Not if I say otherwise!

-And if he says otherwise?

She ground her teeth.

-You're asking him to stand there and watch you subject yourself to lethal dangers. To risk losing you if things go badly wrong. What if your positions were reversed? Would you be willing to stay behind? Should something terrible happen, to live with the knowledge that you might have been able to save him, had you been aboard?

Grandpere...

-He's willing to die alongside you, Al. He'd rather die with you than live without you in agony over whether he could have made the difference. He loves you that much. How much do you love him?

It was the question she hadn't dared to face.

Adam Grenier chose that moment to emerge from his little office, cross the tarmac, and approach them. He stopped on the opposite side of the spaceplane, leaned casually against a wheel strut, and smiled pleasantly.

"Made any decisions yet?"

Althea shook her head and looked away.

"We're in the middle of a big one now, Adam," Martin said. "It takes priority over all the others. Scheduling will have to wait."

"Just keep me abreast," Grenier said. He smiled up at the spaceplane. "She's a beauty. Entirely your design?"

Martin smiled. "Althea's and mine from stem to stern."

Grenier nodded. "I kinda wish I could go with you."

Martin chuckled. "You'll have to give us a chance to blow ourselves up first. But if things go well, maybe we can arrange something."

Grenier nodded again and ambled off. Althea waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to her husband.

"We've only got the two suits, Martin."

He smirked. "I did say 'maybe,' didn't I?"

She nodded. He took her hand, and they started back toward Morelon House.

Grandpere?

-Yes, dear?

Life outside the body...

-Yes?

Is it for everyone?

There was a pause.

-I can't say. Teresza thought so.

Is that why...

-Yes, Al, it is. She hoped we would be together.

You're not, though, are you?

There was another pause. When the reply came, it was as bleak as the arctic sky.

-No, we're not.

She looked up at her husband, who was apparently occupied with thoughts of his own.

I don't know if I could bear that.

-Dearest Althea, there are many things about which we're not offered a choice. That's just one of them.

An awfully big one, though.

-Well, yes.

"Madam Morelon," Olivia Luchin said, "that would absolutely wreck any prospect Clan Luchin has of developing a market outside Jacksonville."

Charisse took the tray from Jacqueline Morelon with a word of thanks and closed her office door as her niece departed. She set a mug down before Alexander Dunbarton, put another in front of Olivia Luchin, positioned the plate of cookies equidistant between them at the forward edge of her desk, and resumed her own seat.

"The alternative," the Dunbarton patriarch said, "would cut so deeply into our market as to pauperize us. Our capital expense is already sunk and can't be reclaimed except through profits."

"You should have thought about the risks before you expanded your foundry," Luchin said. "I will not sit still and let you intrude on our already signed contract with Grenier Air." She looked pointedly at Charisse. "And I can't see what Clan Morelon has to do with any of it."

Dunbarton glared at her for a moment, threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and turned to Charisse.

"Then why did you agree to this meeting, Livia?" Charisse said.

The Luchin matriarch started to reply, but bit it back.

"Madam Morelon," Dunbarton pressed, "we simply must have a decision on this."

"Oh, quite clearly," Charisse said. "But let's be clear about something else as well, Alex. You want a contract voided that has nothing to do with Clan Dunbarton. Livia merely wants that contract to remain in force." She peered at him from under lowered brows. "Has either of you spoken to Adam Grenier about it?"

Neither answered.

"Livia, is the contract revocable by either party, by mutual consent only, or binding?"

"Mutual consent," she murmured.

Charisse turned to Dunbarton. "And clearly Livia is unwilling to consent. I fail to see what interest Clan Morelon has in this dispute, Alex. Why on Hope should I intervene?"

"There could," Dunbarton said tonelessly, "be a Morelon interest in a redrafted contract...if it accounted for Dunbarton interests."

Charisse had anticipated that moment. It had occurred with absolute predictability in every dispute that had been brought to her over the four years past. She repressed a smile and turned to Olivia Luchin.

"Livia," she said, "what weights and frequency have you promised to Adam Grenier?"

The Luchin matriarch recoiled visibly. "Madam Morelon-"

"Please, dear." Charisse inclined her head in mock supplication. "Decisions like this are so hard to make without complete information."

There was a long silence.

"Well, Livia?"

"Twelve hundredweight pallets per month," Luchin said. "Six freight on board to Jefferson, six prepaid to MacKenzie."

"And your estimated margins?"

"Eight hundred fifty dekas per pallet to Jefferson, seven hundred seventy per pallet to MacKenzie."

"Thank you, dear." Charisse turned to Dunbarton. "You're asking Clan Luchin to surrender nearly ten thousand dekas per month in profits, Alex. For the life of me, I can't see why Livia should agree to do so. I certainly wouldn't."

Muscles rippled along Alexander Dunbarton's jawline. "The alternative," he said, "is the collapse of our foundry. Without the increase in shipping capability, we have no way to recoup our costs. Debt service alone would bury us."

She looked steadily into his eyes, and he wilted.

"I suppose we could arrange for...some compensation," he said at last.

Luchin glared at him. "We don't want-"

"Peace, Livia," Charisse said. "There are many aspects of this we have yet to discuss, and now is not the time." She rose, and they rose with her. "Perhaps you should return to Luchin House and gather the opinions of your elders before we proceed any further. You know the way out. Alex, please grant me a moment more."

When Luchin had exited the office, Charisse resumed her seat, fitted her fingertips together, and gazed over them at Alexander Dunbarton.

"Well, Alex?"

He grimaced. "Paying off the Luchins will cut deeply into-"

Charisse held up a hand. "That's between you and Livia. What are you willing to do to compensate Clan Morelon?"

Dunbarton peered at her. "For what?"

The Morelon matriarch smiled coldly. "For me."

Douglas Kramnik tucked his folio under his arm, raised his hand to knock on the door to the little suite, and stopped in mid-motion.

I wouldn't have done this at Kramnik House.

But if I had, I wouldn't have felt so hesitant about it.

He reviewed the numbers in his head.

I have no choice. About the subject or the advisor.

He laid three firm knocks on the door and stepped back a pace.

The door opened a few seconds later. The woman who stood there couldn't possibly be Patrice Kramnik Morelon. She looked like a considerably younger, far more vital edition of his kinswoman, perhaps a daughter he hadn't known about. Whoever she was, she didn't look pleased.

He looked quickly around the little office. There was no one else there.

"What is it, Douglas?"

He stared at her, suddenly uncertain. "Patrice?"

She scowled. "Who else? Oh, come in."

He followed her into her office. She sat behind an impressive mason-and-bolivar desk, waved him at a guest chair, and waited for him to seat himself.

"What brings you to Morelon House today?" she said. When he failed to respond, she leaned forward to peer at him, snorted gently, and settled back in her chair.

"There've been some developments these past couple of years, Douglas."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have limited us to radio contact for so long," he said.

"Perhaps." She turned to glance out her office window at the cornfields to the east. "The Leschitsyns and the Albermayers have been working on a couple of rejuvenation therapies. Aimed at folks like Alvah and me who didn't get the Hallanson-Albermayer series before we started to deteriorate." She smirked. "They wouldn't be of much interest to you, I suppose."

"What about as an investment opportunity?"

"Not quite yet. They're still assessing the data from the volunteers, and yes, Alvah and I are among them."

He said nothing.

"You did have something you wanted to talk about, didn't you?" she said.

He nodded. "The cash account for the investment corporation."

"Doesn't it seem healthy to you?"

"Too healthy." He opened his folio and passed it across the desk. "The left side lists the purchases and liquidations for the year to date. The right side lists the deposits and withdrawals. Look closely."

She did. He waited in silence. Presently she looked up, face filled with suspicion.

"Have you verified these numbers?" she said.

He swallowed. "Twice."

"Is it possible that a deposit intended for the farm corporation went into the investment account by mistake?"