that runs the general store and some lady in medical services. It took them a bit to get into the spirit of things. At first they didn't believe me that they could have as much of anything as they wanted. I take it that place is still in the startup stage where there are seventeen uses or so for every half credit."

He looked at Dreen. "Don't we remember that game! But they did catch on eventually. And it was kind of cute. The lady seemed the real old battle ax type but she said this was her ultimate fantasy. She'd never wanted to win a lottery for cash, because she'd have to invest it or she would feel guilty. What she had always dreamed of winning was a shopping spree where she had to spend the money, but she had never dreamed of one this size."

Dreen was looking amused, which was about what Joran expected. But Mitra was still looking way too impressed. Time to move on.

Joran said softly, "You're fading by the minute, Pretty Lady. How about Dreen goes and tucks you in. We can talk more another time. Dreen, you got that special present handy?"

Dreen nodded and reached into the food cupboard where he'd put it for safekeeping so it couldn't get lost in all the unpacking clutter. He took out a beautifully wrapped box with silver paper and blue and purple velvet ribbons, and put it in Mitra's hands.

"Here you go."

"Now, Pretty Lady," Joran was talking fast, "this one comes with a request. Please, please, don't open it until just before the concert. Okay? Then wear it while you watch. Dreen said you'll watch it together."

Mitra nodded, about to thank Joran for what was obviously a jewelry box, but before she could open her mouth he turned to Timoth.

"So how about earning that fortune I pay you, Timoth. How the hell do we kludge the sound system without those custom connections?"

It was a professional, not a commercial system.

"Joran -" Mitra had to thank him.

Joran totally ignored her voice, turned his back to the screen, and walked off.

*****

Chapter 62

Mitra stared at Joran's image as he walked off, deeply hurt. It was like he'd turned off a switch and she ceased to exist. 'I'm important and famous, and you've had your five minutes. Now I'm getting on with life.' She supposed it was fatigue and pain mostly, because she had no right to expect more, but she found she was blinking back tears.

Dreen put an arm around her, guiding her towards the door. He murmured in her ear, "I'll explain, but let's get you to your room." Louder he said, "Can one of you carry some of this while I tote the sleeping bag?"

Mitra looked blankly at what seconds ago had been her treasures.

"Don't try. I'll carry them," Kim volunteered.

***

They stepped into her tiny room and Mitra put the prettily wrapped parcel on the table with distaste. As she did, she saw her own arm.

"Oh hell. I wore this robe through the halls."

"So?" Kim asked as she put the clothing boxes down on the table too. "It's gorgeous. If anyone saw you they'll be wildly jealous."

"It is warm."

Mitra was reluctant to take it off. She ought to be grateful. And for sure she should be grateful to Kim.

"Thanks for all your trouble, Kim."

"Don't thank me," Kim said. "It was fun." She smiled her slow, gentle smile. "I even ordered a couple designer nightgowns from the place we got yours at. Who knows?" She shrugged. "They might even help get Arn to focus. But," another shrug, "I won't hold my breath."

Kim turned to Dreen. "Take your time tucking Mitra in. I'll see if I can settle Joran and Eli down. Who knows, maybe we can make some progress while you're gone."

And she was off, all long legs and long blonde hair.

Dreen closed the door and turned to Mitra, picking up the gift and holding it out to her.

"Mitra, Joran didn't mean to insult you. He's just superstitious, that's all."

She didn't take the box.

"Dreen." Mitra finally admitted she was exhausted. "I know I'm tired but you're not even vaguely making sense. Besides, what right do I have to be insulted? It was kind of him to include me at all."

She didn't care. She was tired. He could let it drop. Tears threatened again.

Dreen put an arm around her and guided her to the lumpy little sofa bed.

"All the same, Joran frosted you pretty good there and I'm going to explain. So please listen."

"Do I have to?"

"I'd rather you did, because this," Dreen held out the box again, "is something very special."

"You know what it is then?"

The magic of an unopened box was taking hold again.

"Mostly. You see, before every new concert series, just before they go on stage Joran gives everyone in the band a new necklace. Joran also gives all the wives and girlfriends a necklace too, usually in the colors their spouses wear on stage. They get theirs at a preconcert party they traditionally have at a hotel. He says it's a thank you in advance for the way going on tour will disrupt their lives. It's become a good luck thing to him. He keeps the details a surprise until right then. The women wear them on opening night. And since you were the one who got him writing again with M's song, he wants you to have one too."

Now Mitra felt terrible for being offended. "But why did he act like that?"

"Because it wasn't concert night, and he'd already talked to me. He's really nervous this time, Mitra. He doesn't want any jinxes."

Dreen looked at the box reflectively. "It could be pretty spectacular. He's got a lot of goodwill to buy with the women this time around. A couple of the wives are still just barely speaking to him. So, do you have somewhere safe to store it? Is there somewhere equivalent to a safe or vault?"

"I doubt it. I don't know of them discovering any gemstones on Drezvir, and industrial metals aren't exactly the sort of thing you can smuggle out and sell on holiday. I mean, some are precious enough in small amounts, but you'd have to sell to a regular customer, and there aren't many. I'll just tuck it in a drawer."

She rose reluctantly, telling herself standing might be more comfortable. It was, but only marginally, and not worth the up and down. With even more reluctance she folded the pretty parcel into a sweater and put another folded one on top. The bows would get squished.

Dreen watched her shaky motions with concern. She was really overdone. It was too bad she'd come down to that chaos. He went to the closet and got her flannel nightie.

"Here. Why don't you get changed while I make up the bed. You should be asleep."

Mitra looked at the flannel nightie in his hand.

"You don't like it," she said resentfully. "And you didn't have to complain to your friend! You could have told me."

"Easy."

Dreen handed her the nightgown and stroked her cheek.

"I like it fine. You know I like clothes that are old friends. All I did was tell him that you were freezing and sleeping in a flannel gown and a robe to stay warm and were still cold. It's not my fault Joran put his own spin on it. He's like that. Notice?"

Dreen looked truly concerned. "Sorry," Mitra apologized. "I think you're right. I'm tired."

She changed while Dreen made up the bed. Mitra had to admit it looked a lot more inviting with the thick sleeping bag on it. Still, she really had to talk to Dreen. So, since they were alone after all, she should try.

"Dreen –"

But Dreen had moved down to the little table looking for signs of a meal. There weren't any.

"Mitra." His tone was chastising. "You promised to eat a good supper."

"And I did!"

She was cranky again. She wasn't lying either. Two of C.C.'s chocolate bars were a perfectly good supper.

Dreen spied the wrappers in the wastebasket.

"Two chocolate bars are not a good supper," Dreen announced firmly.

"Yes they are! They had nuts and raisins so I got protein and fruit."

"Mitra." Dreen spoke like he was lecturing her. "Your medication is supposed to be taken on a full stomach. I checked on the web. Have you taken it yet?"

Mitra shook her head. She rather suspected she was losing this one.

"All right. Then I'll make you something to eat. Then you'll take it."

"I'm not hungry!"

"I believe you. I also believe the medical instructions. So force yourself. Here," he picked up the fluffy robe, "let's get you back into this."

He helped Mitra and seated her at the table.

"And you can drink a box of," he looked, "apple, or apple, or apple juice? Do you want to trade tomorrow? I have orange and berry. Here." Dreen opened the juice. "I'll heat a casserole. What kind?"

She had definitely lost. She simply didn't have the energy to win. She couldn't override him. Besides, it was starting to be nice to be fussed over. Well, if she was going to eat, it may as well be something good.

"Seafood pasta."

That was something that nice lady at the spaceport had packed lots of.

"Yelk. I thought you weren't feeling good," Dreen teased. It was a standing disagreement from their travels that had become a joke between them. He obediently selected a package and heated it.

Mitra sipped her juice. It was just possible he was right and she was hungry. At any rate, that casserole was sure taking a long time to heat. Mitra gave up. She'd talk to Dreen tomorrow.

***

With Mitra fed, tucked into her sleeping bag, and already half asleep, Dreen walked back to his apartment telling himself to be good-natured if he ended up getting no sleep with the chaos. Joran meant well, and his gifts, to him and Mitra, and the colony, were appreciated. Life would get a lot calmer though when the concert was over. He did hope for Timoth's sake though that they'd come up with a brilliant kludge. While Mitra ate he'd been wracking his brain for inspiration from the spare parts he'd brought with his computing system and getting nowhere.

As he rounded the corner close to his apartment, he got a surprise. The corridor was lined with neatly stacked flattened boxes and solid crates obviously just waiting for the cargoes to remove them. Something must be going right. Feeling cautiously optimistic, Dreen opened the door. The place was tidy, if now even more cramped. The largest free wall was now taken up with the media equipment, and there was muted Johnny Sun music playing. The mini refrigerator was by the table, presumably holding the pizza supply. The clothes were on the table, the sleeping bag on the couch which was still a couch. The conference call with Joran and Timoth was apparently over.

Eli was in the middle of the free space bouncing the soccer ball from knee to knee, quite expertly Dreen noted. He was counting under his breath. "Seventeen, eighteen, hullo Dreen, twenty, twenty-one – damn." He caught the mis-kicked ball before it could hit anything and tossed it to Dreen. "Your turn. Joran says you played in university."

"You look like you've played too. University?"

"Commercial, two or three cuts below A level farm teams. It was a mixed league, and both Rhea and I played to stay in shape."

"Before you start on that, I need to borrow Dreen."

Kim was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the holoprojector unit. She looked down at the instruction sheet on her compad, reached out a finger, and touched it tentatively. She made a face at the still blank wall.

"Dreen, do you have any idea how these things work?"

Dreen bounced the ball on one knee, then passed it with the other to Eli who started counting again.

"More or less. I've probably put one of them together twenty or thirty times."

The sentence structure confused Kim. There wasn't anything to put together. Perhaps it was whatever language Dreen was more comfortable with than StanGalLan showing up.

"Put together?" she asked.

Dreen sat down on the floor beside her.

"Yes, and it was the same unit over and over so this one may differ a bit, but believe me I've got the basics down."

At her puzzled look he added, "You see, back when Nemizcan was a hole-in-the-wall with less than twelve on staff, a couple were tinkerers. They had to take everything electronic apart to check it out. When there were finally spare credits to buy one of these things, four days later they took it apart. But neither had the patience back then to put things back together if the first or second try didn't work. So I kept inheriting that job."

Kim was amused. "And they kept taking it apart?"

"Oh yes. They kept being sure they could improve it."

"Did they?"

Kim was watching the amusement in Dreen's eyes. He was actually quite nice when he didn't look so serious.

"No. If they had, we probably would have shifted to the holoprojector business. Right then our software development had run into what looked like insurmountable obstacles. That's why they kept taking the holoprojector apart. It was a group project that wasn't depressing."

Kim smiled and handed over the compad with the instructions. "It's all yours."

She watched as Dreen got the unit going with three clicks.

"I'm embarrassed," Kim said.

"Don't be. This manual won't take any awards for coherency. It's an expensive enough model they could have tried harder." He looked at the compad again. "I suppose they're counting on your having the shop actually install it and get it running. Now, did you pick out a program for me?"

"Number eight, the forest one sounds nice."

"Good."

Dreen selected it and the worn beige wall became a sun-dappled forest glade, the smaller shrubs moving slightly in an imaginary breeze.

"Now," he hesitated, "I'm glad to offer you what hospitality I can. But you may be wanting to get off planet ASAP. Please be candid."

Kim smiled. "We are under strict instructions. When you show we're to make sure you call Joran back and we'll all have a pizza."

"Why am I not surprised?"

The music changed to his favorite Johnny Sun song and Dreen focused.

"Did you tie the media wall into my hyperweb?"

No doubt Timoth was quite capable of doing that, but galaxy knew what kind of links that would create at the Nemizcan end or what they would do to the security of the system.

Eli stopped bouncing the ball.

"No way. We know from Joran it's a dedicated link, and he knows from you that the planet's link doesn't have capacity for nonbusiness type stuff. So he sent you a music library."

Eli touched a fair sized box.

"For that matter, he sent a bunch of music to the library here too. Apparently the lady at the hospital said something to the effect that the warm clothes would be a real lift and that was important. Now that the crisis was past and it was just indefinite uphill slogging, the whole planet was hitting reactive depression. Joran decided music was the best high, and he called up Johnny Sun and a couple dozen other friends who wouldn't turn the donations into a publicity circus, and they've all sent a thousand or so copies of their complete works."

"Uh huh."

Dreen rose, a bit stiffly, to his feet. He really had to stop skimping on his time in the gym.

"Well, we all know Joran is a soft touch at times, and that was really nice of him. But I have to ask. Is he going nuts about the concert?"

That was a reasonable explanation for all this charitable creativity.

"Scared silly would be my guess," Kim volunteered. "But you know him better than I do. Still, I'd put my money on my guess. He's acting like Jon did back when we were racing and for no obvious reason he lost those eleven races in a row and his sponsor threatened to dump him."

It hadn't been until a couple years later that she found out the reason was that Kara Dellmaice had married Arn. Apparently she'd been timesharing between Jon and Arn. Jon had snapped out of his slump and started winning again on the day of the divorce. But she couldn't tell this to a stranger, and especially not have it recorded for posterity.

She made a face. "Joran started off on Timoth about something or other on the concert, and he was getting on our nerves. So we told them we'd call back."

She looked at the time strip on her wristcuff.

"Timoth will be glad of a rescue by now."

"Then let's have that pizza." Dreen reached a hand down to Kim.

But she said, "I'll stay here." Eli dropped down beside her, sprawling out on his side.

It appeared they were picnicking on the floor. Dreen went and recontacted Joran. Joran was definitely in a stormy mood, Dreen decided. The sweatband was gone and his hair was much the worse for his hands running through it. Timoth was wearing an expression of total indifference to the storm.

"Is Mitra all right?" Joran's voice was sharp with anxiety. "You were forever."

"She'd promised to eat supper then only ate two chocolate bars. I stayed there to make sure she ate." Dreen pulled a face. "Seafood pasta yet!"

That got him a smile and he relaxed a bit.

"Thanks for everything, Joran. She's sleeping in her sleeping bag now."

Joran shrugged it off.

Dreen turned his attention to Timoth. "Timoth, you have to tell me how you got that system going or I'll spend all night guessing."

Timoth grinned good naturedly. Joran being down on him didn't bother him at all. It wouldn't be a concert with all new material without a few stormy sessions.

"You want to know how I earn the big credits hmm? Well, I called up the guy who assembled the system and asked politely if he remembered packing all the connectors. He said of course, and that since I wasn't doing the assembly he'd carefully taped each one beside where it went. Of course," Timoth shrugged, "we hadn't removed the final protective layer yet. He was not amused. He said if it wasn't a crisis over the show, could he please go back to sleep, that it was 3:12 AM there."

Right. Dreen grinned back.

*****

Chapter 63

"Chett." Harvey knew he was looking very pleased with himself. "Your penthouse is ready for you any time you want."

It was 3:50 in the afternoon, three days since Lindy asked him to help Chett, and two days since Chett had actually agreed to take the condo. That wasn't bad, not bad at all, even if he said so himself. Harvey had enjoyed every minute of the bustling around too. He had disrupted everyone on his staff, and it had been good for them. It was a change from their very organized routines.

"You're serious?"

Obviously he was, but once Chett had seen the condo he'd decided he was unrealistic hoping to move in in less than a couple weeks and had told himself not to complain if it took a month.

"Completely."

Chett leaned back and relaxed while he got a blow by blow description of how this minor miracle had been achieved and by whom. At last Harvey ran down.

"Thank you," Chett said, both grateful and truly impressed.

Harvey nodded acknowledgment.

"Now, one last thing. I understand Lindy promised to cook you the first supper there.

"Yes, she did."

"Well, please be honest with me. Would you mind if I invited myself along and turned it into a housewarming party? You see, she and I had planned to dine together and watch the Anton concert."

"That's tonight, isn't it?" Chett had totally forgotten. "Then I have a date too. If you don't think Lindy minds cooking for four, it sounds good."

***

Chett felt like he was being managed. Lindy had Harvey and Loana aproned and in the kitchen, officially designated as helpers. Loana hadn't known about the condo until Chett told her their concert watching plans had changed. A huge commercial-size tub of cloudberry ice cream from The Scoop was her impromptu housewarming gift. The tub was safely occupying most of the freezer. Lindy had said her gift was already here somewhere, so why didn't he go see if he could find it.

Presumably this was a tactful way to let him explore his new home in privacy. He started in the adjacent dining room, and approved. It was attractive without being overly formal. His two navy and gold abstracts hung on the sidewall, old friends amongst a lot of strangeness. A few years ago Chett had decided that if he was touring the galaxy, building an art collection might be a fun way to explore the cultures of the various planets. Who knew, someday some of the artists he bought might even become famous and he'd have a collection to rival Dreen's.

Early on he'd complimented Dreen on what he saw as a museum quality collection. Dreen had laughed and said he doubted Chett was right, he didn't even insure it. He just bought young artists he liked, plus had a few pieces he'd swiped from his mom's place years ago. At the time they had been looking at one of the latter, what Chett thought of as 'the sunshine picture', a wonderful midsummer scene of a sun-drenched garden. Chett's personal taste ran to abstracts, but this landscape had enchanted him. Later he had privately researched the painter and decided if he'd owned any of her work it would be displayed under armed guard. Feeling slightly guilty about even touching it, the first thing Chett had done when he moved into Dreen's apartment was to hang the sunshine picture by his bed so it was the first thing he saw on awakening.

Paintings on his mind, he went to see what was hanging in the bedroom if it wasn't his favorite abstracts. Probably the seaside scene from Laurion. It was his only landscape and the mood was restful. He pushed open the door, his eyes resting on the oversized bed that dominated the room. That would be fantastic after the cramped bunk of The Exec. The navy theme looked good in a bedroom too, and from here he could see the monograms Harvey had been so proud of and that Chett had secretly winced at. At least Harvey had kept them discrete. His eyes moved on. The painting he expected wasn't above the bed. Nothing was. Puzzled, Chett turned, then froze. There, in exactly the position he'd hung it in Dreen's house was the sunshine painting. That must have taken some doing, and a collaborator, and he knew who that collaborator was.

A grim expression on his face, Chett turned and strode out of the room.

"Lindy!"

Lindy turned from the cooktop. Obviously she was not about to be thanked for the sansevieria collection in the living room, so it could only be one thing. She gave Chett a quelling look, nodding at the two curious faces turned to him.

"Can't you guess what I gave you?" She kept her tone amused. "Harvey, you said they were in the living room, right? Come watch this sauce while I show Chett."

Lindy left the cooktop and firmly took Chett's arm.

"Come along."

She headed for where she was almost sure the living room was. She pretty well remembered the layout from when Dreen occasionally used to join Oren here. Harvey had really changed the look, brightening the condo up to where it was almost unrecognizable. Oren's taste had been like Dreen's, subdued neutrals.

Chett followed obediently. Lindy wasn't dumb enough to be serious about her whatever. He walked to the far end of the room and stood staring out into the clear night sky.

"I can't accept something like that, Lindy."

She didn't dissemble. "Of course you can. Dreen really wants you to have the painting." She smiled. "He was so pleased with himself setting up the surprise."

"It was a surprise all right." Chett wasn't budging on his position.

"What's your problem?"

She knew perfectly well that Chett could be stubborn, and that he and Dreen must have a very complicated relationship at the moment, but why was a picture a big deal?

"He said you love that one."

"I do, but Lindy – you have no idea how valuable it is! I don't think Dreen does either."

"Of course I do. And Dreen knows perfectly well what kind of a collection he has. But he wants to relax and enjoy it, so he treats it like a bunch of cheap prints. After all, none of his friends are exactly art thieves. So why not accept the gift in the spirit it was intended?"

Yes, and what exactly was that? A gift, or distributing his estate? Ever since that talk when Dreen had admitted he could well take the fall for the Drezvir mess, and they'd discussed Mitra, Chett had found himself questioning Dreen's, and for that matter his own, motives at multiple levels. Was this a thank you, a consolation prize, a –.

Stop being an idiot, Chett told himself firmly. You're just adding complications to an already hopelessly complicated situation. If you and Dreen start second-guessing each other you'll never get through. Keep doing what you've been doing. Play it straight and as simple as possible. Chett did not consider the cat and mouse game he was playing with Ari Dellmaice to violate that principle at all. He wanted to deck the S.O.B. So did Dreen. So he was effectively doing it. That was as straightforward as life got.

But back to now. Lindy said take the gift in the spirit it was intended. Knowing Dreen, it was a simple, warmhearted impulse. The appropriate reaction was gratitude.

"You're right, Lindy."

She'd been watching his face.

"Do I want to know what that soul-searching was about?"

In part he could speak. "Dreen knows all about Mitra and me. I was tired one day and said something clumsy. Dreen jumped on it and I wasn't going to lie. We've talked it out, but ever since I've been triple thinking every time I talk to him. Guilt maybe."

"Is there a reason for guilt?" Lindy asked candidly.

"No, except that I don't want ancient history complicating this mess."

"Then don't waste the effort. Obviously Dreen's got past it. Now, before my helpers ruin supper come inspect my gift."

She pointed to a row of large spiky plants arranged along one wall under growth spotlights.

*****

Chapter 64

"Are you going to be forever?"

Dreen's voice had an edge to it. It was less than fifteen minutes to concert time and Mitra was still doing her makeup. By the time they walked to the cafeteria there wouldn't be any decent seats left. Most people had just stayed after supper, visiting and helping to move the tables and rearrange the chairs. But they had needed to come back for Mitra's gift and she had decided at the last minute to get dressed up.

The locals were definitely turning it into a town party. This was a treat to them, the Guild using their hyperweb capacity and the cafeteria for entertainment. Dreen suspected this exception was in response to Joran's lavish gifts. Most people had shown up for supper in their new Anton sweats, making the cafeteria a rainbow of colors, not the usual muddy beige. He would have to remember to tell Joran - or take an image if they got there before the lights were out.

Dreen looked at his time strip again. It was twelve minutes to concert time.

"What are you doing?"

Mitra couldn't say 'coming' because she was blotting her lipstick. So, tissue still between her lips she turned and opened the bathroom door. The edge in Dreen's voice disturbed her. Ever since that story from Leeth, she hadn't been able to help wondering if he wasn't totally the man she thought he was. If only she could have talked to Dreen last night, but there hadn't been a chance.

First Lilla and Tessa had cornered her at supper insisting she come and inspect all of their treasures. Then they wanted her to tell them all about Anton since she obviously knew him well. Only she didn't know Joran's Anton side the way they meant, all about his shows and such. So she ended up making them laugh trying to imagine the band playing steel drums in the hot sunshine wearing ratty T-shirts and cutoffs and cloth shoes with their toes poking out. Mitra doubted they believed a word of it but they laughed a lot, and it was good to see that Lilla could still laugh.

Then there had been a three-hour technical session with Elin. This was fine for Elin since it was late morning at the Dellmaice Power Systems offices. But it had been after midnight for Mitra when they finished, so she had just gone to sleep without even seeing Dreen.

And tonight was definitely not the time for any serious talk. Mitra looked at Dreen trying to gauge his mood, but he was smiling now. In fact, he looked like was trying very hard not to laugh.

"What are you doing?"

There was laughter, not accusation in his voice and Mitra relaxed.

"I'm blotting," she said, but she doubted he got it because she never moved her lips.

She was wearing an absolutely gorgeous iridescent lipstick she had got on Gingezel and had been saving for a special occasion. Once it dried it was great. It was there until you took it off with a special remover. But if you put your lips together before it was dry, they stuck together. They eventually came apart with the remover, but it was a bit nasty. To be safe you had to use this special blotting paper for twenty five seconds.

Mitra went to her chest of drawers and pulled the second one open. The parcel from Joran was where she'd put it inside a turtleneck and the pretty bows were as flat as she had expected. Oh well. She took the parcel to the table, put it down, and checked the time. Good. The lipstick had dried for 10 seconds more than it needed. She carefully peeled the blotting paper off.

"How does it look?"

Dreen didn't have the slightest intentions of touching that one. The current evening style in women's lipstick was too dramatic for his taste. Besides, whenever he thought of lipstick he always remembered how much he preferred the feel and taste of bare skin. Other than that though Mitra's time had been well spent. She was wearing the pretty purple velvet lounge outfit Joran had sent. She was actually out of those turquoise safety boots she wore constantly because they were warm. Most importantly her general efforts at makeup had lessened her obvious fatigue.

So he could honestly say, "You look lovely. Now, is it rude to ask you to hurry? I really do want to see Joran walk on stage."

"You really are worried about him, aren't you?" Mitra asked. Now that she could see his face she could tell that was the problem.

She dealt with the wrappings with rare speed. There was only a second's hesitation admiring the elegant jewelers case, and wondering once again what would be inside it. Mitra loved jewelry, and had that really good turquoise set Chelan had given her, plus a couple other good pieces. But nothing super expensive. Nothing like you saw the stars wear on holovision. Not, of course, that Joran would give her something like that. Why should he?

Opening the box, Mitra gasped. There was a choker with matching earrings. The choker was a solid circle of gems, icy blue fire in a true Anton blue alternating with matte purple that matched her outfit.

"Dreen," Mitra breathed, "I've never seen anything like this! Have you?"

Dreen had seen something similar once, a birthday present for Maillie. Only that time there had been one Anton blue stone for every four purple because Maillie loved purple. He also had a rough idea of the cost because Joran had been complaining about how the only source for the true Anton blue gemstones was getting mined out and the price was astronomical.

Assuming the question to be rhetorical he said, "Let me clasp it on you while you do the earrings."

***

They were cutting it fine when they got to the cafeteria, Mitra clutching that ridiculous doughnut cushion in her hand. But the concert hadn't started. C.C. was standing waiting for them at the door.

"Lilla and Tessa are saving us good seats, but we'd better get seated or someone will decide we aren't coming and claim them."

He started in that direction, then paused as Mitra's appearance registered.

"You're looking fantastic, Mitra! You should be in the concert hall on Gingezel. And you're even wearing Anton blue."

He reached out and flicked an earring, then ran his fingertip along the circle of blue fire. Now, what exactly did that mean?

*****

Chapter 65

This was finally it. Joran had to keep repeating that incantation in his head as he worked along the corridor, stopping off to see each band member to be sure there were no problems and to give them their new necklaces. The wives had received theirs at the hotel. But the band got theirs now. Besides this being a ritual, the necklaces wired them for sound. A new look, a new start. This was finally it.

He was too calm, too detached. He wasn't here. This was not his normal pre-concert state. Wired. Yes, that would be normal. Edgy and driving everyone nuts. Yes, normal. Manic, already half high, anticipating the rush he'd get stepping into all those lights and the sound of a stadium full of shouting people. Yes. Wondering just where he would get the energy to put on the nonstop high-voltage show that Anton had come to mean. Yes.

At one time that hadn't been a problem. His energy had just come when he hit the stage. But towards the end he simply couldn't do it anymore and the drug game had started. That had been a mistake; both the drugs and letting the fans define Anton. It had been the easiest way though. With Maillie gone he had no reason to fight the easy way.

Joran stopped and leaned on the corridor wall watching the normal backstage bustle flow past and feeling detached from it. Those mistakes were corrected and this time was going to be different, very different. First off, this was an Arts Center not a stadium and the ambience was very intimate. There wasn't going to be any hype either. There wasn't even a warm-up band. He hadn't been able to think of anyone he had it in for badly enough to give them that hopeless job. Because hopeless would be the word. No one would listen to or enjoy them.

What the crowd wanted to do was see him and see if he fell on his ass again. So that was what he would let them do. He and the band were treating this like a quiet classy supper club. They were simply going to walk on stage and create what he thought was very good music.

It was a distinct possibility though that Anton fans wouldn't be much impressed. It would not be the kind of music or show they had come to expect. In theory this was fine. The galaxy had room for all types of music and musicians. In practice, well, people didn't like change did they? They were a lot more likely to accept a brand-new group with this style than Anton.

A couple of assistants walking past hesitated, not recognizing him without the paint and glitter. The young man turned, obviously wondering who was politely waiting against the wall and who had forgotten him there.

"Can I get someone for you, sir?" Then as he saw Anton full face, not just a mass of curls he turned scarlet and stammered, "Anton, I'm sorry, I -"

That did it. The whole scene appealed to Joran's sense of humor. He laughed, disorientation gone.

"Relax, I'm just doing the rounds with the band and Mrail is next."

It was stage names for everyone for the night and until the immediate aftermath was over.

"Instinct told me to give him a few minutes." Joran rubbed his abdomen.

"The poor man," the young female assistant said. "He really suffers."

Tonight was going to be hard on Bojo at a lot of levels, Joran thought, and it was up to him to do what he could to help. That was all right. He was connected now.

Joran looked at the young pair. "Even if I'm just standing around, you must have things to do. Off with you!"

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Yes sir."

They hurried off.

He'd lied. Bojo was not his next stop. He had to quit stalling and see Brys. Joran sincerely hoped this was not bad luck. His long-standing rule was that wives or girlfriends, or in Kori's case if she ever had a non-bandmember as a boyfriend, boyfriends, were not welcome backstage until the show was over. That was that. No exceptions. The women had their own pre-show ritual at the hotel, and as always he'd had their necklaces delivered there.

But Brys wasn't with the women. She was in the dressing room next to Bojo. If he hadn't put his foot down, Brys would have been in Bojo's dressing room since Bojo had made it clear that he was not letting Brys out of his sight a moment longer than he had to. The excuse was that something would happen to frighten her. Fair enough, given that bar fiasco. Galaxy knew what trouble that girl could get into, and they didn't need a hysterical call minutes to stage time.

Mostly though Joran figured Bojo wanted the comfort of her being there to hold before the concert when he got through the nervous gut stage. And he wanted her to at least partially share the high if he succeeded. It was partly because Brys insisted on being back in Crescent Bay to put in a night's work on Dreen's problems. So she would leave partway through the concert. Joran had appreciated that touch of dedication to Dreen and had even chartered her a flight back. He sincerely thought Dreen was doing exactly what he said he was, grasping at straws looking for a hacker. But if straws were what you had, you grasped them. He knew that all too well.

No! That was a bad road to go down tonight. Joran firmly pushed all thoughts of Dreen and his problems out of his head. Showtime was looming, and he had a girlfriend on the other side of that door, and a girlfriend's necklace in the tote in his hand.

As soon as there was a break in the flow of frantic people Joran crossed the hall. Without even thinking to use the enter tone he opened the door, then realized he was running the risk of embarrassing Brys by catching her half dressed and causing the sort of scene he desperately hoped to avoid.

Joran froze in the doorway and called, "Brys are you presentable?"

He needn't have worried. All he could see was a bevy of women and the top of a blonde head.

One of the women wielding a large plump makeup brush of the sort used for blusher called out, "Just a sec." Looking up she said, "Oh, Anton!" Then she looked down and whispered, "You look good enough to see him, Miss Toleman. I'll finish up later."

The bevy parted and the makeup chair was turned. Wary eyes on him, Brys stood up with extreme care. As far as Joran could tell, and he was pretty expert at these things by now, she did not need any more finishing. The women were just fussing. She looked better than he had expected, fantastic in fact. He'd had a lot of misgivings about this Pygmalion game Bojo insisted on playing. Joran granted Keya's argument that a simple skirt and blouse was a disaster. And Joran realized he was the one who had connected Bojo to Neselli, but he had been sure those two had gotten carried away.

Now Joran realized he was the one totally wrong. A young, lovely, sophisticated stranger was staring at him with Brys's eyes. Her blonde hair was still dark, but amber and gold highlights took away the muddy look. It was done up in the most current elaborate coil at the back, held in place with ornamental pins. Now that you could see her neck, it was as pretty as her face. There had never been a thing wrong with Brys's little face, if you were a soap and water fan which Joran wasn't. Now the makeup was soft and sophisticated, much more to his liking.

His eyes moved to the dress. Brys had startled them all by being stubborn about it. Even though they'd all tried to talk her out of it because she was young and too unsophisticated, she had insisted on black. Apparently Lindy had told her your first evening type dress should be black because no one remembered black so you could wear and re-wear it. Well, Lindy was wrong for once. No one would forget this dress once they saw it, or the girl in it for that matter. The bodice was tight fitting, opaque, and very low-cut. By the sparkling skin on her shoulders and cleavage, that must have been the ongoing brushwork. The skirt on the other hand was a loose structure of filmy translucent panels that hung about Brys's hips like so many petals that ended in an irregular pattern about her knees. They were rather shapely hips, Joran noted, and her legs were much more attractive than Joran had expected. The shoes were dressy but too low-heeled to be really fashionable. This was a very sensible move by someone since Brys looked wobbly even on them.

Only the eyes were Brys, watching him with wariness that was turning to alarm. Watching those eyes, Joran decided she was scared stiff. You'd think she was the one going on stage. But then when you thought about it, she was, wasn't she? This was all play acting for an audience of one, the only audience that mattered to Brys. She's as much in love as Bojo is, Joran decided.

The smart comment that she'd be the sexiest woman in the audience died on his lips. Instead Joran said reassuringly, "It's all turned out just right, Brys. You'll look just like all the other women out there."

Or at least you'll look the way they'd like to look. He was slowly replacing the T-shirt and baggy pants image of Brys in his mind, and recognizing how gorgeous she could be. But if he said so he'd alarm or offend her, or both.

Brys lets herself relax a little at that. She even managed to find her tongue.

"But you were just staring at me."

That statement made with complete familiarity to Anton caused even more curious stares from the bevy of women. They were not the normal Anton crowd. The only women's dressers were for Kori. These women were from Neselli, the fashion designer, and a cosmetics house. Brys was concentrating on him and didn't seem to notice the stares and exchanged looks. Joran was only too aware of them though. He was not going to fuel gossip as well as risk bad luck.

"Out!" He said firmly.

They went.

*****

Chapter 66

Joran turned back to Brys who was wide eyed and shaky again. He grinned.

"Relax. You look fine. I was just checking out the details. Now, I won't bite you. I just hate wagging tongues. I presume Bojo warned you not to gossip?" Not that Brys was likely to say five words to those women about anything other than clothes and hair.

Still alarmed and not at all sure he wouldn't bite, Brys nodded. "But aren't we supposed to call him Mrail tonight?"

"He's training you is he? Yes you are, but I can break my own rules." There was the grin again. "What's the sense of being the one to make the rules if you can't rewrite them whenever it suits you? Besides, I don't think calling Bojo Mrail comes easily to you, does it?"

"Not really." Then in a rush of honesty, "I can't really think of you as Anton either."

"I'm having a few problems myself on that score tonight so lets both try real hard." That won him a shy smile. "Now, has Bojo been in to see you yet?"

"No, should he have been?" All her alarm returned. "It's getting late."

"Yes it is, and yes he probably should have been."

"Oh no! Is something wrong?"

"Probably only the usual."

Brys frowned. She had no idea what Joran was talking about.

"Brys, hasn't Bojo told you he suffers from acute stage fright? He'll just be sitting on the toilet, that's all."

"Oh..." Brys absorbed this news. Poor Bojo. "But he goes on stage all the time," she said in confusion.

"And it hits his gut every time. But once he's on stage he's all right. He's busy then, doing what he knows he's excellent at."

Joran was about to tell her it was kind of like pre-exam jitters. Intellectually you knew you were good at the subject, but you freaked out anyways just because it was an exam. Then he realized Brys had quite probably never sat an exam in her life.

So instead Joran said, "How about I go tell him you're waiting? But first," he reached into his tote, "here's a little something for you."

Brys received the gift solemnly.

"Thank you very much," she said as coached, and made no move to open it. Bojo had said that might freak Joran.

Joran nodded and turned to go, then stopped. To hell with all this superstitious stuff. He wanted to see how Brys looked wearing the necklace and she wouldn't be at the post-concert party.

"Brys, would you open it now?"

"If you like."

Joran hadn't had hers gift wrapped beyond the jeweler's box because he was giving it to her at the last minute. So Brys only had to open the box.

"Oh!"

A necklace lay coiled around the box, earrings in the center. It was all shiny gold sparked here and there with shiny blue stones.

"Let me put it on you."

Joran picked up the necklace. He'd told the jeweler to make something simple and suitable for a young woman. The man had come up with segments of chain linking stylized flowers with Anton blue centers. Joran had been afraid the flowers would be too feminine to appeal to Brys, but she looked entranced.

Joran stepped behind her slipping the necklace around her neck. Was Dreen doing exactly the same thing right now with Mitra? If so, when Dreen saw his, what would he think when he realized Mitra's choker was an exact duplicate of the one currently around his own throat, just scaled down to her size and delicacy.

Brys had a long necklace not a choker. It ended slightly above her cleavage, making the open neckline much more attractive in his opinion. Bare skin could be over done and this year's fashion was pushing it. Still, although she would never be a buxom blonde Brys was definitely shapely and carried off the low-cut dress well. Bojo hadn't done badly for himself at all.

Brys studied the transformation in the mirror. She had no experience with jewelry, but there had been plenty of chances to covet it on the women she saw in Crescent Bay. Instinct told her this was a special piece, and despite Bojo's firm instructions the gift was to be accepted, she hesitated.

Joran saw the hesitation in her face reflected in the mirror.

"I do want you to have it Brys," he said gently. "I give presents of necklaces to all of the band's ladies."

That was right. Bojo had said that, so it wasn't like Joran was singling her out. She might be inexperienced, but she was street smart enough to realize it would be a very bad situation if Bojo decided Joran was singling her out for attention. Brys relaxed and turned with a charming smile.

"It's very pretty Joran - Anton - damn! I was supposed to get that right, wasn't I?"

Joran laughed. She looked so concerned.

"Relax. There aren't any reporters standing around."

"Seriously Anton it's very nice. How do I thank you properly? I mean Bojo just said to say thanks ..."

Joran rescued her. "Thank me by enjoying your night. And," he smiled, "just for now you could give me a kiss."

Brys dutifully stepped forward to give Joran a peck on the cheek.

Joran however has his own ideas on that move. He intercepted her with a very non-Platonic kiss, deciding he might permanently relax the no-entanglements backstage rule. This was proving more amusing than being backstage had been for years. He broke the kiss off, laughing at the dazed expression on her face.

"Put on your earrings. I'll go tell Bojo to move his ass in here and kiss you properly. Then it's showtime."

Joran didn't wait for an answer. It really was showtime. He stopped at the door though with a sudden thought.

"Brys, you truly look great. Do you really want those women back fussing or do you want a few moments privacy?"

"Could I be alone please?" She rather needed to collect herself after that kiss.

"Sure thing!" Joran opened the door. "Okay everybody. Ms. Toleman wants some quiet. So you're out of a job."

As he headed next door, the same assistant he'd spoken to earlier started to open Brys's door.

"Hey! That means you too!"

"Sorry Anton!"

The young man froze, obviously mortified by messing up twice.

"I was told to see Ms. Toleman to her seat."

"Well, not until Mrail has seen her."

"Yes sir."

Unconsciously the young man looked at the time on his wrist band.

"I know! I know!"

***

"Time to get your ass off -"

Joran's shout died, and he carefully and quietly shut the door behind him. Bojo was seated at the makeup mirror, brush in hand. They had agreed he was way too touchy about appearing without his demon's mask to let anyone else do his face makeup.

His throat suddenly tight Joran asked quietly, "Problems?"

It had been a distinct possibility all along that when it came right down to it Bojo would choke. They had allowed for that. His keyboard was still at the back and the spotlights were arranged in a complicated way to cover the option of keeping him pretty much in the dark. Joran was prepared to do the concert with only Bernie singing backup if he had to. He truly did not want to though. He wanted his friend to take this chance.

"I got nervous and heavy handed." Bojo traced a line from temple to jaw with the brush. "I had to remove it all and start over." One more line and a critical frown. "There... I think it's fine now."

"Let me see."

Joran was treating this seriously. He examined Bojo in the mirror. Then he had him stand and studied his face. Slowly Joran nodded.

"It's good."

In fact, Bojo was looking good tonight all around. His blond hair, about six shades lighter than Brys's, lay on his shoulders gleaming gold against the brilliant Anton blue of his textured knit sweater. The sweater was shot through with metallic streaks of blue and gold that caught the light well. It hung loose over easy fitting satin pants also in Anton blue.

"You finished in there?" Joran jerked his head in the direction of the toilet.

"I'm fine, or as fine as I'll be." Bojo was doing his best to simply not think, to just do it.

Then there was only one thing left. Joran reached into his tote and took the remaining jeweler's case out. It held the circle of pure Anton blue fire usually reserved for himself. He had told the band and Bojo that he wanted to wear some of Maillie's favorite purple as a tribute to her. But there was more to it than that. Joran was having the concert tonight to prove he could still go on stage. He would go on tour for the same reason. He enjoyed being on stage, and he intended to keep that option open. But other things were now equally important to him.

Now that he was back on Gingezel, the Pikkant mattered. His own health and sense of balance mattered. But most of all, he needed time to compose, the kind of time and tranquility he would never get on tour. He suspected that the days of a song suddenly filling his head while he was waiting to clear customs, or awake with insomnia at 4:00 AM in a strange hotel were gone. Now he needed empty beaches and trees, sunshine and moonlight.

All of that meant cutting back, but AntonCorp was large and not designed for cutting back. It couldn't support itself longterm with him only touring occasionally and songwriting largely for others. On the personal side money didn't matter much now that it looked like the Gingezel venture would work. And Bojo would repay the money used for taking over Dellmaice Power Systems. But the currently high sales from notoriety could only last so long. AntonCorp needed an ongoing performer, and he had worked damned hard to build AntonCorp.

So someone had to take up the slack. He was looking at the heir apparent. Still, was that fair to Bojo? He'd already done so much on the management side. They had never talked it out explicitly. Joran hadn't been able to bring himself to. He hesitated, jeweler's box in hand.

Bojo saw the hesitation, and with similar thoughts in mind, misread it. Joran loved playing a crowd. AntonCorp was Joran. Joran was AntonCorp. Any change was a loss of identity for Joran.

Bojo said gently, "You don't have to do this."

"But I want to." Joran met Bojo's eyes with total candor. "I'm simply worried I'm pushing you into this."

Bojo smiled. "I'm not a starry eyed twenty-year-old. And I stopped being pushable some time ago."

That was as close as he dared come to reminding Joran that he had been the one to pull the band out on him the last time they were on stage. Joran would probably take it to mean his 'accident', which was true too. Since nothing but relief showed on Joran's face that guess was right. Bojo took the case and matter-of-factly snapped it open then put the necklace on.

Touching his wristcuff Bojo said, "Am I all right for vocals?"

Timoth's voice was in his ear.

"Just fine. Can anyone tell time down there?"

"No."

Bojo grinned and turned the sound off.

"Speaking of starry eyed twenty-year-olds, go give Brys a fast kiss and tell her she's beautiful," Joran commanded.

Joran didn't have to ask what Timoth had said. He'd be busy time syncing with the various networks now.

Bojo nodded, heading for the door.

"Is she?"

"Stunning."

At the door, Bojo hesitated, afraid to leave Joran alone and feeling guilty for having doubts.

"What about you?"

Joran was already seating himself at the elaborate sound console. His grin was pure mischief.

"I'm going to see if I can get a rise out of Timoth."

He would tell Timoth to change the handling of the bridge on Anywhere just to see what he did.

"Can't be done."

Bojo relaxed and opened the door. That was why Timoth was the ideal Sound Master for AntonCorp. Besides the fact there wasn't a trick he didn't know about massaging sound, he was one of those gently competent types who flatly refused to get excited, whatever Joran did.

*****

Chapter 67

Bojo had wondered if Joran was just being nice, saying Brys looked stunning, but for once Joran had been into understatement. He stood for a moment just watching this stranger, but a moment was all he had. He was timing out.

"Brys."

She turned, her whole face lighting up in a smile.

"Bojo!" Then she bit her lip. "Sorry! But Mrail just won't come out. And Joran said it was all right if we were just alone, and –"

She looked so worried. Between that, and the smile he'd got, the last of his doubts disappeared. This was Brys. She would never turn into a stranger on him. He silenced the worries with a kiss.

When they separated, Brys reached up to push some of his hair back so she could see him better.

"Are you fine?" She asked, confused. "I mean Joran said you got, well, nervous –"

She trailed off. The kiss certainly had been fine, more than fine, and Bojo didn't look at all nervy. His face was excited yes, but confident.

"I'm fine." He shrugged off the concern. "We've only got a moment."

He'd truly meant to have ten minutes or so, but messing his face up had taken time to fix. Still, he wanted to do this before Brys saw him on stage, before she thought of him as Mrail.

"I have something I want you to have."

Bojo reached into the pocket of his loose-fitting pants and extracted a jeweler's box.

"Thank you."

Feeling rather hurried, and hoping it didn't duplicate the earrings or necklace Joran had just given her, Brys opened the box. In it lay a length of solid Anton blue fire, but not a choker, not a bracelet, an anklet. Oh Bojo, why did you do that? Hurriedly she turned her face so he couldn't see it.

"Bojo, you know I can't –"

If she said anything more, she'd cry. He wasn't meaning to embarrass her. Bojo would never do that. He'd been off Ennup 10 too long, that's all.

Bojo stared at her averted face, as stunned as if she'd hit him. He'd truly got it all wrong then. He knew Brys was fond of him, but obviously he'd amplified this into love, because he was in love. 'Well, you idiot, what did you expect?' he asked himself bitterly. She's young, brilliant, beautiful. She has her whole life and the whole galaxy ahead of her. She can do better than you. So be grateful for what she is giving you. And don't blow that too.

He said in a carefully controlled voice, "I'm sorry Brys. I didn't mean to distress you. Please forget this and enjoy your night."

Mechanically, he turned to go.

That cold formality brought Brys around with a snap. All of the life had gone out of Bojo's face. It was as much a mask as if it had been painted like it used to be for a concert. Surely it didn't matter that much if their union was formal?

Then it hit her. He didn't think she was rejecting the anklet, he thought she was rejecting him. He thought she didn't want his love. She couldn't figure that out, but she was getting used to constantly reassuring him.

He was at the door.

Desperation helped Brys find her voice.

"Bojo, please. You know I love you. Why can't things just stay the way they are? Why do they ever have to change?"

Bojo stopped at the door then turned slowly.

"I think you'd better explain yourself, Brys."

He did not want to be wrong again. She was using words like love and staying, but then why had she said no to him?

"But you have to go, besides, we can't talk here!" She waved at the functional, brightly lit space.

Screw the concert. They were sorting this out, and now. Bojo touched a contact and the lights dimmed to the restful level used for naps.

"There's time," he lied.

He did not try to lead her to the daybed. She could take that wrong. Instead, he came to stand facing her.

"Please Brys, one minute you say you don't want me. Then you use the word love. What's going on in that head?"

It didn't work the way his did. He was coming to accept that.

"Of course I love you," Brys said, reaching out to touch his face. "But you've been away from Ennup 10 too long, Bojo. I'm ..." she couldn't bring herself to use that ugly word. "I'm low class. I can't legally wear your anklet. We – we can't ever be married." She turned away. "I – I just guess I didn't think it would matter to you. That maybe things could stay like they were. But that was stupid, wasn't it?"

There was a catch in her voice and her head drooped as her eyes filled with tears.

"You're an important man and –"

"And," he turned her back to face him, "you're the most important woman in the galaxy to me."

He was kissing her now, between words. It was all right. It was all right. Brys just had things all wrong again. Brys always got things wrong.

"If that's the way you want it, that's how it will be. All right?"

Brys nodded.

It wasn't all right though, was it? He could feel the tautness of her body. Damn that no doubt well-meaning mother of hers! She had obviously done her best to prepare Brys for a difficult and dangerous life. But she'd been a source of one hell of a lot of misinformation and mixed up her daughter pretty good.

"But Brys."

His mental clock was shouting at him. He ignored it, keeping his voice calm and slow, his eyes on her face.

"It doesn't have to be like that. You've only got things half right."

She shook her head. He didn't remember.

"I mean it Brys. You're right that you have no claim on me back on Ennup 10. In a relationship like we have, I could walk out on you at any time, even if we had children, and you couldn't do a thing. Not even sue me for support. But the same class structure that lets me do that, also lets me choose. There isn't a single law, or rule, that says I can't choose someone in your class as my wife. If I do, it's just as legal as if she was in my class. Do you understand?"

Brys was thinking this out, and rapidly enough since her brain wasn't slow. But there were enough ramifications she hadn't got there when the door opened.

"Okay. Break it up."

Joran's voice was good-natured as he flooded the room with light.

"Shut the damned door!" Bojo didn't even look around.

Joran did, but he stayed in the room, leaning on the door, arms crossed and doing a fast mood shift to not at all pleased. What the hell was Bojo doing now? Joran was quite sure by that tone of voice that he was doing a concert solo, and quite possibly without Bojo's keyboard too. Literally minutes ago everything had been fine.

"So Brys, you don't have to if it isn't what you want." Bojo's eyes were searching her face. "But I'll ask you again, do you want this?"

But Brys was looking past him to Joran who was moving into the thunderstorm stage.

"Bojo –"

Bojo turned around then.

"You! You were supposed to shut the damned door from the other side!"

But Bojo was starting to relax. Legalities didn't really matter as long as Brys loved him, did they?

"Like hell I was!"

"Well, if you're here, quit glowering and come be a witness and make this legal."

Bojo turned back to Brys.

"Brys?"

She had to decide on trust and think later. Bojo wouldn't lie to her anyways. She met his eyes.

"Will you accept this, Brys?"

She nodded, smiling nervously.

"Words Brys."

"Yes, Bojo."

He was grinning then. He took the anklet in the palm of his hand and held it out.

Brys might be the wrong class, but she'd watched lots of holodramas and knew what to do. She closed his fingers around the anklet, and raised his hand to her lips.

Joran watched, his stomach unknotting. He didn't have the slightest idea what had, or was happening, but they were obviously moving to the kiss and make up stage. Brys had probably just screwed up again. For a bright girl, she sure messed up a lot on social issues. He watched as Bojo knelt and swiftly clasped anklet around her shapely ankle.

"Okay. Let's go."

Bojo was on his feet, moving to the door.

"Hang tough."

Joran wasn't moving. He was curious now. That had all had a very ritualistic feel to it.

"If I'm a witness, what was I just a witness to?"

Bojo thought.

"An engagement."

That wasn't accurate, but he didn't have time to explain Ennup 10 customs and mores. It was actually almost an espousal, but it wouldn't be a totally binding union until they both had their ankle tattoos, and the union was registered. Not of course, that the tattoos were binding either. One of his mother's friends had six tattoos like a series of interlocking bracelets. The forever part of the union came from the people, not the ritual, and he knew he and Brys would make that work.

"Really? I'm so happy for you."

Screw the concert. Joran gave Bojo an enthusiastic hug.

"And you're just going to leave? Brys, this guy needs training." Joran shook his head in mock disgust. "Congratulations, Brys."

He crossed to where she stood and gave her a quick kiss, then turned to Bojo.

"Your turn, I'll cover."

He was heading for the door, as big a grin on his face as Bojo's.

But Bojo's kiss was as swift as Joran's, with a murmured "later" in Brys's ear. He was caught up to Joran two strides outside the door.

Joran saw him in the corner of his eye and yelled, "Clear the way!"

They turned the distance to the stage into a wind sprint, to the mixed relief and alarm of the staff who had been worried that there was no show, and now had visions of out of breath singers.

As they skidded to a stop, Joran touched his wrist.

"Yo, Timoth!"

"Where the hell have you been?" Timoth asked the question he knew the band wouldn't dare ask.

"Bojo's engaged!"Joran watched his grin spread through the band.

"Great!"

That was all there was time for.

Timoth began his countdown. "Five, four, three, two, one – move ass."

*****

Chapter 68

They had agreed that the first number should be a duet, to get things over with right away for Bojo. So they simply walked on stage in the dim light, largely unnoticed by the audience who were having a good gossip session. The band started to play as the lights slowly came on, and Joran started one of his old dreamy standards to polite applause, nothing more. As Bojo came in as a second voice, a murmur went through crowd while they tried to figure out who the second singer was. It obviously wasn't Des. Joran could imagine them thinking 'is Anton playing electronic games, adding a rich baritone to his tenor'? Bojo wasn't spotted yet, just his usual figure in the shadows. Then came the first haunting chorus.

Joran simply said, "Mrail."

The spots came on Bojo and he did the chorus solo. Then they finished as a duet. The applause was deafening, and with a grin Joran brought Bojo up front for a bow.

***

C.C. let out a low whistle. "Talk about years of wasted talent."

Darwin, sitting on his lap agreed with a squeak.

Lilla nodded, eyes wide. "I already had every album they've made." That had always been her big extravagance. "I never knew Mrail could sing. I mean, I know Anton doesn't always identify background singers, but I never guessed."

Dreen was staring at the image. Bojo? He wasn't sure which surprised him more, the quality of voice or the fact he was spotlit and obviously enjoying it. Then they panned to the crowd and there were the wives standing and shouting like everyone else, and hugging each other. He looked for Brys but couldn't see her. He wasn't even sure if she was there or was working with Vennbir tonight. He'd have to ask Joran when the inevitable post-concert chaos died down. He hoped she was there.

"I recorded this next one solo,"Joran said, "but we're doing another duet tonight. Mitra, this one is for you on that planet in the middle of nowhere."

As the applause subsided Joran started M's song.

C.C. couldn't believe it. He'd assumed M's song was for Maillie. M. Mitra? But then maybe he shouldn't be surprised. His and Dreen's paths had never crossed, but the way Maillie talked Dreen and Joran pretty much came together as a package. So Joran and Mitra must have been together on Gingezel. All the same, C.C. wondered if this was news, to Dreen at least. He wouldn't personally think much of his best friend writing love songs like that about his girlfriend. C.C. stole a quick look down the row. Dreen didn't even look surprised. It was hard to tell with Mitra. She was kind of wide-eyed. Then he forgot about them, and concentrated on the song like everyone else.

***

Then it happened. It snuck up on C.C. like it had that second last time he'd been at Joran and Maillie's place. It had been a beautiful night and six or eight of them were sitting out on the terrace enjoying the stars and some excellent wine.

Maillie turned to Joran and complained, "Joran, you only sing concerts now, not to me anymore. Why don't you now?"

Joran obviously did not want to. He was really sprawled in his chair and he'd looked exhausted to C.C. all weekend.

But Maillie persisted. "Come on Joran. It's a wonderful night. I'd like it."

Joran reluctantly heaved himself up and went inside. He came back carrying a beat up old acoustic guitar.

C.C. and the other guests all started to make polite 'we should call it a night then' noises.

But Maillie said, "No don't go. Joran's a ham." She smiled fondly. "He likes an audience, the bigger the better. That's why he doesn't sing to me. Stay."

So they stayed. Joran sang an old song of his and C.C. was fascinated. He had always assumed the Anton vocals needed a lot of electronic help, but he'd never heard anything sound as good as Joran that night.

Then Joran hesitated like he was thinking. After a bit he started a song C.C. hadn't heard before. You could tell Maillie hadn't either because she sat up straighter and her eyes were on Joran's. It was a pretty love song, and Joran obviously was singing it for her. That changed. All of a sudden he was not just singing it for her, he was coming on to her so strongly that the couple should have been alone. C.C. couldn't explain what had changed. All he knew was that all of a sudden he didn't belong there. Everyone else must have picked up on it too, because in a kind of mutual accord they all slipped off the terrace up to their rooms. He'd swear neither Maillie nor Joran knew anyone had gone.

***

Now it had happened again. As C.C. watched, all of a sudden Joran wasn't just singing. It was like Mitra was there alone with him and he was turning on full force that whatever he had so much of. You could see Bojo pick up the change too, because all of a sudden he wasn't taking his eyes off Joran and he dropped out of the duet. Joran never noticed. Then it was over. Joran just slumped and simply turned and walked offstage.

The crowd was on it's feet going nuts. For half a minute C.C. expected Joran back for bows to the standing ovation, but it became obvious it wasn't going to happen. Bojo and the rest of the band had a quick eye contact conference. The band started a steel band instrumental to let the crowd shout itself out, and Bojo disappeared too, presumably in search of Joran.

The drama onstage over, C.C. let himself wonder about the drama here. There was no way Dreen could have missed, or liked that round. He looked down the row, expecting to see one very angry man. But all Dreen was doing was looking terribly sad. He'd slipped an arm around Mitra, C.C. noticed. Mitra was staring at the screen looking kind of stunned, mouth half open.

She turned to Dreen, a hand at the necklace around her throat.

"Dreen. I swear. I never did a thing –"

He smiled at her, a funny sad smile.

"I know. That's why it hurts him so much." Dreen really didn't give a damn who was watching. He bent over and kissed Mitra.

It was kind of like when he had kissed her on the beach when she had asked why Joran wrote her such a sad song. She hadn't understood then, because she'd never dreamed Joran felt this way. Then she forgot about Joran, and lost herself in the kiss.

And so much for you C.C., he told himself. You're way, way down the queue. Poor Joran. Poor C.C.

Mitra and Dreen separated.

"Dreen, I'm sorry, but I really don't think I can stand being here when the lights come on and everyone points and whispers and stares."

He nodded, starting to rise, but Mitra pushed him down.

"No. He's your best friend. Stay and watch. I'll see you later. Let me know if he comes back."

She'd heard all about the band walking out on Joran. If he was the one to walk out now it would be a disaster.

"I'll be fine." She stood up and headed down the row.

"C.C. get me out of here."

C.C. hesitated. Joran happened to be his friend too, and he wanted to see how it turned out. Also, he was getting a little tired of the way Mitra was using him.

"C.C. please." There was an urgency to her voice.

Darwin put his vote in with Mitra. As a Pikkant, he believed in participatory theater. But no matter what they were watching, every time he started to dance on C.C.'s lap, C.C. told him to lay off, and then when he settled for just singing along C.C. would shush him and tell him he was disturbing everyone. With all the terraformers here, back in their quarters he would have his choice of holovision units and he could watch Joran from wherever he wanted, join in, and really enjoy the show.

C.C. reluctantly rose, stashing Darwin in his carrier.

***

Roween Kael switched off the holovision in disgust. Really, Anton was washed up as an artist. He obviously couldn't perform on stage anymore, and his new releases, no matter what his publicity machine might say about fresh new directions, were just recycled Johnny Sun. If she wanted to listen to Johnny Sun, which she most certainly did not, she'd listen to Johnny Sun. It was a pity too. For a decade or so Anton had been a truly creative artist.

It was interesting though that Mrail was trying singing. He seemed to have a lovely voice too. She liked a fairly low register in a man's voice. Perhaps she'd just record the rest of the concert and possibly listen to it sometime for parts Mrail was in. Not now though. It was well after 1:00 AM and she had an early class. She'd just leave a quick message warning Niki not to waste his time listening. He was so overworked right now.

Still, the thought of Niki brought a smile to her face. He was showing signs of finally settling down, not that a few days with a girl meant a thing with Niki. She'd stopped counting girls years ago. But Sanja was a lovely woman, so competent, and it was the first time Niki had moved in with a woman, not the other way around. That had to mean something.

Roween left her brief message, took a quick look to be sure the house was in order, and headed for bed. Chelan would probably wake up and do an 'I told you so' thing on staying up for the Anton concert.

It never once entered her head that Mitra might be her daughter.

***

"Wow! That was really something."

Loana, nestled into the curve of Chett's arm, slid down enough on the couch for her head to be on his shoulder.

"That's an understatement, Loana."

But Chett's eyes sought out Lindy's, not Loana's.

"Yes," Lindy sighed. Then she said inadequately, "Oh dear."

"I'm sure he'll come back," Loana said reassuringly.

Lindy and Chett looked at each other again, but kept their mouths shut, each wondering how long it would take Loana to process the fact that Mitra was Dreen's Mitra. Loana was so sweet, she simply might not get there.

"You're probably right." Chett kissed the dark head of curls.

***

Bojo took the bow, then in what he sincerely hoped was a nonchalant manner told the band to 'take it away' and followed Joran off stage. Joran hadn't gone far. He'd just made sure he was well out of the audience's line of sight from any angle and was slumped against a wall, looking totally exhausted. A number of aides hovered nearby, looking helpless. Joran had obviously told them to fuck off and leave him alone.

"What the hell did you go do that for?"

They both knew Bojo didn't mean walking offstage. All Bojo got, or expected, as an answer was a shrug.

"Are you coming back?"

"Yeah. Just let me get my breath. Can you take the next song? It will work for your range."

It was a song C.C. and some other house guests had heard, but it was new material to the audience, so it would keep everyone happy. It hadn't fit in an album yet and wasn't strong enough to make it as a single. But they had decided it fit the mood of the concert.

"All right."

It was Bojo's turn to shrug. It was looking like one of those nights. He might have hoped for slightly different circumstances and a little more warning on his first solo though. Still, Joran was right. It was a good song for his voice and he'd been alternating with Joran doing it at practices. Bojo took another look at Joran. The guy was wiped. He hated himself when Joran had just put in the best performance of his career, but he had to do it. He owed it to the band.

"It has to be clean, or don't bother coming back."

"I know." Joran gave a half smile. "So go out there and see how you stand up to going it alone front and center. Maybe I'll get some sympathy then.

"I mean it, move!" The band was running out of improvisations and the audience wasn't quieting down.

The half smile helped. Bojo gave Joran one more searching look and headed back on stage. It felt really odd to be walking toward Joran's keyboard upfront, not his own off to the rear. When he was pretty sure all the band could see him, Bojo gave a smile and a thumbs-up and could almost feel them relax. He hoped like hell he wasn't lying. Now, it was time to totally concentrate. The last thing they needed was him to start to drift.

On the last verse Bojo heard his keyboard joining in. He didn't take a look, he'd lose focus. But he let himself relax. He wasn't going to have to decide on his feet what to do next after all. He stood up, took the bow almost automatically, and turned to do the handoff back to Joran. Joran was coming forward with a big grin on his face and he made their 'mute it' signal for the microphones they wore.

"Have you seen Brys's face?"

Joran had. So had the band. They'd been doing a little silent negotiating over the last chorus. They all knew there was a taxi and flight waiting for Brys before the last two songs of the night and that Bojo wouldn't see her afterward.

Bojo found he was smiling back as he shook his head.

"One of us drifting is enough for the night.

"Then take a look."

Joran had his arm in Bojo's, turning them back around apparently for another bow.

"Want a break?"

Joran's mood seemed to be contagious. Bojo heard himself saying 'sure' as they came back to the front of the stage, his eyes on Brys.

Joran turned his microphone back on.

"So, what do you think, am I in trouble?"

He was encouraging the audience back on their feet, applauding Bojo, forcing him into another bow. Joran turned back to the rest of the band, and gave the thumbs up, then held up his hand. Five minutes? That got him a unanimous head shake. No. Both hands. Ten? That sold. What he could fill in with for a ten minute change of schedule that only used one keyboard was an interesting question, but what the hell.

He was back at Bojo's side, mute on.

"You've got ten. Get moving."

*****

Chapter 69

"So have you noticed how we've added steel pans? Now we're going to show you what all they can do," Joran said as Bojo melted off to the side.

'Are we?' was the amused collective thought of the band. This should be good. They were starting to feel happy about the night.

Bojo paused just before he went off stage and caught Brys's eyes. He was rewarded with a dazzling smile that confirmed it was a really good thing he'd kept his mind on his music. He inclined his head slightly to the side and kept walking.

When after about five seconds Brys hadn't moved, Lisa, Perry the drummer's wife, leaned towards her.

"He wants you in his dressing room, honey. He's probably only got one song off."

"He does?"

Brys looked toward the stage door in alarm. She had no idea how to find the dressing room again and there was a guard at the door.

"Where – how?"

"Come on honey." Lisa rose.

***

Joran was playing his pan and idly scanning the crowd, trying to get inspired. It hadn't taken long, well less than five minutes, to pretty well put the pans through their paces and he didn't want to turn this into a steel pan concert. The audience was getting restless. Of the remaining numbers they'd rehearsed for the concert, Twilight was the one where a single keyboard would show the least, so, he supposed that was it. He'd hoped to close with it though.

His eyes were sliding along a row, when he stopped and looked back. Johnny had made it after all then. He'd told Joran to hold a seat but not to expect miracles. His current tour schedule was tight.

Johnny Sun was one of Joran's closest friends and his main competition. While he didn't have Joran's streaks of brilliance, he had a rich warm voice and a consistency Joran lacked. For the past fifteen years or so they had jockeyed for position in the top three male vocalists against whoever the current newcomer was. For the past four years with Joran doing his best to mess up, the number one slot had belonged to Johnny. It had reached the stage where he faced massive media criticism if a new release didn't open right at the top.

Johnny was older than Joran, in his early forties. He was heavier and shorter and lighter skinned, but they shared the black curly hair and brown eyes. While Joran was undeniably handsome, Johnny Sun was almost plain until he smiled. Then the warmth of his smile made you forget everything else. He was smiling now.

Joran caught his eye and smiled back, a 'glad you could make it' smile.

Johnny made an exaggerated wipe of his brow with his hand, in the 'aren't you cutting it a bit fine up there?' gesture.

Joran grinned and shrugged.

Johnny jerked his head in the direction Bojo had gone and held up five fingers.

Joran shook his head. His hands were busy playing the pans.

Ten?

Joran nodded.

Johnny was thinking fast. Ten minutes was one hell of a long time to ad lib, and he didn't know how much material Joran had left to fill with that didn't need Bojo on the keyboards or singing. The new album was strong and presumably the basis of the show, but it wasn't enough material for the whole show, and Johnny didn't know what else they were using. To regain status Anton couldn't afford to rely too much on old work. They needed to come out of this looking fresh, competent, and strong. After all, if this concert didn't work, Anton was pretty well washed up as an onstage act and he'd hate to see that, especially after the way Joran and Bojo had been singing tonight. Johnny was pretty jaded by now, but that rendition of M's song had given him goosebumps.

He made a decision and mimed, "Want me up there?"

Joran's grin broadened and he nodded assent.

In return Johnny mimed playing the pans.

Joran was so startled he froze, getting some 'oh-oh, what now?' looks from the band. He thought he knew all there was to know about Johnny, but he'd never heard he played pans.

Johnny was still grinning as he stood up.

"I think we have someone in the audience who thinks he can teach us how to play these things," Joran said for the band's benefit, but he had his microphone on and he signed a lighting technician to pick up Johnny Sun with a spot.

There was a general craning of necks and then a rising murmur in the hall. This concert was getting really interesting.

The band was grinning ear to ear now. Joran turned to them, microphone still on.

"Give us a little more instrumental on the pans while Johnny Sun and I figure out what we both know."

He walked forward, setting his microphone so only Timoth could pick it up, and could relay to the band's ear inserts if necessary. He met Johnny on the steps to the stage in one of the quiet zones where they wouldn't be heard.

"Is this the new Anton style, kind a loose?"

Johnny was still amused. He didn't wait for an answer. There wasn't time to kill.

"Bojo got a girl?" He'd seen the backside of a blonde going through the stage door. If so, that really was news.

"Fiancée." Joran watched the delighted surprise on Johnny's face. "A limo is picking her up before the last song and she's catching a flight so ..." Joran shrugged.

Johnny liked Bojo, they all did.

"So," Johnny finished, "let's give him a half-hour for goodbyes. What can you do in ten minutes? That is, if you can handle it?"

There was no smile as he asked that. They were probably all half exhausted from nerves before they even walked on stage and Joran's walk off couldn't have helped.

But Joran nodded. This was starting to sound like fun.

"Okay. How about South Island on the pans?" Johnny asked. "I assume we can both play that in our sleep."

Joran nodded. It was a lot more complex than he'd tried to teach the band. Johnny was obviously an expert. Live and learn.

"And?"

Johnny Sun was thinking hard and fast. In the meantime he asked, "Is this Mitra here?"

He looked toward the wives, but there were no strange faces.

Joran shook his head. "She's Dreen's woman."

"Again?" He gave Joran a searching look. "You can really pick them."

They had settled their differences over Maillie years ago, but Dreen had a different temperament. Well, this was neither the time nor the place.

"What about I do April Rain of yours. You look wiped. I assume by the way that means you're clean?"

Joran said 'yes' for the benefit of Timoth and the band.

Johnny continued, "It's old, but I did that cover of it four years ago and it lets the band and me all get used to each other." It was the right mood. "Then how about you ease back in with the easier line in that duet Welan and I recorded about two years ago – if the band can handle it."

Joran mocked offense. "They can make anything sound good."

"Have to, backing you. Then it's your turn." Johnny gave Joran a questioning look.

Then as Joran was thinking, "When did Bojo learn to sing like that?"

"Threatened by a little competition?"

Johnny laughed. "No."

"Good." Joran gave him a taunting grin. "Then you won't mind if I do your new single?"

Joran never covered anyone else's material, but he liked it. It had been five weeks at number one and had just been edged out by M's song.

"Be my guest. What's the count?"

"Four," came from Timoth and Joran relayed that to Johnny.

"Okay. How about we bring up Sinda?"

Before Joran could stop him Johnny caught the eye of a redhead and mimed the question with a 'later'. He got a smile and a nod.

Terrific, Joran thought sourly. Sinda was intermittently Johnny's wife and he and Sinda did not hit it off on or off stage. He didn't know why. Every so often someone got the bright idea that they should work together, and they tried, but their chemistry was lousy.

"We can do Winter Winds." It was a standard duet Johnny and Sinda sang. "What about you?"

"What mood is she in?"

Johnny favored Joran with a suggestive sideways look.

"After the way you sang M's song, I guess just about any mood you want– on or off stage." He and Sinda were currently divorced.

"No thanks! She's all yours."

"That's a thought."

"Hey, I thought you were still regretting last time."

"We both have a selective memory problem." Johnny shrugged. "No duet?"

"No." Joran was firm. "Let her show off on her own."

"Bad idea. You have to keep up a presence. Three of us then. Keep up your classic repertoire?"

"Like?"

Johnny named a passage from a really old opera. It was essentially two men wooing the same woman. "It's a bit long, but it could sound really cool with your sound."

*****

Chapter 70

Opera was weird, but it was an idea. Joran had liked that particular one during his music degree.

"I do have to check the opera with the band. Timoth, ask the band if they could play it."

That got a fast exchange of glances, a radiant smile from Kori with her classical background, and a 'what the hell why not' set of nods from everyone but Des who obviously didn't have a clue.

Joran murmured, "Tell Des to just use the same basic chord sequence as Turquoise Hills and take the rhythm from Perry."

At least that way Des would look busy. It should be really interesting to see what the band did.

He turned back to Johnny. "Can Sinda handle it?"

"We've been fooling around with it for a few weeks. Do you care which voice you are?"

"Second. So let's do it!" Joran reached to turn his sound on.

"Hold on." Johnny wasn't smiling now. "This is your territory, but someone had better let Bojo and the networks know there is a half hour program change. You still look like shit, no offense. Want me to do the motormouth stuff?"

Joran nodded his thanks. Johnny was okay.

"Then give me your mike like a polite host. Going offstage to get rewired gives me an excuse to do the talking."

Joran took his heavy purple, blue, and gold necklace off and gave it to Johnny. Then he gave him the control bracelet, signed to the band to keep playing, and headed offstage for spares.

Johnny stepped towards center of the stage, making a show of turning on the sound. He was dressed in formal evening wear which this season meant a tight fitting stylized black suit with a white shirt that had elaborate black and white patterning on the front. It looked incongruous with the casual clothes and rich colors of the band.

"While Anton goes and gets rewired, let me assure you even the two of us can't argue this long over one song. So, I'll tell you what's up."

He gave the audience his first grade smile. As far as he could guess, and his success was in no small part to due to being able to judge any audience's mood to a micron, they were in the suspended judgment mode. The first few songs had been unbelievably good, but now they were starting to worry that Anton had fallen on his ass again. But a lot were friends and entertainers themselves, so they hoped not. Give them something to respond to positively and they would.

"And all of the band," he stressed the word 'all' hoping that Bojo wasn't so distracted he had turned off or was ignoring the sound in his room, "and the networks," he dismissed the latter with an offhand wave of that sent a ripple of laughter through the crowd, "that we are making a half-hour extension to the concert."

He had to give the band credit. They were real pros. Nobody changed expression, and they hadn't known what was coming. They had just part heard part about the opera by way of Timoth.

"So that you guys," he waved at the media enclosure, "can call the networks and work it out, I'll tell you what's happening."

He gave the band an 'are you curious too?' look, and got pretended indifference back. They were used to him being smart-assed when he hung around at practices and gave as good as they got.

"First, I'm going to teach Anton how to play these things." Johnny had been working his way back to the pans.

"I wouldn't bet on that!" Joran was back on stage wearing a simple gold necklace and wrist cuff. The spares were all plain since you never knew who would need them.

He was starting to look better Johnny noticed with relief. He took the pair of drumsticks offered by Uth whose pans were immediately beside Joran's.

"Oh oh." It wasn't going to work. His dress jacket was too tight.

"I see why you changed costumes."

He gave an exaggerated flex that threatened to tear some seams.

"Excuses!" Joran taunted.

"Excuses hell!" Johnny started taking off the jacket.

"Once I've taught Anton how to play, I'll teach him how April Rain should have been sung."

"You think."

Johnny flexed again. The shirt was as bad as the jacket.

"No go."

"So roll up your sleeves."

"It isn't the damned sleeves!"

Joran shrugged. So that was that. But Johnny was loosening his tie.

"I never thought I'd be stripping at an Anton concert, but there's a first time for everything."

The tie went flying. That got him a drum roll from Perry and a few catcalls from the audience. He posed in a classic male stripper posture, then started on the buttons. The band shifted to suitable music.

"Once I've shown you -"

"Shown me nothing!" Joran cut in. "You're going to learn how to sing that new single of yours. If you had done it right maybe it wouldn't have been so easy to nudge it out of Number 1."

They both enjoyed going at each other like this.

"Uh huh."

Johnny was pretty well prepared to get out of his shirt. The audience, starting to get into the right kind of mood, was playing along with shouts and clapping. He started very deliberately to ease his shoulders out of the shirt. Although Johnny was about five centimeters shorter than Joran and a couple kilos heavier, he had the bones and muscle to carry the weight, so he had no worries about how he would look.

"We'll let the audience decide who is teaching who when we sing our duet."

Johnny made the duet sounded more like a duel as he finished easing out of the shirt to some incredible music from the band, and dropped it on the jacket. He picked both up, bunched them into a ball and tossed them offstage into the wings to a crescendo. No one needed something to trip over. The audience was applauding but he wasn't sure if it was for the idea of the duet, or the striptease.

Joran picked up his drumsticks.

"No way buddy. Your turn!"

That brought another round of shouted comments and Joran grinned and started easing up his loose fitting sweater. But all of a sudden Johnny wasn't grinning back; he was making the mute sign. Joran kept his smile steady, killed the sound pickup, and slowed the sweater's progress.

"Problem?"

"Let me think."

Johnny lapsed into the argot variation of a Laurion dialect they used sometimes. No one was likely to know it, much less manage to lipread it.

"Keep them busy. Do something sexy and they'll think we're mute because I said something obscene."

Johnny's face was already clearing, so Joran put his worries aside and stepped out from behind the steel pan.

"This do?"

His hands went not to his sweater but to his fly and his smile teased Johnny.

"Dare you!" Johnny was grinning again.

"I wouldn't!" Joran shot back. "What's the problem?"

He was easing the zipper down very slowly. The band was outdoing itself as backup.

"Nothing compared to the one you just walked into. It just hit me that you've got about even odds of getting the end of the concert cut by the networks."

"Slow boy." Joran had figured that out when Johnny added a half hour. "I'll chance it."

"I'm not as slow as you are at moving."

Johnny was still daring him. They hadn't had this much fun in years.

Joran looked him straight in the eyes and started easing the loose fitting pants off his hips. Sooner or later someone in the band would bail him out. Probably later. They were enjoying this.

"So?"

"So let's improve the odds and give the networks apoplexy."

"We aren't now?"

Joran had about two centimeters of low-cut brief showing and there wasn't much left to do but just drop the pants. And this was considered to be a prime time family 'keep it more or less clean' slot.

The band finally decided things had gone far enough.

"Hey dummy!" Perry shouted. "He meant the sweater not the pants."

Joran mocked surprise, looked down, and let go to raise his hands in an elaborate apologetic shrug. The loose cut pants did exactly what he expected, headed for the floor. He let them fall far enough to give the networks a good shot of skimpy satin briefs, made a grab, deliberately missed, and caught them mid-calf giving the networks an even better view of his ass as he bent to pick them up. It was the simplest vaudeville but it worked. The audience was killing itself laughing.

"Now they're having apoplexy!"

Johnny was laughing hard enough he could hardly talk. He should have known better than the to dare Joran.

"So what's the idea?" Joran was still bent double, rear to the crowd, pretending to tug like something was stuck.

"How strong was the rest of the show?"

"Consistent. I just fucked up."

He was standing now, buttoning his waistband.

"I'll say," Johnny wiped his eyes. "So tell me what you're closing with. I need time to think, so work up."

Joran obligingly started on the sweater to another drumroll and a fresh round of stripper music.

"I don't want to mess you up, but if it will work I'll close with you. So give me the title and pray."

"Twilight."

Joran pulled up his sweater over his eyes and prayed. He didn't want to watch Johnny think. Twilight could be done together, but never as a two-separate-voices type of duet like the one Johnny had recorded with Welan and they were going to do. It had to be full harmony end to end, note perfect. They could sing harmony. They did when they were just fooling around at each other's house. But they'd never tried it on stage. The sweater cleared his line of sight and Johnny's smile gave him his answer.

"Bojo too," Johnny said firmly.

Joran didn't hesitate. Twilight would sound fantastic with the three of them and it was Bojo's song after all. The sweater went flying into the great unknown offstage.

"You're on!"

Their eyes met again and they said in the same breath, "Record it!"

"Your label," Johnny added.

Let a few people at his label have apoplexy too. There were a few new faces, and the newcomers had all been working really hard at not being easy to get along with for the last six or eight months. If it worked, maybe he'd talk to Joran about switching to AntonCorp. After all, after tonight AntonCorp was no longer a single artist label. Joran would be a fool to let Bojo record anywhere else.

Then they were shaking hands to seal the bargain which somehow turned into an embrace. They released each other and took a few steps upstage. Johnny activated the sound in his necklace and switched back to StanGalLan.

"Coward!"

He took a pointed look at Joran's trousers.

"You first this time." Joran was game. Tonight was turning into the kind of mayhem he liked best and he was getting his second wind.

Johnny temporized. "Let's let the lady decide if she intends to sing with a couple guys in their briefs. Sinda?"

The spotlights focused on her, turning her red hair on fire. She rose in a fluid motion.

"You haven't got the legs Anton has."

She pitched the comment to carry easily without a microphone.

Joran led to the crowd in an 'Oh ho!' Then just for the hell of it he added, "What about me, Babe?"

Then he winced. That was a slip up. For whatever reason you didn't call Sinda babe. She considered it demeaning and went straight for your throat. But all that got him was an assessing stare.

"I wouldn't mind a closer look, Lover Man." The Lover Man was a throaty purr.

"It's both or nothing," Johnny cut in.

"Then it's one of life's disappointments." Sinda gave an eloquent shrug.

"There's always later."

Joran had never managed to play off Sinda and he was enjoying it.

"That's a thought." Sinda pitched her voice sultry and added, "Lover Man."

She was surprised too. Joran was in some sort of mood she'd never seen before.

"Hey," Johnny interposed. "Have you forgotten it's me your singing Winter Winds with?"

So that's what they were singing. Sinda smiled her pleasure. It always made both of them sound great.

"And that takes all night?"

That got another 'Oh ho' from the crowd and Joran was starting to wonder. It was an old game Johnny and Sinda played. They would flirt with anyone else handy just to set each other off. But this didn't quite feel like that. Was Sinda really coming on to him?

"Well, we'll give you the chance to choose, babe." Since he'd gotten away with babe once, why not try it again. "Isn't that what the woman is doing in Lilac Spring, choosing her lover?"

"And you're all in for a treat there," Johnny said to the now totally lost looking audience. "It's something we've been working on for the last few weeks", or at least two of us have been. "And with Anton styling it is going to be something else!"

Preferably good. He sent that mental message to the band. Please make it good! Oh I hope you weren't shitting when you said you could play it.

"So -" Johnny talked straight to the camera, "all you parents who can't get your kids to even listen to opera, you get the chance to do the 'I told you so' bit."

Sinda was startled, but she liked it. In fact, the more she thought, the more she liked the idea. With those two in the mood to they seemed to be in... She blew them each a kiss.

"Until then, Lover Men"

Sinda sat down, glad she had gone to all the last-minute hassle of a new gown with the short notice for this concert.

Johnny was continuing. "Then it's back to what we all came for. The best Anton any of us has heard to date."

There wasn't the applause he would have liked for that. Now, was that because they still figured Joran had fucked up, or were they still scratching their heads about the opera? Time to find out.

"I don't know what you thought of Mrail."

That brought a round of enthusiastic applause. Johnny let it die.

"I'm with you. You're looking at two guys who are going to be watching over their shoulders from now on."

That got even more enthusiastic agreement. So far so good.

"As for M's song," he turned to Joran, "I've never seen you so hot!"

Johnny blew on his fingers like he'd touched something sizzling. By the applause and a couple people standing to clap the audience was buying that too. So it was the walk-off that threw them. He had suspected that from the various 'there goes Anton again' type of comments he'd heard sitting in the audience. There had been a few others about drugs he hadn't liked much either, and now was as good a time as any to put a fast stop to that rumor mill.

Johnny turned to Joran and said with complete honesty, "I couldn't sing like that if I tried. And if I had, I wouldn't be back here on stage. I'd still be flat somewhere while the band was scrambling to cover for me."

That brought murmurs from the crowd but he couldn't gauge if this was agreement or disagreement. It was a celebrity crowd, but not many were singers. Pretty much everybody was on tour at the moment. Well, if they doubted him, they could try that kind of intensity themselves!

"I don't know how you did it, and clean too?" Johnny made it a question and mimed popping a pill.

Joran wasn't sure whether he was relieved, or getting really angry with this new 'let's air all the dirty laundry in public' tack Johnny was taking.

"Music is all the high I need!" Joran said firmly, head back, challenging anyone to question him.

That got him a great response from the band. To his surprise the audience was back on its feet like it had been after M's song. So Johnny had called it right.

"I'll bet the stage is still a little spinny though?"

"Only when I bend over."

The allusion to the dropped pants was very simple humor like his dropping his pants had been, but everyone was back in the mood of wanting to have a good time. They roared with laughter.

Johnny put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Loud. With the amplification high since the music was being played soft, that would have damaged a few eardrums if Timoth hadn't been wide awake. As it was, there was dead silence.

"Hey they can shut up. Good thing, huh?" Your cue.

"Yeah, but next time just ask them!" Joran's own ears were ringing.

"This lineup we gave you - we are just practicing for the last song. You see, Johnny and Mrail and I want to go for a live recording of 'Twilight'. If you all behave, you will be hearing the next Number 1 to come out on the Anton label. If you don't, we'll hit my studio but the chemistry tonight is right to do it live. What do you say?"

There was total pandemonium. Joran and Johnny had not recorded together for years, and Mrail was a plus. They had all heard his voice.

"So please..."

They weren't listening.

Johnny made as if to whistle again and there was instant total silence. Joran's ears weren't the only ones still ringing.

"Hey, you've got them trained." Joran grinned. "So please, please, cough, blow your nose, go to the toilet, whatever first okay?"

Some performers liked a lot of audience noise in a live recording but neither Joran or Johnny did.

"And save applause for the end, okay?" Johnny added.

Johnny didn't wait for an answer. He turned to Joran. "By the way, where is Mrail anyways?" Your cue again, Joran. Spell it out.

"Oh, just taking a break. He'll be back in a half hour or so when you clear out."

Johnny grinned. The whistle was worth it. Even if Bojo was distracted he should have heard that, and what Joran said. Enjoy yourself my friend.

"So, now I'm going to give you that lesson on the pans!"

*****

Chapter 71

It seemed to Bojo that Brys was taking forever to get there. From the point of view of Joran and the band ten minutes was pretty close to forever, but for him it wasn't much time. A really good hello kiss, talk for a few minutes, another goodbye kiss, and that was it. But he wasn't complaining. He hadn't expected anything.

Lisa sounded the door tone, opened it, and more or less pushed the dazed looking Brys inside.

"Brys!"

He was across the intervening space in two steps, his mouth on hers, not even bothering to shut the door. His arms were around her, strong and demanding.

Brys froze. This wasn't Bojo. He was always gentle and kind. But now... Ever since she'd seen Bojo on stage she had felt kind of strange. There had been an air of unreality before the concert especially when she accepted his anklet, like they were all children playing dress-up. But once he was on stage it was different. It had slowly been sinking in that this really was an Anton concert, and that her Bojo was Mrail, one of the stars. She'd been so proud, he was so good. And after the first song when he caught her eye and gave her their private smile she had felt like there were only the two of them.

But that wasn't true, was it? There were all of those other people at the theater, and all of the billions of people watching on the networks, and he was acting like that was how it should be. She was having trouble reconciling that with the man who a few weeks ago had been shy about holding hands.

Bojo sensed the sudden tension and backed off, holding Brys gently at arms length.

"Sorry Brys. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just wired. We all are when we go on stage." He cautiously reached out and stroked her hair line. "Still friends?"

That was Bojo. She managed a smile, even if it was tentative. The weight of the gems was strange around her ankle. It was all too strange.

Well, at least she wasn't running. Galaxy she was beautiful tonight. Bojo stepped carefully past her and shut the door.

"Come on. We'll just sit down and you can tell me how you are liking the concert." He smiled. "You don't know how much I minded the idea of not seeing you afterwards. So the band conspired so I could see you for a few minutes now."

He understood Brys needing to go back to Crescent Bay, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Trying to not spoil things again, Bojo guided her to the daybed he liked to have in his dressing room.

Joran and the band were playing a song on the steel pans, one they used to to play at the restaurant. It was reassuring. Brys started to relax.

"That was nice of them."

Bojo decided she had no concept of how much trouble that was.

He simply agreed. "Yes. So have you liked the concert so far?"

"It's been wonderful."

She was sincere, and that look of wonder on her face that had prompted Joran's spontaneous offer was back.

He knew he was probably grinning like an idiot, but that meant more than a dozen good press reviews. Bojo tentatively put a finger out and traced her neckline.

"Can I try again, please Brys?"

This kiss was of the kind she was used to. The passion was still there, but Bojo had it under control. He was gentle. It was what she wanted, and in some contradictory way she was disappointed.

He let his hand slide around her, trying to not mess her appearance. Then he became aware of a faltering in the playing. Damn! He was going to end up back on stage. Then he heard Joran saying, "I think we have someone in the audience who thinks he can teach us how to play these things." Then a moment later, "Give us a little more instrumental while Johnny Sun and I figure out what we both know."

Johnny Sun was bailing them out? Bless him. Bojo let himself relax. He'd get that full ten minutes yet. He turned to Brys for another kiss. It was a while before Bojo resurfaced and realized the band was still covering for Joran and Johnny. Something was definitely wrong. Even those two idiots couldn't take that long to pick a song.

"Sorry Brys, but something is wrong out there. I've got to check."

He turned on the monitor visuals, not just sound. Johnny and Joran were off in the quiet zone each talking with both hands and the band was doing their nonchalant 'this happens all the time' routine. You got good at that working with Joran. Then Joran was giving Johnny his necklace to wire him for sound and heading off to pick up a spare necklace to use himself.

There was some chatter, then he heard Johnny say, "I'll tell you what's up. And all of the band, and the networks. We are making a half-hour extension to the concert."

Bojo picked up on the stress on the word 'all' in 'all of the band'. It was pretty clear Johnny had aimed that one at him. And a half hour was a lot of extra work.

He said reluctantly, "I think I just got called back to work, Brys. I'm not sure, but I think so."

"Oh."

She was disappointed. Still she supposed they'd already had most of ten minutes anyways.

"Then you'd better -"

But Johnny was talking again and Bojo made a shushing motion.

"Not yet. It sounds like he's giving the lineup. I've got to know what I'm playing."

He absentmindedly slipped his arm lower down her waist.

"Just let me listen."

Joran was coming now and he was looking better. In fact he and Johnny were looking distinctly pleased with themselves. Too pleased.

"He's taking off his jacket!" Brys watched Johnny in surprise.

"MmmHmm."

Bojo was relaxing again. He'd seen Joran and Johnny in this kind of mood before.

"Settle in Brys. This should be quite a show."

Brys was listening to the taunts flying back and forth openmouthed.

"Are they always like that?"

"Pretty much. They've been good friends for what? I suppose fifteen years now. Longer than I've played with the band anyways."

The lineup wasn't bad so far.

"Joran is getting undressed too!" Brys exclaimed as his sweater started to come off.

"Uh-huh." They were definitely in a good mood out there.

"What happened?" All of a sudden she couldn't hear the voices.

"They just went on mute - killed the sound."

"But they're still talking." She was nervous somehow.

"Believe me, you don't want to know what they're saying. It's probably obscene." Then as Joran started undoing his fly, "Uh huh, Johnny just dared him he wouldn't drop his trousers on the family networks in prime time."

"Would he?" Brys was wide-eyed.

"With Johnny egging him on of course he will."

The guys came to the rescue none too soon, and Brys was laughing as hard as anyone else at Joran's clowning. But Bojo was watching hard, not exactly with a frown but very intently.

"What's wrong, Bojo?"

He made a gesture of frustration.

"I'm trying to lipread. You get pretty good at it on stage. There's way too much chatter between those two." He was staring again. "Damn! The bastards are using that argot they like sometimes." Then for Brys's benefit, "They do that when they are up to something they don't want anyone to hear. No one else in the band is fluent in it. For that matter, I don't think many people in the galaxy are."

Whatever it was, they were happy about it but they also both had their 'and to hell with you look' too, so someone was in for it. Then they were hugging and the sound was on.

"Would they really both take their pants off?"

"If Sinda tells them to."

"Would she?" Brys's eyes were even wider.

"Hard to say. She's moody."

It was looking like a solid lineup for the half-hour, but the odds were even that the networks would just take it out of the tail end. The opera was weird, but he could play it.

Johnny was moving into his hype for the rest of the show. It was time to say goodbye.

"Okay Brys. I'm sorry it went this way, but we kiss goodbye now and I'm off to work."

He was excited too though. It would be fun. He didn't even realize that this kiss was like the first, or that Brys had responded, not run.

The ear splitting whistle made them both jump.

"What the hell!"

Bojo glared at the monitor. It was Johnny too. That kind of stunt was more like Joran. He managed to focus in time to hear Joran say, 'Johnny and Bojo and I want to go for a live recording of Twilight!' At least he thought that was what they said, but they couldn't have.

Brys confirmed it.

"You never said you were making a recording tonight."

Her tone was accusing. She'd miss it and it was something she would have liked to be there for, even if it meant missing the night's work.

"That is because I didn't know about it until now." Bojo was dazed. "That must have been what they were cooking up."

No wonder they looked so smug. The screw you look was for the networks. The schedulers would be frantic.

"Is that good for you? Personally I mean."

Was it good? His song, his first single, with Johnny and Joran? The adrenaline was starting to hit.

"Bojo -"

He wasn't answering her.

"Shh."

They were mentioning him again.

"He'll be back in a half hour or so when you clear out."

Nerves on edge from the whistle, Bojo stared. He'd got it wrong then. They were buying him, them, more time. He couldn't believe it. But then Johnny has always been a romantic at heart, and a soft touch too. For that matter so was Joran, but he worked at hiding it. He caught Brys's eyes, willing her to be with him on this one, but he wasn't sure. So far their lovemaking had been leisurely and quite conservative. This time it would be neither. He was way too high on the night.

"Brys?" It was a whisper.

But she was already tugging ineffectually at her dress. "Bojo, how do you undo this thing?"

*****

Chapter 72

Bojo and Johnny Sun met just offstage.

"Congratulations on your engagement!"

Johnny was equally pleased for Bojo and with himself. It has gone well on stage, if he said so himself. He shifted the shirt and jacket draped over his arm to give Bojo a hug.

"Thanks, and thanks for buying me some time."

"About recording Twilight ..." Johnny started talking fast.

Bojo nodded then started to move. He didn't have time for more. He had to be on stage. He said over his shoulder, "Stick your head in and say hi to Brys."

Then he was striding into the lights.

***

Johnny's smile was contented as he continued down the corridor, shirt and jacket still slung over a bare arm. He and Joran had pulled that off rather well. For sure they hadn't had that much fun for years. He'd missed their clowning around. He was also pleased about Bojo. From those few words just now, he'd say Bojo was truly in love and infatuated with this woman. Considering that he couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen Bojo with a partner he would have been willing to help out even for just a casual relationship. But he was glad it was more. An engagement yet! That was still hard to believe.

Johnny had a very precise personal definition of 'in love and infatuated'. It had to involve four-star - no, make that five-star, sex but that was almost a given. What really made it wonderful was a total emotional involvement with the other person to where they were your whole universe, your reason for living. He didn't mean teary, tearing yourself apart, soul-searching stuff. With Sinda he'd had enough of that for ten men and ten lifetimes and it didn't interest him. He was talking about happiness, the kind that makes it possible to take the sort of nasty swings the universe could, and invariably did, take at you. And if things were right you ended up really not giving a damn because at the end of the day you knew you were going home and that the person at home was the only one that mattered in the long run.

He and Sinda had managed for a while, for longer than a while actually. He expected that the memory of those months that almost stretched for a year was what made them such slow learners about giving it up for good. They'd had a couple near misses since, and those had been damned good too, but those times hadn't lasted more than a month or so each.

He wondered sometimes if it had been different with Joran and Maillie, if they had figured out how to make something really good last. Not the kind of highs he and Sinda hit and he rather thought was hitting Bojo. You couldn't sustain that forever, you would exhaust yourself. But maybe Joran and Maillie had managed a life of occasional highs like that and the rest just very very good. He had always thought so, and he had envied Joran.

That kind of love was possible with Maillie, he knew that. With her love could never have been the roller coaster ride it was with Sinda. Maillie's love was something that built very slowly, like a gentle spring that snuck up on you at the tail end of winter and you didn't realize it was spring until all of a sudden the world was all flowers and glorious warm sunshine.

He had been doing his best to achieve a life built on that when Joran arrived on the scene still excited by his first really successful galactic tour. They had all been calling the same city on Laurion their home at that time. Johnny had been trying to rebuild his life after his first divorce from Sinda and had really cut back on his touring. Joran on the other hand had been out on an extended tour schedule and not keeping in touch. So Maillie had been news to Joran when he finally did come back. They had invited him over for a get acquainted supper, and that had been that.

It had been the classic story of losing your girl to your best friend, only it hadn't exactly been a case of instantly losing her. It had been a long very determined siege on Joran's part that would have ended their friendship if Maillie hadn't intervened. One night she had told him very gently that she had discovered you could love two men at once, but for her that meant a choice. He wasn't her choice. But if that meant destroying a friendship that predated her, then Joran wasn't her choice either. She'd said to think about it.

She had moved out to neutral ground while he thought. There were no scenes. You didn't have scenes with Maillie. There had been a few quiet dinners, some long talks. And he'd thought. Eventually he had realized not only was he not going to get what he wanted and win Maillie back, but if he was not very careful he would lose a lot he already had that mattered to him, her friendship and Joran's friendship.

He had ended up wishing them well, and being best man at the wedding. Then he had concentrated on staying Joran's friend. What happened between Joran and Maillie after she left his bed for Joran's was none of his business. But sometimes he had wondered because he had never seen Joran so stable and happy. And Joran had certainly gone out of his way to be self-destructive after she died. That thought dimmed his smile. Still, and Johnny's smile returned, it looked like the worst was over for Joran. It was really good to have the old Joran back.

And now it was Bojo's turn to have a try at that kind of happiness. He was curious about Brys. He had no doubts she was as in love and as infatuated as Bojo was. It was a state for two or neither, but that didn't answer the question of what she was like.

***

Brys was sitting making a half hearted attempt at repairing her hair and mostly watching the show. She wasn't getting anywhere, and she didn't even know if her hair was repairable. Lisa was taking so long. She didn't want to waste a minute more than she had to of watching Bojo onstage, and the monitor just wasn't the same. And she couldn't get into her dress by herself. And there was this hairdo! Brys made a face as another pin fell out. Maybe Lisa would know what to do with her hair.

The call tone sounded and Brys brightened. Lisa was here last!

"Come in."

Johnny entered, his free hand outstretched.

"Hello. I'm Johnny and you must be Brys."

She was sitting at the dressing table in her bra and a half slip working on her hair. She was lovely too, with the kind of full but not overly large breasts Johnny liked. Lucky Bojo.

Brys's shocked mind pretty much stopped working. This man was a total stranger. No, that wasn't true. This was Johnny Sun, Galactic Superstar. Somehow that made it worse. The fact Joran was a superstar was okay because she had gotten used to being around him before she knew who he was. But Johnny Sun was someone really important and she was sitting here looking a total mess in her underwear. Not thinking at all she mechanically put her hand out in response. The hand the closed around hers was strong and warm. The dark brown eyes that looked into hers were friendly. He held her hand briefly then turned towards the rumpled daybed, talking as he moved.

"Bojo told me to come introduce myself. I thought I could use his room to get dressed in."

He tossed the shirt on the bed and held his jacket up for examination. It was more or less a mess. All the same, he had no intention of taking the time to have anyone press it. Bojo agreed with his estimation that the crowd would never let Joran get dressed again so the three of them might as well do Twilight stripped to the waist. So he didn't have to look stage ready, just passable in the dim auditorium light.

"So, how are you enjoying the show? You must be proud of Bojo."

Johnny laid the jacket carefully on the bed and started brushing it, not that smoothing the wrinkles would do any good. Then he picked up his shirt. It was worse.

"What a mess!"

He had no idea what had happened to his tie. He put the shirt down and picked up his jacket in the vague hope someone had stuffed the tie in a pocket.

"I'm really looking forward to recording with Bojo. I understand you have to leave early so you'll miss it. That's too bad."

Johnny was methodically checking his pockets and finding interesting and forgotten items, but no tie. Oh, here were the cufflinks. That was a relief. He liked that pair. It slowly dawned on him that he hadn't heard a sound from Brys. He turned to look. She was turned away from him, staring at the dressing table. If she'd been sitting any stiller she wouldn't have been breathing. She looked in fact like she was trying to be invisible and as a guess he'd say she was mortified.

There was no sense cursing Bojo for being inconsiderate. He was as used as they all were to pretty much barging into dressing rooms and taking what you got, and having his dressing room barged into for that matter. Johnny also knew it was no sense pointing out she was wearing more than she would to the beach. The problem was that the lovely black lace bra and half slip were classed as underwear, and he was a strange male.

In the course of this assessment he also made the discovery that Brys was quite young. He really hadn't been paying that much attention when he came in, and the makeup had misled him. She must be twentyish not in the twenty-five to thirty range he had guessed. That wasn't going to help, nor was the fact he was half naked himself. And of course there was the way he and Joran had been acting on stage, if she and Bojo had even watched that is. He stole another look at the daybed.

Brys was trying to think things out. Lindy had explained to her that standards of nudity varied from planet to planet, and Ennup 10 had very strong restrictions. This explanation had come when she had been shocked by a holodrama Lindy had suggested they watch one night after supper. Lindy had also explained that every individual has their own comfort levels and they vary from situation to situation. Like being undressed to be examined by a medical professional doesn't really count.

Intellectually Brys understood, but that didn't make her one bit more comfortable now. As far as she could tell though from surreptitious glances in the mirror Johnny Sun was completely comfortable. At least he was ignoring her. That helped. So maybe if she just sat very still he would get dressed and go away. Or Lisa would finally come and know what to do. Brys didn't mind Lisa so much. She was a woman and she knew her from the boat trip.

Brys took another peek in the mirror and found Johnny Sun staring at her. Before she could look down he caught her eyes and gave her a friendly smile. Then he started towards her. Now what was she supposed to do?

Johnny had no intentions of talking to the back of her head. He came and perched himself on the edge of the dressing table.

This was way too close for Brys. If she tried to move she would bump into him though, so she had no choice. Either she had to look at his bare chest which was close to her nose, or up into his face. She settled for his face.

"Brys, I think I owe you an apology."

His voice was gentle and his eyes had that kind of concerned look Bojo's eyes had when he thought he'd done something wrong.

"We all barge in on each other backstage, but I think I've embarrassed you. How about I step outside and you slip into your dress, then we try it again? I do want to be friends, and I need help getting into that damned straight jacket they call a dress shirt." Johnny made a face. "This year men are worse victims of fashion than women."

He had no idea what Brys thought of this. He couldn't tell by her carefully expressionless face. Maybe he should just leave, use another room, and get one of the dressers to help. He had just thought that if Brys got dressed and he came back she would relax, which would make future meetings easier. If she and Bojo were engaged there would be a lot of them. It looked like he was wrong though. She was not relaxing. He was just about to offer to get his clothes and clear out permanently when Brys finally found her voice.

"You might have a long wait. I can't do my dress by myself and Lisa was supposed to come get me." She added solemnly, "I think she forgot."

"Most likely with all of the changes on stage," he agreed equally solemnly but there was a gleam of amusement in the back of his eyes.

"You do have a problem. I can think of two solutions. I can go give Lisa a prompter to come help you, but it will take a bit." It was Johnny's turn to look mildly embarrassed. "I know it's stupid but I'll clown around on stage, and wander around backstage partially dressed like this. But with everyone dressed formally in the audience I want my shirt and jacket back on. So if you don't mind I'll go find a dresser to help me first. They are probably all in the staff lounge since they are not busy again until after the show, so it may take a few minutes. Or we can make a deal. I help you with your dress and you help me."

At the real look of alarm that brought he added, "And I assure you I'm harmless. Also Sinda has made me very good at closing dresses. She's usually my wife." He added since the name Sinda seemed to not mean anything to Brys. "I've never known a woman to go through so many changes before a party."

He really hoped he wouldn't have to go find a dresser. If he was going to, he should have right away. He was getting behind. He had to go do some serious talking with Timoth about the recording.

The description 'usually my wife' amused Brys. She'd never heard that phrasing before, and she smiled.

Johnny took that as encouragement. "You first?"

He didn't wait for an answer but went to the hook where her dress was hanging.

Since it was now totally impossible to do anything else without a scene, and Johnny Sun did seem both nice and harmless, she shrugged and accepted the situation.

"Here you go, Brys. Over the head or step in?" He handed the dress to her.

"Step in." Brys followed action to words and pulled it up.

"I can probably sort of get a start closing it."

Johnny was looking at the dress she was holding in place with one hand while she stretched behind with the other.

"Forget it. I take my earlier comment back. Women have it worse this year with fashion." He added peremptorily, "Arms up! Breathe in!"

Startled Brys complied and he closed the back of the dress, then she could feel him give a solid tug bringing the two sides together sealing the join.

"See, I told you Sinda has me trained. Can you breathe?" he added in real concern.

"Sort of," Brys said completely seriously. "The fabric stretches a tiny bit."

"We men should be so lucky. Stretchy is out this year. Okay, my turn."

He noticed with amusement that Brys seemed much more at ease with her dress on. Given the neckline, the skintight bodice, and the filmy stuff draped over her hips he thought it much more provocative than her slip and bra. He would have said as much to Sinda and teased her, but he figured with Brys he'd better not ruin his progress. He really had to move it.

*****

Chapter 73

"So what do you do?" Johnny asked to make conversation. "I'm usually pretty good at faces and I don't think we've met." I'm especially good at pretty faces he added to himself, but he didn't want Brys to tense up again.

"I'm a programmer at Nemizcan Computing," Brys replied as she followed Johnny Sun and he handed her his shirt. "I'm on Gingezel right now."

She didn't expect him to know about Nemizcan or care.

But Johnny was pleased with himself. "Aha. That means your part of Dreen Pendi's crowd, and if you're on Gingezel you must be here with him working on the dedicated hyperweb. So what exactly do you do?"

Brys wasn't sure the work on the hyperweb had been talked around much but he obviously already knew about it. So she answered, "I'm the hacker with a dirty little mind whose job it is to make sure the other hackers can't get in."

This job description of Chett's amused her and she was suppressing a smile as she repeated it.

She was obviously exaggerating her role, but even working on a project like that was pretty heady stuff at her age. Johnny smiled back as he eased his arms into his shirt.

"I know Dreen and I can't believe that's how he describes you or your job."

That did bring a smile imagining Dreen saying that.

"No, that was Chett."

"Who is Chett?" It was a polite question. Johnny was concentrating on doing up a row of onyx buttons.

"Chett Linderson. My boss."

"Now, I could believe it of that piece of spaceflot." Johnny got on well with Chett, although their paths didn't cross as often as he'd like.

"But how did you get tangled up with him? Or am I out of date? Is Dreen so far along on the hyperweb that it's up and running and it's now their field man's territory?"

Most of that went past Brys. She was extremely confused by the structure at Nemizcan and handled that by ignoring all but her immediate line of command. That had been simple. She worked for Dreen. It had been more complicated for a few weeks with working for Gali who reported to Dreen. Now it was simple again. She worked for Chett. She had no idea what the term 'field man' meant, much less his territory. She did understand though that she was being asked how their work on the hyperweb was going, and she didn't think she would be popular if she talked about the hacker problem. So she stuck to something safe.

"With Dreen gone Chett is running things."

"Gone? I was looking for him in the crowd when I came in but I didn't see him. I haven't had a chance to talk to him for a long time. He didn't make it then? Joran will be disappointed. He likes Dreen at these openings."

Brys felt compelled to defend Dreen against what she took as criticism. "I think he wanted to come, and he could have used the Allegro. But I don't think they'd let him off planet. Or Mitra either."

Johnny held up an arm.

"Sorry Brys, you lost me. Can you get this cuff? The cufflink is hard to get in." As she bent over to try he asked, "Dreen and Mitra are where?"

Brys wasn't used to cufflinks and it was taking all of her attention. "Drezvir."

"That's a new one on me. I thought I'd played every planet in the galaxy. Where is it?"

"I think it's at the Farr end of the settled area. It's a mining colony."

"Oh." The far end of the settled area wasn't exactly enlightening. Then he vaguely remembered something. Drezvir. Drezvir?

"A few days ago Joran called me with one of those charities of his. Some disaster or another. I think maybe he said Drezvir, but to be honest I'm not sure. I didn't bother to listen. I just said yes I'd help and then we moved on to talking about his album. Was that Drezvir, if you know, that is?"

He watched the back of her head as she nodded, still bent over the cuff. Another tendril of hair escaped as a pin dropped to the floor. Judging by Brys's hair and the state of the daybed, Brys and Bojo had spent their time well. That pleased him. But what was this about Dreen and this woman Mitra?

"And you said something about they couldn't get away. Are they visiting family or something? Did they have relatives in the disaster?"

"No." With one success behind her, Brys was dutifully tackling the next cuff.

"They are helping figure out what caused the accident. And I think if they try to leave the Judiciary will arrest them. It's okay if they stay on planet, for a day or so more anyways.

"There!" She triumphantly straightened.

"But I don't think the authorities would let them go anywhere that extradition could become an issue."

Johnny was sure he was staring but either he'd got it wrong or this young woman was conducting an extremely bizarre conversation. He was pretty sure he had heard words like arrest and extradition being used in conversation like they were discussing a supper invitation. Mitra was a total unknown, although Joran was obviously in love with her. But he couldn't associate those words with Dreen for any reason. Extradition was only for serious charges.

"Extradition for what, Brys?"

"Manslaughter through criminal negligence on two counts," Brys said matter-of-factly as she reached for his suit jacket and shook it. "This really needs pressing."

She handed it to him.

Johnny ignored the jacket.

"Brys," he said sternly, "what are you talking about?"

"Don't you know? It's been all over the news, the reactor accident and the charges placed against Dellmaice Power Systems, and Dreen turning Nemizcan over to Chett."

"No I don't know. When I'm on tour I pretty much lose focus on everything else. I make a point of avoiding listening to the news and I trust that if I really need to know something someone will tell me. And tonight I just barely got here for the first song. My Genie will be waiting for me since we're running over. So except for on stage I haven't talked to Joran and won't have a chance to."

It sounded like bad news though. "Who exactly faces charges Brys?"

"Mitra for sure, probably Dreen."

No wonder Joran was singing his heart out, then more or less collapsed. What the hell was that idiot doing anyway scheduling a concert when he was under that kind of stress? Joran wasn't the kind who could compartmentalize. With the new solid album he didn't need to push.

"You had better tell me all about this Brys." As she looked like she had no intentions of telling him anything, he added, "I can wait until later and delay my flight even longer and get it out of the Joran. But you saw him after M's song. I'd rather help him, not make it worse by badgering him."

Brys could see the logic of that, but a sense of privacy wasn't why she was reluctant. Bojo had told her they all had to put their worries in a great big box and shut it, and put it on the shelf, and leave it there until the concert was over. He said when you gave a concert you focused on the concert. And as he left her, Bojo had said Johnny Sun would handle setting up the recording for Twilight. Ever since she had modified those albums she appreciated how complicated that part of the music industry was.

She said almost sternly, "But you are supposed to be telling Timoth how to setup the recording for Twilight. I know this theater has recording as well as concert equipment, but it was never customized for Anton like the initial intent was. Anton uses a lot of signal processing to get their sound and it will take time to load and integrate their software. And Timoth will want at least one song sent through the software to monitor how it sounds to his earphones, and another to do a digital comparison to an old song just to allow for the recoding not being on a soundstage.

"You see, they had to move Bojo's keyboard a bit to make room for the steel pans, and I don't know if they will want to just bleed off an electronic signal to allow for that, or to take the keyboard audio from the voice feed and blend them. Then too, the way, Joran alters the sound of -" she rattled off a string of details about how the band played and exactly how the sound crew signal processed their sound.

Johnny made a fast revision to his opinion of Brys's technical competence. He'd been in the business a good ten years before he had that solid a grasp of the production side.

"You're right. I forgot that Joran plays more digital games than I do. I'll call Timoth and see how much time they need. Where did you learn all that by the way?"

"Dreen is making a musical composition package for Joran and I helped a bit," she lied glibly.

"You learn fast. And by the way, Brys, a good two thirds of what you just told me are Anton trade secrets. I'm okay. I'm Joran's friend and we don't need to steal each other's tricks. But a lot would love to. So don't talk in general, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer he stepped to the communication console and got the sound room.

"Johnny, where are you?" Timoth demanded. "I expected you about five minutes ago."

"Sorry. I got tied up with Bojo's girl."

"Oh, hi Brys. Enjoying the show?"

"Very much."

She stepped into sight.

"And she's been lecturing me to get up there and get moving. Timoth are you with only a small crew?" That would be a problem because the ongoing show had to be handled.

"No, we're all here. We figured if gremlins were ever going to crop up it would be tonight."

"Have any?"

"Only on stage. Don't ever try that damned whistling stunt again!" Someone had finally found a way to get a rise out of Timoth.

"I had to make sure Bojo was listening, didn't I?" Johnny asked blandly.

"Humph." Timoth wasn't impressed. "Try something less creative next time! So are you coming up now?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I will if you're desperate but working with the three voices is taking some thought. You'll need me to tell you how it should go end to end. Do I have ten?"

"No," Timoth said flatly. "Think fast. Try to make it five, seven at the most."

"Right."

Johnny broke contact and turned to Brys.

"And you young lady are going to spend that time telling me what's going on."

"But..."

"I lied," Johnny said cheerfully. "There's only one way to record that song with the three of us and I know what that way is."

To his mind Twilight was the best song on Joran's new album and the best Bojo had ever written. Johnny couldn't count how many times he had sung it to himself.

"So talk."

Looking at her he amended, "Have you figured out your hair yet?"

Brys shook her head, dislodging another pin.

"Then down it comes. So sit while you talk and I'll pull pins and brush it for you."

***

Johnny knew he'd promised Timoth he would be there in five minutes to discuss the recording session, seven minutes max. It was a lot longer than seven minutes when he walked into the sound room. That ass at his studio had really had some nerve working his way through the Anton defenses against such things, and finally finding him! Johnny did not fault any of Joran's staff. The man was impossible and no doubt used very effective important sounding lies.

First there had been a few nasty words about his not answering the call, a priority call, to his private number. Tough. Did the idiot think he would ruin the night talking to him? When they finally moved on to business, and that was only because Johnny had said he'd disconnect because he was in a hurry, it had taken the man six times as long as anyone else could to say pretty much what Johnny expected. They had to talk over this recording with Anton. He couldn't do it live tonight because those talks could take a while. And it definitely could not be released on the Anton label. Johnny's answer to each statement had been much shorter. No they didn't. Yes he could. Want to bet?

Then he had disconnected on the idiot and tried to put the man out of his mind. He needed to regain the magic of the night. It was harder though to forget the explanation Brys had given him of why she was leaving early; the mess Dreen was caught in. He liked and respected Dreen but they didn't see each other enough to be close friends. Their link was Joran, and his concern was how to get Joran through tonight without him cracking again under all the extra stress.

***

"You tell time about like Joran does," Timoth informed Johnny as he walked in.

Then he got a good look at the grim angry expression and shut his mouth. It took a lot to upset Johnny, but once he was mad, stay out of his way. Somebody had made a big mistake, probably someone from his label. Timoth rather hoped so. He'd heard a few things about the changes there, none of it good. He couldn't say he wouldn't mind at all if Johnny switched to AntonCorp.

So, instead of the chewing out he had intended while they worked Timoth simply said, "Okay. We're all set up to go here. Just go through it slowly phrase by phrase and tell us the fine tuning you want."

It took less than half the time he'd feared. Johnny was professional, succinct, and never hesitated once. Timoth really hoped he did switch labels.

***

Joran glanced up to the sound booth and got a thumbs up from Timoth. Good. They were ready to record Twilight. He took a quick look at Bojo. He looked a bit nervous, but he was concentrating on his playing and doing fine. That just left Johnny who hadn't shown up yet. Joran got his mind back on business and finished the song.

"Want some company?"

Johnny stepped out of the wings jacketless and unbuttoning his shirt.

Joran grinned. Here we go again. He'd tried putting his sweater back on at some point, but that had been shouted down.

"Only the shirt?"

"Only the shirt. Remember, I haven't got the legs."

Johnny headed for Bojo. "Okay kid, you too if you're recording with the big boys."

That brought Joran around fast. Didn't Johnny have the sense to not try that kind of stunt with Bojo? It had taken him this many years just to get to the nerve up to open his mouth on stage. But Bojo was complying cheerfully enough to what seemed to be becoming Perry's favorite drumroll, although Bojo did skip the classic stripper pose. Then Johnny said something on mute that Joran was it too far away to hear, but it had Bojo emerging from the sweater laughing. The sweater went flying into the wings like Bojo did this sort of stuff all the time, then they both came to join him.

"All set?" Johnny asked. "They're fine up in the sound booth."

Joran looked at Bojo who nodded.

"Let's do it then. "

"Uhuh." Johnny looked at the crowd. They were not settling down.

"Okay out there -" his fingers went to his lips.

There was instant silence. He looked up at Timoth and grinned. "Got them trained."

Johnny looked back at the audience. "Let's go over the ground rules again. You can breath and that's about it. Okay?"

"Okay!" It came back as a shout. The audience was in the mood.

At a sign from Joran, Bojo's keyboard was moved to the front beside his as Timoth had asked. Johnny positioned himself between the keyboards precisely where Timoth had requested.

***

They let the last note die into the silence. It had been perfect end to end. The audience was silent, not sure what to do next. Then Timoth's voice came over the sound system.

"Not a glitch. It's flawless."

At that they were hugging each other and the audience was on it's feet. What a way to end!

"Encore! Encore!" It was a growing chant.

Johnny signaled to mute their audio pickup.

"Let them shout. You are already half an hour over and you're exhausted."

There was another pattern now to the increasing chant.

"M's song! M's song!"

Joran was watching the crowd. They would just stay on their feet and keep it up.

"Don't even think it." Johnny warned

"Actually," his eyes met Johnny's, "I wouldn't mind doing it again. For Maillie."

There was a long moment as their eyes locked. This was the first time Joran had mentioned Maillie to him since she died.

Johnny said softly, "So would I."

He waited for the answer to the implicit question.

Joran hesitated. In all the time he had been with Maillie he had never once felt guilty about Johnny. Her response to him had always been so complete it drove out guilt and doubts. But ever since her death he had tormented himself, in part about cheating Johnny, but mostly about Maillie. Would Johnny have been a better husband and given her the kind of life she should have had? It had become a barrier between them. Maybe it was time now to sort it out and get past it. Half aware that the chant was becoming deafening Joran slowly nodded.

Johnny turned to Bojo. "Make it a trio and be prepared to take the end solo."

Johnny went off mute. "Timoth are you setup to do it again?"

"Sure!"

"Then we are recording M's song, trio."

It would be good on the album he wanted to talk to Joran about.

The audience had finally figured out what was going on and the shouting was replaced by an excited buzz.

This time it was Joran who settled them down.

"Hey!"

They ignored him. Fingers to lips. They froze.

"This really is the last one, okay? So sit down. I want to sing M's song again. This time it is to the other woman I loved, my wife Maillie."

Johnny came to stand beside him, and touched his hand. "I loved her too."

So Maillie's husband and her lover sang to her memory. They never took their eyes off each other, and they didn't even try to keep control. Johnny was crying first, but their voices gave at the same time. Bojo finished solo, Des doing a haunting background vocal.

*****

Chapter 74

It took Dreen some time to work his way to the edge of the crowd in the cafeteria. It appeared that given the opportunity, the miners could work themselves into a party mood as well as anyone else in the galaxy. They had decided to make this an opportunity. Dreen could see why. The concert really and truly had been fantastic, and Dreen didn't think relief and loyalty were coloring his conclusion.

The great concert plus the arrival of all the Anton goodies had made for an instant planetfull of raging Anton fans. Since they couldn't thank and congratulate Anton, they settled for Dreen. He really would have to talk Joran into coming and doing a concert here. The crowd would be small but he would get 100% of the planet in attendance.

At last Dreen reached the edge of the crowd and slipped out the door. He realized it would never be read, but he wanted to send Joran a message before the edge came off his enthusiasm. He was so proud of him. The music was the best, and it had been the most fun Dreen had seen Joran have on stage for a decade. Dreen mentally blessed Johnny for the rescue when Joran had faltered and sent Joran the hundredth mental apology for not being there with him. First though he would check in and see if Mitra was all right. She had been smart to leave early. She would have received way too much unwanted attention.

Eventually Dreen gave up ringing the entry tone and admitted that Mitra wasn't in her room. Well, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. The majority of the terraformers had only left the party about ten minutes before he had, and a couple were still there. She would still be talking to the ones who had just gone back. He would try again later after he sent that message.

***

Darwin finished adding his last comment to his message to Joran. That had been a lot of work, scanning the concert and selecting the portions he really liked, then making his comments. It was always work though, this communication with humans. They simply did not seem to have good ears. He had got to where he understood most of what they said, but they were a dead loss at understanding him even when he spoke clear StanGalLan. Joran seemed to understand something, so he would probably get the general drift of it.

Darwin had started within the last scene of the concert, with Joran and the other man crying. He had told Joran how very sorry he was that Maillie was gone. Darwin had really liked her, they all had. She had been gentle, and kind, and understanding. He had tried to tell Joran before, but he wasn't sure Joran had understood because Joran had never answered the message. Then he hadn't seen Joran face to face for all these intervening years.

Condolences finished, Darwin had put sad news behind him and got to his favorite bits of the concert. There had been a couple places where you just had to sing along, and he had. He had to be honest with himself, he had no idea what was funny about the clothes, but then clothes were alien to him. So he hadn't commented on that part. But there had been plenty to say even skipping that part. He had closed with the audience jumping up and down and clapping and whistling, and he had jumped up and down and whistled too, so Joran would know for sure he liked it.

Now he rather thought he would go find Mitra. She had claimed C.C.'s computer room, so Darwin had borrowed Leeth's to compose his message. This was no hardship though. Leeth had the better equipment, and didn't mind sharing. Darwin looked in the common room first. Everybody was back from watching the concert in the cafeteria and they were sitting around talking. C.C. was there too, which by Darwin's standards was very rude when you had a guest. Maybe though he was just staying out of her way. That was always wise when dealing with an angry female, and Mitra was furious.

This fact puzzled Darwin. Mitra had made it clear that she had not come back to the terraformer's habitat so she could really enjoy the concert. In fact she had refused to listen to more of the concert. What's more, she had told C.C. in no uncertain terms that if he knew what was good for him he would not mention the name Joran or Anton again tonight, or preferably not ever again in her presence.

That was definitely an angry female. It didn't take an expert in dealing with an alien species to recognize that. However why she was upset was impossible to figure out. Joran had given her that sparkly ornament for her neck. More importantly he had given her some lovely soft warm nesting material to sleep in. Darwin had seen that when C.C. took Mitra home once. She had let Darwin crawl inside. It was a wonderful nest. And Joran had made it very clear in front of all of those people that he wanted to mate with her. All of this should have been very flattering and she should have been pleased. But she was furious. The more Darwin meditated on this, the less he could understand it. It did convince him though that there was a basic similarity between the humans and the Pikkant. There was no understanding the females in either species.

Cautiously Darwin poked his head into C.C.'s computer room. As far as he could tell by her aura and body language Mitra was no longer angry. She seemed to be totally absorbed in her simulation, absorbed enough she would probably be there half of the night. Darwin started his laborious way up the ramp to the table.

"Hello Darwin."

Mitra stopped work. For a moment she thought about just lifting him up, but that might offend him.

"You know, I forgot how much fun these ecosystem simulations can be. I haven't done them since I was a teenager, and there was a lot I didn't appreciate then."

She pointed at the screen and elaborated on the simulation she was doing while he climbed to not seem to be watching.

Darwin reached the desktop and went to stand beside Mitra. There had been a few words he hadn't got with her accent, but she was obviously talking about her work. So he asked in his best StanGalLan, "How is it going?"

Since Darwin was looking from her to the computer Mitra assumed he was asking how it was going.

She stretched. "It's going fine, but I'm beginning to wonder if C.C. wasn't in a bit of a hurry and we couldn't have done better on the choice of trees. Oh well." Mitra shrugged. "It isn't like there isn't enough planet to try them all on. So how about you? What have you been up to?"

It was Darwin's turn to shrug. They were not supposed to mention Joran.

Amusement began in Mitra's eyes.

"Darwin, did I scare you telling C.C. off? I had to yell at someone you know, and he'll survive." The amusement surfaced in an impish grin. "On the other hand, maybe I did scare him. He hasn't as much as poked his nose in here once." She winked at Darwin. "But you and I are special friends, okay? You can say what you like."

Mitra held out her hand and lowered her nose down to the table for a rub.

Really, Darwin decided as they rubbed noses, he could see why the men all chased her. He was no judge of human beauty, but she had a spirit, a charm. As his mind searched for words to describe her, his memory turned to a girl back home. She was the loveliest little thing, sweet and spirited at the same time. Gorgeous too, perfect markings and the brightest eyes. She was also very kind. Like Mitra she treated him like he was special, and for a while he had even hoped... But that was foolishness. What did he, a cripple and a burden on the community have to offer her? It was better he was exploring the galaxy with C.C.

Suddenly Darwin wondered if that was the way it was with Joran, love without hope. He didn't know why it should be that way, but suddenly he wondered. The holodramas he had viewed had been very enlightening on the physical mating practices of humans, but hopelessly confusing on the mores of the same. With that thought in mind, Darwin stepped back, then looking at Mitra gently touched her hand.

Mitra looked at him. "You think I'm being too tough on Joran." She sighed. "Maybe you're right, but you aren't the one everyone is going to point at and talk about in the cafeteria tomorrow."

Now Darwin was even more confused. When they had first arrived on planet, everyone had pointed at him and wanted to touch him. It had been most gratifying. He had never been the center of attention before, and it had been one of the most pleasant experiences in his life. There was definitely no understanding females. After all, didn't they groom and groom themselves just to be looked at and talked about?

Mitra said, "So you have been watching the concert. But it can't have taken that long. So what else have you been up to? Or have you been avoiding me until I was safe to be around?"

Darwin pointed to the message icon.

"You sent congratulations to Joran?" Mitra was impressed, and would have dearly liked to see or hear the message. She was deciding Darwin was quite resourceful.

"I take it you liked the concert?"

Darwin nodded and jumped up and down and whistled like the people at the end of the concert, and Mitra laughed. He liked it when she sounded happy. She didn't seem to be happy anywhere near often enough. She should know what was in the part of the show she missed. Maybe then she would watch it and enjoy herself. The best part of what she had missed was the song Twilight with the three men singing. Although it would have been much nicer with the audience happy and singing too. Darwin carefully settled himself into a singing posture and started to sing Twilight. In sing-alongs back home he had always had compliments on his voice.

Mitra sat watching intently, trying to figure out what was being communicated. It was hard though. He talked so seriously like you should understand him. And no doubt it made sense to him in whatever language the Pikkant used. But he went so fast and it was so high-pitched you could hardly hear him. Well, at least she could be polite and listen. Slowly a pattern became obvious in the high pitched sound. She listened harder, then a delighted smile spread across her face.

"Darwin, you're singing Twilight!" And it was in StanGalLan!

Darwin nodded, not wanting to break time. He waved at Mitra to join him, and to his delight she did. But to be honest she was really flat a couple times. But that was all right. At least she looked happy again.

"Good for you Darwin. Did you sing it for Joran?"

Obviously she didn't have to worry whether or not Darwin understood her speech, just how she was supposed to understand his.

Darwin nodded.

"I bet he'll be thrilled. I think after all of your and my hard work," she waved at the screen, "we deserve a break. How about we raid C.C.'s cookie supply?"

***

"C.C." There was a catch to Mitra is voice. "I think Darwin is sick. I mean, I hope that's all it is. I mean, he's still warm..."

"Where is he?"

C.C. was on his feet, as alarmed as Mitra was. When it came right down to it not all that much was known yet about the Pikkant, such as their diseases and how to treat them.

"In here."

Mitra hurried C.C. into his suite and his computer room.

C.C. started to relax when he saw the bag of peanut butter cookies on its side. Still, he carefully picked up the little body searching for a pulse. It was there, but extremely slow.

"You can relax. He's gone into hibernation, that's all."

"Hibernation?"

"Yes. The Pikkant hibernate twice a year, once in the stormy autumn sleeping on into winter, and then again towards spring. Darwin has been tending to want to hibernate for the last few weeks. I wasn't too keen on his starting away from Gingezel because we don't know all the factors that are important for it. So we've been starving him and making him exercise a lot hoping he'd hold off a week or so when we're headed back."

"Oh!" Mitra looked guiltily at the bag of cookies. "I'm sorry C.C. I didn't know."

C.C. shrugged. "Don't worry about it." Then he grinned. "I'll bet you one thing though. Peanut butter cookies will not give him the right electrolyte balance. If he wakes up with the galaxy's worst hangover it's his own fault!"

Mitra wasn't amused. She was appalled.

"I should have thought to ask him if eating the cookies was a good idea."

"And how would you have understood an answer even if he understood you?"

"I think he's fluent in StanGalLan."

C.C. stared. Stared first at Mitra, then at the sleeping Pikkant.

"Right."

*****

Chapter 75

Gali watched from the executive lounge as the jet landed and taxied to the terminal. It was the middle of the night and he had the place to himself since no arrivals other than Brys were scheduled. So he had claimed a high backed armchair by the window and had contented himself with watching the night sky.

Brys arrived about five minutes later with a rustle of silk and on a cloud of expensive perfume. Gali would not have recognized her if there had been a crowd to confuse him. No wonder he and Keya hadn't been able to spot her when the cameras panned the crowd. Her hair was a cascade of blonde waves down almost to her waist and she had pushed it off her bare shoulders. Her makeup was sophisticated to say the least, the gown quite something. She seemed to be carrying some sort of shawl draped over the reassuringly familiar canvas tote she always carried. In her other hand was one of those ridiculous bits of nothing women called evening bags.

Gali was no judge but he would guess the gemstones glittering down her very bare bosom were genuine as were those circling her ankle. Joran and Bojo had managed quite a transformation, and he wasn't sure he approved. Well that wasn't quite true. If it was Bojo who had given her the jewelry, it would be a sign of love. But Joran? He was very capable of using a woman, and Brys was innocent enough to fall for him.

Dreen had given him an unwritten job spec to keep an eye on Brys after the near fiasco about the lounge when Brys had decided Joran and Bojo weren't looking for computing advice, they were looking for sex. Dreen had joked that it was practice for his oldest girl Gia in a few years. Gali looked Brys up and down. Well, he wouldn't like Gia looking like that at thirty much less in a few years. His eyes came back to rest on the jewels. Those weren't likely to have a vaguely innocent meaning. Forget the unwritten job spec Dreen! Brys is not my problem. This was definitely not the girl who had visited Keya in a panic not that many days ago about how to buy a dress. The smile was Brys though, and her steps in the only moderately high heels were not quite certain, like either she wasn't used to them or her ankles were tired.

"Gali! They said you'd come to meet me. It's so late I thought I'd have to take a taxi."

She came forward and to his amusement placed a social kiss on each cheek. Where had she learned that?

"That wouldn't have been much fun for you, would it?" Gali asked. Besides he'd thought of it as an extension of that unwritten job spec he was not going to have anything more to do with.

"Have you got any bags Brys?"

She had left in her standard pants and a sweatshirt and they wouldn't have fit in her canvas bag.

"Over there."

Brys pointed towards the doorway where a flight attendant was patiently waiting with a number of bags. She was feeling a bit peculiar. Had she been more experienced she would have recognized it as a medium case of jet lag compounded by being up for her normal sleep cycle while she flew with the band then got dressed and made up. As it was, all she knew was that this was the time of night she was usually wide-awake and did her best work. But instead everything seemed kind of unreal and fuzzy. She suppressed a yawn.

"I got some things ..." Makeup, some loungewear from Neselli to wear just for Bojo, hair care products. "Some things."

More than a few things, Gali thought to himself looking at the pile of bags.

"Well, if that's everything, let's go."

"Gali, did the single turnout?" Brys asked anxiously as they walked through the empty terminal. "I had to leave to catch the flight. And the concert was running so late we were in an area where the flight couldn't pick it up for me by then."

"Timoth said Twilight was flawless, and there was a lot of hugging going on. They recorded another too."

"Did they!"

"M's song, all three of them. I don't know if it's usable though. Bojo did the end solo."

Brys tried to sort that out but she was too sleepy. They were at the door now.

"If I could have your token, sir, I'll have your vehicle brought up for you." The attendant took the token and hurried off.

Brys relaxed and yawned. It had been an effort to keep up on her heels.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm usually wide awake right now."

"You've had a long day already."

"Mmmm."

The GV pulled up to the curb and they stepped out into the partially enclosed drive through.

"It's cold!"

Brys unceremoniously dropped her tote and fumbled with the shawl. It was more awkward than a cardigan, but not as drafty as she had expected. Her legs were goosebumps though. How did some women wear skirts all the time?

"We had a cold front come through," Gali explained. "There should be rain by morning."

They got into the GV and Gali pulled out into the traffic free road.

"Did you get any rest on the flight?"

Brys shook her head.

"The pilot was really nice. They were just sitting up ahead of me, no wall or anything. So I asked her what the various instrumentation was. When she figured out I wasn't just being polite, she told me all about it. Then when they found out I was a programmer, the copilot checked with air traffic control, and when we entered a zone where we were the only flight, he let me sit in his chair for a few minutes so I could use his visor and see what the AI enhanced vision was like."

Brys yawned and put her head back.

"Then I was just starved so I ate some stuff." She had no idea what that had been. "Then I tried to work, but my head is fuzzy."

She yawned again.

***

Brys was sound asleep when they pulled up at the hotel and Gali had to shake her to wake her.

"Okay Brys, I'm being your boss. Get some sleep, at least until I come in in the morning at 11:00 or so. You will just make mistakes and we can't afford that. All I want right now is for you to talk to Vennbir for a minute. He's got some questions he insists only you can answer. I'll come up with you and tell Evrit to pack it in too, and we'll all quit for the night."

"Evrit is still up? What's he doing?"

"Oh, the piece of coding he's working on just took longer than he thought."

Actually Gali suspected he was waiting for Brys. Evrit had been finding nonessential things to do for a couple hours.

Brys nodded and got out. Even the cold wind wasn't clearing her head, so was Gali right. She should have listened to Bojo and stayed there, she thought sourly as she followed Gali in and gave her bags to Tomao.

***

Evrit was still at his terminal playing with a cup of coffee that wasn't helping much. He really wanted to hear from Brys what the concert was like live. Now that he knew Joran was Anton, he was finding being on the edges of events with real celebrities terribly exciting. Brys was so lucky she had been the one helping Dreen with the music interface. And Joran had been a good sport to give her that ticket to the concert and let her catch a ride with the band. He wished he'd been the lucky one. Evrit had been to an Anton concert for his sixteenth birthday, or at least the tickets had been a birthday present from his grandmother but the concert was a month later. That had been exciting enough, but Brys might have had a chance to hang around and watch them set up and everything.

Brys stopped just inside the doorway, disoriented by the familiar surroundings. It was too warm for her shawl so she draped it over an arm.

"Hello Evrit. Are you winning?"

"Mostly. How was the concert? Did you get to stay around while they setup? And did you get a good seat?" The questions came out in a rush.

Half asleep, Evrit was a little slow absorbing Brys's appearance. Then he focused and took a really good look top to bottom. He was starting up again when the anklet caught his eye. He'd never seen anything like it. Just maybe someone hadn't invited her to tag along to be kind, and he did not approve of this possibility, or this new Brys. It upset his ideas and he didn't like to change ideas.

Evrit was staring at her anklet! He had no right to do that. It was private, between her and Bojo.

"Haven't you ever seen legs before?" she snapped and went striding past, trying not to kill herself with those damned heels.

Gali watched as Evrit turned scarlet. How long had it taken for them to be at each other again, thirty seconds?

"Evrit, why don't you pack it in for the night. I'm going to have to catch up on my sleep until midday tomorrow, and I'm not feeling lucky. Our hacker is about due to try to collect his next trophy and you'll have to handle that."

Gali suppressed a smile as Evrit brightened visibly. It wasn't Evrit's fault he wasn't a true hacker like Brys and Vennbir, or that they were getting all the glory right now. In the normal course of work Evrit would be the most valuable employee by far. Gali sighed. Would normal ever return? He'd pretty much shifted to a one day at a time mode.

As Evrit left Brys sat down and called Vennbir.

"Brys! Where have you been all night?"

He wasn't paying attention. He was busy calling up the code he'd written and wanted to talk to Brys about.

"At the Anton concert. Didn't Gali say?"

Vennbir ineffectually tried to push the thatch of dark hair off his forehead and took a quick look at Brys, then returned to the screen.

"Never thought to ask. Look, we know that the system is designed to be stand alone and shouldn't accept wireless input, but the hardware -" he stopped mid-sentence and focussed to look at Brys, taking another swipe at his hair.

"Wow! Where did you say you were?"

"Bojo took me to the Anton concert."

She carefully did not use his stage name.

Vennbir's thought processes weren't quite as fast as Brys's, but they were fast.

"I watched most of it before I started work. That wouldn't be Mrail, the guy who was singing with Anton?"

Despite the fact he looked out of it most of the time, Vennbir didn't miss much. He knew most of the office gossip and that the Anton crowd, especially Joran, were often around. It was an easy guess based on appearance that Bojo was Mrail. He'd seen a guy with a deformed face walking in months ago with Joran he was told was to be called Bojo.

Brys nodded and her hair fell over her shoulders. It was her turn to push it back.

"Brys," Vennbir's eyes were bright with amusement, "would you either leave that hair where it was or find something to wear? I'm trying to be professional, but you have to be professional too. The way you're sitting to the camera, it looks like you aren't wearing anything."

To his further amusement Brys took a startled slightly unfocused look at herself and dragged a shawl around her shoulders.

"Thanks. I'm transmitting my ideas." He suited action to words. "We both agree we have to find some way to get in on the wireless even though it's disabled. I mean their network is essentially nonexistent. So other than wireless, someone would have to tap into the system in the control room and it's manned continually."

He was calling up schematics now.

"Anyways," Vennbir turned his attention to Brys, "I suppose this galactic superstar on the scene means I haven't got a chance? I mean all I can offer is long walks, and the odd coffee in the cafeteria, or ice cream at The Scoop. I'm always broke."

Brys was amused, both by Vennbir and his tendency to conduct two conversations at once. She already knew where he lived, the eccentricities of his neighbors, and more Head Office gossip than she had ever known working there.

"Vennbir, you've known me less than a week, and we haven't even met."

"Totally irrelevant." He dismissed that argument with a wave of his hand. "Got the full transmission yet?"

Brys was staring at the screen with a slight frown.

"Yes, but..."

"But to activate the wireless port and its code from the outside when it's not supposed to happen and not get spit out by the security Jann's team installed, you could possibly do this ..."

He highlighted a section of the code he was developing then trailed off watching Brys's face.

"Vennbir, your weird!" There was a note of admiration in her voice.

"Thank you. From you that's a compliment."

"Maybe not that weird."

Gali's voice made them both jump. He'd come to look at the screen.

"You may be on to something, but you aren't handling the wireless port to operating system interaction correctly."

Vennbir flushed. "That's the way the operating system is setup. They excluded a lot of it when they specialized the system to work with ContSaft software and exclude the wireless."

"Who gave you the details?"

"Jaybrown. He did the design."

Gali nodded. Competent, straightforward, and in this case wrong.

He said carefully, "I think Jaybrown told you what operating system features he thought he got rid of. And for that matter, probably what the manufacturer said he got rid of. They have a lot of new staff there who weren't around when the design was done and some of the original team has retired. Since it's a platform we use heavily, I was in close touch with the original designers.

"There are a few features where all Jaybrown could get rid of are the hooks to the lower structure and the interface at the top. Part of the actual implementations are firmware and would have stayed there. So to all intents you think you cleaned up the code, and the link by wireless is gone. But it isn't totally, and under fresh conditions some of the firmware can get you. In your case maybe you can access it ... maybe ... I'm not sure, because I don't quite understand what you're trying to do Vennbir."

Vennbir was looking at Gali with open admiration. "Is there anything about computers you don't know?"

"Quite a bit," Gali replied dryly. "You're going to find that out while we spend the rest of the night going over the architecture right down to the hardware level. There's no sense your working on a partially wrong concept."

"You're staying then?" Brys had understood Gali was heading home.

"I am now. And you, young lady, are getting at least six hours sleep. Vennbir and I can fill you in when you're awake."

Brys shook her head. She was wide awake now.

*****

Chapter 76

Joran woke late morning to the recently unfamiliar sensation of his free arm wrapped around someone. He could feel the warmth of the body, the rhythmic breathing. He could hear a throaty breath just short of a snore. Memory surfaced just as his eyes opened a slit to show that his face was buried in a very expensive shade of red hair. Hell! What had he been thinking of to complicate life like this? He gave that question a halfhearted couple seconds thought and decided it was too early to even be awake, much less to be trying to think. He focused on the much more important fact that he was stiff and his shoulder was tired. He rolled over, taking most of the covers with him and went back to sleep.

***

Joran woke to the familiar sensation of being half frozen because the covers were largely on the floor. One was still across his thighs though, so he grabbed it and pulled it up, trying to stay asleep. It didn't work. He was hungry, and he could smell food and hear small domestic sounds like the chink of a cup on its saucer from beyond the door. That meant Sinda was still here. Joran sprawled on his back, trying to decide if that fact was good or bad. He couldn't decide. Last night had been quite a night though, whatever way you looked at it. Well, he might as well get up and see what he'd done to himself.

Yawning, stiff, and bleary-eyed, Joran was halfway to the door when he decided maybe he should put on pajamas, bottoms anyway. Then he remembered he was currently testing out the theory that pajamas kept him from sleeping, so he hadn't packed any. That made it a robe then. He looked around the room for a closet. Having to do that raised an interesting question. Was this his, or Sinda's room? He had no idea. He'd stayed clean and sober, but he couldn't remember arriving back at the hotel last night, and he hadn't been to the hotel himself before the concert. Well, the closet would tell. If it wasn't his room, he'd have to wear a bulky hotel robe.

It was his room. His casual clothes were all carefully hung in the closet. He wrapped himself in his turquoise and gold striped robe and cautiously opened the bedroom door. Sinda was sitting at the window table, freshly showered, perfectly groomed, alert and awake. This made him feel at a disadvantage like he should have at least showered and shaved, but he was starved. She was wearing a soft silky green gown, one of those things Maillie had called a morning gown and had explained that it acknowledges it's a new day and you will eventually dress and deal with that new day, but right now you're keeping your options open. He'd bet, that like Maillie, that was all she was wearing. He couldn't decide if this was good or bad either, but for sure it meant she had contacted housekeeping and had some of her clothes moved here. He didn't know if this was good or bad.

"Hullo." Joran headed for a glass of orange juice.

"Hello, Lover Man." Sinda's voice was a purr and she she rose to slip an arm around Joran's waist. Three, maybe five hours, she thought realistically and he might be functional.

"Why don't you go sit down with your juice and I'll get your brunch."

Joran turned to look at her suspiciously. He made a practice of never trusting anyone who woke up bright and sunny, and he definitely did not trust Sinda. She wasn't even finished her own meal and she was waiting on him.

"You want something, Babe?"

"You up to anything?" Sinda started rubbing his back.

"No." Joran moved out of range and headed for a chair with his juice.

Sinda laughed. "I didn't expect anything, Joran, but you know damned well you would have been insulted otherwise. As it is," she gave him a frank smile, "I'd recommend we stick with memories. Last night won't happen again."

Joran nodded, relieved.

"So what do you want to eat?"

"Fruit salad, fish rolls." He had to stay slim since he was hitting the road. Then he membered his manners.

"Thanks, Babe."

"Joran, you're pushing it. Do you have any problem with my name? It happens to be Sinda."

"Yeah. I tend to want to say Sinda and Johnny, which is giving me a few serious problems right now."

"Joran, we're divorced, remember?"

"As a whole I tend to lose score. But that is what Johnny said last night, or we'd never have ended up here. All the same, he's one of my closest friends and as far as I can tell divorced for the pair of you can mean anything from you wish the other person was a couple galaxies away, to you just haven't been out of bed long enough to do the next wedding ceremony."

Sinda, busy loading the tray, was more amused than offended.

"Right now I'd say we're in middle ground. We can stand the sight of each other and get on the same stage, but that's it. I don't think it will change fast either. That last blowup," her voice was sad, "was vicious. Here you go." She put the tray in front of Joran.

It contained the fruit salad, two eggs yolk up in the way he liked it, sausages, sweet as well as plain rolls, a pat of butter, and pots of jam.

"Babe–"

"I mean it Joran! Can the 'Babe'. I let you fly it last night but it isn't last night." There was an edge to her voice.

Joran gave her a look. This was more like Sinda. "Hey you! This isn't what I want."

"I know Joran, but it's what you need." Joran was notoriously difficult when he was dieting and she was not going to put up with him snarling all day.

Sinda's voice was gentle again. "Diet tomorrow, but give yourself a break, huh. You put out a lot of energy last night." She gave him a seductive smile. "On and off stage."

He might have had something to say about that last shot, but his mouth was full of sausage. He washed it down with juice, broke a roll in half, and dipped it in the egg.

Sinda watched approvingly then returned to her own interrupted meal. With her naturally delicate and precise movements she broke a crescent-shaped roll in half and spread jam on the break.

When Joran was about half finished she asked quietly, "Feeling better?"

"Yes. Thanks –" Joran didn't know how to finish. "I can't keep saying 'hey you'."

"How about Rae?" Sinda volunteered.

"Rae." Joran tried it out. "Sure, it's pretty. Why Rae?"

"It's my middle name. Sinda Rae."

"Why don't you use it?"

"I hate it. It's my aunt's name and I've always loathed the woman."

"Which do you hate worse – Rae, or Babe?" Joran had on his first smile of the morning.

"Good question." Sinda thought about it. "Now that I'm remembering dear Aunt Rae, go with Babe."

Joran laughed. Sinda could occasionally be all right, and the solid breakfast was a good idea.

That was better. Sinda said, "Joran ..." then hesitated.

And here comes the price tag Joran thought cynically. With Sinda there would definitely be a price tag. At the moment he didn't mind though.

"What Babe?"

But Sinda wasn't ready to talk. She poured herself another cup of tea, then carefully squeezed a wedge of lemon into it. Joran watched the careful, precise motions. To his surprise, her hands were shaking. Either she felt a lot lousier after last night than she was admitting, or she was nervous. Nervous was his bet. Well, he'd wait.

"Joran."

Sinda put the teacup down with a small clatter and took a deep breath.

"You and Johnny are good friends. You know him just about as well as anyone does. So tell me, what am I doing wrong? Why can't we make things last?"

So that was what she was working up to. Joran shook his head.

"Sorry Babe. I don't give other people advice on how to run their lives. I stick to messing up my own."

He totally believed this, inaccurate as it was.

"But you have to have some ideas," Sinda persisted.

"Sinda," Joran didn't realize he'd dropped the 'Babe', "if you're serious, the galaxy has any number of competent professionals who can do a better job than I can."

Sinda rose and went to stand silhouetted by the window. "Yes, but none of them knows Johnny like you do."

"No, Sinda. No way."

"And," her voice was small, "none of them was married to the only woman who could have made him happy."

So that was it. Now that he thought of it, he could believe Sinda never stopped being jealous of Maillie. And that could have led to some terrible fights, the kind Johnny could never settle peacefully. He rose, and went to stand beside her.

"You're wrong Sinda. You've always been the one for Johnny. He would have found that out if he had married Maillie. It wouldn't have lasted three years."

She gave him a wry smile. "And which of us are you trying to make feel better with that lie, Joran?"

"I suppose I'm trying to comfort both of us, Sinda."

He took her in his arms.

"But that doesn't make it a lie. It's not something I'd lie to you about. Myself maybe, but not you. You and Johnny have your future and lies could just mess it up.

"Johnny loved Maillie for sure, but he was in love with two women at once. He may have been too mad or too stubborn to admit it, but he was. Sometimes, in the middle of the bad nights I used to wonder if I should have let Maillie marry Johnny, if she would have been happier. But Maillie made her choice. Sometimes I wondered if she was smart enough to see the truth – that as long as you were around she was ultimately going to get hurt. Maybe I was just the acceptable second choice."

"Oh Joran!" Sinda felt terrible now. All she wanted was practical advice on how to be more like Maillie, not a lot of soul-searching. Not when he was just starting to recover.

Joran didn't have to see her face to tell how upset she was. He could feel it in her body.

"It's alright, Babe. I said used to. My head was pretty messed up, even on the rare times I let it clear. But now I know that was an insult to Maillie. She had too much integrity to use me like that. She made the choice that was right for her, and that made me a very lucky man. But if it had gone the other way, I truly think she would have got hurt in the long run. You and Johnny have your problems, but he loves you, Babe."

For one uncomfortable moment Joran thought he was going to get cried all over. But he had to give Sinda credit. She didn't. Her shoulders trembled, and he could feel her deliberately taking deep breaths. But she didn't cry. Just two little betrayers escaped and splashed on his bare chest.

*****

Chapter 77

"Dreen. Glad I got you in your room." Chett was trying to decide what he saw in Dreen's face.

"I'm just having breakfast and re-watching the concert."

Oh. So there was no easy way to shift to the sound monitoring blocking albums. That was why Dreen looked uncomfortable.

"That was some show, wasn't it!" Chett smiled. "And I won't keep you from rewatching it. I just wanted you to know Gali and Vennbir and Brys followed the show with an all-nighter of work. Gali confirmed the system access you wondered about is possible. Don't try to talk about it now, I'll call you tonight after you've had time to think."

And after you've had time to setup so we aren't monitored, Chett added to himself. What he had just said would be taken to be about the Gingezel hyperweb.

System access is possible, not just a theory? Dreen wanted to ask a million questions, to find out exactly how. But Chett was right. That was not a good idea with monitoring, and he needed to think.

"Can you make it a conference call?"

"Sure thing."

Time to change topics before Dreen's questions started spilling out. "You figure Anton has about a thousand messages from the networks after last night?"

That was safe territory. "About a million." Dreen managed a real smile. "Talk to you later."

It took Gali and Vennbir and Brys, and an all-nighter to figure out how to access the system. Well, that wasn't surprising. Jann would have made sure there was a good job done of denying access. And that pretty much ruled out his idea of some kid poking around. So who here had that kind of expertise – plus motive. Who was Chett's rat? If, of course, the system even was hacked and he wasn't still just grasping at straws. Just because something could be done didn't mean it had been done.

Dreen's temporary elation swung to depression and he switched the concert off. Time to go to work. Maybe Mitra would show up there. She hadn't come back to her room last night. He had kept checking until he started to get embarrassed.

***

"Yes?"

Here it comes. Dreen could tell by the look on Mitra's face. He didn't turn off the Anton album he had used talking to Chett, Gali, Brys, and Vennbir.

"Dreen, you told me you got in trouble as a hacker, that you have a criminal record –"

"And you told me it didn't matter!"

Hell, couldn't she find a better excuse than that to dump him? He was not going to play out the Jiane scenario again precisely move for move. Not with someone who was headed for prison too.

Mitra's eyes were wide. "Dreen, it doesn't. You know that."

He really was in the rockiest mood she'd seen. Slowly she noticed the Anton music. She was getting so used to it she hardly heard it now. So he'd probably had a rough session, no doubt with his company lawyers. For sure the last couple times Ari had gone on to her about their legal problems, she'd come out of the discussions so alarmed she was white and shaking. But she was determined not to add to Dreen's problems by mentioning those sessions with Ari.

"It truly doesn't matter." Mitra reached up to stroke his cheek. "Oh, quit being stiff-backed and come here!" She gave his unresponsive body a hug.

This is not what Dreen expected at all. Was she working around to some kind of apology then? Mitra's approach to topics could be baffling at times, and galaxy knew they were all stressed out. She could well have slipped into something with C.C. that now she wished she hadn't done. And would he forgive her? Maybe, his rational mind said. Anything, the part that didn't want her to quit hugging him said.

He told that part to shut up and said cautiously, but less icily, "What did you want to talk about?"

"It's just..." She hesitated, feeling bad now about bothering him with something so minor when he obviously had serious problems. Still, she was here and he was finally alone to talk to, so she'd better ask.

"It's just that someone said you'd sent another hacker to prison for years, really set the guy up. Did you?"

Dreen stiffened. How the hell had C.C. dug that one up? Talk about cheap, using a thing like that to influence Mitra.

"And that's what you came to talk about?" All the ice was back.

Mitra backed away, getting angry herself.

"Well, since you've iced me all day, there isn't anything else to talk about, is there? I'm sure as hell not going to apologize for Joran. He's your friend, not mine!"

She'd pretty much had it where Joran was concerned. People had been staring and whispering all day. But the worst was Tranngol. He'd teased her mercilessly. And Tranngol wasn't someone she could avoid. She had no idea what that big man found so hilarious in the scenario, but he certainly did.

So spending last night with C.C. just didn't happen? Well, maybe that was the best approach Dreen decided. He wouldn't have suspected anything if he hadn't kept looking for Mitra. After all, Mitra might have just made a mistake, been vulnerable.

However she was obviously furious with Joran. He'd been so relieved the concert was a success that he hadn't given that the thought it deserved. Mitra was now notorious throughout the galaxy and would stay that way until the next juicy bit of gossip came along. Some women would relish it. She wouldn't.

He made his attempt at reconciliation. "Please, let's not fight. I'm truly sorry Joran embarrassed you. To be honest though, I don't think there is a single thing either of us can do about it. Joran does exactly what he wants. You're quite welcome to call him and tell him off, but give it forty-eight hours. Then you can use my equipment here."

As Mitra obviously bristled, he added soothingly, "Easy. I'm not hoping you'll cool off. It's just that Joran ignores and deletes all messages for a day or two after a concert and refuses to take calls."

"Oh." That kind of took the force out of Mitra's pique. "How do you reach him then?"

"I don't. No one does. I send a message, just because I'd feel bad not sending one, but I always assume it's trashed. The best you can do is try to get Bojo - Mrail." He remembered Mitra had never met Bojo and would think of him exclusively as Mrail. "But this time I expect he's hiding too."

He stepped back and held Mitra at arm's length. "You really want to know if I deliberately sent someone to jail for doing something I did myself?"

Mitra nodded, embarrassed.

"Do you really think I'd do something like that?"

"No. That's why I'm here to get your side."

"Well, I did help send another hacker to jail, but believe me it wasn't voluntary."

So he told her the story, including anonymously spending money it turned out he didn't have on a lawyer for the hacker.

That sounded so much like Dreen Mitra found herself smiling. She reached up and stroked his cheek.

"I'm glad I came and asked. I couldn't see you doing anything like that, but he sounded so sincere, so bitter." A frown clouded Mitra's smile. "He even said you wouldn't once so much as meet his eyes at the trial."

"That detail is true. I felt so awful I couldn't look at the guy."

Then the phrasing she'd used hit Dreen.

"Mitra," Dreen said slowly, "who were you talking to?"

"Didn't I say? Leeth Kembel, the man you were just telling me about. Who did you think I heard the story from?"

"C.C., although I couldn't imagine how he dug it up."

"He does know it, because Leeth told both of us. He works for C.C., you see."

"Yes," Dreen said, but he hardly heard her.

Leeth Kembel was on Drezvir? Presumably he was the tough looking dark-haired terraformer Chett's friend Milton Trave had pointed out as having a prison record. There weren't likely to be two with a prison record on the terraformers crew. He hadn't recognized him at all. Still, a lot of years had passed, and as Mitra said, he'd hardly been able to look at Leeth.

"Dreen." Mitra wasn't sure he was listening. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Ari is calling in a couple minutes." Lawyers again, no doubt.

"What?" Dreen frowned, trying to remember what she had just said. "Oh, yes, fine. Take your call."

He stayed, staring into space as Mitra let herself out.

Leeth Kembel was on Drezvir working for C.C. Windegren. And C.C. would have been very glad to see a disaster both to stop the import of biotoxic waste and to discredit Dellmaice Power Systems. And Dreen knew from the session he had just finished with Chett, Vennbir, Brys, and Gali that there was a way to hack into their system if you were good enough. Leeth Kembel. One of the few hackers in the galaxy good enough to do the hack.

So maybe, just maybe, his hacker idea wasn't just grasping at straws.

###

Coming Soon. Gingezel 4: Hacker

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, fine artists, and surface designers.

*****

Please visit the official Gingezel Sci Fi site www.gingezelscifi.com. to see our art depicting the various planets and to find vignettes filling in bits of history. There is also a character list with a brief biography of each character.

