"Sandy a" Vanessa gave an exasperated sigh, "a people don't have any opinion on you a because they don't know you. They have an opinion on murderous two-legged killing machines, but that's not you. That's just what some people are telling them is you, or what they're a.s.suming is you. You're a symbol to them, an object of a of ideological perception, not a person. You're a news story, like that girl. People make comment and raise all kinds of fuss, but they're not talking about you, they're talking about what you represent to them. That's different. One day they'll learn the difference, and then a"

"You reckon?" Dryly.

"Yep, I d.a.m.n well do. They're not going to have a choice. You're not about to vanish into obscurity, Sandy. If you stay here, you're going to be prominent, your skills alone make that clear enough. I mean, h.e.l.l, you think you're going to stay in SWAT Four forever?"

Sandy just looked at her for a long moment. Put an arm under her head to keep the neck muscles from stiffening. "I hadn't thought that far."

"You've gotta give people around here some credit, Sandy, they're only ignorant where they think they can afford to be. I mean look at what's happened since Article 42 was introduced. Almost universal support, total revamp of local infonet protocols, even the most radical free-speechers barely whimpered. And excluding the SIB and esoteric academia," heavy sarcasm, "there's very wide support for the emergency powers a I mean, h.e.l.l, you'd think in a place like this they'd be up in arms about the CSA getting extra authority, but most people support it. Some are even demanding we set up our own military rather than just contributing to the Fed Fleet. Which we'll probably do if we end up breaking away.

"All of that's a huge turnaround in popular opinion a If they can accept that, they can d.a.m.n well accept you. And I think that whatever happens, they'll come to value you-you've got skills and knowledge they didn't value before, because they didn't think they needed them. Now things are all different, we're emerging independently into the big, bad world, and we'll need a big, bad guardian to hold our hand and help us through." Giving Sandy's leg a rough shake beneath the sheet.

"Great," Sandy murmured, "I can get a surgical upgrade for a dozen extra arms, work on my G.o.d complex." And she stretched, hugely, pushing down the bed from the wall behind her head. Something caught in her shoulder, then in several places down her back, and she pushed out harder, wriggling as she tried to get them to pop. Several did, but several more appeared a she shifted position again, reaching one-armed for the wall. Muscle contracted, like a rippling of cabled steel beneath the skin.

"You get it?" Vanessa asked with some concern.

"Nearly." Through gritted teeth. Pushed her right leg out to its fullest as the tension caught along the thigh and hamstring, and down into the calf. Something in her achilles and ankle not so much popped as cracked, almost audibly. "Ouch," she said redundantly.

"Jesus Christ," exclaimed Vanessa, watching the spread of rippling muscle across her shoulders and back as she rolled onto her stomach, swelling to multiples of their original size, writhing like snakes a "If you find it unpleasant," Sandy said somewhat testily from face down on the mattress, "don't watch." Gave a final heave of tension, the bedsheet unfelt upon bulging shoulder and back muscles, and relaxed. Tension melted pleasantly away, sensation came p.r.i.c.kling back into her skin, soft sheets and firm mattress in comfortable proportion.

"How are you doing, anyway?" Vanessa asked, a little warily. "I mean, considering a bullet holes and all." Meaning more than just bullet holes. Upon arrival in Ta.n.u.sha she had suffered much, much worse.

"I'm okay." Rolling tiredly onto her back. "I'm tighter than usual, I get more kinks in weird places a small price for being in one piece." Vanessa's gaze trailed down her body beneath the sheet. Contemplatively. "What?" And realised that the thin sheet clung revealingly to her curves as she lay on her back.

"You're built like a hovertank," Vanessa observed.

"d.a.m.n s.e.xy hovertank, though, huh?"

"Light recon model," Vanessa amended, "sleek, fast and high powered. Heavily armed and armoured for its size, though."

"I like that." Smiling. "I'm thinking a Ge-Vo 19. I worked with those a few times. Very s.e.xy piece of hardware."

"Huh, I thought you'd given up all that macho hardware fascination for smelling flowers and appreciating cla.s.sical music a"

"Macho?" Frowning. "I'm technology, Ricey, I'm not macho. Why a.s.sign masculine gender to universal concepts?"

"League argument!" Vanessa said triumphantly. "Recipe for butch chicks and effeminate men. How boring!"

"That's an interesting argument coming from a SWAT lieutenant. Tell me-you think if people in this city decided tomorrow that gravity was masculine that would mean all us women could suddenly fly around the room?"

"Your subtle point being?"

"That science is universal, technology is derived from science and therefore also universal, and that if women on this planet happen to believe that science is somehow less relevant to them, then they need their heads examined. I can't understand why you'd want to believe that a all the best jobs around are in technology, have been for hundreds of years. The things some women in the Federation pick out as being their grand ideal of femininity, you'd think they wanted to be the inferior gender a Say this much for the League, most League women find it as incredible as I do."

"Neatly argued and I totally agree, that being the point of my earlier sarcasm."

"Oh," said Sandy. Vanessa grinned.

"Come on, roll over, I'll get the rest of the kinks out."

"Okay, but no groping," Sandy warned, rolling face down as Vanessa shifted position to sit on the bed beside her waist.

"Just doing my bit for the Callayan military industrial establishment."

Come 9:45, and Vanessa really was late. "To h.e.l.l with it," she sighed as she walked to the door, "this is what happens when they make me a babysitter. I'll just blame it on you." Sandy smiled, wincing as she flexed her shoulders and swung her arms, rejoicing at the relative lack of stiffness, for the moment. "You going to be okay?" Looking at her with what Sandy thought was genuine concern.

"Fine," she said. "You take care."

"I will. And you're going to stay happy all day? No moping aimlessly over your terrible predicament in life?"

Sandy grinned. Realising only too well why Vanessa had stayed so long and made herself late for morning pre-ops. She'd been cheering up her friend. Not that Command would necessarily disagree that keeping their friendly GI in a good mood was a good thing a but still, it was a commitment. "I'll be fine," she said.

"You better, I deal with pessimism very harshly, I'm warning you."

"Ricey?" Halting her as she turned to go.

"Hmm?" Sandy walked up and wrapped her into a big hug. Vanessa returned it with a happy grin. Unfazed, Sandy thought with mild amazement, at the potentially bone-crushing power of the arms that encircled her. But there was more to potential than mere technical ability. There was will, and intent. And she would much rather die than harm Vanessa. The most amazing thing was that Vanessa appeared to be aware of it. She released her, took her head in both hands, and planted a warm kiss firmly upon her forehead.

"You're the best," she told her, with great affection.

"I know," Vanessa replied, with a parting pat at her face. And grinned slyly, opening the door. "It's just a pity it's all wasted on you, huh?"

Sandy made herself a cup of Lebanese coffee, which, after much trial and error, Vanessa insisted to have discovered to be superior to any competing blend. The number of different brews amazed her, as so much civilian variety amazed her. It was a trivial irrelevance when one brew would comfortably have sufficed. It was the kind of trivial irrelevance that she enjoyed so much in civilian life, and she looked forward to sampling each variety for herself, to discern her own favourites.

The machine hummed and made aromatic gurgling noises as she cast her eyes along her decorated apartment wall, pausing briefly to take in the as-yet mostly empty bookshelf. The top two shelves, however, had been filled-her own request, when someone had suggested housewarming presents (another curious custom) upon her return from vacation three weeks ago. She'd requested books, preferring to shop for most other items herself, shopping being yet another much-loved addition to her tastes a but books were too numerous in number and t.i.tle for her to possibly know where to start. She'd asked for any wellwishers to give her personal favourites of theirs, since she'd had only her own uneducated guesswork until now to direct her tastes.

Vanessa had presented her with a recent fictional work set during the French Revolution of the eighteenth century, which she'd already completed in several long nights of utter fascination when she should probably have been sleeping or working. Vanessa was half-French by ancestry herself (her preferred half, she claimed), which added to the intrigue. The rest she'd simply not had time to get to. From President Neiland came a beautifully bound hardcover copy of collected Chinese fables, stories and poems from the ages. From Rajeev Naidu, an historical romance set in old Mughal India-not surprising, she'd suspected Naidu of a romantic streak. Many of her SWAT team-mates had provided various works of basic entertainment, thrillers and mysteries and the like. And from CSA Director Ibrahim, whom Sandy had expected to send her something of Afghan or Arabic ancestry, she had instead received a large, bound volume of collected works of a certain nineteenth century North American writer named Mark Twain. Ibrahim, she was gathering, was full of surprises.

The technogeeks (a term they embraced with gusto) of Intel had contributed their own works too a some science fiction, some technical, many with an historical bent for great periods of scientific evolution. One was a Federation perspective on the advent of GIs and GIrelated technology in the League, and on the impact upon Federation politics-Splitting Humanity, it was called. Others were on great disasters in technological evolution. She hadn't gotten to any of them yet either, but her favourite t.i.tle was The Nanotech Calamity: When it goes nuts and kills you. And a second book on the same subject-They Don't Always Do What They're Told.

And Feddie lawmakers thought she was dangerous. Not all of the Federation's techno-cynics had become such without some pretty d.a.m.n solid reason. Losing a few hundred million people in the twenty-fourth century because some genius hadn't realised a self-evolving artificial microorganism could just as easily become a human compet.i.tor as a human servant was just such a reason. You could program the little b.u.g.g.e.rs to evolve. You could give them strict instructions on how to do so. You could even try to stop them from evolving at all. But somehow, the chaos gremlin in the numbers always twisted it to suit the G.o.ds-with-the-dice, and only after two hundred and thirty million deaths had the mathematicians found the kinks in the calculations that proved it. She'd seen T-shirt slogans dated to that time period that read, in various languages, "Don't f.u.c.k with G.o.d." The mathematicians, despite quibbles about the terminology, agreed that the sentiment was in fact basically correct. Some universal laws refused to be controlled. Needed to be uncontrolled, many argued, for the universe to even exist. Random chaos was a naturally occurring artifact of nature, and woe betide the scientist who tried to fight it.

Nano had been very, very heavily regulated ever since, and the political repercussions had been the first stirrings of a technology-related split that had eventually led to the formation of the League, and then to the whole, messy war of containment. None of this stuff was ever simple. She'd been learning that since she'd first begun to read history.

Coffee poured, and relaxed in underwear and T-shirt, she settled into the chair before her workdesk, and activated the screen. A broad view of Santiello spanned to her right, darkened somewhat in the polarisation of the windows-she had no doubt those snooping SIB agents were out there still, monitoring from some comfortable vantage. Santiello-green trees, middle-density modern housing, parkssuburban comfort with tall towers rising sharply beyond, and spanning all around into the fading distance.

The screen bleeped at her-files received, she noted with a sip of her coffee, and a very large number indicating memory storage. She accessed, data-sift programs sorting for security threats and finding nothing. All but five messages were addressed to her from the CSA compound. She uploaded those and flashed visually through a ma.s.s of network security protocol programs, things she'd wanted checked or to get further information on a several had attached messages from CSA techs wanting further clarification on some point she'd made in earlier work. She shook her head in mild disbelief-Ta.n.u.shan network infrastructure was incredibly advanced, but not with security in mind. The naivety of some of the designers amazed her.

Four of the remaining five messages were from government inst.i.tutions. Three were from bureaucratic officials wanting clarification on some point of League military law or operating procedure. She knew far more about such matters than any resident CSA experts and generally received about twenty of them a week-for some reason some bureaucrats needed to know such things. She suspected most of them were financial modellers-famous for meticulous detail-and were trying to plot the effect of League economics on local circ.u.mstances a What her mostly military knowledge could tell them about League economics, she wasn't certain. Military expenditure levels, perhaps. The rest were probably just curious. The fourth message was from Mahudmita Rafasan, the President's senior legal advisor, advising her of the latest half dozen civil suits filed against her and the Neiland Administration by disgruntled residents demanding the rogue League GI be removed from official duties immediately. Well, she thought sourly, thanks to the SIB, we're halfway there.

The last message was neither from the CSA, Parliament or the bureaucracy. In fact, the location coding was alien to her, and had not been screened through CSA com-sifters like most of her messages. She opened it, and found it addressed personally to her from a certain Amba.s.sador Yao-the League Amba.s.sador to Callay.

She stared at the heading for a long moment, coffee temporarily forgotten in her hand. She didn't like the fact that it hadn't been security sifted. There was no way that she knew of for anyone to reach her mailing address otherwise. But, of course, the League always had to do things the difficult, mysterious, clandestine way. She decided she wouldn't jump to conclusions until she'd at least read the message. It was seriously encrypted-League encryption, military grade, probably she was one of the few people in Ta.n.u.sha capable of reading the content. Intentional, no doubt. She didn't like that either.

Dear Ms. Kresnov, the message read. I sincerely hope that the following information may be of use to you. Please be aware that there are Federal Intelligence Agency personnel infiltrated through many of the visiting Earth delegations. Their intentions may be far from honourable.

Tell me something I don't know, Sandy thought sourly. And since when were the FIA's intentions on anything honourable? To anyone but themselves, anyhow a I have also recently received information through ongoing investigations currently being carried out by various apparatus appointed to the task by the new League Government. As you are aware, the recent FIA infiltration of Callay was supported by various clandestine agencies within the League. Our new government is attempting to root out these agencies, and determine the extent of their involvement.

Sandy didn't believe that for a second, having received some CSA intelligence of her own recently that, to her experienced eye, suggested otherwise. She read on, with an ever-firming stare.

It now appears that certain of these League agencies were in direct contact with Governor Dali prior to his appointment as Federal Governor to Callay four years ago. He visited Tokanagawa two years ago to attend an officialfunc-tion a and his Federation vessel returned a week late, having suffered "technical difficulties" at one of the jump points along the way. Intelligence now indicates the vessel had in fact been diverted one week off its course to a secret jump point meeting with these same League agencies. During this meeting he met with military personnel and intelligence personnel, including some from Dark Star. It now seems that the use of particular GI forces for the now infamous operations may have been discussed.

I understand that your duties will now compel you to share this information with your superiors please do so with my blessing, as a sign of the new Administration's hopes for friendly relations in the future. I did, however want this message to reach your eyes first, as a courtesy in consideration of your special relationship with some of those involved, and a token of respect in light of your many years of selfless service to the League a a debt that I do not believe the League will ever be sufficiently able to repay.

Your sincere admirer Gordon Yao League Amba.s.sador to Callay It took her at least ten whole seconds to stop being furious. From that point on, she was merely mad. How dare he? How dare anyone from that mob of murderous lunatics attempt to gain her good will from something so trivial as a She took a deep breath, and calmed herself further. Mahud. That was who he meant, regarding her "special relationship." Had Mahud been at this secret meeting in deep s.p.a.ce? Had he met with Governor Dali? Perhaps Dali had needed a.s.surance that the lead GI for the operation could be trusted.

d.a.m.n. She stared out the window, at the sunny, pleasant vista of Ta.n.u.shan suburbia beyond. Huge ramifications. Enormous. Previous speculation was that Dali was a puppet. That he hadn't known the precise scale or nature of what he was involved in. This meeting would prove otherwise-that he knew well in advance, and was personally involved in the planning process. And that he'd personally helped plan, or at least given his first-hand approval to a plan to kill the President and then use it as an excuse to a.s.sume power on Callay for himself. People had wondered to what extent he'd been an FIA man. This would indicate he was an FIA man all the way to the bone. Which in turn implied that the level of FIA interference in the operation of the Federation Grand Council was enormous. And if Dali was tried on Callay, under Callayan law, and was forced to admit such things before a horrified audience of Federation planetary representatives a Another more personal thought occurred to her. Mahud had told her that he was not the only member of her old team to have survived. Pessivich, Rogers and Chu a Chu, her old friend. Pessivich and Rogers had been recent, she hadn't known them well. But Chu a She accessed an uplink in a flash-an absent, background rush of sensory data-found the appropriate com-codings and relayed a Back came the reply-Ibrahim's office, Ibrahim's personal connection. Blink blink. She waited, watching it flash, a pulsing node in visual cybers.p.a.ce. Blink blink. Connect, flare of lighted pathways, codings and encryption in place, a rushing, reflex awareness of lockdown securitya "h.e.l.lo, Ca.s.sandra." No warnings of "this better be important," Ibrahim didn't waste time with such threats. He a.s.sumed people already knew how serious matters had to be before contacting his personal connection.

"Sir, I need personal access to Governor Dali, with your permission. He and I need to have a chat."

Dali was reading a book when she entered, an empty teacup on the side table by his comfortable leather chair. Sunlight gleamed through the broad windows of his "cell," here on the fifty-fifth storey of the government-owned Andara Tower in mid-western Ta.n.u.sha. The view behind was typically spectacular, agleam with mid-morning sunlight reflecting from tower gla.s.s. The heavy-security door clacked shut behind her, and she suffered a cold chill of remembrance, recalling just such a room in which she had been kept prisoner upon her first arrival on Callay.

Dali did not look up from his book. A raga was playing on the room audio system, a beautiful, ponderous meandering of minormelody and tabla-rhythms. He sat with long legs crossed, the book resting upon one cross-braced knee, a posture made easier by loose kameez-pyjama pants beneath his collarless tunic top. It was common enough attire for senior Indian bureaucrats, a comfortable, middling formality. Birth of the Pan-African Union, the book was ent.i.tled, although the author's name was Indian. She wondered if it had occurred to him that an African author might also have something interesting to say on the matter. And reckoned that no, considering Dali's background and reputation, it probably hadn't.

She stopped before the opposing chair. Dali made her wait for a full ten seconds. She was just about to take her seat anyway, when he looked up.

"Ms. Kresnov." With a blandness verging on disinterest. Dali had a long face, large nose and deep, dark eyes with drooping eyelids. It seemed to Sandy a face designed with disdainful expressions in mind. Although, perhaps Dali had merely had more practice than most. "Please have a seat. Would you like me to request a cup of tea for you? The staff here are most obliging."

"No, thank you, Mr. Dali."

"I believe the correct form of address is Governor Dali, my child," the Governor said mildly as she sat. "I have not been deprived of that position, whatever my present circ.u.mstance."

"Merely a matter of time, Governor."

Dali gave a long, deliberate shrug. "Perhaps. The wheels of administration do turn, even out here in the colonies."

It might have been bitterness. Or perhaps merely defiance, belittling the system that currently held him prisoner. It mattered little to Sandy either way.

"I know about your meeting with League officials out at Point Chavez," she said without preamble. Dali blinked at her in astonishment. "You were aboard the Federation transport vessel Mongolia, on your way back from Tokanagawa two years and four standard months ago. You sidetracked to Point Chavez and called it "technical difficulties" afterward. Mongolia's logs were mysteriously damaged in transit, which prevented jump time dilation from showing the extra, unscheduled jumps-I checked. During your meeting at Point Chavez, certain League officials discussed with you their plans for the infiltration mission that has landed you in this detention. I want to know who those people were and who was with them, and what you discussed."

Dali continued to stare at her for several long moments. Then he pursed his lips deliberately, carefully folded his book, and placed it on the small side table beside his empty teacup.

"Ms. Kresnov," he said with careful deliberation, "it is clear that your frontline infantry training has given you precious little preparation for the subtleties of politics and interviewing protocols. Even if such a fanciful tale were true, why on Earth should I ever choose to answer such incriminating accusations? This entire room is bugged by CSA operatives who hang upon my every word. I am hardly obliged by my role as Governor to say anything under such circ.u.mstances."

"What you say in here," Sandy said calmly, "is not permissible in a court of law. Only official statements taken by appointed legal offi cers are deemed admissible, anything else could be considered duress. I have sources, Governor Dali. League sources. Intelligence sources. Things that may reach my ears, you understand, that are not available to my CSA colleagues. The new government on Ryssa is trying to clean up the old mess. They're discovering many very interesting things regarding operations carried out by the old League for the infiltration of illegal biotech data into Federation corporations. Particularly in relation to clandestine cooperation with the FIA. Whom I believe you know very well indeed, Governor Dali."

No reply from Dali. No disdainful dismissals of her interviewing techniques, certainly. Strategy was her strong point. Seeing all the angles. She'd been good at politics even from the removed distance of Dark Star spec cps missions. Where covert strategies were concerned, the likes of Dali did not trouble her. She could handle him.

"The League are interested in Callay, Governor," she continued. "Especially considering our potential breakaway. Your little secrets are no longer safe with them."

"Young lady," Dali said with commendable firmness, "you would seriously believe what the League tells you? Surely you, of all people, would not be so foolish as to believe that the war has actually ended? Dear girl, it has merely been postponed to a more convenient date. The entire thirty year conflict that gave birth to you was nothing more than an opening skirmish. The League do not give up on their precious ideals so easily, they have no intention of remaining beholden to the interests of the Federation. They see in the present environment nothing more than an opportunity, a chance to split the Federation. They will lie and fabricate and obfuscate to their hearts' content to achieve their goals."

"A chance to split the Federation," Sandy echoed, "that you gave to them on a plate."

"I?" Blinking repeatedly, large eyes wide in feigned disbelief. Like an owl, Sandy recalled one of Vanessa's descriptions. "Ms. Kresnov, I am but a humble servant of the Federation. I serve at the wishes of my masters."

"I know." Her stare flat and entirely level. "That's just the problem."

The stare appeared to be having an effect. Dali swallowed, eyes darting briefly away, fidgeting at his collar. About his brow had appeared the faintest hint of perspiration, clearly visible with a simple spectrum shift. It happened with people who knew what she was. And feared it.

"You are wasting your time," he said shortly, recrossing his legs and shifting uncomfortably. "I am under no obligation to respond to such blatant lies and incriminatory accusations. I have nothing more to say to you. Good day, Ms. Kresnov." He picked up his book and made to recommence reading where he'd left off.

"The deaths you've caused don't bother you, do they?"

"People die, Ms. Kresnov, in all forms of conflict."

"The good guys aren't supposed to kill their own side."

"Good day, Ms. Kresnov."

"Do you know what the GSA's had me doing during much of my time here? I've been rechecking over this city's security protocols, particularly on network systems a but also for physical defences." Dali stared determinedly at the pages of his book. "Physical defences such as these." She gestured about at the pleasant, s.p.a.cious apartment. "Defending this place, this entire floor. They aren't very adequate, you know. You might imagine how much experience I've had breaking through defensive security considerably more imposing than this. I'm quite sure the FIA's better covert operations teams could break these defences if they chose.

"I wonder how badly they'd wish to stop you from testifying? It would be interesting to know, wouldn't it? You could do them a lot of damage if you did. And they've shown an alarming willingness to kill whoever gets in their way."

"You do not scare me, Ms. Kresnov." Not "young lady" now, Sandy noted with some satisfaction. "The Grand Council will allow no harm to come to me."

"The Grand Council control the FIA?" Sandy asked mildly. Dali blinked. "How interesting. Did the Grand Council then order the President a.s.sa.s.sinated?"

"Of course not a !"

"Then the Grand Council don't control the FIA? Equally upsetting news, renegade Intelligence operatives running about killing people without the supervision or knowledge of the proper democratically elected authorities. And bad news for your own security, Governor, since the Grand Council evidently cannot protect you from these rampaging a.s.sa.s.sins. I could order these security mechanisms that protect you upgraded, you realise, if I were sufficiently persuaded of their inadequacy." A considered pause. "And if I were given sufficient reason to care."

"You would blackmail me?" With incredulous indignation, his book now forgotten in his lap. "With fear of my own life?"

"They're your people, Governor," Sandy said mildly. "You made your bed with them, you did their bidding, and now they give you cause to fear for your life. How is this my responsibility?"

Dali glared at her. Too proud a man, Sandy reckoned with cool calculation, to collapse in a heap and beg for mercy. So proud, in fact, that he felt obliged to defend, with great indignation, every perceived verbal slight to his dignity. It made him a very easy target.

"And what, pray tell," he said coldly, "shall be the trade-off in this dishonourable game of quid pro quo?"

"Your meeting at Chavez Point. Who did you meet with, and what did you discuss?"

"I admit to nothing of the kind," Dali said shortly. "I was frequently briefed by FIA operatives, because in my role as Governor I am frequently in need of input from Federal Intelligence. I heard speak of many covert League activities." His eyes narrowed. "It was a friend of yours who plotted the raid to kill the President, was it not? And now you suspect I had something to do with the planning of the operation that set him upon his course?

"I a.s.sure you that I did not. I did hear speak, however, of others. The League did not kill off all its inconveniently high-designation GIs, you surely realise. There were more besides your friend Mahud who survived the calamity of your Dark Star team that sent you fleeing to the Federation, Ms. Kresnov. Perhaps your contacts within the League Emba.s.sy here have determined to make use of your emotional connection, Ms. Kresnov, to gain your good favour, and perhaps to make you an unwitting accomplice to their bidding. Perhaps you should consider such possibilities more closely before running off to meetings with the Federal Governor because dear Mr. Yao of the Emba.s.sy sent you a friendly, helpful message."

She did not particularly admire Dali in any way. She certainly didn't like him. But for all that, she knew she couldn't accuse him of stupidity.

"And I a.s.sure you, Governor Dali," she said coolly, "that the very last thing that I'm emotionally vulnerable to is appeals to past loyalties from the League, new Administration or otherwise."

"So you say, Ms. Kresnov, so you say. And yet you came all this way, and took time from your doubtless very busy CSA schedule, to question me about meetings that involve persons to whom you had a close emotional attachment?"

He had not, she realised, heard of her suspension from CSA operations by the SIB-the "cell" was comfortable, yet very secure all the same. She had no wish to volunteer the information to him.

"No, Governor," she told him, "I did not come here merely for personal reasons. I came here to blackmail you, as you put it, with the knowledge of threats to your safety. The fact that elements within the League sent me that message at all demonstrates that your secrets are no longer safe with them. What I can find out, Federation member world governments will also find out-when I tell them. Momentum will be created through these revelations for your trial to take place here on Callay. The closer that day comes, the more alarmed your friends in the FIA will become. They will attempt to prevent you from testifying, one way or another. You know it, and I know it."

"You let them kill me," Dali said with great, trembling intensity, and you shall never learn the answers to the questions you seek."

"Oh, I think we may, Mr. Dali. If our League contacts continue to prove cooperative, and momentum among Federation worlds and within the bureaucracy, and among Grand Council reps, continues to swing our way, I think we may. Only, it will take a little longer a and you will be dead. An inconvenience, but not an unmanageable one. Except for you, of course."