Manta's Gift

A touch of uncertainty edged into Liadof's glare. "Mr. Hesse, go see what's going on back there," she ordered. "And put a stop to it."

"Don't bother," Faraday advised as Hesse stood up. "By now, the transcript is shooting toward Earth at the speed of light. In half an hour the Five Hundred will know we've been offered the way out of the Solar System in exchange for help with the Qanskan logjam problem. Half an hour after that, the public will know all about it, too."

"Only if the Five Hundred want them to know," Liadof countered.

"Maybe not," Faraday said. "We also have access to the newsnets from here on the station."

"You can't put classified material on the newsnets," Liadof snapped. "That's a direct violation of Sol/Guard regulations."

"Ah, but I'm the one in charge here," Faraday reminded her. "As long as we're not talking official military or government secrets, I'm the one who gets to decide what's classified and what's not."

"The Qanskan stardrive is a governmental secret," Liadof snapped.

"Not officially," Faraday said calmly. "As far as I know, its existence has never even been acknowledged, let alone classified."

He lifted his hands. "Face it, Arbiter. An hour from now my name and that of Project Changeling will be back at the top of the conversational stack."

Liadof smiled coldly. "And you think I didn't recognize that possibility when Mr. Raimey first contacted us? Come, Colonel, give me at least a little credit for brains. Why else do you think I sent Mr. Hesse scrambling to make sure you signed that paper before I let you back in?"

"Because you didn't think a man who'd convicted himself of treason could afford to stand against you?" Faraday suggested.

"Because even if such a man were brash enough to try, his signature on that paper would quickly destroy whatever public popularity he might have," she said. "But if you choose to commit social suicide on the newsnets, by all means do so. I certainly don't need you anymore."

"Oh?" Faraday asked. "What about Manta? He won't talk to anyone but me, you know."

"I don't need him anymore, either," she said. "I'm sure Counselor Latranesto will be more than willing to take his place as bargainer for the Qanska. If they have anything left to bargain with.

Come along, Mr. Hesse." She turned back toward the door—

"All right, then," Faraday said. "I guess there's nothing more to be said. We'll take this to the public and let them decide."

He gestured to Hesse. "In which case, you probably ought to retrieve your Judas document from Mr.

Hesse."

"Indeed," Liadof agreed, turning back. "Mr. Hesse?"

"Yes, Arbiter." A pained expression on his face, Hesse reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded paper.

"And," Faraday added softly, "you might also want to take a look at the signature."

For a moment Liadof froze, her hand stretched halfway toward the paper in Hesse's hand. Then, like a pouncing rattlesnake, the hand darted out to snatch it from his grip. She pulled it open, her eyes dropping to the line at the bottom—

Her head twisted back up toward Faraday. "What the hell is this?" she bit out.

"It says 'Charlie the Carp,' " Faraday said helpfully. "He's that animated spokesman for the Association of Fish Hatcheries—"

"I know who he is," Liadof snapped. She turned her glare on Hesse. "Hesse?"

Hesse's mouth was hanging partway open in disbelief. "Arbiter, I swear—"

"Don't blame Mr. Hesse," Faraday told her. "The fact of the matter is, I've been on to your little game from the very begi

"Really," Liadof said icily, her eyes still on Hesse. "I wonder how."

"Don't blame him for that, either," Faraday said. "He played his part just fine." He cocked an eyebrow. "The problem was with the script you gave him to read."

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "What problem?"

"Problems like telling me Mr. Beach was giving him the inside scoop on what was happening on the project, but then describing Manta's new caretakers as a male and female," Faraday said. "Mr. Beach would never have referred to them that way; he'd have called them a Protector and Nurturer, which was what they were. Then there was the whole idea of an opposing faction in the Five Hundred who wanted me to join them. That one was just a little too convenient."

"I wondered about that," Liadof muttered.

"Yes," Faraday said. "And finally, the crowning touch: the fact that after several weeks he was still their only representative here. They could surely have brought in someone with more experience by that time, If they really existed."

"I see," Liadof said, her voice sounding like she was trying to grind the words into powder between her teeth. "So you signed a phony name. It's still your signature."

Faraday shrugged. "I held the pen rather awkwardly. It might or might not be close enough."

"Your fingerprints are on the paper."

"I never picked it up."

"Your sweat, then," she persisted. "DNA analysis."

"I never even touched it," Faraday told her. "I held it down with shirtsleeved elbow. Sol/Guard issue shirt, by the way—there are millions of them around the System. And I rested my hand on the edge of the desk, not the paper. There's absolutely nothing there to link me to that document."

Liadof's breath, Faraday noted, was coming rather heavily. "And you think this was all I had against you?" she asked, waving the paper.

"Maybe not," Faraday said. "But without that paper, you don't have enough to beat me. Not now. If you choose to fight, you're going to lose."

He paused. "The alternative is to settle this quietly, right here and now," he added. "And it's still not too late for you to get the credit and glory for getting humanity out of the Solar System."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Are you telling me," she said slowly, "that you don't want it yourself?"

"Not at all," Faraday confirmed. "I've already told you what I want."

"Really." She smiled tightly. "Not even if all that credit and glory translates to more political power in my pocket? Power which I could easily turn around and use against you?"

Faraday gestured toward Hesse. "Mr. Hesse told me you never seek revenge for its own sake," he said. "I'm willing to take the chance."

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Liadof stepped back to her chair. "All right, Colonel," she said, laying the paper down on the table. "I'm listening."

THIRTY

We're almost to the end of Level Seven," Milligan reported, alternating his attention between three different monitors. "Pressure's scaling as predicted; no problems."

"What about the tether?" Faraday asked, his thoughts flashing back to that resonance humming noise his Skydiver's tether had picked up on that fateful ride. "Is it handling the winds okay?"

"The wind is definitely picking up," Milligan said. "But so far the tether seems to be handling it just fine."

"What about the tether ship?" Faraday asked.

"They report everything ru

"Tell them to get used to it," Faraday advised. "It'll probably get worse before it gets better."

"Right." McCollum began speaking softly into her mike.

"Coming up on Level Eight," Milligan said.

"A shame we didn't think to get a monitor down to you, Manta," Sprenkle called. "You'd have been able to see what your Garden of Eden looks like."

The Contact Room rumbled with tonals. "That's all right," the translation came. "I fully intend to live long enough to see it in person. Besides, your vision is so much poorer than ours. I doubt your machine would give me much of a look."

Sprenkle smiled. "Touche."