Grandpere, are you telling me that that nerve trunk can be fixed?

-No, Althea. Not definitively. But what if it could be? Wholly or partially? At a price you might consider worth paying?

"Whoa," she murmured aloud.

-Question your assumptions, dear. Always. I'd rather you didn't have to learn the importance of that the hard way...as I did.

Grandpere? Can you tell me anything more about this...possibility?

-Only one thing, Al.

And that is...?

-That if your problem can be fixed, it will be up to you to fix it. No one else on Hope could possibly do so.

The second phase of the exchange ended as abruptly as the first, leaving Althea with one hand on her belly, the other on the fuselage of Freedom's Horizon, and a faraway look on her face.

"Double whoa," she murmured.

"How I hate this job," Barton grumbled.

Nora looked up from her reading matter. "Hm?"

"Was I talking to myself again? Sorry." He waved at the ledger open before him. "If I'd known what kind of mind-numbing, calculator-clogging, decimal-point-fiddling tedium was involved in this, I'd never have agreed to become scion."

His wife giggled, closed her book, circled his desk and draped her arms around his neck. "That's what you get for being so slow on the uptake, boy. Althea didn't want it either. You should have given that a little thought."

He snorted. "Scion has been a ceremonial position for so long that no one expected I'd ever assume the big job. I certainly didn't."

And I had to go and get Charisse deposed. Got to try to do a little more thinking before my next crazy impulse.

Nora giggled again. "What, the council wasn't supposed to capitalize on having snagged a clueless victim?" She turned his chair to face her. "Someone too bowled over by the honor to put three words together for a whole day?"

The pointed reminder of how overwhelmed Barton had been to be named Morelon clan scion pricked an embarrassed laugh out of him. He rose and embraced his wife.

"What would I do," he said against her cheek, "without you to tweak me?"

"Probably pretty much what you've been doing today, except over at Kramnik House." She pulled back a little and looked into his eyes. "How are things with Douglas?"

His mouth tightened as the pleasure drained out of him.

"Not good," he said, and looked away.

If Charisse had planned to neuter him utterly, she couldn't have done a better job of it.

"Bart?"

"Nora," he said, "there are some things I really shouldn't talk about, even with you."

She frowned, eyes questioning.

"I mean, I'm allowed," he said, "but it feels wrong. An invasion of privacy. And that's not my clan any more."

"He's still your father," she said.

Bart nodded.

I learned a lot more from him than I realized. How to negotiate. How to sniff out the stuff my opposite number doesn't want known. How to time an offer to maximize its appeal. How to delay an offer until it becomes the alternative to ruination.

How to smile and smile and be a villain.

And I do it all better than he ever did.

"One of the things that's hardest about this office," he said at last, "is teaching myself to see an adversary while looking at a man I used to call a friend." He smiled wanly. "Or father."

Nora's face filled with confusion. "In a free market-"

"-there are no losers, only winners," he finished for her. "I know the mantra. It's true, most of the time."

"When," she said uncertainly, "is it not true?"

In my head. Before the dealing starts, as I plot how to squeeze as much as possible out of the guy across the table, yet somehow send him home happy. And afterward, as I ponder how I could have milked him for even more, and make notes about how to do it the next time around.

"Bart?" She squeezed him gently. "Sweetie?"

"Maybe," he said, "that's one of the things I shouldn't talk about."

Her gaze became difficult for him to face. "I don't like the way that list is expanding."

He grimaced. "Neither do I."

"You're aware that I've retired from clan operations," Charisse said. "Except for a seat on the elders' council."

Douglas Kramnik nodded. "I sense that you're not entirely happy about it."

It couldn't be clearer if you'd had it tattooed it on your forehead.

"Would you be?" Charisse said. "The pleasures of endless leisure are the biggest sham in existence." She waved inclusively around the Kramnik patriarch's office. "You must get some sort of charge out of all this. We both know how much work it is."

Kramnik nodded. "I won't deny it. I like having authority. I like having my kin defer to me." He smirked. "And I like dealing with other clan heads, having them treat me as an equal." Especially my estranged son. "Besides, these days the mill just about runs itself. It's a lot less work than what I do for Clan Morelon."

"And how is that going?"

The inquiry was perfectly casual. As casual as the retired Morelon matriarch's posture. Far too casual. Kramnik immediately became alert.

"The last report was only two days ago, Charisse. Not much has changed since then. Or did you have a specific concern?"

Charisse smiled faintly. "I know. I was more asking about the work itself. The research, the risk assessments, the dickering with the heads of start-ups." She stretched languidly without rising from the guest chair. "I always found that part of the job too intriguing for words."

That wasn't the impression you left when you offered me the gig.

"I get the sense," Kramnik said, measuring out his words, "that you'd like to involve yourself in it again."

"Yes, I would," she said. "The way start-ups have been proliferating lately, I keep seeing possibilities that deserve serious attention. Maybe more attention than you, Patrice, and Chuck can spare them, what with all the other areas you have to track. And as I said, I have too little to do these days."

Kramnik looked directly into Charisse's eyes. She didn't flinch.

There's a motivation in there I haven't heard about yet. With her, there always has been. There always will be. And until I ferret it out, I'll be tangoing through a minefield.

"Did you have specific ideas for new involvements?" he said.

"Only that there are a lot of new enterprises to look into," Charisse said. She shrugged. "Nothing beyond that."

Just about now, Patrice would be telling me I'm too suspicious. I wonder what Chuck would say?

She came here uninvited and alone. No preliminaries. If she hasn't got a private agenda, I'll eat my desk.

"For the moment," he said, "it would be inappropriate for us to discuss anything specific, seeing how you're no longer the head of Clan Morelon." He leaned forward, smiled pleasantly, and Charisse leaned toward him in response. "But the investment council meets again on Rothbarday, at your place. I could ask Bart to attend, and we could take it up then."

Most observers would have missed the minuscule tightening of Charisse Morelon's facial muscles at the mention of her successor's name. Douglas Kramnik didn't.

Ah, you want this kept on the QT until you can find a way to wheedle me into opening the books to you, don't you, Charisse? Sorry babe, but that's not in the cards. Not with your husband ready to tear my head off and beat me to death with it if I should put even an eyelash out of bounds. Come to think of it, why haven't you taken this up with him? Just how private is your agenda?

The slight tension in Charisse's features faded and was replaced by something he had never expected her to bestow upon him: a bedroom smile.

"You've been a widower for some time, haven't you, Doug?"

He nodded, straining to repress a visible reaction.

"It's odd," she said, "but Clan Morelon has been having more than a spot of trouble arranging suitable marriages for some of its young women. Much younger than either of us, of course, but Hallanson-Albermayer treatments blur that particular difference nicely." She made a show of looking him up and down, as if appraising his potential as a stud. "I'd imagine just about any of them would consider you quite a catch...and I'd be more than happy to whisper a choice bouquet of encouraging words in the ear of your preference."

Maintaining an expression of polite disinterest cost Kramnik all the self-control he possessed.

"I seldom think about the possibilities of romance these days, Charisse," he said. "Your suggestion flatters me, of course, especially given the near-legendary beauty of Morelon women and our own...history." He chuckled. "But now that my son is a Morelon, it would seem just a wee bit, ah, incestuous for me to shop among his cousins for a new bride."

Charisse lost all trace of expression. "They're only his cousins by marriage, Douglas."

"Even so." Kramnik rose and extended a hand, and Charisse took it. "You've given me a great deal to think about. I hope we can return to these topics in the not too distant future."

Charisse cocked one delicate eyebrow. "All of them?"

Kramnik shrugged and led her unsubtly to the door. "Perhaps."

Chapter 21: Sexember 2, 1313 A.H.

Barton could not refuse a request from a member of the investment council for his presence at a meeting. Nevertheless, it was still necessary that he remind himself to control his expression and watch his words when in proximity to his father. Though they had succeeded in closing the worst of their respective wounds, relations between them had remained formal and tentative.

He entered the small meeting room just as the clock struck 0800. The councilors were already there. Chuck Feigner rose, indicated that Barton should take the place at the head of the table, and seated himself again.

"Doug told us that he'd requested your attendance, but not why," Feigner said, "so, as we'd rather not take up any more of your time than we must, I'd say the floor is his for the moment." He turned to Douglas Kramnik with a look of expectation. "Doug, it's your deka."

Douglas began to rise, but before he could speak, Bart raised a hand, and the elder Kramnik settled back into his seat.

"I don't remember if I've said this before," Barton said, "but even if I did, it can't hurt to repeat it now and then. I'm just the clan's administrator-a man who does a particular job around here. I don't deserve special deference, and I definitely don't want it." He grinned. "We're all busy at one thing or another. Don't mistake my responsibilities for a special status that should demand unusual privileges or respect."

Don't think of me as Charisse with a penis.

The three councilors exchanged furtive glances. Clearly, Bart's subtext had reached them.

"Well," Patrice said, "you do chair the elders' council."

Bart nodded. "Yes, I do. But that's just part of the job. Someone has to keep things orderly at those meetings." He grinned. "You know how contentious they can get, Patrice. Charisse used to do it. I guess when she...retired, the council assumed I'd pick up where she left off. They never actually asked me, but it did come sort of naturally." He turned to his father. "Dad?"

Douglas looked at him curiously, as if he'd seen an aspect of his son's character he'd never appreciated before. He rose slowly, shrugged and squared his shoulders as if he were about to assume a heavy burden.

"Actually, this is about Charisse," he said. "She came to see me at Kramnik House the day before yesterday. Expressed a desire to get involved with our duties. Said something about how there are so many start-ups that deserve attention that we could use her efforts looking into them." He looked pained. "I had no idea what to say, so I did what I could to put her off. Told her that I'd take it up with this council...and you, Bart."

Patrice and Chuck's eyes went directly to Bart's as Douglas Kramnik resumed his seat.

Rothbard, Rand, and Ringer. Charisse wants back in? After her last set of stunts?

"I know," he said slowly, "that you think of yourselves as answering to me for how you handle the clan's money." He grinned faintly. "I don't see it that way. You answer to the whole clan, not to me personally. I'll grant that that's a bit nebulous. That when the clan speaks with one voice, it's usually through me. But I have to tell you, just because I run the farming operation-and not all that well, at least not yet-doesn't mean I'm competent to judge your choices with our investment funds."

The councilors exchanged amused frowns.

"Bart," Feigner said, "there's only so much forelock-tugging we'll allow you. No, you're not a king. Yes, your duties are primarily administrative, and only secondarily policy-making. But this council needs oversight. We have to answer to someone-and your acquaintance with the details of the farming operation, particularly its dekas-and-cents aspects, makes you the most suitable person for the job." He smirked. "Charisse bequeathed you more than just the chairmanship of the elders' council, whether you like it or not."

Barton could not repress a groan. It elicited a giggle from Patrice and naughty smiles from the other two.

"Althea was right," he said. "No one in his right mind would want this post."

Patrice donned a mysterious smile. "That tells us quite a lot about the person who accepts it, doesn't it?"

Barton buried his face in his hands as raucous laughter circled the table.

"Now," Feigner said when decorum had returned, "what shall we do about Charisse's request?"