'All right, bring them in. And get QI140's pay file sorted out too. I suppose he's due the usual pittance for that report.'
A few seconds later his assistant came in with a pile of carts and a much smaller one, a 3D crystal 'chip' of the kind that the Company used for nondenominational payoffs. UU563 56VIW picked the chip up, stuck his thumbnail in it, read out the past payment codes and amounts and keyed one new one in. Then he tossed the chip back at the assistant.
'You still here?' he said, for now that the moderately enjoyable duty had been taken care of, already the tension was beginning to build toward the one that would not be so enjoyable. 'Don't just stand there vaguing out on me like some damned Inseer.'
His assistant looked shocked. Sander let her. Officially these days VoidCorp denied the very existence of the treacherous rogue division that had declared its independence and somehow even managed to get itself instated as a stellar nation. After the colossal crime of crashing the VoidCorp main Grids and practically-Sander stopped himself. Too much thinking about what might have happened in that terrible hour was potentially dangerous, possibly even heretical. Never mind. The Corporation had survived, but their enemy still lurked out in the dark of space, busying itself with cyberwarfare that was still unfinished, leaping from ambush every now and then to foil some important VoidCorp strategy, or even to do something as petty as kill an executive or two. Their pettiness itself betrayed them. They had no grasp of the importance of the great Company goal, but instead went wittering off about independence and the search for ultimate knowledge and other mystical blather. It was laughable. They didn't have the vaguest idea of what real freedom was. ''Service is perfect freedom,' one of the ancient sages had said. No matter that he hadn't worked for the Company and probably hadn't even known what he meant. He was right.
'Never mind that,' UU563 56VIW said. 'Just go sort out QI140's payoff account, and then don't disturb me for an hour.'
She went, ducking deferentially to him as she closed the door.
Sander sighed and sat back again, looking up just briefly at the Mudball and the green jewel sailing around it. A slow enough orbit, once every fourteen days. Sometimes the thought occurred to him that one could interfere with that orbit. There were newish technologies that one might exploit. Of course, there was the problem of the Hatire who had been recolonizing the planet. Busybodies. What business had the StarMechs selling them that colonization contract in the first place, anyway? And the various other rogue humans scattered around the place. No. It was an inelegant solution. Better not to waste the time thinking about it.
But what a mess local space and further space both had become. All the stellar nations interleaving and interweaving, all sticking little tendrils of influence into one another's territory. It was all very disorganized and untidy. They needed someone to tidy it up for them.
If the Company got its way, it would eventually see to that tidying, no matter what the other nations might have to say about it. That day would be worth waiting for.
Sander sighed and picked up the other reports, knowing what he would see there before he even looked, the monthly output numbers for Iphus Mining Division and the usual report from RC094 29KIN Faren Reaves. Like its author, the report was unimaginative stuff but reliable. Nothing there was of real interest. But right now Sander's-
His assistant said, out of the air, 'WX994 02BIN to speak to you, sir.'
Damn! He wasn't supposed to call for another- But there he was, in all his theoretical glory, sitting behind his desk. The hologram wavered a little above the floor, but WX994 02BIN was unconcerned if he noticed it. UU563 56VIW stood up hurriedly. 'Sir, I-'
'Am not ready, as usual. I could have told you that.' If there was one thing Sander hated about the man, it was his big bluff air of geniality. Behind it, inside that huge bear-like body, was a heart of meteoric iron, well coated with ice. 'You know what I want to talk to you about.'
'The Thalaassa incident, sir. Yes. The first thing that needs to be dealt with is-'
'Don't get the idea that you're handling this meeting,' said old WX, grinning, and the mustache positively bristled with amusement. 'What you need to know first is that I am not pleased. The second ambassador was not to have been targeted for any purpose. There were projects in which her hand would later have been valuable.'
Specifically because she wasn't as smart as her boss, UU563 56VIW thought. 'Sir, that is one of the aspects of the operation that regrettably did go out of control. Unfortunately no one could have predicted that the marine whom the Ambassador had been seeing privately would have-'
'And about him,' said old WX, frowning. 'Was he possibly working as a double? Genuinely Diplomatic or Concord Security, I mean, as well as an acquired asset?' 'No evidence of that, sir. If we look at the-'
'We haven't looked at half the things we should have,' said WX, 'and one possibility that disturbs me is that the Concord Diplomatic Service's Intelligence people, or just normal Intel, have somehow undermined our assets in that area. That would be a tragic result, both for the undermined and for you. Ombe would come down on you like a ton of the rock of your choice.'
UU563 56VIW swallowed. 'Ombe' was the VoidCorp Sector Security Chief QN105 74MAC, a fierce- tempered and small-minded woman who took her job more seriously than anything in the world and had a list of 'enemies,' or Employees whom she considered failures, as long as a weren's arm. Her enemies tended not to prosper.
'I don't see how that could possibly be, sir,' said UU563 56VIW as carefully as he could. Almost certainly this interview was being taped, and if it later proved that he had been wrong ... 'If you look at the results, they suggest that such undermining would have meant the ambassador being tipped off as to-' 'If you look at the results,' WX said, his voice getting a little louder, but not unsociably so, 'you would notice that the leaders of Phorcys and Ino signed a treaty. Signed their names to it in private. They had to sign their names to it in public because the third ambassador, who would have been killed if I had my druthers, and the wretched captain of Falada held their noses to it and insisted that they go through with the public ceremony on time, despite trying to stall 'in memory of the architect of the peace, blah blah blah.' Now we have useful people dead, useless people alive, and a treaty that, even though it isn't quite a peace treaty, is so bloody tightly worded that these two planets can no longer carry on with their previous business, which I desperately hope I do not have to spell out to you at this late date.' WX smiled, a genial expression which ran ice down Sander's spine. 'This is not a good situation, UU563 56VIW, not in the slightest. Had the ambassador not gained the intelligence jump on us that she did, the treaty would never have been signed. Soon enough matters would have relapsed to the comfortable status quo that we have been promoting for lo, these many years. I want to find out how she knew what she knew. I want anyone who seems to have information about how she knew what she knew found, brought in as subtly or unsubtly as you like, and emptied of everything that may be of use to us. I want that done now. Soon. Maybe not before you get up to pee, but nearly that soon. And then I want recommendations on how to get the Phorcys and Ino situation back to the way it was. Fortunately, those idiots hate each other's guts so thoroughly that it shouldn't take much time to think of something. Others are thinking of things too. Let's see if what you come up with is better.' That smile seemed to be suggesting that it had better be. 'Attention attracted to them, once again, will divert it from other things better ignored. How long will it take you to get a report of present intelligence status on my desk?' 'Just a few minutes, sir.'
'Do it. I'll speak to you again this time tomorrow.' And WX was gone.
Sander Ranulfsson, UU563 56VIW, sat down in his chair and put his head in his hands.
As subtly or unsubtly as you like, the man had said. They must have that new software in place, at least in the beta stages.
Whether they did or not, it was not a good day any more.
Chapter Seven
THE BAR WAS a dive. There was no kinder word for it. The grimy, crowded room had little light and was further dimmed by the various smokes and fumes emanating from the tables and booths. It was the kind of place into which no self-respecting marine would ever have gone unless it was to help a buddy win a fight. From the booth where they were sitting, Gabriel looked around at the dim, ugly little restaurant-cum-bar with its tacky, dingy
