man who came forward to greet her. His name was Rex Soro, the eventual heir to the Soro computer fortune and a classmate from her college days. He looked a bit older, but still handsome, and was impeccably dressed. She caught a whiff of expensive cologne as he leaned in to hug her. “Vanders! What a wonderful surprise. You look gorgeous. And no ring. Let’s mate.”
“I never mate prior to dinner,” Vanderveen said primly, “but thank you for the invitation. I see you haven’t changed.” Soros laughed.
“My name is Hambu Tras Gormo,” the frail-looking Dweller said. His sticklike body was supported by the high-tech exoskeleton that made it possible for him to leave his low-gravity home world and travel to other planets. The device emitted a soft whining sound as the Dweller offered a formal bow.
Vanderveen recognized the name. “ Senator Tras Gormo? It’s an honor to meet you.”
Tras Gormo bowed again.
“And this,” Soro said, as he gestured to the only other female present, “is the famous Misty Melody.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Vanderveen said, as the woman in question looked up from a gold compact. She had shoulder-length silver hair and had been poured into a matching dress. Her breasts were not only unnaturally large but almost entirely exposed. “I have all of your albums,” Vanderveen said truthfully. “You have a beautiful voice.”
Melody’s smile was unexpectedly genuine. “Why, thank you… It’s the only part of me that’s real.”
The comment was so unexpectedly honest that Vanderveen had to laugh. “Miss Melody is going to perform for the troops on Algeron,” Tuchida put in. “And we’re very grateful.”
“We’ll see if the general feels the same way once the screeching is over,” Melody said with a grin.
“And last, but not least, we have Trade Representative Imbia,” Soro intoned.
The plainly dressed Thraki was sitting on a booster seat and apparently enthralled by the antics of his robotic “form.” It was doing cartwheels across the table in front of him. Vanderveen knew the six-inch-high machine was a technical work of art that had probably been assembled by its owner. Such toys were something of a passion where the Thrakies were concerned. The Thraks claimed to be neutral but had been caught providing support to the Ramanthians and clearly expected them to win the war.
But because President Nankool and his advisors had no desire to push the Thrakies into open conflict, especially given the strength of their navy, they were allowed to travel freely inside the Confederacy. It was a constant source of concern for Madame X-Nankool’s chief of intelligence.
The Thraki looked up to acknowledge the introduction with a curt nod. So Vanderveen allowed Tuchida to seat her and let the social process carry her along. There was a menu to choose from, the usual small talk about the war, the hand that Soro placed on her left knee. Vanderveen removed it and turned to Tuchida. It didn’t take long to discover that they had numerous acquaintances in common, something Vanderveen was quick to capitalize on. “So,” she said, as the first course arrived, “do you know Captain Antonio Santana by any chance?”
Tuchida was no fool and sensed that the question was something more than a casual inquiry. He had black eyebrows, and they rose slightly. “I know a Major Santana. Not well, mind you-but both of us were on Gamma-014. He was one of the last people to make it out. Aboard a ship owned by Chien-Chu Enterprises if I’m not mistaken. General Kobbi thinks highly of him.”
“Yes,” Vanderveen agreed. “If anyone deserves a promotion, he does. I wonder where he is now?”
Tuchida smiled gently. “If I knew, I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
Vanderveen felt herself color slightly and was grateful when an android requested permission to pour some wine. The next hour passed comfortably enough and was capped off by a variety of desserts and a performance by Misty Melody. There was thunderous applause as she left the table and made her way up onto the platform at the center of the room. The lights dimmed, the stage began to rotate, and a huge holo of the planet Earth appeared. It was transparent and seemed to encapsulate the performer. Then, as Melody began to sing “My Home,” Earth morphed into Gamma-014, which dissolved to another planet and so on until all of the worlds ravaged by the Ramanthians had come and gone.
There was a standing ovation as Melody hit the final plaintive note, and Imbia’s miniature robot somersaulted across the table. Senator Tras Gormo caught the form, closed a power-assisted fist round it, and crushed the toy. Electricity crackled around his hand, which didn’t bother him in the least. When the applause was over, the Dweller dropped the mangled object onto the table. It landed with a thump.
Imbia stood on his chair and was clearly going to object, when General Tuchida leaned in to speak with him. It was impossible to hear the exchange. But once it was over, the Thraki jumped to the floor and stalked away. Vanderveen turned to Tuchida. “What did you say to him?”
Tuchida grinned. “I told the little bastard that if he said a single word, I would shove what’s left of that form up his ass. Was that a breach of diplomatic protocol? If so, I apologize.”
Vanderveen laughed. “No apologies required insofar as I’m concerned. Well done.”
People were streaming out of the dining room by then. And as both of them stood, Tuchida took a look around as if to make sure that no one could hear him. Then his eyes swung back to Vanderveen. “O-Chi 4. The major is on O-Chi 4.” And with that he was gone.
PLANET ALGERON, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
The Galaxsis was far too large to pass through a planetary atmosphere and take off again. So, having dropped out of hyperspace and into orbit, it was necessary to shuttle passengers down to the planet’s surface. Though classified as “earthlike,” Algeron was a very different planet, primarily because it completed a full rotation every two hours and forty-two minutes. The rotation was so fast that centrifugal force had created a mountain range around the equator. The indigenous Naa called them “the Towers of Algeron,” some of which were higher than Everest on Terra or Olympic Mons on Mars.
The once-obscure Fort Camerone was located in the northern hemisphere. It had been destroyed many years before, and a larger structure was built to replace it. Even so, the complex had been too small to accommodate the Legion and the sudden influx of civilians that took place after the ship housing the Confederacy’s space-going capital was destroyed. There were other planets, of course. Hundreds of them. But none wanted to be elevated to the status of target number one.
So Naa Town had been leveled to make room for the addition commonly referred to as “the new fort.” A full- scale spaceport was under construction west of the old fort, and a huge training complex was taking shape twenty miles to the north. All of which could be seen as Vanderveen’s shuttle circled the area before coming in for a landing.
Vanderveen had been there before, of course. But everything looked strange as she entered baggage claim. That was where she spotted her father, who forced his way through the crowd to greet her. Charles was tall, slim, and had a long, narrow face framed by a full head of silvery hair. Vanderveen hadn’t seen him for a year or so. But it looked as though he had aged five in that period of time, and she knew why. Because as the war continued to drag on, there was a never-ending temptation for the more vulnerable races to declare neutrality or align themselves with the Ramanthian Empire. That meant diplomats like her father were locked in a continuous struggle to strengthen alliances, pave over differences, and hold the network of existing relationships together.
There was a happy collision as father and daughter came together. Vanderveen took comfort from the familiar smell of him, the strength of his arms, and the sound of his voice. “Welcome to Algeron, sweetie
… It’s been too long.”
Vanderveen pulled back in order to take a second look at him. “You need a haircut. How’s Mom?”
Charles smiled. “I haven’t actually spoken with her. Hypercom time is way too scarce for that. But, based on what Sergi Chien-Chu tells me, she’s working with the resistance. I asked how, but he wouldn’t say.”
Vanderveen felt a stab of concern. Even though her mother might look like a helpless socialite, she was an active horsewoman and possessed an inner toughness. But working with the resistance? Shooting Ramanthians? That was hard to imagine.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Charles said as he took control of her rolling suitcase. “Because I made dinner. It may be humble, but my cooking beats the Foreign Service mess. You’re staying with me by the way. I scored a one- bedroom apartment back when such a thing was still possible. And the couch is yours.”
“Sounds good,” Vanderveen said as she took his arm. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
The apartment was located in the so-called old fort. It was small but included a kitchenette, bathroom,
