Good question. Michael hesitated. He'd made up his mind to do this while he was behind his desk, but now that he faced Bowerman, he had trouble putting the words together. He was about to tell the U.N. theremight be a problem aboard Venera. Venera was a colony, and the U.N.

looked for excuses to make life difficult for colonies. That was a fact. What if Michael was about to give them such an excuse?

Bowerman wasn't looking at him. He concentrated on his soup, making little appreciative slurping noises as he ate. I could get up and leave. I could invent something small and leave, go tell Helen what's going on, and let her handle it. I could do that.

"One of the investigative team has raised a question about the validity of the Discovery."

Bowerman paused and set his spoon down. "Oh?" The syl-lable could have meant anything from "Oh, really?" to "Only one?"

Going to make me say it, aren't you? Okay, I'd do the same if I were you. "We investigated this exact question extensively when the Discovery first came to our attention. I assume you saw the reports?"

Bowerman's gaze turned sharp. Michael had his full atten-tion now.

"They looked thorough. Do you think you missed something?"

Michael sighed. He appreciated the lack of judgment in Bowerman's voice. Just one pro talking to another. Anybody could miss something. It happened. "I don't know," he admit-ted. "But if a fraud accusation is going to be made, that isn't good enough. I have to know."

Bowerman nodded soberly. "How can we help?"

Michael studied his fingertips. The scent of beef and tomatoes reached him from Bowerman's soup and his stomach rumbled. "If this is a fraud, it cost money," he said slowly. "And Venera was running on a wing, a prayer, and short credit. If somebody did this, they got money from somewhere."

"Or shuffled it from somewhere," said Bowerman quietly.

Michael just nodded.

"Who could do that?"

"Most easily?" Michael didn't look up. He didn't want to see Bowerman's eyes, weighing, calculating, running ahead with differentscenarios to see how each of them might fit. "I could. Ben Godwin or Helen Failia. After us, the department heads."

"But Dr. Failia is in charge of base finance, isn't she?"

Michael nodded again. Helen had kept that position for her-self. She raised the money, she counted the money, she divvied the money up. It was no small task, but she would not delegate it. Occasionally, Michael suspected Helen did not want to admit she was not entirely in control of this city of ten thousand.

Bowerman was silent for a long time. "All right. I'll call down to Earth and start a trace on the incoming funds for, say, the year before the Discovery's announcement. Will that do?"

Now Michael looked up. Bowerman's face was understand-ing but not pitying, which he also appreciated. "How quiet can you keep this?"

"I'll do my best," he shrugged. "But I have to tell my boss."

"Who will have to tell the Venus work group?"

Bowerman nodded one more time. "But trust me, they will not want to let this out until they're sure. There've been a lot of speeches made about your Discovery, and nobody's going to want to look like they bought vaporware. We'll sell it as double-checking your facts. Just doing our job."

He smiled thinly. "Everybody knows we don't trust your kind."

Michael gave a short laugh. "So they do."

"I'd recommend two other things." Bowerman tapped the table gently with his spoon. "First you let me ask my boss, Sadiq Hourani, to order an audit of Venera's books. If we go over it all, when we find nothing, no one will be able to accuse you of hiding anything. Also, if Angela and I do it, well..." He smiled again. "We can be obnoxious. We don't live here and nobody likes us anyway."

"Good idea," admitted Michael. "What's the other thing?"

"Let me get Angela checking around the team down there. See if anything suspicious is going on, let her talk to Hatch, and so on. See what the position is on the ground.""Also good," Michael paused. "I don't suppose you can let me have what you've got on Dr. Hatch, can you?"

Bowerman's stirred his soup, considering. "I might be able to leave a file unsecured here and there."

"Thanks." Michael's phone spot rang the two-tone reminder chime.

Michael tapped it in acknowledgment, gratefully. "I've got to go. I'm meeting my wife."

"Go." Bowerman waved the spoon. "I'll stop by tomorrow. Let you know what the preliminary view is."

"Thanks," said Michael again. "I appreciate it."

Bowerman smiled his acknowledgment and returned his at-tention to his cooling soup.

Michael didn't hang around. He headed for the nearest stair-well and climbed back up toward the educational level. Jolynn was headmaster for grades one through six and they were going to have lunch in her office.

She was having it brought in.

He tried not to think. He tried to blank the conversation he'd just had out of his mind and concentrate on the outside world-the voices, the faces, the sights that he knew as well as any man from Mother Earth knew the rooms of his house or the streets of his city. He'd grown up here with tilt drills, suit drills, and evacuation drills. He'd always known that inside was safe, and outside was poison.

But he'd never believed that the outside could touch him, not really.

He'd been on Earth when his father died. For the first time, he was walking under a sky that rained water, not acid. He was breathing air that didn't come from a processing plant and see-ing the stars at night. He was infatuated with Mother Earth.

His mother's v-mail came. Dad had had one of those acci-dents they warned you about. Venus had used one of her thou-sand tricks to kill him or take down his scarab. Same thing. There was nothing to bury, nothing to burn. Just a lifetime of memories ringing around his head and Mom asking him to come home.He went. But he swore not to stay. He went so he could at-tend the memorial service and help sort out the will and all the other red tape death generates. All his remaining energies he bent toward trying to convince Mom to come back to Earth. She'd been born there, after all, and she was getting old, de-spite the med trips. Since long-life was not something she wanted for herself, what was keeping her there, in a world that would kill her?

Come down, come back, come home. This home. Our real home, where Michael was going back to and fully intended to stay.

"You do what you have to, Michael," she said. "And grant me the right to do the same."

"This is no place for a human being to live, Mom. Trapped in a bubble like this."

She'd sighed, with that annoying infinite patience she was capable of.

"Some trap. The door's open Michael. Go or stay, it's all up to you." She'd taken his hands then. "I love you, Son. If you want to live on Earth, then that's what you should do." She'd meant it too, every word.

So Michael had gone. He'd finished his degree, he'd found work, and within a year, he'd come back to Venus, found work again, met Jolynn, and gotten married.

He'd never questioned what he'd done, but he'd never really understood it either. He'd never been able to point to any one thing and say, "That was it; that was why I left Earth." He'd been lonely, it was true, and the vast global village of Earth with its snarl of republics could be confusing to someone who'd grown up with one set of people his entire life. But nei-ther of those things was entirely the answer.

On days like today, he still wondered. He did not regret, no, never that.

His life was too sweet, too rich, for regret, but all the same, he did wonder.

Jolynn's office was at the end of a hall that the older kids called "grass row," presumably because your ass was grass if you got sent there. The door was open just a little, and Michael stepped into the ordered chaos-shelves and racks of screen rolls, text pads, an insulated lunch box, two deactivated animatron cats, and a worse-for-wear rubber ducky left over from a disciplinary action involving some overimaginative firstgraders. In the middle of it all sat Jolynn with her rich brown-black hair and beautiful amber eyes, smiling her smile that al-ways held her own special brand of terse amusement, and just waiting for him to bend down and kiss her.

"Hello to you too," she said when he pulled back. "Sit and eat. Some of us are on a schedule." She lifted the lid off the lunch box.

About half an hour later, they had lunch reduced to salad containers, sandwich warm-wraps, and a couple of empty ice cream cups scattered on her desk. It wasn't until then that he realized Jolynn was just looking at him.

"What?"

Her eyes sparkled, and he heard her unspoken accusation.

"I am listening," he said indignantly.

Jolynn snorted. "Maybe." She set her spoon down next to one of the toy cats. "Shall I tell you what's wrong?"

Michael leaned back and folded his hands. "Please do." He'd known this was coming. He hadn't wanted to talk during lunch. He'd just wanted to be here with Jolynn in her quiet, cluttered office, away from everything else. He knew she'd notice his si-lence, but he still hadn't been able to get himself to make more than brief answers to her remarks about her day, their children's upcoming tests, and the intramural soccer tournament.

Jolynn bunched one of the warm-wraps into a ball and stuffed it into her empty ice cream cup. "What's wrong is that Grandma Helen has left you out of the loop and you are not doing anything about it."

How does she know? How does she always know? "I don't know that there's any loop to be left out of."

"Of course you don't. You're not asking."

Michael sighed and tapped his spoon against the edge of the desk. The plastic ticked sharply against the metal. "Jolynn, why did you come back?"

"From where?" She stuck one of the ice cream cups inside the other."College. On Earth." He tossed the spoon into one of the empty salad containers. "You went, just like the rest of us. Why'd you come back here?"

"Because I couldn't resist the lure of all this glamour?" She waved both hands at her cluttered, windowless office and smiled. "I don't know. I couldn't get the hang of Earth, I suppose." She paused, and her gaze focused on the wall, but Michael knew she was seeing her own thoughts. "I could have been a school ad-ministrator on Earth, anywhere I wanted, but I didn't feel like it would mean anything. My roots were all up here, everybody I really knew, everybody who really knew me, and... I guess I was just more comfortable with edges to my world."

"Edges?" Her words nibbled at him, reaching toward mean-ings inside himself that he had been trying to tease out all morning.

Jolynn nodded. "We're all stuck together up here. Every-body's got a place and something to work toward, and Grandma Helen's at the top of it all. As long as she's there, there's somebody else to make sure the world's all right. It's not all on you." She dropped the ice cream cups into the lunch box. "That's kind of a scary thought. I came back because I want to be looked after."

Michael nodded in agreement. "But it's there, isn't it? I think every v-baby's got it. As long as Grandma Helen's around, everything's going to be okay." He met Jolynn's eyes, her beau-tiful warm eyes. "So, what do we do if something goes wrong with Grandma Helen?"

"Tell me," she said.

So, he told her about Josh's letter and his talk with Philip and how, on the face of it anyway, Helen herself was the logical first place to look, and how he didn't want to believe that.

Jolynn smiled in sympathy and took his hand. "You said it yourself. Us v-babies, we want Grandma Helen to take care of us. We don't want to think about her not being there or being flawed. It's as bad as the day you find out your own parents are just human beings."

Michael gently squeezed her fingertips. "Yeah, it feels like that. But-"

"But nothing." Jolynn dropped his hand down onto the desk and pushed her chair back. "You go looking where you need to look and youdon't come home until you've got the truth."

"I'll tell you what's wrong," Michael pointed at her. "My wife is always telling me what to do, that's what's wrong."

"Divorce lawyer's a com burst away," she returned calmly. "I'm ready whenever you are."

Michael stood up, took her face in both hands, and kissed her gently.

"I'll be home for dinner." He started gathering up the lunch litter.

"Good." Jolynn grabbed up the cups and dumped them both down the solids chute. "Chase has sociology homework. That's your bailiwick."

"And while I am educating our youngest"-Michael used one of the spoons to send a few lettuce leaves down the organics chute and then dropped the spoon and the dishes into the solids chute-"what will you be doing?"

"Going to a teacher conference with our oldest. Dean wants Chord in the fast track. I want to hear what Chord thinks." Jolynn looked skeptical.

Chord was eleven, just gearing up for adolescence and all its attendant delights. "He could do it, if he were willing to try."

"And with Chord that's always the question, isn't it?" Jolynn sighed and shook her head. "Well, what will be will be, and all that. I'll see you tonight." She gave him a parting kiss and sat back down. "Now, get out of here. Some of us have work to do."

Michael grinned at her as the door slid shut between them. Now he had it, all the reason he needed to do his job, as hard and unpleasant as it might get. He'd arrested friends before. He'd told hard truths, in public.

He did it because he loved his home, his wife, his sons. This was his place and it was a good place, and he would not let anyone change that.

Not even Grandma Helen.

Yan Quai had planned on being early to the performance mosaic at Shake & Jake's, but a customer had called with a last-minute order, and by the time he got out of the stream, got changed, caught the monorail,and paid his admission fee, he was an hour late and the place was jammed.

Shake & Jake's had been a warehouse or factory at some point. Now, it was a series of performance spaces. The cocktail and chat crowd circulated on catwalks, balconies, and plat-forms, looking down on the dancers and actors below. Each act had its own stage with a seating area bounded by sound-dampening screens so the music and dialogue couldn't get out and the rumble of casual conversation couldn't get in. The air smelled of clashing perfumes and spicy snacks.

Quai leaned over the railing on one of the catwalks, watch-ing a trio of French cirque-tradition performers in sparkling costumes giving an exhibition of slack-wire walking. To their left, a slender couple danced a sensuous and elaborate tango. To the right was the obligatory Shakespearean scene. He couldn't hear, of course, but it looked like Macbeth and the witches. The audience seemed enchanted.

Mari, you always do throw a good party.

"Quai!"

Quai turned toward the sound of his name. Marietta shoul-dered her way through the crowd.

"Mari!" Quai hugged his friend and hostess. Marietta wore a scarlet sheath dress without any kind of head scarf at all. Her shoes were high-heeled pumps in a matching red, with ribbons that wrapped around her ankles. "What's this? Going historical?"

"Like it?" She twirled. Quai shook his head. Mari grimaced and smoothed the front of the dress down. "Yeah, well, actu-ally, it's uncomfortable as all creation. I can't breathe and my feet are killing me.

I'm not doing this again." She returned her focus to Quai, and a cheerful expression covered her face again. "So, how's your end of the revolution going?"

Quai laughed. Mari's direct approach to politics, and life in general, was legendary among her friends. "Slowly, slowly. There's a lot of thought drifting around the stream that now is the time to be a still water and run deep and not give the yewners an excuse to come busting in." No need to mention where that thought was coming from, of course.Mari leaned against the wall to take the weight off at least one of the killer shoes. "Yeah, I've been hearing that, but I don't know. I'd feel a lot better if I knew what we were wait-ing for."

"Ah." Quai held up one finger. "But we do know. We're waiting for the yewners to be relieved that we didn't kick up a fuss at the height of the Discovery brouhaha and for them to relax. Then it's our turn."

"Mmmm." Mari shifted her weight to the other foot. "I'm not entirely convinced, but I'll take it under advisement. I like to know what the money I raise"-she swept her hand out to encompass the entire performance space-"is going toward."

"Same thing it's always been going toward, Mari," Quai as-sured her.

"Finally returning full citizenship rights for the colonists."

All the colonies had suffered at the result of the Bradbury Rebellion. All colonists had a harder time getting seats on the U.N. controlled shuttles that flew between Earth and the plan-ets. They found it impossible to obtain licenses for starting manufacturing or shipping businesses. Their privacy was in-vaded more frequently, their taxes were higher, and not one of them had been allowed to hold an independent election in twenty years. Yes, they all suffered, except maybe the long-lifers in their resorts.

Mari's skeptical look did not entirely fade. She pushed herself away from the wall. "Speaking of colonists," she said, looking away from Quai to scan the room, "there's a feeder here who wants to talk to you."

"You let a feeder in here?" Quai was stunned. One of the other things Mari was famous for was her careful guest list.