Spinneret

Meredith, as he expected, was in the tower's main control room, along with Major Barner, whose shift it was. What he hadn't anticipated was that the two of them would have guests … or who those guests could be.

"Ah, Perez," Meredith nodded. "I have a couple of people here I'd like you to meet. Dr. Bhartkumar Udani, Dr. Victor Ermakov; this is Councillor Cristobal Perez. Doubtless you'll recognize him as the gentleman who wrote you about coming here."

Seldom had Perez run into such a test of his poise, and he would later remember virtually nothing about the next few minutes except that no one seemed to notice anything odd about his behavior. By the time his brain began working again, Meredith had turned the scientists over to Barner and the three of them had left the room.

"Well?" Meredith asked when they were alone. "Not even a simple 'golly, Colonel, what a surprise'?"

Perez cleared his throat; it seemed to help. "I was expecting you to call me while all of them were still in orbit," he said.

"To find out what they were doing here?" Meredith shrugged. "We figured that out a long time ago. You were observed giving that package to the Ctencri, you know."

Perez swallowed. "Oh. I, uh, wasn't expecting you to take it so calmly."

Meredith's expression didn't change … but suddenly there was a look in his eyes that made Perez shiver. "Don't mistake control for calm, Perez," the colonel said coldly. "You didn't like the way I was ru

"So why aren't I? Because it worked?"

"You think it worked, do you? How many scientists did you send letters to?"

"About a hundred fifty. I wasn't sure all would be able—"

"Only five came."

Perez stared at him. "Five? That's all?"

"Five. Francisco Arias of Brazil, Slobodan Curcic from Yugoslavia, Loretta Williams from the U.S., and the two you just met. I hope you didn't offer anything like a blank check to the Ctencri for this."

Perez shook his head. "The agreement was for an unspecified amount of cable.

Carmen can take the low turnout into account when she hammers out the details."

He cocked an eyebrow. "So again: why aren't I being punished?"

"Because I'd rather make you pay your debts in sweat than in blood," Meredith said. "Algae ship or not, we're likely to be facing some lean times; and I'm going to hold you personally responsible for the behavior of the Hispanics here. I've heard grumblings about profit-sharing or lack of it, and it's going to be your job to make it clear that all 'profits' from the Spi

"You don't have to spell it out, Colonel," Perez told him stiffly. "As long as everyone is treated fairly there won't be any trouble. Credit me—and the other Hispanics—with that much sense."

"All right. Then tell me how the digger search went. Any of them in working condition?"

"Just the one with the stone in its tread," Perez said, relieved by the change of topic. "We got it out, and last we saw it was tu

"Good. We'll want to see where it goes when it's full." He frowned. "You have any estimate on the horsepower of the thing?"

Perez shrugged. "Not really. Between fifty and a hundred, I'd guess. Why?"

"Because the ability to idle or whatever for a hundred mille

Perez shook his head. "You worry far too much about that, Colonel, in my opinion. After the M'zarch fiasco no one's going to be brash enough to launch an invasion. Especially when they don't know exactly what we've got down here that might serve as weapons."

"Maybe," Meredith sighed. "But maybe not. The longer they hesitate, the more entrenched we become. And I'm sure they realize that."

"Let 'em realize it," Perez said, stepping toward the elevator. "In my humble and untrained opinion it's already too late for a successful invasion. Well. If that's all you wanted, my duty's up for the day and I'm going home. You coming?"

"Not yet," Meredith said, his eyes drifting to the windows and the Spi

Secretary-General Saleh—leader of the UN, chief trade representative to alien races, and arguably the most powerful man on Earth—laid down the last sheet of paper with the bitter taste of helplessness on his tongue. "What you're asking is essentially a carte blanche for whatever you want to do on Astra," he said wearily.

"You know I can't give you that."

"Why not?" Ashur Msuya asked. "The people want action—or haven't you been watching the newscasts lately?"

Saleh snorted. "Surely you don't expect me to take all those carefully staged demonstrations seriously?"

"The rest of the world does. And as for my proposal, it's clearly spelled out that you have the final word on anything I do."

"Oh, of course—except that the eight-day round trip renders that effectively meaningless."

"Only if you're looking for true veto power," Msuya said quietly. "And true responsibility."

For a long time Saleh stared into Msuya's unblinking eyes, knowing deep within him there was no way the man would be stopped. Saleh had originally chosen him to lead the mission to Astra because of his intensely pro-Third World stance, a bias Saleh had hoped would act as a bulwark against the West's usual ability to get more than its fair share of things. But the plan had backfired. Whatever motivations of justice Msuya may once have had were gone, submerged beneath his utter hatred for Colonel Meredith. With or without Saleh's permission he would find a way to destroy the colonel … and if Saleh stood in his way he might well precipitate a power struggle within the Secretariat itself, a battle that could cost Saleh his position and simultaneously wreck any chance the world might have for international peace and unity.

But if Saleh officially backed his proposal, the Secretary-General was covered. A

success in reclaiming Astra would reflect favorably on him; a failure would be Msuya's responsibility alone. The inherent communications time lag would give Msuya effective autonomy. If he chose to act on something their new Astran spies reported, there would be no chance for Saleh to exercise his supposed veto power.

And Msuya knew it. He was offering his political future against a chance for vengeance.

Dropping his gaze to the papers before him, Saleh sighed. "All right," he said, picking up a pen. "You'll take the Trygve Lie and go to Astra, sending the Hammarskjold home when you get there. You will keep within the boundaries set in this paper, observing and collecting information only. No action of any kind without my written permission first."

"I understand," Msuya nodded.

Sure you do. The meaningless words still tingling on his tongue, Saleh signed the page and tossed the batch of them across the desk. "Have my secretary give you a copy," he growled. "I'll arrange for the Hammarskjold to rendezvous with you periodically to deliver supplies and bring back any information you gather. In an emergency the Ctencri could probably be persuaded to deliver a message."

Msuya smiled tightly as he stood up. "Don't worry. I'm sure there will be no emergencies." Turning, he left the room.

My new frontier, Saleh thought dully, staring at the closed door. My quixotic hope for the restless and hopeless; the world I personally helped begin … and now I must simply sit by and watch while you live or die. For the first time in his life, he began to understand the permanent melancholy in his grandmother's face that had always bothered and frightened him as a child.