Invitations:a

ForeignerShortStory

by

C.J.Cherryh

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Invitations:aForeignershortstory©2013byC.J.

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TableofContentsTitlePageSignaturePageSection 1: The

BackgroundSection2:InvitationsSection3

Section4Section5Section6Section7Section8Section9Section10MorefromClosedCircleBooksweofferBonus Sneak Peak:

’NetWalkers:

Invitations:aForeignerShortStory

byC.J.Cherryh

Section 1: TheBackground

TheEarthof theatevi is

an inhabitedplanetonwhicha strayed colony of humanslanded, lost and desperate,200yearsago.

Humans, few in number,

lost theWar of the Landing.TheTreatywhichsaved theirlives obliges theirdescendants to remain ontheir island, avoid contactwith the atevi of themainland, and, as a sort ofrent on their land, surrendertheir technology to the ateviat a rate that will notdestabilizetheworldandleadtowar. This alsomeans thathumans themselves cannot

use more advanced tech...and except for theUniversity’s access torecords, the old tech is asunknown to most humans asto the atevi. The two speciesspeak only through thehuman paidhi (translator,)wholivesintheatevicourt—and it is part of his job tounderstand the implicationsof a technological advanceandunderstandwhatchanges

itmaybring.When humans first

arrived, the atevi had asteam-driven railroad. Now,aftertwohundredyears,ateviand humans have televisionand jets. And an increasingpopulation.

Bren is the new paidhi,working for the DepartmentofStateontheislandenclaveofMospheira.Theoldpaidhi,Wilson, has been sent home

to retirement by the new aiji(ruler.)

Bren arrived on themainland by plane, was metby the aiji’s guard,(Assassins’ Guild, as mostguards are,) and wasescorted tohisassignedareawithin the Bujavid, theancient governmental centerthat caps a high hill at theedgeofthecapital,thecityofShejidan.

He has survived the firstday in his new job: he hasacquiredacubbyofanofficeandaverysmallapartment.

Section2:Invitations

The alarmwent off.Bren

shotoutahandandkilledit.Hewasn’tonMospheira.No.Hewasn’tinahuman

place. He wasn’t underhuman laws, humanexpectations— and he

couldn’t expect easy humanways.Wilson’sschedulesaidtheofficeopenedatacertainhour. He didn’t intend to belate.Andthefloorwasfartherdown from the edge of themattressthanhewasusedto.

The accommodation, astheatevicalledit,wasacrossthe hall, next to the smallbath, and that was his firstdestination.

Washesupposedtodress,

however?Itwasa residentialarea, but that was a publichall out there. He had abathrobe, part of his officialwardrobe, everything onWilson’s recommendations.But he had no instruction onhow one crossed a hall heshared with neighbors toreach a facility he was gladhe did not share—his escortyesterday had explained thatthe accommodation and bath

directlyacrossfromhisroom,atthisbagendofthehallwashis alone, and he should notusethosefurtherupthehall.

Dressing to reach itseemed safest. He pulled onat least the minimum, shirtandtrousers.

Boots? Probably, to besafe. Hair? He couldn’t findthe damned hair clip. Butprobably people didn’t weartheirribbonstobathe.

He grabbed his brandnew bathrobe off the hangerandmadethecrossing,takinghiskeywithhimandlockingthe door to his room— hewas very careful about that.There was a sink, theaccommodationitself—andatubdeepenoughtofloatin,iffairlynarrow.Hedrewonlyashallow bath in the interestsofhaste,realizedhe’dleftthesoapinhisroom,anddecided

againstgoingafter it.Hehada soaplessbath, andused thebathrobeforatowel.

Then he dressed again,put the boots on bare, dampfeet, dutifully mopped upspilled water— he wasdeterminednottodoanythingto cause talk among the staff—andwentoutintothehall.

Two doors away, twoatevi neighbors, black-skinned, inky black hair

flowing well over theirshoulders, were standing inbathrobes, having aconversation in front of thenext bathroom. They pausedto glance his direction—likely thinking, Do humansordinarilydresstobathe?

He quickly unlocked hisowndoor,wentinandputonclean clothes— shirt,trousers, vest, boots—andlocated the missing white-

ribboned bow and hair clip,the only way to gather hisshort fair hair into therequisite ribbon— in thechest of drawers,where he’dmeant to keep it safe.Wilson’s retirement hadn’thad a lot of warning. Hehadn’t had time to grow hishair even enough to hold theclipsecurely.

He hoped he lasted longenough in office to grow a

queue.He hoped, if he did last,

togetanothertable.Amirror.A mirror would be a greathelp.

Nobodyhadrepaintedtheapartment or changed thecarpet sinceWilson had left.Therewere littlescarson themoldings, littlewornspots inthe carpet. It was a threeroom apartment, with acloset, but two of the rooms

were barely large enough fora singlebed—and therewasno furniture in them. Themain room of his apartmenthad only his bed, the tallchest of drawers, and a tinylight table that passed for anightstand. Lighting was anafterthought: the wiring waspaintedover.

Wilson had lived in thisroom for, what, forty-oddyears— and had no other

furniture? Wilson had madeabsolutely no impression onhis environment but a fewnicksintheverytiredpaint?

Thatwasfairlysad.This main room had a

large curtain, a filmy whitecurtainthatwasalittlecrankyon its track, and that curtaincovered, for his opinion, theroom’s very best feature— aslidingglassdoor that letoutinto a pretty little garden—

and admitted daylight, whenthe sunwas up. If he got upearly enough tomorrow, hethought,hemightventureoutthere, if no one elsewas out—and if itwouldnotoffendhisneighbors.

It was entirelyunexpected, that garden. Hewondered if his neighborsever walked there, gatheredthere. He had been in theroom at the edge of twilight

andseennoone.He wondered if Wilson

hadbeeninclinedtowalkoutthere.

Wilson would havespoken to no one, that wascertain.Wilsonwasnotgoodon pronunciation. But thetruth,Bren suspected, ran fardeeper: Wilson was one ofthose linguists who wasn’tgood at math. And inspeaking Ragi, above the

children’s language, oneneeded math with everysentence.Onehadtokeepthenumbers felicitous. One hadtoaddmodifiersconstantlytoadjustthefelicity.

Wilson had solved thatproblem by writingeverythingexceptcertainrotephrases.

He— himself— couldtranslate far faster, and hadnoneedtowriteitdown.

He’dmetWilson.Wilsonhad cautioned him to keepthings in writing, and saidhe’d sail right into politicaltraps if he didn’t— that hewas, Wilson’s words to hissupervisor, too damnedcocky. He’d tried, on asecond meeting, to assureWilsonotherwise.

Wilsonhadgoneasfarasto write to the head ofLinguistics that same day,

calling him unfit, too youngand far too reckless to be inthecandidatepool.

He hadn’t warmed toWilson, either.Wilsonwas adry,scowlingmanwithasoftvoice that sounded rusty—disuse,onesupposed.Andhewas sure Wilson had triedeverythingpossibletopreventhimbeingassigned.

Andherehestood,heirtoWilson’snotes,hisapartment

in the Bujavid, his specialbathroom— without soap—andanicelittlegarden.He’dlike to sleep tonightwith thedoor open. He hadn’t beensure enough, last night. Buttherewasascreen.

Perhapshewould takeanouting himself, free, undertheskyofthecontinent.He’dverymuchlikeabreeze.

Take his computer withhim to the office today? He

wasn’t sure of that, either.The computer was securedagainst meddling— and hisroom was far more securethan his first day’s schedule.He didn’t know what nexthoursmightbring,orwhetherhe could rely on security inhis office if he becamedistracted.

It was just better not toriskityet,notforthesakeofhisnotesandasolitairegame.

Hedidn’t need the notes.Hehoped he wouldn’t needthem.

Andhewondered, shouldhemeetaneighboroutinthehall,whetherheshouldtrytowishagoodmorning.

Nod, at least, he decided.Hewas,aspaidhi-aiji,atleastacourtofficial.Hesharedthehall, Wilson’s notes said,with the aiji’s master cook,with high-ranking

accountants, and with anumberofofficesupervisors.Theywerehissociallevel.

Humility, Wilson’s notesadded, was not a requisite,nor advised: atevi put you inthe social order at whateverrankyourbehavior indicated,pending further information,and the ribbon in your braidand the style of your dresswas part of that information.The paidhi-aiji was advised

not to defer to certain ranks,like theBujavidservants,buthe was expected to delivermeasured courtesy ifconfronted by others. God,he’d digested books ofmaterial on how to tell rankandwhowaswho incourt—some of it in the computernotes. None of that helpedyou if you made a wrongmove with someone in abathrobe.

Never arguewith a blackuniform. He had thatinstruction down pat. BlackuniformmeanttheAssassins’Guild. That was lawenforcement.Orsomebodyofconsequence’s bodyguard,which was also not to triflewith.

He drew a deep breath,patted his pocket to be surehe had his room key and hisoffice key— he had nowish

to start his career by lockinghimselfout.

Sooutitwas,intoaworldwhere a tallish human wasabout the stature of a ten-year-old, and where everychairwasabittoohigh,everystep a little far, every table alittle inconveniently tall, andwhere he stood aboutshoulder-high to an averageateva. He’d experienced thesize difference on the way

from the airport, where hisateviescorthadkeptoneitherside of him, blocking hisview, where, walking withthem,he’dfeltchild-sized.

That part of theexperience wasn’t somethingyoucouldgetusedtooveronMospheira, not in all thetraining. It was a mentaladjustment. It wasremembering,onstairs,nottoforget thedifferenceinscale;

and,thismorning,gettingoutofbed, that thefloorwasnotgoing to meet your feet assoonasyouexpected.

Hewas on his own now.Onehuman.Theonlyhumanallowedonthecontinent.

Wilson had copedwith itfordecades.

Had Wilson started hiscareer the same, sane,with anormal voice, and humanexpressions,andgenerosityin

hisheart?Hehadnoidea.

Section3

Atevistreetsoftencurved.

The residence hall itself wasstraight, but side halls downat this level of the Bujavidfollowed thegeometryof thehillitself,andbent.

Somust some rooms.He

had seen that in his ownoffice,whichhadonewallatastrangeangle.

Getting to that officemeant walking as far as theresidencehallled,turnleftatthe lopsided and angled T,secondturntotheright,abouta 60 degree angle, thenstraightonuntil the third left—he’dhadtowanderabittofind his way back yesterday,when his escort, having

shown him his quarters andhisoffice,hadlefthimtohisowndevices.

Supper had been aproblem. He’d been toldabout the food counter. Hehadn’t found it. He’d gottenlost in the maze of hallwaysintheattempt,andhadfinallyfound a landmark, a doorwithacarvedlintel,whichheremembered as near hisoffice.

He’d gotten home attwilight. He’d packed a fewfoodbars inhis luggage,andthere’d been water to drink,so the supper had been nogreat hardship, but the veryfirst thing on the agenda thismorningwasfindingthathalland getting breakfast. He’dlookeditupintheorientationnotes on the computer lastnight, and he was relativelycertain where he’d taken the

wrongturn.Hereachedhisofficeand

kept going. This morning,unlike yesterday,was clearlythe right time to be lookingfor the food service counter:people coming his directionwere carrying little whitecloth-wrapped packages inthe hallway, wafting up avery savory smell. In risingconfidence he tracked thosepackage-bearers upstream to

their origin, just a couple ofhalls over, a little half-doorthat, had it been closedyesterday,hecouldwellhavemissed. He stood back andobserved. People lined upthere, talked to theattendant,andimmediatelytookawayamealwithoutanypayment—

That was as he wasassured in his generalinstructions. There was nocoinintheBujavid:thewhole

Bujavid system worked onbeing recognized. One’sofficeranatab,andwhateverhe wanted, he could beassuredwouldfinditswaytothepaidhi’stab.

Hewaitedforaclearspot,then walked up to the littlecounter, wondering whetherhe should give his name ortry to make small talk— hisfair hair and light skin andstaturemaking it ridiculously

obvious to anyone who hewas,

The young man at thecounterlookedathim,gaveafrostylittlenod,glancedoverpackages on the shelvesbehind him, thenwent to thecounter beyond and advisedsomeone that the new paidhiwas here, that his breakfastwas not on the shelf. Theperson inside said they hadreceived no word about the

paidhi.“It was obvious, nadi,”

the man said, “that if thepaidhi came for his supperlast night, he would be inresidencethismorning.”

“Then it was the supperstaff at fault. I had noword.Herequestednothing.”

“Serve himwhatWilson-paidhi always had. Thatshouldbesafe.Hurry.”

There was some little to-

do, a little shouting back inthe kitchen which he couldnot make out. By now therewere three people in linebehind him, and he steppedover a bit, bowed and said,“Pardon me. My breakfastapparently poses a problem,nadiin.Pleasegoahead.”

He drew startled andperturbedlooks,butthethreebehindhimand thena fourtharrivalwentonandcollected

theirpacketsatthecounter.The young man

eventually came up withanotherwhitepacket.

“This is exactly whatWilson-paidhi ordered,paidhi.”

“Excellent.” He was gladto hear it. It was a point ofcaution, not to eat anythingonecouldn’t identify—somethings atevi ate werepoisonoustohumans.“Thank

you very much.” He bowed,andtookhisprizebacktohiswindowless office, unlockedit, turnedon the light,set thepacket down and carefullyuntied the large napkin thatwrappedit.

Therewas,withinabox,acarafe with a lid— the lidwas, one suspected, intendedtobeacupforhot tea—anda thick piece of coarse drytoast.

Well, it was not exactlywhat hewouldhaveordered.But itwasabreakfast, and itwasbetterthananothercerealbar. He wondered whatWilsonusuallyhad for lunchandsupper.

He let the door standopen.Helistenedtotrafficinthe hall, trying to make outwords,accustominghiseartothe accent, and trying togather news, even gossip.

Nobody bothered him. Theoffice was fairly wellstripped, bare shelves, oldpaint—nodust,atleast.

He wondered how muchWilsonhadpacked, andhowmuch atevi authorities,wanting to know things theTreatydidnotletthemknow,had gone over every scrapWilsonhadleft.

He poured a second cupof tea— it was a two-cup

carafe—choseapenfromthedeskandpulledacleansheetofpaperdownfromthestackon the shelf. Then he satdown, uncapped the inkwell,andbegan towritea letter tohismother,hisfirstnot-quite-officialduty.

I’m here. I’m safe anddoingfine.Theypickedmeupattheairport,showedmemyroom andmy office, and I’mprettywellonmyown. Ihad

supperfrommybriefcase—”Hewas forbidden, in any

but an official debriefing, togiveevenmundanedetailsofhis life, like how one gotfood, or not having abathroominhisapartment,orhow he had gotten to hisroom in the first place. Hehadtosticktogeneralities.

And I had a decentbreakfast this morning.Certainly enough toast. The

slicesarequitethick.In point of fact, his feet

were not quite reaching thefloorandthedeskwasalittlehigher than human standard.Therebeingnoonearoundtonote the fact, he hooked histoes, childlike, around thechair legs, for stability as hewrote.

I have a nice view frommy room, which I had notexpected.

He couldn’t say it was agarden.Hecould,ondebrief,to human authorities: hecouldgiveanydetailhecouldremember, but not to hismother,wholackedasecurityclearance, no matter what.StateDepartmentpolicy.

EverylittlethingIdoisanew procedure, but I’mfiguring it out and gettingalong very well. Everyone isbeingverypoliteandhelpful.

One recalled the shoutingin the kitchen,which hewassurehad involvedvocabularynotinhisdictionary.

Insomewaysit’salotlikebeing in the University. Ihave my little office, lookingexactlyliketheUniversity...

She hadn’t seen thatcubbyhole either, but shecouldatleastbereassuredhersonwasimportantenoughforanofficeofhisown.

Nothing forme to do yet,butI’msuretherewillbe.I’llwrite often. Please share myletterswithToby.Staywell.Iloveyou.

His mother hadn’t beenhappy with him enteringLinguistics. She definitelyhadn’t been happy when heentered the pool of eligiblesfor the paidhi’s office. She’dcried when he’d gotten theappointment, and that had

hurt.Butthenshe’dneverbeen

happy he wasn’t a banker oranaccountant.

“Are they paying youenough?” she’d asked himwhen he made his last visithome.

“Quite well, actually,”he’d said. “And the atevigovernment provides all myfood and lodging andtransport. And clothing. I’ll

just put the pay in the bank.I’ve set up an account. Youwon’t have to worry aboutanything.”

“Andwhat are yougoingto dowhen you get awife?”she’d askedhim. “Will thosepeople lethermove in?Andyoucan’tbringkidsupthere.And how often will you behere? I’m not getting anyyounger,youknow.”

Conversations with his

mother usually got to twopoints, her health and thepotentialforgrandchildren.

As if his brother Tobyweren’t working on thatproblem.

But he still got the oldquestion... when are you andthatgirlgettingmarried?

Hewasseeingsomeone...threesomeones,ashappened,none of them a person hismother approved, naturally...

but girls who appreciated agood time, one of the threelikelytobefreewheneverhecalled and none of the threehavingany trouble filling theweeks between. Linguisticswas like that: you studieduntil your brain ached, youwrote papers, you wroteproposals, and then whenyou’dallbutgivenup,they’dpassyourpaperandgiveyouthree whole days of leave

fromtheprogram.Hewasprobablygoingto

feelthesamewayafterafewmonths of a cubbyhole of anoffice. Most of his jobinvolved reading thenewspapers, readingmagazines, collecting awordor two to send off toLinguistics along with apaperexplainingtheusageashe believed it to be... whichmightclearitintotheofficial

dictionary, and might givesome Linguistics studentmaterial for a paper. Theotherpartwasstayingcurrentwithatevisociety,pickingupthe gossip and the rumors,andfiguringwhattechwouldbe a good thing to ease intoateviculture.

By such steps atevi-humanrelationsadvanced.

He thought about startinghis initial report to State.He

didn’t think he should leavehis office and walk around.Since the paidhi-aiji had anoffice, probably ateviexpected thepaidhi-aiji tobein it. Eventually either someletter fromStatewouldcomein for him, or one from theaijimightcometohimonitsway to State, simply tellingMospheira he had gottenhere. When it did, he wouldtranslateitandattachnotes.

Thatwashisjob.And if State decided it

was time to release atechnology, hewas supposedto write up an impactstatement, and translate it forthe aiji— and veto it if hedidn’t think it was a goodidea. That was his one greatpower in office, and it wasabsolute— his objectioncould stop an item beingreleasedonthemainland.

Besides that, he was setup to attend atevi legislativecommitteemeetings where itregarded technology, andwrite more reports, to goeither direction across thestraits— one copy inMosphei’, the humanlanguage, and one copy inRagi,theatevilanguage.

He finished the tea. Hehad no ideawhat to dowiththe empty saucer and carafe,

the box, or the napkin. Hefolded thenapkinandset thebox with the carafe on avacant shelf, thinking hecould take it back to thekitchens.

Or he could take it whenhewentouttogetlunch:thatseemedmoresensible.

Section4

Half an hour later, with

people passing in the halloutside, and no one stopping—a youngperson arrived athis door, bowed, and beforehe could get up, set a smallbundle of newspapers on his

desk and left. Work hadarrived— not unwelcomelyso.

He unrolled the first oneto read the headlines— andbecame aware of anothershadowinthedoorway.

Two more individualsarrivedandbowed.

He stood up and bowed,that seeming the appropriatethingtodo.

“My name is Taigi,” one

said. “Moni,” said the other,and both bowed. “We areassigned to provide service,paidhi.”

“Indeed,” he said. Hisnotes from Wilson hadcontainednothingaboutthemor any staff. “What officesentyou?”

“We are assigned here,paidhi,”Moni said, “tocomeatwhatevertimeyouneed,toassistyouwithwhateveryou

need— care of wardrobe,meals, laundry, any need atall,paidhi.”

Hewassurprised.Andhehadnothadananswer.“Oneis gratified. But on whoseorder,nadi?”

“Wewill of coursemakecharges to the paidhi’saccount.”

He was new, but he wasnot a fool: he had just triedtwo routes, accurately

pronounced, to get the sameinformation, and had notgotten an answer. That rangalarmbells.

“Whosentyou,nadi?”That seemed to get

through. “Ah.” Taigi said.“The Director of BujavidStaffServices,paidhi.”

“Did Wilson have suchhelpers from the Office ofBujavidStaffServices?”

“No, paidhi,” Taigi said,

lacinghisfingersandlookingdown. “But Wilson-paidhiwasingreatdisfavor.”

That— was interesting.Relations had always beenshaky. A paidhi spent hisentire career trying not to lettheworldgosuddenlytohellover a mistaken verb usage.Wilson,whohadservedthreeadministrations, had knownsomeverydiceymoments.

So was Wilson’s

replacement getting a cleanslate, old argumentsforgotten?

“Don’t go in wide-eyedand fullof idealism,”Wilsonhadsaid.

Soitwashisfirstday,andhe’d been assigned servantsWilson hadn’t had, servantswhose affiliation he couldn’tdetermine, in a court full offactions, and whoseassignmenthadn’t comewith

any paperwork— the atevicourtranonpaper,seals,andribbon— and with nobody’sseal of approval, servantswere going to bring his foodandhaveaccesstohisroom.

The Director of BujavidStaff Services. An origin hecouldn’tprobe.

“Well,”hesaid,andcastaglance at the dishes on theshelf.“Pleasebesokindastoreturnthedishes,nadiin.One

assumes they shouldgobackto the kitchen. And mighttherebemoretea?”

The two repressed gentlesmiles. ‘Dishes in a usedcondition’ sounded a greatdeal like ‘potsherds’ and hefeared he had not quitemastered the d-p distinction.Heamusedthem.Buthewasapparentlygoingtohavetheirservices— if they could gethimacupoftea.

“Yes, paidhi,” they said,tookthedishes,andbothleft.

Andiftheycouldgethimacupof tea, shouldhedrinkit?

He sat down and glancedat the newspaper he’d beenreading, thinking, well, ifsomeonewasgoingtopoisonhim, they would do it, andthat would embarrass theatevi government— who, iftheywere bent on doing him

in, need not have gone to allthe troubleof invitinghiminthe first place— need theyhave? So he probably couldrelyonthem.

He thought about it. Andthought. Their getting a cupof tea didn’t give him thatlong a time to figure thingsout.

He had no desire to startoff offending whoever mighthave tried to start off with

betterrelations.But he couldn’t take

things at face value, either.He didn’t know if these twoknewwhathumanscouldandcouldn’tdrink.

Andmost of all— they’dbrought no paperwork, noseal, no ribbon to indicatewhat person or what officewassendingthem.

No.Itwasn’tright.Itwasdangerouslynotright.

Hegotup, left hisoffice,andwalked down the hall tothe office nearest his—alarger office the function ofwhichhehadnotyetfigured.

Themanatthefrontdesklookedup,eyeswidened,andthemanroseinhaste.

“Wouldyoubesokindasto call Bujavid Security,nadi?” Bren asked. “Twopersons have come to myoffice. They say they are

assigned as my servants, butone does not know how toverifythisstatementandtheybrought no paper.One needstoaskSecurity.”

“Indeed.” In someconsternation the man wentback to a small office. Acluster of clerical workersgatheredatadoorwaytostareat him, pretending to be inconference.Hepretendednotto notice, and wondered

whether he should have justaskedtocontacttheOfficeofBujavid Staff Services andask.

A woman from an inneroffice emerged with a veryconcerned expression,approached him at thecounterandsaid,“Securityisonitsway,nadi.”

Indeed they were. Heheard a commotion in thehall,andhardlyhadturnedto

seebefore two armed, black-uniformed Assassins’ Guildarrived in the office, fixedhim with unflinching lookswhile towering above him,andasked,

“Where is the threat,paidhi-nadi?”

Section5

It was something he did

not care towritehomeabout— the fact that within hoursof officially taking up hisoffice, he had rung down asecurity alert, locking doorsin one entire wing of the

Bujavid—andgottenhistwoinnocentservantsarrested.

Yes, the Director ofBujavid Staff Services hadindeed sent them, at therequest of the Director ofBujavid Personnel, on arequest from the Office ofCourt Operations. Onedoubted it had gone anyhigher than that... or that itpossiblycould go any higherthanthat.Theywereservants:

theycame, apparently,newlyattachedtotheroom,aseveryBujavid residence hadservants assigned to keeppublicpropertyingoodorder.Wilson had rejected anyassistance. But there theywere.

“One profoundlyapologizes, nadiin,” he wasobliged to tell his servants,when they were finallyreleased to report to his

office, and profoundlyembarrasseddidnotbegintocoverit.

Moni and Taigi weregraciouslyabletolaughaboutit.Andtheyhad,afterallthathad happened to them,broughttherequestedtea,andwere able to serve it to him.They were, they said, well-informed on humansensitivities to some teasandspices.

They offered to shop forhim, and find him items heneeded.They couldgodowninto the city streets, at thefootoftheBujavid,whichhecouldnotdo.Theycouldrunerrands, check for mail,advise him of menu items,certainly take dishes to andfro. They could serve himsupperinhisapartment.Theywere amply compensated byBujavid Staff Services:

service in the governmentcenter was a very good job,and they were delighted hewould accept their service:working as personal stafffor a court official was evenbetterthanservingoneofthehistoricrooms.

And they could talk tohim. They would talk—especially Taigi, who couldleap from one topic to thenext with very informative

chains of thought. And theytold him things— whatbusinesses were down in theHotelDistrict, andwhat theycould get. They were veryhappy to tell him about theirvillage, and where that was,and how long they had beenin Shejidan. They could tellhimwhatwasgoingoninthewing, and in the wholeBujavid,andthecityifhehadtimetohearit.

And they could tell himhow todealwithAccountingand how to deal withCustoms,andgetthingsfromMospheira that he mightwant.

They were beyond anasset.Theywereagodsend.

He did write a personalapology to the Office of theDirector of Bujavid StaffServices, to theOfficeof theDirector of Bujavid

Personnel, and to the Officeof the Director of CourtOperations— not forgettingthe Office of the Director ofBujavid Security, which waslinked to the Assassins’Guild.

Andhewroteathankyouto the Director of the Officeof Procurement, which wasthe office that had calledsecurityforhim.

Thatmeanthehadwritten

twomore letters than he hadmessagecylinderstocontain.

That was no problem atall,Monisaid:theycouldgetplain ones from the mailoffice.

But perhaps, Taigi said,he shouldhave severalmore,white ones, which was thecolor of his office, or anyother person who was tryingforsomereasontobeneutral.Theycouldgetthosedownin

the city, very nice ones,because nice cylinders withproper colors got fasterattention.

If he wished, they couldorder them printed in goldwithOffice of the Paidhi-aijiblazonedonit.

And was there anythingelse they should get for him,whiletheywereaboutit?

Section6

It was very pleasant to

have a real dinner in hisquarters. Moni and Taigiassured him the sauces weresafe, and they were, and itsmelled good: seasonal fishand a grain dish with savory

oil. Moni and Taigi didn’twant to join him at dinner—they had ordered their own,andtheywouldpicktheirsupwhentheywenthometotheirown apartment in anotherwing. They served him hisdinner, and stood proppedagainst the wall, chatteringaway about food from theirdistrictheshouldtry.

And then, in preparationforthecomingday,theytook

inventoryinhiscloset,wherehe had two coats and threeshirts and three pair oftrousers.

They were distressed.“We can of coursework lateevery night to have thepaidhi’s wardrobe ready,”Taigisaid,“butitwouldbesomuch easier if there weremore. The paidhi can orderanythingneedful.”

“One expects to order

paper and pens,” Bren said.“Butclothing—”

“A coat, of course. Thepaidhi must have a coat.Could he possibly bring anysort of a proper coat fromMospheira?”Taigiassumedapainedexpression.“Thesearesimplynotinfashion,paidhi.They are last year’s, beinggenerous. These clothes,however, fit, do they not,paidhi-nadi?”

“Yes.”“Well, then let us take

them to a tailor.He can takemeasurementsfromthese.”

“But this expense? Onedoes not wish to beexcessive.”

“Indeed.” Taigi boweddeeply, seeming pleased.“One has absolutely nodoubts.Relyonus,paidhi.”

One hoped theAccounting office was not

abouttogetasurprise.

Section7

He was unprepared the

followingevening,asheshedhiscoat,andasTaigiopenedthefairlylargecloset, tofinditfullofclothes.

“Nadiin,” he began,turning to find both of them

lookingsmug.“You now have a proper

choice,”Taigisaid.Taigihadbeen absent all day, as hesaid, shopping.Hehad comeback from one shoppingexpedition in a city whereready-to-wear in adult stylescame only in significantlylarger sizes... and hispurchases had filled thecloset.

Beige and white

predominated— the paidhi’sofficial color was white—with a darker brown in onecase, which he was glad tosee, for comfort’s sake; butonecoatwasbeigeandwhitebrocade, full-on court dress,outdoingbyseveralordersofmagnificence the beige coathe had thought would serve,worn with the requisite lace-cuffedshirt—

It glittered with gold

thread.What was the form for

excessive though of coursefortunate and very tasteful,andthankyoufortheeffort?

God.Hedidnotplantobethat

conspicuous at court. Ever.Plain beige and brownseemedquiteenough,dressedupwithalittlelace.

And, was it six?— sixcompletely new three-piece

suits?How? occurred to him to

ask. And he was sure hewould eventually get thestory. Taigi undoubtedlywantedtotellhim.

Buttherewasmoretosee.The room had acquired,

besides, a small side table, acloisonnebowlformessages,should any come to theresidence, a little tea service,a bottle of brandywith three

glasses—weretheyhopingtobeaskedtoshareabrandy,hewondered. Or was it simplythat glassware on themainlandcameinthrees?

He had not evencommented on that, yet. Hewasastounded.Everythingonthe continent tended to behand-worked in somefashion. Cloth came from amill— but furniture storesgenerally had, Wilson

reported, a display windowwhere artists carved andpainted and varnished theirworkfortheentertainmentofpassers-by.

“How did you do it?” heasked,andtheylaughed.

“We know tailors,” theysaid, and finally Moni said,“Several tailors. Once oneknows the numbers, one cantakethemanywhere.”

Section8

Itwas not a restful night.

He kept thinking about thesuddeninvasionofhiscloset,the sudden widening of hisworld...andheworriedaboutthe bill. He was new in anoffice he’d worked for years

to reach.He’d done it on nopatronage.He’drisenthroughLinguisticsonhis scores,nothisconnections.He’drisensofast, so far that he hadconstant misgivings aboutwhat he might have missedlearning.

When itwasclear,ayearago,thatTabiniwasgoingtotake the aijinate, everybodyhad thought, well, Wilson’sdone.

And he’d thought,regardinghishopesofgettinginto the selection pool, well,that’s it for me. Just thewrongtiming—

Because he wasn’t thereyet.

But when Wilson hadoutlasted Tabini-aiji’saccession to the aijinate—everybodyinStatehaddrawnadeepbreathandsaid,Well,we’vestillgotWilson.

And those in the verysmall selection pool haddrawn an even deeper oneand said— not for years yet.Wilsonwilldieinoffice.

He’dmadeitintothepoolthis winter. He was thejuniormost,stillscramblingtobriefhimself.

ThenWilsonwasout.And he was in. How he

was in was a question.Whyhewasinwasamystery.

He’d heard a hint the aijihimself had refused twoappointees.

And taken him... maybefiguring the youngestcandidate would be apushover.

Certainly several of theother candidates had not toograciously expressed thatthought. One political powerhad objected; but State saidthe appointment was the

appointment, andcouldn’tbeundoneatthispoint.

Ifhehadtogoback,now,if he got tossed out of theappointmentfromthisend—

Hedidn’tknowwhathe’ddo.Survive,hesupposed.Buthellifhewantedtogooutinsome financial scandal MoniandTaigihadcreated.

He could put pleadinexperience. He could payfor it out of his salary. That

was what he would have tosay.

Damn. He had to talk tothepair about that.Theyhadto consult him before doingsomethinglikethis.

Section9

Morning arrived and he

hadslept,uneasilyandinfitsandsnatches.

AndtheknockatthedoorwasMoniandTaigibringingin breakfast, setting it up onthelittlesidetable...

Which meant he shouldhavehisbathandfacethedayand think how he was goingto broach the matter ofbudget.

Andwhenhe returned, inhis bathrobe and barefoot,theyhadhisclothinglaidout,insistentonhelpinghimdressbeforebreakfast.

Their help was aconvenience, at leastwhen itcame to the shirt and coat:

there was lace to cope with,cuffs that had to be gottenthroughthesleeves.

Then there was theproblem of eating, keepinghis cuffs out of the plate,tryingnottodropanythingonhisnewclothes,withthetwoof them standing by andwatchingtheperformance.Atone point Moni dartedforward to prevent anaccidentwiththecuff—itwas

a problem, and one he wasgoingtohavetosolve.

And maybe he shouldlearnhowtoweartheclothesinhiscloset.Hewasgoingtolive here.Hewasgoing,oneday, to need to know thesethings.Wilsonhadlivedhere—inthisoneroomwithtiredblue paint, had no staff, justread newspapers andcollectedwords toadd to thedictionary...

Maybe Wilson hadn’tstarted that way; but he’dendedthatway.Theevidenceof it, despiteWilson’s returnto aUniversity teaching post— was all around him.WasWilson’sstateofaffairsattheend— the state of affairs inwhichhewasgoing tospendhiscareer?

He hoped for things. Hehoped for more than Wilsonhaddone.Hehadavisionhe

wanted to bring. He didn’twant to jeopardize it bychallenginganyrules.

Or by tucking in andtucking down too low, toosnug.

Moni and Taigi left him,taking the breakfast dishes.And in his own time, hewalkedtohisoffice,settledinto read one of thenewspapers, which shed inkon his hands— there was a

needtobecarefulofthat.Helaid out a sheet of paper fornote-taking— and realized alace cuff sweeping across astill-damp note in ink was agreat deal worse than a tea-stain.He started to lay downa second sheet of paper as aguard, then wondered aboutthe use of a small polishedstick he had taken for apaperweight,thatlayatopthestackofpaper.

Resting his wrist on thatwhile he wrote kept hisfingers and cuffs safe. It sethis hand at an awkwardangle.Butonecouldgetusedtoit.

Moni and Taigi arrivedwith tea— a surprise— andthey brought several mailcylinders, two in his owncylinders,whichwashowonegot back one’s own— theywerereplies.Heguessedthat.

But one was red andblack.Ragiheraldry.Thatgotattention.

The seal was not aBujaviddepartment.

Itwastheaiji’s.Tabini’s.He carefully pried loose

the seal, extracted the letterandunrolledit.

God, had the bill hitAccounting?

Orwasitthesecurityalertyesterday?

Tabini aiji of theaishidi’tat

toBrenpaidhi-aiji.Yourpresenceisrequired

immediatelyintheBlueHall.Whathadhefalleninto?Whatelsecouldhedo?Moni and Taigi were

waiting. Expecting anoutcome.Aninstruction.

Well, he said to himself,he simply had to do as theorder said, and go find out

whethertherewasaproblem,whether he was going to beon the next plane headed forMospheira, or whether— ifthere was a problem, if hedidn’t panic— he mightmanagetotalkhiswayoutofit.

First was figuring outwherehewassupposedtogo.

“CanyouguidemetotheBlueHall,nadiin?”

“Yes,” Taigi said. “Is

thereaproblem,paidhi?”“Ishallfindout,”hesaid.

He checked his cuffs. Theywere, thankGod, innocentofink. He drew a deep breath,felt his pocket for the keys,and said, resolutely: “Pleaseshowmetheway,nadiin.”

Section10

His wing of the Bujavid

was, Bren had alreadyfigured, one of those placeswhere the mass of the upperbuilding extended wings likeroots along the ridges of thehill. The upper building, the

part of the building thatshowed to the world, was amassive block of pale brownstonework, dwarfing itsoccasional windows, and,fromitscenter,extendingoneincredibly long run of stepsandlandingsdowntothecity.HehadseentheBujavidfromthe outside as his plane wascoming in— but that hadbeen in the distance, too farfor detail. There were very

few photographs of it, mostgleaned from atevipublications. There werediagrams, maps Wilson hadmade.

And even in the largersub-corridors— straight linesand right-angle intersectionswere still not necessarily therule. Halls bent, curved, andintersectedatangles.ButwithMoni and Taigi’s guidance,they came to three lifts with

brasswork doors, in a verylarge,dimlylightedhallway.

They boarded the first,Monipushedabutton—therewere only three— and itascended two floors toanotherhall.

Ornate did not begin todescribe it. It was a straighthall.Ahugeone.Therewereporcelain vases the size of aman, and others on marbleplinths. Marble floors and

gilt-edged, painted ceilings,ornatecarpetrunnersthatoneknew were handwork— andthis was just the side hall,where there was a bank oflifts.

He was on, he guessed,the main, public floor of theBujavid, and if that was so,he had a clear notion wherehe was. The intersectinghallwaywherethelightcamein— thatwas the location of

the greatAudienceHall, andjust beyond it were themassive doors that led to thegrandstairwayandthecity.

AcrossfromtheAudienceHall was the BujavidMuseum— he hoped to beabletoseethatsomeday.

And to the right of thatintersection were thelegislative halls, thecommittee rooms— hewould see those, once the

legislaturewentintosession.“Thisway, paidhi,” Taigi

said, anddirectedhimacrossthehallfromthelifts,where,a short walk up the carpetedhallway, were doors guardedby black-uniformed andarmed Guild security. This,apparently, was theirdestination:thiswouldbetheBlueHall.

“Paidhi-nadi,” one of theguards said, expressionless,

and opened the doorimmediately. “You areexpected.”

Itwas a huge room. Paleblue, baroque molding on ahugescale—carpetsandwallhangings, a very littlefurniture. Another pair ofguardsstoodjustinside.

And across the room, inan area of light, a desk. Aman.Ateva—ofcourse.

The man looked up.

Beckoned, in the atevi way,withonemotion, andpushedhischairback.

Bren walked forward,across carpet, across baremarble— sorting in his headeverythinghe’dstudiedaboutmeeting a superior.Prescribeddistance.Manners.Hestoppedaboutfourmetersaway, immediately gave adeep bow, held it threeseconds,straightened.

Tabini-aiji. Young—twenty-three; athletic build;taller than most. Eyes palergoldthanmost.Cold,Wilsonhad described that stare.Redandblackbrocade,blacklacefar finer and more abundantthan what he’d had troublekeepingoutoftheink.

A little head-tilt,impatient, as good as, “Saysomething, fool. My time isvaluable.”

“Bren Cameron, nand’aiji. You requested mypresence.”

A brow lifted. A secondhead-tilt, this one seemingironicsurprise.

“Youtalk.”Wilson had written

everything.“I came immediately as I

hadyourmessage,nand’aiji.I apologize: I have not yetwrittenmy first report.But I

shall.Immediately.”“Shall you?” Tabini

shovedhischairaround,fullyfacinghim.“Areyousatisfiedwith your office? With yourrooms?”

Bow. Whenever asuperior asked you a politequestion, bow slightly beforeanswering.“Yes,nand’aiji.”

“Your accent is quitegood.”

Bow. When a superior

paid you a compliment, bowslightlyandavoidbabbling.

“Thankyou,nand’aiji.”“You approve your

servants.Aretheysuitable?”One could go on bowing

all day. Three was thefortunate limit. Watch thenumbers. Never end up witheven numbers of anything.“Yes,nand’aiji.”

“Youhadthemarrested.”That was when one

wanted to bow, duck one’sheadandavoid thatquestion.Buthewasoutofbows, andembarrassment made it timeto go into the modestdissociative mode. “Onedeeplyapologizes,nand’ aiji.One receivednopapers.Onewasalarmed.Onehadnoideawho to ask.” Three. Stop atthreereasons.“Nand’aiji.”

“YouralarmparalyzedanentirewingoftheBujavid.”

Now one bowed. “Nand’aiji,onedeeplyregretsit.”

Tabini extended his legs,ankles crossed, clasped hishandsacrosshislap—lookedathimandgavetheghostofawrysmile.“Wilsonwouldnothave accepted themhad theycome with arecommendation. Youexpected papers. You calledsecurity. You did the correctthing.”

Thatwasarelief.Butonedid not assume anything,whereitregardedthisman.

“What is your age,paidhi?”

“Twenty-three, nand’aiji.”

“The same asmy years,”Tabini said. “But onesuspects you already knewthat.”

“Everyone knows that,nand’aiji.”

Tabini gave a short,dubious laugh. “Everyone onMospheira?”

“Everyone in theDepartment of Linguistics,nand’ aiji, in the Universityof Mospheira. Everyone intheDepartment of State, oneis certain.” Damn, that wastwo, and he hadn’t insertedthe modifier that changed it.It was too late. “And thepaidhi-aiji should of course

know.”The wry smile grew.

“Was Wilson-paidhi actuallythisfluent,Bren-paidhi?”

“No, nand’ aiji. Wilson-paidhi is not as good atmathematics.”

“He cannot count tothree?”

“He—” He had launchedthat answer without thinkingwhere it was going. “He cancertainlycounttothree,nand’

aiji, but he might get intodeeper waters than he couldmanage.”

“And you believe youcan.”

“One hopes to avoidinfelicity,nand’aiji,althoughmistakesarepossible.”

“Ha.” Tabini suddenlyuncrossed his ankles and satup, hands on the arms of hischair.“Areyoumarried?”

“Married,nand’ aiji?”He

wasnotsurehehad therightword.“Ihavenowife.”

“Father?”Deep breath.

“Dissociated, nand’ aiji.” Itwas a trap. Atevi familyrelationships were not thesame. There was nofriendship.Marriagewasrare.There was no love, evenparental love, though therewas certainly care— fiercecare. Therewas, holding one

ateva to another, man’chi,and the paidhi-aiji wasstrictlyadvisednottogonearthat quagmire, not to use thehuman word for emotionalbond,ortheatevione.

“Yourmother?”“Imaintain a relationship

withher,nand’aiji.”“Is it a close

relationship?”“Yes,nand’aiji.Although

Ihavebeenat theUniversity

thelastfiveyears.”“Indeed.Somuchstudy.”“Yes, nand’ aiji. A great

dealofstudy.”“IsWilsonarelative?”“No,nand’aiji.”“Have you man’chi— to

Wilson-paidhi?”Trap.Hegreatlyfearedhe

wasgettingintoone.“Italkedwith Wilson-paidhi onlyonce., nand’ aiji. I had nofeeling. I do not believe he

hadafeelingeither.”Surprisingly— silent

laughter.Andagrin.“Thatisthe best description ofWilson-paidhi I have everheard. Excellent, paidhi!Excellent. —How do youestimateyourservants?”

Deep breath. “They teachme.”

“Teachyou.”“Icanaskthemquestions.

I can talk to them. Little

things,nand’aiji.”Hewasoffthe edge into delicateterritory. And he still didn’tknow whether he’d run hisoffice into debt. “I worry,nand’ aiji. One went to theshops.Therewasexpense.”

A casual wave of thehand. “They reported. Theywere instructed.” A secondwave, seeming to includehisentire person. “Tell them toengage a tailor. This can be

improved.”A tailor.God.He had an

office the size of his closetandhisworkwastositinthatoffice, read newspapers andwrite letters to his mother.But—once the legislaturedidconvene—

“Thankyou,nand’aiji.”“A new paidhi brings a

new relationship, a betterrelationship, perhaps anexpanded relationship.

Perhaps... you have arrivedwiththingsalreadyinmind.”

Right off the edge of thecliff.

What is your policy?What is your attitude? Whatareyourintentions?Haveyouan agenda? Has the StateDepartmentanagenda?

And... what can we getfromyou?

Wilsonhadoverdoneitata certain point— back when

Valasiwasaiji.He’dbroughtin jet aircraft, foodpreservation for export, andtelevision. That had stirred ahell of a storm, and some inthedepartmentthought,ledtoWilson’sincreasingisolation,years of no innovation, nodialogue, precious littleinformation.

But...inpointoffact...hehad thought about nexttechnological steps. He had

prepared a paper about thatand, he’d been privatelyinformed, thatpaperwasoneof the factors that hadgottensomeoneinStatetopushhimtothetopofthepool,inspiteofhisjuniorstatus,inspiteofwhatsomemoreconservativevoices called his recklessdelusionsoffluency.

A little bow. And apleasant expression. “I havesomenotion,nand’aiji.”

“What, precisely, are youpreparedtosuggest?”

“Atechnology,nand’aiji,with several uses, includingaccurateweatherprediction.”

“Is this regarding thatballoon that intruded on themainland?”

Current events. “One isaware a weather instrumentcamewell over themainlandlastyear.”

“And landed,

unwelcomely,onDur.”“Itwas,nand’aiji,andwe

are prepared to offer thetechnology—”

“Wealreadyhaveit.”Anod.Hisheartsped.He

reached for useful, non-controversialwords,anditallwas spiralling out ofpresentation order, anexchange veering off atangles.Hecouldn’thavethat.

“An area of cooperation,

nand’ aiji. That is myproposal.AndwhatIproposedoes touch on weather. Andcoastalsecurity.”

“What?Moreballoons?”“More than that, nand’

aiji.Radar.Radar isadevicethatcanseeatgreatdistance,what crosses the straits, andhow it moves. The operatorusesa screen, like television.But a signal goes out, andpart bounces back off an

object, making a dot on thatscreen. The signal goes outagain.Thedotmoves.Thatisan airplane, having taken offfromPortJackson,boundforShejidan.Youwillconstantlyknowwhere it is, how fast ittravels, and what path ittakes.”

Tabini had begun tofrown, and the frowndeepened the longerhewent.It seemed time to stop,

prudently.“You know,” Tabini said,

“thatwe areworking on thistechnology.”

“No,”hesaid.Nowastheabsolute, upsetting truth.“Mospheira does not know.”And by Tabini’s expression,Tabini did not believe him.Tabini’s suspicion wasnot the way to start arelationship.

“It,”hebeganagain,“isa

next step. Fast planes areincreasing in number: theywillgrowfarmorenumerousand the Mospheiran coast isgettingmorepopulous.Radaris necessary. It will preventcollisions in the air. It willpreventmisunderstandings. Itwill see rain and storms.Operators on the ground cansee and direct pilotswho areblinded by bad weather. TheDepartment of State

has already approved itsrelease.Mospheirawillinstallit. And if the aishidi’tat alsoinstalls it— we will bemutuallyassuredwhat is andis not in the skies. One canestablish paths in the skywhich planes can safelyobserve,andyoucanbesurewhere they are. We have asystem of assigning suchpaths.Itwouldbepartof theprogram.”

Thefrownpersisted.“Andwasthatballoonconnectedtothisradar?”

“No, nand’ aiji, notdirectly. It was measuringair.” The word for pressurewasclose tooneforrailroad— and that was not anmisunderstanding he daredrisk.

“Measuringair.”“Thickness,”hesaid.“Air

thickness. And temperature.

Weather,nand’aiji.Theradarsays there is or is not rain.The instruments with theballoon are things like airthickness and temperature. Itshould have deflated andsunkinthestraitwhenitwentastray: its mechanismmalfunctioned and itmistakenly crossed into yoursky.”

Tabini just stared at him.“You will deliver this radar

information. And your pathsin the air. And you willprovide information on theballoon instruments, theirpurposeandfunction.”

“Thatwillbenodifficultyatall,nand’aiji.Thehope isthat, since we are trading byair—” He had made his tripoverinaplanethatordinarilycarried fresh fruit and cameback with flour and driedseaweed.“—ordinarypersons

can communicate morefreely, with an expanded setof codes and language foraircraft, which it will notrequire the paidhi’s office tomediate.”

“You envision thiscommunication from bothsides.”

Itwasnotthetimetobackup. Do or go down in adiplomaticdisasterthatmightthreaten theentireconceptof

hisoffice.Hesethisjaw.“My government has

already cleared this notion.Whether or not they suspectatevi are alreadyworking onradar, I am not informed noram I likely to be, in myoffice, nand’ aiji. Itistechnologicallylogical,andcertainlyanextstepafter thefelicitous introduction offasteraircraft.Youhavesomesmall, old planes still flying.

You have two jets. They flyonly in goodweather, whichis a problem to schedules.They advise airports whenthey are coming. They landonce the airports haveadvisedsmallplanestomakeway. Radar, nand’ aiji, canascertain exactly where aplane is,nomatterwhere thepilot thinks it is, and do itwhen the sky is clouded. Itcan enable a person on the

ground toassist thepilotandbringtheplaneinsafely.“

Was that a triumphantsmilethattweakedthecornerof Tabini’smouth.Orwas itpleasantness, or satisfaction?Atevi could go stone-faced,totally expressionless whenupset. Tabini had, all along,beenshowinghimarangeofexpressions...

Ending with, yes, finally,mildamusement.Hewassure

ofit.“You will provide this

offerasawrittenreport.”Hebowed.“Nand’aiji.”“Has your staff provided

youagoodcoat?”Suspicionflashed through

his mind, on that question,thatitwasnottheDirectorofthe Office of BujavidServices who had decided tosend him staff. Had Wilsonhadthatoffer?

Orwastheoffer,andtheiractions,theaiji’sidea?

“Tea,” Tabini said.“Tomorrow afternoon, justafter lunch, upstairs, in ourapartment. And you willbring the proposals inwriting.”

“Nand’ aiji.” Yet anotherbow.

Tabini waved his hand,the opposite of thesummoningmotion.And that

wasthat.Bren backed a couple of

steps— one did, when therewas thatgreatadifference inrank. Then he turned andwalked quietly toward thedoors. The guards openedthem, the outside guardsturned to frame his exit, andhe found himself out in theornate hall, walking away...because if he stopped, if hemomentarilystopped to think

—hewas going to have theaiji’s bodyguards staring athis back, and reporting thatthepaidhiseemedupset.

Upset. Shaken. Hethought he’d gotten outcreditably.Tomorrow...

Tea,forGod’ssake.Moni andTaigi hadgone

back downstairs. He headedfor the specific lift that hadbrought him, he pushed thebutton for the lowermost

floor,wherehehadstarted.Ittookhimdown,opened...

No Moni. No Taigi.Nobody.

He looked down the hall.It had been a lengthy set oftwistsandturnsgettingtothelifts.

And he didn’t halfrememberthem.

He was effectively lost.Or damned close to it. Andtherewere no offices in this

section, no open doors, nofoot traffic to stop and ask,only a couple of people astheywerewalkinghere—andnoneatallnow.

He made his best guess.He turned right and walked,andtookthesecondleft.

Not the turn he shouldhavetaken.Heendedupinahallway of small numberedrooms. Retracing his pathbrought him back to his

starting point, and he tried aleftturnalittlefartheron.

That led him, by twowrong turns, to the kitchens,but from the wrong side,nothinglikethecounteroutletnearhisoffice.

He had to do this routeagain tomorrow. He had tofind hisway not to themainhall, but to the aiji’s ownapartment. He had to do itflawlessly and on time, and

hecouldnotgainareputationforconfusionand look likeafool.

Hell,no,hewasnotgoingto ask the kitchen staff toguidehimbacktohisoffice.

He certainly was notgoingtocallBujavidsecurityforhelp.

It took him most ofanother hour to get to theothersideofthekitchens.Buthe remembered the halls

better this time. He had asectionofthemmappedinhismind, and to be sure, hewalked all the way backwithin view of the lifts, thentook the other corridor, andmapped the halls thatbranchedoffthat.

One led him to the mailroomandthecounter...wheretherewastraffic.Andoffices.

That included his office,and that included, in his

office, Moni and Taigi—who, instead of sensiblywaiting for him upstairs, inthe hall, or where the lift letout,hadlefthimstranded.

Moni was sitting in hischair, and Taigi on the edgeof his desk, the two in mid-conversation.

Theygotup, immediatelysober,andbowed.

Hewalkedin,walkedpastthem. His immediate

inclination was to frown andstand staring at them.But hedidn’t. On an instant’simpulse, he made his facecompletely expressionless, asatevididwhen theywerenotgoing to negotiate, and oftenwhen they were not in theleast happy. He stood. Hestared.

And he said absolutelynothing, thinking, now thattheyhadnotwaitedatall.No.

They had gone right backdown,rightbacktotheoffice,andlefthimtosortitout.

Someonewastestinghim,and it wasn’t, in fact, Moniand Taigi who most wantedtoknowhowhewouldreact.

He’d just met the manwho would want to knowthat.

Wouldhe losehis temper— as well as his bearings?Would he find his way— or

have to be led?Orwould hecall security? Raise anotheralarm? Panic? Throw atantrum once he found hisservants?

Instinctwanted to say, toMoni and Taigi, I see thegame. I know you’re notresponsible.

But he wasn’t onMospheira.Hewasn’tdealingwithhumans.Hewas,fortherest of his life, with

occasional trips home,assigned to be here, dealingwithTabini-aiji, turning overenough human technology tokeeptheworldadvancingatacomfortable rate, and notenough to destabilize thearrangement they had. Radarwasn’t the only thing in theproposal he’d sent to State.But he wasn’t going to getanywhere if he didn’t figurehowtoreact,andwhennotto

react, and just let theoppositionfigure.

Meanwhile—hisservantswere not his friends. Atevididn’tformfriendships.Theyhad their own reasons, andorders from their centralofficewere definitely part ofthose reasons. He wasrelatively sure nowwhowascallingtheshots.

Tabini-aiji wanted oneanswer— are you Wilson?

Do you solve problems likeWilson?

Hesaid,eventually,tohisservants:“Oneisrequestedtobe at tea with the aijitomorrow,justafterthelunchhour.Willthebrocadebetoomuch?”

Taigi said, very quietly:“Itwilldoverywell,paidhi.”

They’d had orders in theclothing purchase, too, hestronglysuspected.

Tea with Tabini wasn’tgoing to be a walkover,either.He’dpreparedhimselfwith facts, programs, theability to ask and answer.He’dthoughtWilson’spolicyofdealingonlyinwritingwasinability to cope with themathematics.

He’d thought he was fastenough,fluentenough,totalkto Tabini-aiji. That it wouldavoidmisunderstandings.

If thatwereall—yes.Hecould.

That smile. Thatexpression. That amusement— not really at his expense,he had that sense— butbecause Tabini-aiji wasactivelyenjoyinghimself.

Deep,slowbreath.Hehadto admit it— so, in fact, hadhebeenenjoyingthegiveandtake. And he hadn’t lost hisway or let Tabini bluff him

into retreat. Tabini had forceon his side— Tabini alwayshadforce,andguns:thatwentwith who he was— the manran nine tenths of the planet—butthatwasn’thowTabinihadapproachedbusinesswiththenewpaidhi,either.

AreyouWilson?Orwhat are you, paidhi?

How do you react? Do youget angry?Howdoyou treatyoursubordinates?

Mutual curiosity, nand’aiji.Willyoutrythreats,next,orcanwegetpastthat?

I’m not Wilson. You’vefiguredthat.

And you admit you’reworking on science beyondwhat we’ve officially turnedover to you. You had notrouble at all grasping thetechnology I offered. You’reno technophobe. Some ateviare.Youaren’t.

We can steer the world,Tabini-aiji, we can steer thewhole world onto aproductive track, or a badone. And I have a reportalready written, alreadytranslated.It’sready.

Has your staff providedyouagoodcoat?

He gave a very littlelaugh.His servants looked athim,worried.

“Lunch, nadiin-ji,” he

said. He added, deliberately,thatlittleparticlethatwastheclosest safe expression ofattachment, and smiledslightly, pleasantly, lettingthem wonder— whether hewas upset, how much heknew,andwhathewasgoingtodoaboutit.

Dear Moni. Dear Taigi.I’m going to need thatwardrobe.

Go to tea tomorrow, was

what he was going to doabout it. Tea was for lightconversation, pleasantconversation—beforeanyonecould get down to realbusiness. That was the wayatevididthings.

Teabroughthimonerungup a long ladder, that waswhat. Tea would be anothertest,thistimeofhismanners,his understanding of atevigesture,symbol,andcustom.

Keeping his cuffs cleanwouldbeagoodstart.

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BonusSneakPeak’NetWalkersbyJ.S.Fancher

A Ride on the WildSide

One look at Marani’s

Stinger explained Smith’sabruptturnaround.

With star-strewn spacewaiting overhead and thestation’s hull beneath him,Jean-Phillippe could onlylook on in envy as SmithsettledintotheStinger’ssleeksaddle and adjusted thestraps. Smith’s hopper, theone behind whose dash hesat, was a good machine.Stateoftheart,ashe’dexpect

fromSmith,butthegleamingred and gold Stinger was acustomjob,andfromthewayRani’s gloved fingers deftlyadjusted the main enginesettings, he could guess whothe customizing mechanichadbeen.

“You be careful, Smith.”Her voice, coming over thesuit’s speaker, held the toneof an over-protective mothersendingheronlychildouton

afirstdate.“Hearme?”Smith’s gloved hands

caressed the handlebars.“TLC, darlin.’” Thehelmeted head turned towardhimand in the suit’s internallight, he saw the gleam ofexcitement on Smith’s face.“Youset,JP?”

“Readywhenyouare.”MaranitappedoffSmith’s

legandshotover to the thirdhopper they’d extracted from

the hangar, a virtual carboncopyof theonehe straddled,save for color. His was redandgold,hersblueandsilver.Whileshestrappedherselfin,he inserted the key card inSmith’s machine, andchecked the thrusters. Onceassuredofall systems,he setthe thrusters to idle, tappedthemooringpinwithhisbootto release the tie-downclamps, and gave a slight

shove with both feet, settingthe hopper in a conservative,non-poweredlaunch.

Once free of the station’shull, he easedpower into thethrusters, testing balance andmaneuverability.Itwas,ashesuspected, ahottervehicleofitstypethanhe’deverridden,but not (he rapidlydetermined) beyond hisabilitytohandle.

“How’s it feel?” Smith’s

voiceaskedinhisear.“Sweet,” he answered.

“Verysweetindeed.”“Takeabow,Rani.”“Bow, shmow, you just

watchmyfenders!”The distinctive vibration

ofapoweredlaunchasheardfrom inside a pressure suitanswered her. The Stingerlifted free in a high, arcingloop, clearing the hull andachieving free space in a

heartbeat, where a series ofthruster puffs set it spinningwildly,chaotically.

“Goddammit—”Marani’shoppershotafter,slowedjustoutside of the wild orbit aslaughter rang out throughtheir localized com bubble.Three quick puffs, and theStinger cameout in a gentle,easyglidetowardher,comingto a precise halt just short ofherposition.

“Showoff.”Jean-Phillippetapped themain thrusters,setthe homing guide to theirposition and let the onboardcomputer determine thedecel. As a child back onMStatBeta, he’d riddenhoppersdaily,but thosedayswere long gone. He’d hadoccasion to use the smallsingle-passenger transportsover the intervening years,butonlyforpracticalmoving

aboutbetweenships,stations,and, for a handful ofhorrifyingmonths, on one ofAntonia’s missions, betweenasteroids.Hehadnoneofhiscompanions’ easy facilitywith the controls and wasn’tabout to risk Smith’s hopperor his neck trying to proveotherwise.

Fortunately, unlike theStinger’s swivel thrusters, acomplex, delicately balanced

systemthatallowedforthosefancy arcs and spirals, hishopper was limited toconventional straight-linemaneuvering,andthefeelforthose simple controls rapidlyreturned. As he relaxed, thejoy of being outside thestation, floating among thestars as freely as mankindcould, soon caught him upand he found himselffollowing the other two in a

rapid-pacedscamperbetweenstations,ridinghighabovethecommercial flight plane,exchangingwaveswithother,similarlyindependent-mindedpeople with expensivehobbies.

Planet to one side of thatplane of stations, primarymoon to the other.Everywhere else there werestars or stellar lookalikes.Solar panels formed a

gridwork about the stations,generatingpower,storingitina localized, subspace bubblethat everything within thatgridwork, from his computertothehopperherode,tapped.It was yet one moremanifestation, as were thehyperspace drives ofstarships, their inter-suitcommunications, and theNexus Space ComNet itself,of SS&W’s cracking of the

multidimentionalenergy-statematrix.

Their random path ledthem toward ComNetAuthority Station. Smith, notcontent with theirconservative vectors, literallyrode circles around him andRani.

“Evidently not asincapacitated as he claimed,”he said on the smallest com-bubble setting, excluding

Smith.Shegrinnedacrossathim,

her teeth a flash of white inthe mostly clear helmet.“Knew it would do himgood.” Her face turned backto Smith as he spun hisvehicle throughaparticularlycomplexspiral.“Bastard.I’llprobably have to let himborrow it again—or give thedamn thing to him.” Shefacedhimagain,butthesmile

was gone. “You know, thehellofitis,Icanbuildit,butI can’tmake it do that. Firsttimeatthecontrols,andhe’smakingitdance.”

“Maybe you’re just notcrazyenough.”

Her laughter rang in hisears as Smith squeezed intoformation between them,demandingtobeletinonthejoke.

“Never.Ifyou’regoingto

leave the party, you have toaccept the consequences. —So,howdoyoulikeher?”

“Likeher?I’minpositivelust. The AG/CG isphenomenal.”

“Do I get anexplanation?”

“I put a small grav-fieldgenerator in the seat andlinked the directionalthrusterstoitsinput.”

“Gives the unit a

functional centerofgravity,”Smith’s voice explained.“Turn itonandall Ihave todo is shift my butt, and sheturnsonadime.Furtheryoushift,themoresheturns.”

“Energy hungry as hell.”Marani said. “You’re payingmy VEM bill for today,Smith.”

“Worth every penny,love.” Smith’s gloved handsstroked the handlebars.

“She’sabeauty.”A tiny sigh reached his

ear.He couldn’t see her pastSmith, but something toldhimMaranihadjustgivenherprideandjoyupforadoption.

Smith, clueless as anewborn, took off, packing,one would extrapolate, asmuch into his two-hour test-drive as he could. Hisswinging, spiraling, rhythmiccourse took him to the apex

side of ComNet AuthorityStationwhere he puffed to arelativistic halt, hoveringabove the third ring, waitingforthemtocatchup.

Every station inVandereaux, likely everyother human built station inthe galaxy, employedstandard rotational artificial-gravity in a half-dozendifferent basic designs tokeep coffee in the

inhabitants’ mugs. CNASwas no exception. Thesmooth lines of the outershell, looking rather like theearliest of UFO images, hidseven independentlycontrolledrings.

However CNAS, uniqueamong all stations, did notrelyexclusivelyoncentripetalforce for its artificialgravity.Its central core rose inelegant, glittering planetary-

city-likespires,fullofofficesand conference rooms,consuming energy ruthlesslyinalarge,expensive,andoft-times cranky version of thatgrav-fieldgeneratorthatgaveRani’s Stinger its highperformance.

Thefirst-bornchildoftheSecond Construction Wave,CNAS embodied all theComNet Alliance had hopedto prove to the universe at

large—inarchitectureaswellas in spirit and in substance.It had been designed as ashowcase station, a promiseof things to come, but therealitywasspinningfloors,inwhatever form, were simplymore practical— not tomention economic andreliable— and so the CNAStowers remained a uniquejewel in the art of stationconstruction, a must-see

landmark of the system,source of a major localindustry,fromtourstot-shirtsto keychains, and therefore,taxpayershaddecided,worththecostofmaintaining.

Somewhere below them,in the smooth lines of theconventional centripetalrings,werehisrealquarters,astudentcelldifferingfromhisstudent cell in Vandereauxonly in square footage and

qualityofneighbors.He’dbeback there soon, would beback there now, if his initialassignment had remainedunchanged. Instead, he wascoasting, carefree and happy,above the labs where heshouldbeworking.

Hislifecouldbeworse.Smith was leaning

forward, elbows hookedaroundthehandlebars,staringat the station. Rani, seeing

him safely delivered toSmith’sside,tookoffforabitofherownfree-wheeling.

“Tell me what you’rethinking,andI’llcontributeamilicred toward that VEMbill.”

Smith leaned back in thestraps.

“She’s just inside there,”Smith’s voice murmuredacross the local com-bubble.“See that service entrance?

Go in there, up the laddersandtoyourleft.Nolocks,noquestions, no rules. So closeandyetsofar...”

“Andwhat’s keeping youfromgoingin?”

Laughter, infectious, yetholdinga touchofbitterness.“Youhavetoget throughtheservicelockfirst.”

“Oh.”“That about covers it.”

Morelaughter.Thistimefree

and easy. Too free. “Waithere.”

“Wesley,—wait!”Toolate.Hewasoff.Full

speed,headedstraightforthespires.

“Wesley!”Marani shot past him,

only to come to a spinning,barelycontrolledstopwhenitbecame clear Wesley wasn’tlistening.

The Stinger, a bright

glittering jewel among thelights of the towers, dodgedand darted among them,weaving a complex, randompath,disappearing fromviewfor long, heart-stoppingmoments, only to return,skipping and dancing as ifwithoutacareintheuniverse.

“Damn him,” Maraniwhispered.“He’sgoingtogetme—”

Ageneralceaseanddesist

rang in their helmets on aband no legal receiver couldignore.Smithhadtohear,hadto know he was pissing offCNAS traffic control, had toknow the fine was buildingevery moment he continuedhis manic defiance of thatorder.

Just as the controllerwasthreatening to launch a teamto corral him, Smith made afull speed run straight at the

tower, flipping at the lastmoment to use full reversethrust, creating what had tobe mind-numbing gravpressing him into the paddedseat-back,comingat last toaspinninghaltdirectlyinfrontoftheobservationtower.

Upside-down.Relativisticallyspeaking.Thespinslowed,andstopped,theStingerfacetothewindow.

Over that same open

band, Smith’s voice saidcheerfully:

“Wesley Smith, at yourservice.”

“YourID,sir?”“Aw, shucks, laddie, ask

your boss. She knows. Tellher‘Hi’forme,willyou?”

Andwiththat,hewasoffagain, a high curve that lethimwavetothetowerbeforeheading off full speed on adirect line for Academy

Station.“Damn.” The soft curse

pretty much summed up hisownfeelings.

“What the hell got intohim?”

“How would I know?”Panictouchedhervoice.

“I think maybe I shouldcall—” He almost saidRycoff, substituted quickly:“—Danislav.Askhimto talktothecontroller.”

“He’dneverforgiveyou.”She shook her head slowly,cursing softly andprofoundly.“—Nothingforit.Let’stryandcatchhimup.”

Smallchanceof that.TheStinger was parked andcovered by the time they gotback to the stalls. Silently asthe trip back, they securedtheir vehicles among theservice hoppers andemergency pods and passed

together through the air-lockand rotational-sync into thegravityofAcStat.

Smithwasnotinsight.“Moving fast,” he

observed.“Guilt.”“I’ll believe that when I

seeit.”Marani,angryashe’dnever seen her, strode offtoward Smith’s room,pressuresuitandall.

“Rani, wait.” He had toruntocatchup.“Don’t—”

Shewheeledtofacehim.“Don’t what? That was

myfuckinghopperheusedtopullthatstunt.It’smyfuckingneckhe’sputontheline,andiftheyconfiscatemyStinger,I’m going to fucking killhim!”

Shewasoffdownthehallbefore he could think of anyargument thatmightcoolherdown.Possiblybecause therewas no excuse and her heat

wasfullyjustified.Hehurriedtocatchher,thenjustheldtoherflank.

At Smith’s door, shedidn’t bother to announceherself, but walked in, thelocksyieldingtoherbios.

Inside the room, Smithwas on vid-phone... withCNAStower.

Hewaslaughing.The controller on the

screenwaslaughing.

The controller soberedfirst, his eyes moving pastSmith to thewomanseethingbesideJean-Phillippe.

“You’d best look out,Smith. She might have agun.”

Wesley turned, held upboth hands. “Wait, Rani. Icanexplain—”

“I take it you’re thehopper-queen Smith told meabout.”

Marani froze in her slowstalkofSmith.

“Itwasmymachine,sir.Itake full responsibility forallowinghim—”

“He’s explainedeverything, Ms Moharrad. Imust admit, I’d have had ahard time not putting itthrough its paces myself. —Nexttime,Smith,takeittothecommercial course. Damnedif I’ll try to explain this

twice.”“Honestly, Bill, just send

metheticket.”“Hell, no. I’ll have lunch

off this one for a week. Justdon’trepeat,hearme?”

“I hear you, Bill. Andthanks.Ioweyouadrink.”

“That,I’llcollect.”Smith signed off. His

back heaved and with anaudiblesighheturnedtofacethem.

“Rani, believe me. I’msorry. I honestly don’t knowwhatgotintome.Ijust...sawthosetowersandhadtogo.”

Marani shook her head.“And got away with it, youslick-tongued bastard. Anynormal human would havebeen diced, fried and servedup on a platter to ’NetAtsecurity.”

“Helps being a Smith, Iimagine,” Jean-Phillippe

observed drily, and regrettedthe statement in the nextbreath as both Smith andMarani turned on him,frowning. “I appear to havecommitted amajor faux pax.Smith,I—”

“I’ll tell you this once,Beaubien,” Smith saidslowly. “I never have andnever will use Seneca towhitewashmyownstupidity.I called the tower to clear

Maraniofallresponsibility.Ilucked out that Bill justhappens tobe ahopper racerin his spare time. He askedabout the Stinger’s unusualmaneuverability and Iexplained. That’s it. That’sall. I’m embarrassed as hellabout the whole thing andwishhe’dsendmetheticketIdeserve,buthe’snotgoingtoand the important thing is,Marani’s out of it, except—”

He turned to Marani with agrimacingsmile.“Igavehimyour e-addy, love. He wantsthespecsontheAG/CG.”

“I should kill youanyway.”

“And maybe now you’llget that paperwork in like Itoldyouto.”

“Bastard.”“I know.” He leaned to

kiss her, and Jean-Phillippehad to wonder if he felt her

meltunderthatcasualcaress.Probably not, from the easywayhereleasedher.“Thanks,love.” A look of wonderfilledhiseyes,andhegaveabone-popping stretch. “I’mhealed!”

She gave a reluctantlaugh.“Fuckyou,Smith,”shemurmured softly, then aloud:“That’sit.I’mouttahere.”

“You’ll be back, though.Youpromised.”

“You’re healed. I’msuperfluousnow.”

A shadow crossed hisface. “Never, love. Comewarmmeup.”

“You’re too warmalready.”

“Please?”“Bat your lashes at

someone who gives a...”Another visible yielding.“Yeah,scum,I’llbeback.”

Sheheadedforthedoor.

“Rani?” Smith pulled thekeys to theStingeroutofhispocket.“Catch.”

She caught the keys andin one smooth continuousmotion tossed them back.“Keep’em.”

“Rani,youcan’t—”“Happy birthday, scum.

—JP?”“MindifIstayhere?”“Only if you promise to

remind him at least three

timeswhat an idiot I am forwhatIjustdid.”

“Promise.”She paused half in and

half outside the door, hershoulder against the framepreventingitsclosing,staringbackatthem.

“Rani?”Smithasked.She didn’t answer. She

simply shrugged herself freeoftheframe,smiledandleft.

Smith watched her go,

thenturnedapuzzledgazeonhim.“Doyouknowwhatthatwasallabout?”

“Other than the fact shestilllovesyou?”

Smith’s eye’sdropped. “Iknow.Iwish...”Heshrugged.“Well, can’t change how Ifeel.SherealizedbeforeIdid.But realistically, once shedecided...” A quick glance,upandaway.“Iloveher,too,just not... enough somehow.”

He headed for the kitchen.“Icedtea?”

“Hot would be better foryourachingsystem.”

“Hotitis.”Hewaiteduntiltheywere

both ensconced on the couchtoask:“Yougoingtotellmewhat really happened outthere?”

“Don’tknowwhatyou’retalking about.” Smith pouredthe tea into two large mugs

and handed one across thelength of the couch, allwithoutmeetinghiseyes.

“One minute you werefantasizing about breaking into visit Seneca, the nextyou’re off running suicidalringsaroundthe’NetAt.”

“You know, your‘insights’ could becomeseriously...” Smith paused,staring down into thesteaming cup, sighed and

continuedquietly,“Itwasthator blast that lock. Seeing itjust...bringsitallhome,don’tyou see? Seneca and I... wehad plans.Wewereworkingon... things that need doing.Andit’sallonholdnow.Foryears and years. Possiblyforev—”Hebrokeoff,staredup and around the room. “Ithink, sometimes, I’ll gocrazy,waiting.”

“Youcan’tworkonthose

‘things’inyoursparetime?”“Like the piano?” Smith

laughed, a small, rathermorose sound. “I... don’tthinkso.”

“And because you can’twork on them, you just—what?Snappedoutthere?”

Smith’s mouthcompressed into a hard line.“Something like. Look, Ireally think I should go soakin the hot tub for a while

before practice. Unless youcaretojoinme...?”

He shook his head. “I’vegot work to do.” In actualfact, he had a meeting withDanislav. Danislav’s request,nothis,buthedidn’twant tobringthatuptoSmith.“Beenplayingtruantlongenough.”

Something like painflickeredacrossSmith’sface,goneinaninstant.

“Areyouallright?”

Eyebrows raised. “Whywouldn’tIbe?”

Why not, indeed. Nevermind he’d narrowly avertedthe wrath of CNAS trafficcontrol,anincidentthatmightwell have black-balled himfrom CNAS for life. Talkabout fuel for Antonia’s...vendetta.

There was no denyingSmith had his own ways.While he doubted Smith’s

contention that the Smithname played no part in hisavoidance of consequences,Smith’s own irrepressiblehumor might well carry themomentmoreoftenthannot.

Made him wonder if hehad in fact helped,interveningwithMadwick,orsimply made things moredifficult.

In many ways, Smithcouldbeasnaïvelycharming

asFrancesca,asimilaritythatgaveaninsighttoachildhoodunlike anything a core-ratcould even imagine. Achildhood where youth andinnocence were treasured,possibly even nurtured, achildhood where personalsafetywasatheoreticalissue,notamatteroflifeanddeath.

The man won more thanhe ought to, and not just inthe name of universal

balance. It wasn’t healthy.Peopleneededtolose,neededto know life had realconsequences.

Theyneededboundaries.The snapout there—that

had scared hell out of him.He’d thought he waswatchingatotalmeltdown.Itwasn’t,thistime,butitcouldwell be, next time. He waswatching a man in crisis.Someday, if something in

Wesley’s life didn’t change,he’d snap the wrong way atthe wrong time around thewrong person. Jean-Phillippedidn’t want to be around tosee it—certainlydidn’twanttobepartofit.

Aprudentmanwouldcallan end to this mission andavoid the risk to his career.TellRycoffandHanford thatSmith was beyond salvageand settle for a life of field

workunderHanford’sorders.A gambler would stick

aroundandtrytogetthroughto the man. Try to stop theinwardspiralbeforeithit theevent horizon, then claimcreditforaminormiracle.

No one had ever accusedJean-Phillippe Beaubien ofbeingparticularlyprudent.

“Are we still on forSaturday,afterthegame?”

Smith’s eyes dancedwith

alighthehadn’trealizedwasmissing until it returned.“Stillwilling tobe seenwithme?”

Not pain he’d seen, justnow: concern. Smith hadbeen worried.Worried abouthisSL’sopinionofhim...

...Or was he? Recallingthatimpressionofisolationina crowd he’d gotten fromSmithearlyon,he realized itwasn’thisSL’sgoodopinion

hecraved,hellwiththat—no,it was his friend’s. Hesomehowdoubted thereweremorethanhalfadozenpeoplein the Alliance with thepower to rouse thatexpressioninSmith.

The stakeson thegambledoubled.

But somehow, suddenly,the game no longer seemedquitesoimportant.

“Ithinkmyreputationcan

handlethestrain.Provided,ofcourse,youwin.”

Ashoutof laughter,his...friend’s laughter... followedhimoutoftheroom.