Angelmass

"I don't doubt it," the receptionist agreed. "There's a note here, too, that you're to check in with Director Podolak as soon as possible."

"Sure," Kosta said, forcing his voice to remain casual as he laid his travel bag carefully on top of the others. No need to panic; if the director had seen through his forged credentials they'd never have let him get this far. "I can go now, unless there's some reason I need to stop by my room first."

"No, the cart can get there fine on its own." She touched a button and a set of guidelights came on, leading up a wide stairway that led off the lobby to the right. "The director's office is right at the top of the stairs on the second floor; I'll let her know you're on your way."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I hope you find your stay here productive." She half rose from her seat to look down at the luggage cart. "Cart: room 433."

Obediently, it rolled around the desk and trundled off toward a bank of elevators just visible off to the left. Kosta watched it go; then, taking a careful breath, he turned the opposite way and started up the stairway.

The ID on the door was a surprise. From the decor downstairs and the obvious prestige involved with the place, he would have expected its director to have been given something fancy and eyecatching.

A holo at the very least; more likely a projection or aureol or something they didn't even have in the Pax. Instead, he found a simple brass nameplate with the words Dr. Laurn Podolak, Director engraved on it.

The door itself wasn't any better: simple wood, with a knob and hinges instead of a sliding mechanism. Wondering uneasily if this was some kind of joke played on newcomers, he knocked tentatively on the panel.

"Come in," a voice said almost in his ear. At least they had an external speaker system. Twisting the knob, he pushed the door open.

Given the simplicity of the door, he should have been prepared for the woman smiling at him from behind the large wooden desk. He wasn't. Young middle-aged, perhaps, she was dressed in a neat but simple dress, her shortish hair completely unadorned by the sort of clips and frostsprays virtually all the upper-class women on the Xirrus had worn. Even her necklace, her one visible concession to style, would have looked distinctly shabby next to the ones he'd seen aboard ship.

Abruptly, he realized that he was staring... and that she was watching him do so with a slightly amused expression on her face. "I'm Jereko Kosta," he managed.

"Yes, Rose said you were on your way up," the woman said, rising and holding out her hand, palm upward. "I'm Laurn Podolak."

"I'm honored to meet you," Kosta said, stepping forward to lightly touch her palm with his bunched fingertips. He'd had nightmares during training about this particular honorific, terrified that he would forget himself and go instead into a normal Pax-style handshake. It had been a great relief to discover that the initiator's posture made such a slip almost impossible.

"It's a privilege to have you here," Podolak said, lowering her hand and gesturing to the chair facing her desk. "Your credentials were most impressive," she added as they both sat down.

"Thank you," Kosta said, wondering with a twinge of uneasiness exactly how glowing the Pax background on him had been. "It's a privilege to be allowed to study here."

She arched an eyebrow, that amused expression back on her face. "Even if the director isn't exactly what you were expecting?"

His initial impulse was to deny it. But there was a distinctly knowing look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't mean any disrespect. I just thought—I mean, it's just that you're not—" He waved a hand helplessly.

"As upper-class as someone in my position ought to be?" she suggested mildly.

He winced. "Something like that, yes," he admitted.

The amused expression vanished. "There's still so much we don't know about the angels, Mr. Kosta," she said, her tone suddenly very serious. "So much we need to know if we're going to use them properly." She leaned forward and gestured to her left, to a full-wall status board Kosta hadn't noticed before. "That is where our money goes. To research, and study, and analysis. To people like you, on the cutting edge of the work. Not people like me, who merely organize it."

Kosta looked at her, a cold shiver ru

Their domination by the same angels Director Podolak was determined to flood the Empyrean with.

"I understand," he heard himself say.

"Good." Podolak straightened up again, that almost religious intensity disappearing into a wry smile as she did so. "Sorry if I sounded a little high-flown there, but after you've gone through the same explanation roughly twice a week it starts to sound like any other speech. However, as long as we're on the subject of money—" She glanced down at the display on her desk. "Your last communication said you'd be bringing a total of twenty thousand ruya with you and setting up a local draw line. Is that still correct?"

"Yes," Kosta said cautiously. "Is that unacceptable?"

"Oh, it's acceptable enough," Podolak said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a thin packet. "It's just not going to get you very far. Ergo, this." She handed the packet across the desk.

Frowning, Kosta took it. Application for Empyreal Government Fund Assistance, the cover said.

"Fund assistance?" he asked stupidly.

"Of course," Podolak said. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how expensive this kind of research can get. If Clarkston can't afford to give you more than twenty thousand, you're going to need to scare up more money from somewhere. Let me know if you have any trouble with either the forms or the High Senate funding rep in Magasca."

"Yes. Thank you." Kosta slipped the application into his coat pocket, a faint haze of unreality fogging his vision. Not only were they welcoming a Pax spy into their midst with open arms, they were offering to get him government funding for his mission on top of it. Telthorst and the other Adjutors were going to be ecstatic.

"It's why I'm here." Podolak glanced at her watch and stood up. "I was about to head down to the visiting researcher wing. If you'd like, I can show you to your new office."

It had taken Kosta six years, at three different universities, to earn his tridoctorum degree. Six years in which he'd met and dealt with a fair sampling of department heads, administrators, and other academic bureaucrats. Most, in his admittedly biased opinion, had run the foreshortened gamut from totally oblivious of student work to vaguely aware of it. A few—a very few—had managed to be moderately interested in it.

Dr. Laurn Podolak left every last one of them in the dust.

He'd expected her to simply walk him down the hallway to his office, nodding to or perhaps chatting a moment with those they happened to pass. Instead, she proceeded to take him on a complete and methodical tour of every single office and lab on his floor.

She knew everyone's name. She knew enough about everyone's project or study to make comments, offer suggestions, ask worthwhile questions, and give encouragement. Introducing Kosta around, she rattled off home cities and family details as if these were all longtime personal friends instead of the temporary academic visitors they actually were.

Somewhere far in the back of his mind Kosta had wondered how Podolak, without any of the visible trappings of authority, could possibly maintain the proper tone of the respect and discipline among her subordinates. By the time they reached the end of the hallway, he realized she'd found a far more effective motivator than mere respect.