Once inside, she understood the reason for her wait. The small area was but a single room, served by two portals at opposite end, presumably on different corridors. The narrow office contained two consoles, three severe straight-backed chairs, one console recliner, and a small loveseat.

Standing by the console recliner was a slender figure garbed in a black privacy cloak with a peaked hood and a black mask.

"You'll pardon the privacy, Ms. D'Meryon, but the need for a continued confidentiality is one of the reasons for our search and one of the principal reasons for specifying the qualifications we need."

Gesturing vaguely toward the arrangement of chairs and the loveseat, the man sat down.

Lyr was convinced that the man, although soft-spoken, had some sort of military background from the alertness of his carriage. She seated herself in one of the straight-backed chairs.

"While the foundation has a worthy purpose, it would not be appropriate for some of the anonymous backers to become known. Others do not wish public recognition of any sort."

"Might I ask the goals of the foundation? And its name?"

"The foundation's title is the OER Foundation, and the founders have never seen fit to disclose what the initials represent. The goals are modest, basically to endow research in certain biologic and ecologic fields. Center primarily on development of self-perpetuating reclamation, biological stabilization processes."

The black-cloaked man's masked face remained shadowed as he cleared his throat softly and continued. "Why were you interested in this particular position?"

"For a number of reasons. . ."

The standard questions about her background, her qualifications, her interest in science, all took nearly a standard hour.

Every question was politely phrased by the inquiring figure, and while the light was soft, by the time that first hour had passed, Lyr felt as though the interview was approaching an inquisition.

Finally, too late, she suspected, she interrupted.

"What does that have to do with the job? You have obviously verified all my qualifications, my references, and my background. Is this intensive reexamination merely to verify my interest or my ability to endure? What is there about this foundation that requires such painstaking evaluation of its possible administrator?"

"Are you sure you want to know that?"

"That's an odd response. My first reaction is that you're up to something illegal or exceedingly unpopular. Are you?"

"No. Popular reaction right now would probably be boredom. Intellectual reaction would probably be positive. But we're an odd foundation. Not interested in publicity. Not interested in glory, or space in the faxnews. Don't want an administrator who is. Need someone who shares our goals, someone who will pursue them and who doesn't need public acclaim to be happy on the job."

"Can you assure me that what you are pursuing is legal?"

"I can assure you that it is legal on New Augusta and throughout the Empire. Wouldn't want to speculate about other legal codes or mores."

"Fair enough." She paused, then hurried on before the man in black could speak. "The publicity angle is strange. I'll admit, because most foundations want publicity either to gain contributions or to reflect favorably on the founder. But it's not strange enough for all this secrecy. As for the goals, other than some very general guidelines, which would be impossible to follow without more detailed information, you haven't really stated a single concrete objective that an administrator would find usable. So what do you want? What are you really pushing for?"

"Before I answer that, and I will, what do you want from this job? Not the polite phrases. We're beyond that. What do you really want?"

Lyr took a deep breath.

"In one word-meaning. In two words-responsibility. And if I get three-money."

"We can deliver all three, in greater quantities than you expect. But there is a price, a high price. Perhaps higher than you would pay."

"My life?" She pursed her lips. "You can't be that melodramatic."

The interviewer laughed once, a short harsh sound. "Scarcely. Not in the sense you meant. The position could easily be a lifetime position. That's one reason for the in-depth nature of the application, the interview, and the reference checks. We also have done a background check."

Lyr's mouth opened in a small "o."

The interviewer continued, politely ignoring her surprise. "The administrator will have sole operating authority. That authority may not be delegated, although you may hire administrative assistance and other services as necessary and financially responsible."

"You are asking for a bond slave, not an administrator."

"The starting salary is sixty thousand Imperial credits annually, plus expenses and living quarters."

Lyr didn't bother to keep her mouth from dropping open.

"What unpaid other 'services' do you want? Is this offer open only to attractive young women?"

"The sarcasm doesn't become you." The gentleness of the reproach disarmed her angry cynicism.

"I don't understand. That's more than the administrators of the Emperor's Trust get paid, and they don't get quarters."

"You'll have a bigger job, and one without the overt acclaim and prestige. It may be more important in the long run."

"How big?"

"Big enough that if we go beyond this point in the conversation, and you decline, you will not walk out of here with any memory of what was discussed."

"You couldn't! You wouldn't!"

"Said it was a big job, job that requires a big person. Stakes are as idealistic as you are. More so, perhaps. Less risk from a memory blanking than from disclosure. Besides, who would you complain about? This isn't the foundation office, but rented for the interviews."

Lyr moistened her lips with her tongue.

"My head says to walk out. My heart wants to hear your offer."

"What do you know about ecologic reclamation? About the impact of organic chemical poisonings?"

"The problems with Old Earth, Marduk, and even with New Glascow. That's why the really dangerous manufacturing processes are in deep space or on hell-planets."

"How do you clean them up?"

"You don't. You'd have to scrub the soil, filter all of the groundwater, probably any oceans as well."

"So you go along with the tacit Imperial policy of avoiding the questions?"

"Take Old Earth," Lyr countered. "The government has devoted close to fifty billion creds over the last fifty years . . . maybe more. What do they have? A few thousand square kays of marginal land and a river or two that won't poison you on touching." She paused. "What does this have to do with the job? Directly?"

"Everything. The sponsors feel that real cleanup is possible with biologic agents. Agree with your assessment so far as mechanical reclamation goes. Ancient records say biological reclamation was started once, even begun to terraform totally hostile planets, but it stopped with the Great Collapse. Old Earth and Marduk were avoided since there were better places to live. Federation, and then the Empire, tried to avoid the problem by avoiding organics on inhabited planets, manufacturing in space or on waste planets for materials they couldn't do without."

The man in black stood up, his shadowed eyes looking at a point somewhere behind Lyr. "Now, the inhabited systems are growing, as well as the demand for more and more consumer goods. The Collapse is long past, and the commercial barons base their power on production. The trend is not obvious yet, but it is there."

Lyr felt, for an instant, an impression of age coming from the young-looking figure who moved with such quickness and grace that he had to be her own contemporary.

"And the foundation is worried about that?"

"By the time anyone else is worried, just as happened on Old Earth, it will be too late to do anything." The man laughed. "Even if we're wrong, biological cleanup methods will make those consumer goods cheaper."

"Istvenn . . . ," she murmured. "You really do care . . . ."

"Some of the people who created the foundation do. They wanted to encourage the discovery, the development, and the use of biological processes to reclaim chemical wasted lands, self-perpetuating and benign biological systems to maintain the ecology under the worst of stresses, and to make these processes widely available once they have been developed and field tested.

"Your job will center on the first phase, since none of these processes are known. They may be out there in the Empire, but if so, they are buried and unrecognized. As you pointed out, no one can reclaim a wasted planet like Old Earth, not even with the resources of the Empire. And already, reports of space-based contamination drifting in-system are being reported. A number of the nastier organic byproducts can withstand reentry heat, particularly if they're in dust form.

"More important, with the energy costs of space transport, virtually every industrialized system has some organic production somewhere, and as demand keeps increasing, so will possible sources of contamination."

Lyr coughed to break the other's gloomy monologue. "You paint a depressing picture."

"Don't all fanatics?" He laughed again, but the laugh was without humor, except in the self-deprecation.

"What sort of operation now exists?"

"Are you interested?"

"Yes. I couldn't say why. But I am."

"Fine. The foundation has offices, plus financial resources, and an approved charter. You will not need to raise funds, but you will need to create the entire mechanism for reviewing and screening grant and research proposals, the procedures for follow-up and field testing."

"You're not serious?"

"Quite serious."

"Handing this over to someone you scarcely know?"

"Do you want the job?"

Lyr paused.

The man in black said nothing, just waited.

"Yes."

"Fine. You have it."

"I do?" Lyr looked at the other blankly.

"You do." He stretched and withdrew a card from his cloak, along with a small databloc. "The card has the foundation address. In those quarters are the basic information and equipment you will need, as well as access to the consoles. Currently, the master console is locked to your retinal prints. You can change that if you wish, but it was the safest way to begin."

"My retinal prints? But . . . how. . ."

"From this point on, you control the day-to-day operations of the Foundation, its assets, investments, and its grants."

"How did you know I would accept?"

"Didn't. But it was likely. I said we did a thorough background check on the most likely candidates. We did. Thorough. Even to the time you told your family you were going to Eltar for the summer, when instead you used the summer to raise your tuition for the university by entering that bond-contract with Farid El-Noursi. You used the name Noreen Al-Fatid . . . . Should I go on?"

Lyr could feel herself turning crimson on the exterior, and the fury building on the inside.

"Take your filthy job-"

"No."

The single, quiet word, for some reason, deflated her anger.

"Purpose wasn't to embarrass or to push. But to let you know how thoroughly we screened you. What you do with your private life is for you. But you are trustworthy, totally trustworthy, whether you will admit it publicly or not."

"If I weren't?"

"You wouldn't be here."

"What if your administrator changed? If... they . . . he . . . she . . . cheated you?"

"I will let you in on one thing."

"What?"

"One of the founders is a graduate of the Corpus Corps."

Despite herself, Lyr shivered.

The man gestured toward the portal, the one she had not used.

"Once you get settled, I'll be in touch to fill in the details. But remember you are the OER Foundation. Without you, it is merely an assembly of assets. For your own peace of mind, I'd suggest you tell your friends and acquaintances that you were lucky enough to land the spendthrift trust of a well-connected Imperial fuctionary.

"By the way, there is an emergency call function in the console. It cannot be tracked. No good if someone is standing by you and has a stunner to your head, but the normal security systems should prevent that. Emergency function is more for substantial policy questions where you would like guidance or to talk over the thrust of future decisions. Not for nuts and bolts questions. . ."

The portal opened.

"But . . . I don't understand . . . ."

"You will . . . once you look it all over . . . . You will. . . ."

Lyr stood alone in the empty corridor, shaking her head, wondering. She looked down to find her portfolio, still unopened, under her left arm, and in her right hand, the small square databloc and the foundation card.

After locking the databloc into her beltpak, she studied the address on the card.

"Hegemony Towers. . ."

She shook her head, nearly forgetting the address. How had he found out about El Lido and Farid? She had forgotten that summer as quickly as possible, even though the contract had been the only way she could have finished the university after her father's death and mother's suicide. She still shuddered at the thought . . . and the thankfully infrequent nightmares.

"Hegemony Towers. . ." She repeated the address, as if to drive away the memories.

Certainly a modest but respectable address in one of the business parks north of the capitol.