KOINA

For the sake of her professional pride, she refused to cringe in shame and regret while President Len called the Council to vote on Cleatus Fane’s proposal.

She’d failed in the worst possible way: her efforts to weaken the Dragon’s grip on the GCES—and the UMCP—had only made it stronger. Cleatus had outplayed her. In the end, everything Warden had dreamed or desired would die because Holt Fasner’s people served him more effectively than she served Warden.

What could she have done? she asked herself over and over again. The question was important to her. She had no evidence. Nevertheless she could hardly face Members like Sixten Vertigus, Blaine Manse, and Tel Burnish. She couldn’t rid herself of the conviction that there must have been some way she could have made a difference.

Still nothing came to her. No desperate gesture or extravagant appeal would work now. The simple truth was that she’d failed. Cleatus would win. And the consequences for humankind’s future would be devastating.

Poor Abrim had wanted her to succeed: his extraordinary assertiveness made that obvious. Morn’s plight had touched a source of unexpected strength in him. And even now he did whatever he could to postpone the inevitable debacle. After the FEA’s proposal had been moved and seconded, he insisted on hearing its precise language for the record. That took a few moments. Then he launched a slow, tedious roll-call vote, asking the Members one at a time by name where they stood; announcing their positions back to them; logging the tally in the Council’s official minutes. Despite the urgency of the situation—and Fane’s fuming impatience—he led the Members on a weary trudge through the procedure of Warden’s ruin.

Koina admired the attempt, but she knew it was wasted. The tally had already reached eight: six in favor, one opposed, one abstention. As soon as the count on Holt’s side reached eleven, a simple majority, he could take the vote as law, even if Abrim required all the remaining Members to commit themselves.

She was vaguely surprised by that one nay. It came from Sigurd Carsin, the UWB Junior Member. Captain Vertigus was her Senior Member; but for years she’d opposed him as if she considered his criticisms of the UMC and Holt Fasner contemptible. Apparently, however, she’d reevaluated her allegiances. After casting her vote, she’d reached over and touched Sixten’s shoulder as if she wanted to express commiseration or support.

That small, unexpected victory should have meant something to Koina, but she no longer had the energy to appreciate it. Her waning resources were fixed on the cruel task of sustaining her facade while each vote drove Fane’s stake deeper into the heart of the UMCP she wished to serve.

There were now seven in favor and two abstentions. So far no one had joined Sigurd Carsin.

At Koina’s side Cleatus seethed in silence. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t using his throat pickup. Apparently one of his techs had the job of reporting the vote’s progress. If the Dragon spoke to him, he showed no reaction. Instead he watched the Members—and especially President Len—with a corrosive glare which seemed to promise trouble for his opponents.

Sixten looked like he was asleep, overtaken by age and defeat. Tel Burnish and Blaine Manse hadn’t voted yet. Neither had Punjat Silat. They might bring the total opposed to five. But that was nowhere near enough. And who else would join them? Who had the courage? Vest Martingale, perhaps: her outrage might carry her. On the other hand, the UMC was the majority shareholder in Com-Mine Station—

Eight in favor. Maxim Igensard delivered Sen Abdullah’s proxy in a voice that shook with disappointed fervor.

Koina began to think that she should excuse herself; leave the room before the end. Then she would be able to grieve in peace. But her duty called her to witness this slow death: the incremental murder of humankind’s hope. She remained where she was while her heart brimmed over with desolation.

She hardly reacted when one of her techs shifted toward her, touched her arm.

“Director,” the woman whispered, “I’m getting a call from Lane Harbinger.”

Koina stared straight ahead while her brain limped to comprehend. Lane—? She didn’t recognize the name. Or did she? It left a tingle she couldn’t identify somewhere in her tired synapses. One of Center’s officers, probably, calling to ask her some painful question, or to give her more bad news.

“Dr. Lane Harbinger,” the tech prompted, covering her urgency. “She works for DA.”

DA—?

As if by magic, Koina remembered the precise tone of Hashi’s voice when he’d asked her, Are you acquainted with Lane Harbinger? They’d been aboard her shuttle from UMCPHQ, on their way to hear Sixten’s Bill of Severance fail. For his own obscure reasons, Hashi had remarked, You have much in common.

“She wants to address the Council,” the tech explained tensely.

Without transition, an eerie sense of dislocation took over Koina. She no longer seemed to have any control over her own behavior. In fact, she might have sworn that she took no part in it. As far as she knew, she was asking her tech—or herself—What for? Doesn’t she know how important this is? I’m surprised Center gave her a channel.

According to Hashi, Lane had uncovered some tiny but significant bit of information about Godsen Frik’s murder. Apparently she’d been able to determine that the SOD-CMOS chip of the kaze’s presumably faked id tag contained current GCES Security source-code—a detail which Hashi had considered almost preternaturally fascinating. Koina couldn’t remember why.

But all that was beside the point. Traces of evidence left behind by Godsen’s killer had no relevance here. No scrap of source-code, however suggestive, could avert Warden’s down-fall.

So what in God’s name did Lane want?

Nevertheless Koina asked none of those questions. Her thoughts had no connection to what she did. Her body had reasons of its own. As if it belonged to someone else, it leaped upright instantly; flailed its arms for Abrim’s attention.

While her brain struggled with its confusion, her mouth called out, “President Len!”

To her dismay, she didn’t have the slightest idea what she meant to say.

“Director Hannish!” Cleatus blared at her like a decompression klaxon. “Sit down!”

He was right, of course. She was out of order; had no business speaking; she’d already failed. Stricken with shame, she sank back to her seat—

—while her body remained on its feet. Her limbs balanced themselves like a fighter’s, as if she intended to strike anyone who interfered with her. “President Len!” she called again. “You have to hear this!”

Cleatus swore viciously at her back. Several of the Members tried to shout her down. Sixten raised his head to give her a bleary, baffled stare. She ignored everyone except Abrim; everything except the expression on his face.

Christ, what was she doing? In another minute she would be ejected from the room. Abrim wouldn’t have any choice. He’d threatened to have Cleatus removed: for the sake of consistency, if not for some better reason, he would feel compelled to carry out his threat on her.

At first, however, he was too surprised to censure her interruption. “Hear what?” he asked with a perplexed frown.

Koina didn’t know that. She didn’t know anything.

She must have known. Otherwise how could she have answered?

“Mr. President,” she announced, “Dr. Lane Harbinger is on my downlink from UMCPHQ.” Her voice held firm despite her bewilderment. “She works in Data Acquisition. She wants to address the Council.”

Abrim groaned a protest. “Director Hannish, you can’t do this.” Angry, exhausted regret filled his face. “We’re in the middle of a vote, for God’s sake!” His mouth twisted as if he wanted to spit out something that tasted nasty. “We’ve already allowed you to say everything we can stand to hear. Now you have to let us finish. While there’s still time.”

Time: that was the problem. Koina needed to understand herself, but she couldn’t; she’d run out of time—

Then she did.

Time. Of course. The linchpin of Cleatus’ persuasion: the goad he’d used to drive his proposal forward. For his master’s reasons, if not his own, he was frantic to beat the deadline of the command module’s dock with Calm Horizons.

At that moment her dislocation passed.

Aboard her shuttle wasn’t the only time she’d heard Hashi talk about Lane. He’d also mentioned the researcher during that last meeting with Warden Dios, when he, Koina, and Chief Mandich had met in one of the UMCP director’s private offices.

Lane was involved in the investigation of Nathan Alt.

With a rush Koina caught the inference she’d missed earlier; grasped the argument she should have presented.

“I’m sorry, Mr. President,” she stated firmly. “It’s not an important vote. In fact, it’s meaningless.”

The President’s jaw dropped. Maxim blustered a contradiction. Several of the Members who’d already voted yelled at her.

While Cleatus summoned a blast of denial, Koina explained, “The whole thrust of Mr. Fane’s proposal is that Warden Dios is under suspicion of treason, and we can’t afford to let an accused traitor make deals with the Amnion for us—deals that could affect humankind’s entire future.” With the intensity of a shout, she proclaimed, “But Warden Dios isn’t making any deals. Morn Hyland has done that. She told us so herself. And she’s going to keep right on doing it, no matter who the UMCP director is, or who issues the orders.

“You heard her,” Koina insisted. “She doesn’t recognize any authority except her own.

“As Mr. Fane pointed out, she obviously hasn’t revealed the whole truth about her dealings with Calm Horizons. If she won’t even tell us what her intentions are, she certainly won’t change them simply because we’ve replaced Warden Dios.

“The First Executive Assistant’s proposal doesn’t need to be voted into law right now. It’s just not that crucial. It won’t make any immediate difference.”

At once Cleatus bounded to his feet, bristling in outrage. His PCR seemed to fill his head with pain. Or fear.

“That’s preposterous!” he yelped. “Mr. President, this is obviously a desperate—”

Koina raised her voice to carry over him. Clarion and sure, she trumpeted, “UMCPHQ Center would not have assigned Lane Harbinger a channel—and Acting Director Donner certainly wouldn’t have authorized it—if what she wants to say weren’t vitally important. This Council needs to hear her!

“We’ve been debating extreme accusations for hours. If you asked me to guess,” she finished, “I would say that Dr. Harbinger wants to give evidence.”

President Len bowed his head as if he couldn’t carry the weight of his dismay.

Before Abrim could reply, Cleatus started again. Like a burst of impact fire, he barked, “This is obviously a desperate and irresponsible attempt to interfere with the will of the Council. It’s a ploy, Mr. President. While we’ve been dragging out this interminable vote, Director Hannish has been in contact with UMCPHQ. No doubt she’s asked them to arrange some kind of disruption. To save Dios’ hide, of course.

“Lane Harbinger, for God’s sake,” he sneered with scalding indignation. “One of Director Lebwohl’s stooges. Clearly this is the best they could cobble together on short notice.

“Listen to her, if you think it’s worth the effort.” He flapped his arms as if he were done. “Go ahead. I’m curious myself.” Then he yelled with such vehemence that he seemed to knock plaster off the walls, “But finish the goddamn vote first!”

The struggle on Abrim’s features was painful to watch. He’d already exerted more force during this session than in all the years of his tenure put together. By nature—and perhaps by conviction—he favored conciliation, compromise. That was how he held on to his office. A more commanding president would have been voted out long ago, forced to step aside by the Dragon’s vast constituency.

But today he’d faced down Cleatus Fane; bent Maxim Igensard to his authority—The effort had left him in a state approaching nervous prostration.

He held the sides of the podium so tightly that Koina could see his elbows quivering. His mace lay in front of him, forgotten. Sweat on his upper lip caught the light like beads of misery.

“Members—” he began; then faltered and fell silent.

She watched in horrified suspense as he strained to recover. If he collapsed, who would take over? As a body the GCES determined precedence by rotation rather than seniority. Whose turn was it? She couldn’t remember.

Abruptly one of her techs stood. The woman was pale and wide-eyed, frightened by her own temerity. Nevertheless she was determined to speak.

“Mr. President,” she reported meekly, “Dr. Harbinger insists that what she has to say is of the utmost importance. She swears that if you don’t hear her you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Then she sat down; composed herself like a woman who wished she had someplace to hide.

Koina nodded in silent approval. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who wanted UMCPPR to do its job right.

President Len tried again. “Members—” His voice was a hoarse whisper, raw with strain. “I will allow this interruption. Weil continue voting after we’ve heard Dr. Harbinger.”

“By God!” Cleatus roared; then cut himself off; staggered; clapped a hand to his ear as if his PCR had started screaming at him. For a moment he groped around him, unable to find his balance. Then he seemed to steady himself by sheer force of will. Turning his back, he withdrew to his seat. As he sank into his chair, sweat stood on his forehead, and his eyes seemed to roll in terror.

Koina guessed that Holt Fasner also wanted to hear what Lane would say.

Quickly she told her techs, “Route Dr. Harbinger’s channel to the room speakers. President Len’s aide will patch you in. Tell her we’ll be ready in a minute.”

As Abrim’s aide hurried to handle UMCPHQ’s transmission, the President slumped against the podium. “This is your idea, Director Hannish,” he croaked as if he’d damaged his larynx. “You talk to her.”

Weakly he beckoned Koina to the dais.

She couldn’t hesitate now; couldn’t afford uncertainty or fear. Striding rapidly, she approached the dais; ascended to stand beside President Len.

While she waited for his aide to complete the connection from her downlink, she forced herself to face the Council again.

She’d found that difficult the last time, but this was much worse. She had no idea what Lane might say; couldn’t imagine what kind of evidence Lane might have uncovered. And where was Hashi? Or Chief Mandich?

What if Cleatus was right? What if Lane had no evidence? What if Hashi—or Min—had ordered her call in a last-ditch effort to delay Warden’s inevitable ruin?

Koina didn’t think she could bear to take part in another failure; not like this, with everyone in the room watching her, and Warden’s damaged hopes on the line.

But failure and success were out of her hands. In the name of her commitments she could only do her job and accept what happened. Blaine Manse and Sixten sat on the edges of their chairs. Punjat Silat rubbed his chest as if he wondered how much longer his heart would go on beating. Tel Burnish squirmed with tension. None of them had anything else to hope for. When Abrim’s aide signaled to her, she buried her fear behind her professional mask; cleared her throat and began at once.

“Dr. Harbinger, this is Director Hannish.” Thank God her voice didn’t quaver. “We’re using a patchwork communications setup here. Can you hear me all right?”

“Director Hannish,” a woman replied stiffly from the speakers. “I’m Lane Harbinger.” Her transmission was cleaner than Morn’s had been. Apart from a hint of echo and a faint crackle—the gain on her pickup may have been set too high—no distortion touched her voice. “You’re coming through fine. Can the Council hear me?”

“Yes, Dr. Harbinger,” Koina assured her. “All the Members are here, as well as FEA Cleatus Fane and myself. You’re perfectly clear.”

“Good,” Lane muttered. “I’m too tired to wrestle with technical difficulties.” The rasp in her tone sounded like irritation, but it may have been fatigue. “I’m living on pure stim as it is. I almost fell asleep waiting for you to make up your minds to hear me.”

Koina winced inwardly. “The issues before the Council are complex, Dr. Harbinger. The Members are moving as fast as they can.”

She meant, Help me, Lane. Don’t make this harder by alienating them.

Lane sighed. “I suppose they are. I’ll try to keep it simple.” For a moment her voice seemed to fray out of the speakers. Then she went on more sharply, “Before you reach any conclusions, you should know that the UMC is guilty of treason.”

Softly Cleatus growled, “Here we go again.”

Several of his supporters nodded. Koina guessed that they were growing restive under the threat of the Dragon’s ire.

Lane had said “the UMC,” not “Holt Fasner.” Was that significant, or was she just being cautious?

“‘Treason’ is a provocative word, Dr. Harbinger,” Koina countered before anyone else could take up Cleatus’ objection. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

Lane didn’t hesitate. “I’m a research tech for UMCPDA,” she stated at once. “I don’t have anything to do with policy or politics. I deal in facts. Tangible reality. What other people do with those facts is their problem, not mine.

“I’ve been assigned to study the physical evidence from that last kaze. The one that almost got you. Determine the facts.”

Then, however, she faded to silence. The speakers emitted a rough wheeze of respiration, as if she’d dropped off to sleep.

My God, Koina thought in dismay, how long have you been working on this?

Carefully she prompted, “What physical evidence?”

Lane’s voice returned with a thud, as if she’d dropped something heavy beside her pickup. “Well, the body, of course. But we also have his id tag and GCES Security credentials.”

“How is that possible?” Koina asked. “The man blew himself up.” She knew the answer: she was simply trying to help Lane.

“Director Lebwohl grabbed them. Before the kaze went off. I’ve been working with them since then.”

Koina didn’t risk so much as a glance at Cleatus. She wasn’t sure she could bear it if she saw that Lane’s statement didn’t surprise him.

“I see. Please go on.”

The researcher sighed again. “If you’ve read ED Security’s preliminary reports, you know the id tag and credentials identified a GCES Security sergeant named Clay Imposs, but the man using them was really Nathan Alt.”

Now the Council could hear every breath she took. Koina had the disturbing impression that Lane had put her head down with her mouth right on her pickup. Each hoarse intake and exhalation seemed to fill the speakers with a claustrophobic urgency.

“Captain Nathan Alt was UMCPED until Director Donner court-martialed him for dereliction. Since then he’s had a number of jobs. Most recently the UMC hired him as Security Liaison for Anodyne Systems.” Unnecessarily she explained, “Anodyne is a subsidiary of the UMC. They manufacture the SOD-CMOS chips we use in datacores—and id tags.”

Cleatus raised his voice to announce, “I revealed all this to Warden Dios yesterday.”

Lane took a sharp breath. “Is that Cleatus Fane?”

“It is, Dr. Harbinger,” Koina answered.

“Good. I like it.” Lane’s tone seemed to gather strength, as if she’d found a new source of energy—or been given another dose of stim.

“Mr. Fane,” she rasped. “According to our log of that conversation, you told Director Dios Nathan Alt was fired six weeks ago. Because he had dealings with the native Earthers.

“Is that right?”

“It is,” the FEA said firmly.

Koina thought she heard a bitter grin in the research’s voice as Lane retorted, “Well, you’re lying.”

Half a dozen Members gasped. President Len covered his eyes with one hand to conceal his reaction. Unselfconsciously Sixten clenched his old fists in front of his chest like a kid wishing with all his might for a miracle.

Cleatus started to launch a furious rejoinder, then clamped his mouth shut on it. Apparently his master had called him to heel again. Instead of defending himself, he wrapped his arms across his belly and let Lane say what she wanted.

The rest of the room was paralyzed by the crowded strain was full of hypnagogic drugs. For another, the bomb had a chemical trigger. The catalyst was contained in a false tooth. Of course, the man himself can’t testify. He’s too dead.” The raw edge of her respiration suggested another grin. “But the circumstantial evidence is clear. Alt entered the Council chamber in a state of deep hypnosis. On a preconditioned signal, he bit down to break his false tooth. The catalyst entered his system. A minute or two later he exploded.

“It’s also clear that he must have been given the signal by someone in the room. Someone he could see. Or hear. He was in no condition to make decisions himself. So you had a traitor with you during the last session. Since no one’s been allowed to leave the island, he’s probably still there.”

“Except Hashi Lebwohl,” Cleatus interrupted. “He was here then. But he left. He hasn’t returned. And he was in a better position than anyone to give a signal. He could easily have triggered the explosion, and then switched credentials to supply the ‘evidence’ that makes you think I’m lying.”

He was floundering. Koina half expected him to accuse her, as well—or Forrest Ing. But he didn’t.

“I guess that’s true,” Lane murmured. “Interesting idea.” She paused like a woman swallowing a yawn. “On the other hand, it’s relatively easy to prove Director Lebwohl hasn’t had access to any SOD-CMOS chips for several weeks. Especially not this particular chip.”

As she went on, she began to breathe harder. The speakers carried a heavy throb of exertion. She was near her physiological limits.

“Obviously the id tag and credentials are crucial. They’re our best clue to where this kaze came from.

“How were they doctored to identify Nathan Alt as Clay Imposs? That’s supposed to be impossible. You can’t do it unless you have an intimate knowledge of the code-engine that drives GCES Security clearances. Which leaves out the native Earthers, I think,” she remarked. Then she said, “But still, the doctoring should show. If you know how to look. You can’t edit SOD-CMOS chips. You can only add layers of new programming.

“In this case the chip wasn’t doctored. It isn’t Clay Imposs’ original id tag. It’s a new tag specifically written to identify Nathan Alt as Clay Imposs. That’s probably easier to do. Harder to detect. But you have to be able to get new chips. Not a simple problem. And the job still requires you to know that code-engine. An even tougher problem. In fact, that knowledge may be our most closely guarded secret.

“But Nathan Alt had it. Or he did until he was fired.” She snorted wearily. “As UMC Security Liaison for Anodyne Systems, he helped design the code-engines.”

Koina chafed under the pressure of Lane’s difficult respiration. Time was growing short: the command module and Trumpet must be within fifteen minutes of Calm Horizons by now. She already knew about Alt’s work with Anodyne. She needed to hear something she could use.

“Where is this leading, Dr. Harbinger?” she put in. “What conclusions have you reached?”

Lane didn’t answer directly. “The interesting thing about this id tag,” she said between gasps, “is that it’s so recent. The programming isn’t the only part that’s new. The chip is new, too.

“We logged it in a routine shipment to UMC Home Security three weeks ago. Ten days later, according to HS records, the same chip was reqqed by the office of the Anodyne Security Liaison. For use in testing code designs. So it went to Anodyne, where the design work is done. The traitor must have acquired it after that.” She let out a shuddering gust, then sneered, “But of course Alt was fired six weeks ago.

“You can see the problem. How is it possible that a man with the knowledge to fake a GCES Security id tag got his hands on a SOD-CMOS chip from his former office nearly four and a half weeks after he was fired?”

Involuntarily Koina held her breath. Her body seemed to think it could counter Lane’s stress by refusing air itself.

“We’ve just completed a legal search of Anodyne’s records. In particular, we searched the computers Anodyne uses for code-engine design. It wasn’t easy. As I say, those secrets are closely guarded. You need three different kinds of access, all working together. Without any one of them, the other two are useless. But we learned that on the Security Liaison’s authority that chip was used to study methods for faking id tags. And the same chip was reqqed back from Anodyne by the Security Liaison’s office four days ago.”

A yawn Lane couldn’t suppress came from the speakers.

“In both cases the orders were logged by Nathan Alt. Now five and a half weeks after he was allegedly fired.”

At last! A flare of hope seemed to go off in Koina’s heart. Her relief was so intense that she nearly staggered. Without noticing it, she began to pant for air. At last!

If the Members hadn’t been trapped in the sound of Lane’s breathing, more of them would have reacted. Some of Holt’s supporters slumped as if they were collapsing. Others gaped in disbelief and consternation; betrayal. Blaine tried to speak, but couldn’t find her voice. However, most of the Council simply stared at the speakers like men and women who were too aghast to understand what they heard. The ground they’d walked on all their lives—the power and position of the UMC—had begun to crack under them.

In the shocked silence Sixten jumped to his feet and thrust his fists triumphantly at the ceiling.

“This is crazy,” Cleatus croaked. The blood had been stricken from his face: he looked as pallid as a cadaver. “Alt must have planned it all along.” His lips quivered. His gaze raced around the room, as if he were looking frantically for an escape. “He must have betrayed our entire Security. We fired him. Somehow he got back in. Weeks after we got rid of him.”

The sight of his fear was all the evidence Koina needed. It confirmed that Lane was right.

“No, Mr. Fane.” The researcher seemed to fight her fatigue down for the last time. “You said yourself you changed your security after he was fired. That’s on the record. In any case, no one person can break into Anodyne. We’ve just proven that. Alt must have had clearance from Home Security, as well as the full authority of the Security Liaison’s office, in addition to his personal codes. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on that chip.

“There’s only one possible conclusion. You’ve been lying all along. Alt was still working for the UMC when he made his plans to replace Clay Imposs. And the traitor who detonated him is still in that room.”

Lane faded away; then returned with an effort. “Everything we’ve done has been logged and recorded. You can access it whenever you want verification.”

Still in that room—The idea took a moment to penetrate. Then it seemed to sting the Members out of their stunned dismay. In a rush they all started talking at once; to each other or their aides; to anyone they could reach.

Koina pitched her voice to carry over the sudden hubbub.

“One last question, Dr. Harbinger. I know you’re exhausted. You’ve done brilliant work, and you deserve rest. But the last I heard this investigation was assigned to Director Lebwohl and Chief of Security Mandich. Where are they now? What have they been doing?”

If she could, she wanted to remove any taint that Hashi’s tarnished reputation might cast on Lane’s testimony.

Lane whimpered softly. Her breathing shook as if she were feverish. Nevertheless she rallied to answer.

“We’ve been working together. They’re back in the Anodyne computers. Getting more evidence. We may be able to trace the id tags for all three kazes to the same source.”

Somewhere she found the strength to finish, “Lane out.” But she couldn’t toggle her pickup. The speakers produced a thin, snoring rasp until someone closed her channel for her.

Cleatus’ eyes rolled, and sweat splashed down his face: he looked like an animal in torment. His hands made clutching motions he couldn’t complete, grasping after support he didn’t get from his downlink.

“Why?” he objected wildly. “Why would anybody do this? Why would Holt Fasner? My God, you can’t believe it. Send kazes against the Council? It’s insane! There’s been a mistake. Or that”—he sputtered in outrage—“that Harbinger is making it up. You could have been killed.” His voice broke into a cry. “I could have been killed!”

His fear was too extreme to be explained by failure. Nevertheless Koina took no pity on him. Suddenly Warden’s dreams had come back to life; raised from the dead by Lane’s inspired exhaustion and Hashi’s cleverness and Mandich’s loyalty. The Members had been shocked to the core: they believed her now. She would see Cleatus Fane in his grave before she let this opportunity pass.

“I don’t think you were in any danger,” she retorted, loud and clear as the ring of a carillon. “I think you’re the one who gave Captain Alt his signal to die. You were safe because you could choose when and where he exploded.”

Cleatus shook his head. Denials bubbled like froth on his lips. But she didn’t stop.

“As for why, I think that’s obvious.” She hammered the words as if she were nailing shut a coffin. “The Members might have passed Captain Vertigus’ Bill of Severance if that kaze hadn’t scared them so badly. In any case, Special Counsel Igensard’s investigation could have been dangerous to you. God knows it should have been. Under the right circumstances, it might have been fatal.

“Holt Fasner began to suspect that Warden Dios intended to make their crimes public—crimes committed by the UMCP on your CEO’s orders. Those kazes were sent to pressure the Council into protecting Fasner by getting rid of Warden Dios without weakening the UMC’s hold on the UMCP.”

She would have gone on. After all her years of distress and dishonesty under Godsen Frik—and all the pain of helping Warden do himself so much harm—she was more than angry enough to match Cleatus’ alarm. She wanted to pour acid by the vatful on his undefended head.

Sixten interrupted her, however. While she gathered her accusations, he called out like a trumpet, “Mr. President, I move we forget this proposal to recharter and enact my Bill instead.”

His old voice carried a grim thrill of vindication.

“Seconded!” Sigurd Carsin, Blaine Manse, and Tel Burnish shouted together.

Before Abrim could respond, Cleatus burst to his feet, jutted his beard at the ceiling. “No!” he howled. “Stop!” He might have forgotten that the Council existed. Desperately he tried to raise his voice across hundreds of k to UMCHO. “What’re you—? Don’t!”

But apparently Holt no longer heeded him. He ripped the PCR from his ear, flung it away. “You fools!” he raged at the Members. “You’re going to get us killed! Don’t you know that he won’t tolerate this?”

He seemed to be raving.

With a quick nod, President Len sent Forrest Ing and his guards to take the terrified FEA out of the room.

According to one of Koina’s techs, the command module and Trumpet were three minutes off Calm Horizons when the Council passed Sixten’s Bill by acclamation.