Ann Chang stared out the window of her office at Government House, then back at her computer screen. The request was still there, and it was routine enough; but who the hell was Geoffrey Niles, and why was he asking permission to hunt a dinosaur? Actually, the why wasn't a problem; Governor Blaine's new regulations required his personal approval of every license to kill or capture one of the huge saurians that inhabited Tanith's northeastern island complex. Ann thought Blaine was carrying environmentalism a bit far, because all the reports showed there were plenty of dinosaurs; but it wasn't a burdensome regulation because there were so few would-be hunters these days.
But who was Geoffrey Niles? And where was he? A search through the Customs and Immigration files showed no sign that he had ever landed on Tanith.
She looked at the entry again. The Honorable Geoffrey Niles, Wimbledon, Surrey, United Kingdom, Earth; local address care of Amalgamated Foundries, Ltd. She didn't have to look that one up. AF was a conglomerate that dealt mostly in chemicals. Most of their operations were in Dagon; mining, and processing of Tanith fauna. If they still owned foundries, they didn't advertise it. Certainly there were none on Tanith.
Why would a Geoffrey Niles, who apparently had never landed on Tanith in the first place, give AF as an address? The computer wouldn't know, but it couldn't hurt to see what data they had. She keyed in the company name, waited for the screen to fill with the usual trivia, and typed in the code for details.
RESTRICTED DATA.
What the hell? She typed in her own access code.
RESTRICTED DATA.
That does it, she thought. She entered Carleton Blaine's override code.
AMALGAMATED FOUNDRIES, LTD. CHAIRMAN AND CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER LORD HARVEY NILES, SURREY, UNITED KINGDOM, EARTH. WHOLLY OWNED SUBSIDIARY OF CONSOLIDATED EUGENICS, INC. OUTSTANDING SHARES ZERO. ESTIMATED WORTH: UNEVALUTED.
There followed several pages of listed assets. Warehouses, chemical processing plants. A drug store chain in North America. An item at the bottom of the third screenful caught her eye. Amalgamated Foundries, Ltd. owned three interstellar class merchant ships.
"Curiouser and curiouser," she muttered, and typed again.
DATA DETAILS CONSOLIDATED EUGENICS.
RESTRICTED DATA.
OVERRIDE BLAINE 124C41 + HUGO.
WHOLLY OWNED SUBSIDIARY OF BRONSON AND TYNDALL CONSTRUCTION ENTERPRISES, INC . . .
Fine, she thought. Which probably makes The Honorable Geoffrey Niles a twig on the old Bronson family tree. And still doesn't explain why he wants a dinosaur license. Why ask for one unless he's on Tanith? Only he's not on Tanith. In orbit, maybe? But then he'd have turned up on the Customs list, and that showed no new traffic since last week's visit by the CoDominium warship.
Ann frowned and touched more keys.
AIR/SPACE TRAFFIC CONTROL.
ONLINE.
HOW MANY SHIPS IN ORBIT NOW?
ONE.
SHIP NAME.
FILE NOT FOUND.
OVERRIDE BLAINE 124C41 + HUGO.
FILE NOT FOUND.
That made no sense at all. Still frowning, she clicked back to the Amalgamated Foundries data window and called up more details. Of the company's three ships, two were noted as being on scheduled runs. The third was CDMS Norton Star.
Not likely. But—Ann touched buttons on the speakerphone. Government House had once had vidphones, but Tanith's climate had long since sent them to the scrap bin.
"Air/Space Commissioner's Office."
"Chief Administrator Chang here. Deputy Commissioner Paulik, please." A moment later she was put through to him. "Hello, Don. It's Ann. Quick question for you. The Governor has friends aboard the Norton Star. Everything all right up there?"
"Sure is." Her speakerphone deepened his familiar reedy voice. "Amalgamated chartered one of our landing boats to send up supplies just this morning. Rather a lot of stuff, actually. Looks like they're planning to be there a while."
"Ah. Thanks. Don, there's something screwy with my data system this morning. I can't seem to find their landing request."
"Oh? Hold on a moment. Yes, here it is. They've got a standby for a remote-area water landing. Location to be named later. Seems a bit unusual . . . Are you sure you don't have it, Ann? It looks like it was approved by your office."
"Oh, I'm sure it was," she said. Just what is our fearless leader up to? And why didn't he tell me about it? I could have upset his plans— "Just to help me sort this out, who does it say approved the request?"
"It says here that Everett did."
Everett. Everett Mardon. Her son-in-law. "Oh. Thanks."
"Look, Ann, there's nothing irregular about this, is there?"
"No, I'm sure it's all in order. Thanks, Don. Will we see you at the Lederle party next week?"
"Sure thing. Bye, Chief."
Her hand trembled slightly as she turned off the speakerphone.
"Good work, boss."
She turned, startled. "Everett—"
"Let's take a break, Ann. You look like you could use one."
"Everett, what the hell's going on?"
He came around her desk and put his hand on her shoulder. "Like I said. You need a break. Let's take a walk."
She waited until they were outside Government House and halfway across the square. "All right, Ev," she said. "What's this all about, and why would the governor tell you and not me?"
"Governor—oh. Ann, Governor Blaine doesn't know anything about this. He can't find out, either."
"What?" She stopped, then turned and started back toward the building. Everett reached out and caught her by the sleeve.
"Really, Ann. Stop a minute and listen."
"No." She jerked her sleeve free and faced him. "Listen, Ev. Whatever you've done to my database access, you fix it, and now. Then I'll try to keep the governor from firing you."
"Not good enough."
Her eyes narrowed. "Everett, you may be able to treat my daughter like this—"
"The hell I can, and you know it! Now just for one lousy minute, will you listen?"
She took a deep breath. "All right. Alicia's sake. But this had better be good."
"Where do I start? Start at the beginning, go on to the end, then stop. That's what you told Philip—"
"And you needn't keep bringing Alicia and my grandson into this—"
"I'm not the one who brought up Alicia. Look, I'm trying to—" He stopped. "Sorry, Ann. I didn't mean to bite. Okay, let's start at the beginning. Where does the borloi go?"
"The borloi? What's that got to do with—"
"Just listen, would you, please?"
She raised one eyebrow at him. "Very well. Lederle AG buys the borloi."
"Right. Lederle. At least that's the theory. But we all know that most of it actually goes to the Navy. They sell it, and that gives them money over and above what they get from the Grand Senate. Lets them do whatever they want, no matter what the Senate says they should do. The fact is, every single person on Tanith is party to a conspiracy against the CoDominium Treaty."
"Well . . ." She reflected. "Yes, I suppose technically that's true, but—"
"But nothing! It's not just technically true. It is true. So far we've gotten away with it, but that can't last. Did you know that Grand Senator Bronson is starting an investigation? By the time he's done, your precious governor will be in jail. So will you, if we don't cooperate with Bronson's people."
"Cooperate." Her face turned stony. "How, cooperate?"
"You don't have to do anything. Not one thing. Just forget you ever heard about the Norton Star. How did you tumble to it, anyway? I installed a flag to alert me if you or Blaine asked for any space-traffic info, but it didn't tell me how you found out."
Ann glanced at him, and found she was smiling in spite of herself. "Geoffrey Niles asked for a dinosaur hunting permit."
"What!" Everett spluttered a guffaw. "That fathead! He would."
"But you're working for him—"
"Not for him. For his father. Lord Niles is one of Bronson's key people, and Captain Yoshino is plenty sharp—"
"Yoshino?"
"Norton Star's skipper. Bronson bought him away from the Meiji navy. Geoff Niles is supposed to be Purser."
"I see now. I suppose they're planning to land a boat in the planters' territory and cart away the crop."
"But of course. What else?"
"When?"
"No idea."
"Soon?"
"What's soon? I don't really know, but I don't think it'll be tomorrow or anything near it."
"No, I suppose not. If Niles thinks he has time to collect a dino—" She stopped and leaned against a tree. Everett looked quickly at her.
"Are you all right?"
"No. Yes, of course I'm all right. I just have to think. Everett, the governor trusts me."
"I know. And this is a lousy thing to do to him. But damn it, Ann, he's on the wrong side—"
"He's not! He's ending the slave trade, he's going to put up power satellites as soon as he gets the money, he's—"
"Sure, sure . . . All that's fine. But what about the other things he's doing? I know you weren't happy having that whore at your table in Government House last week."
"Well—maybe he is moving a little fast in some directions—"
"But that wasn't what I meant," Everett cut in. "Maybe I shouldn't have said the wrong side. Maybe I should have said the losing side. Because, Ann, everybody who fights Bronson loses. Always."
"Now that's not true. Governor Blaine's got the support of Grand Senator Grant—"
"It's true in the long run. Grant's losing support. Bronson's going to win this one, and where will that leave us? Look, it's not as though I'm asking you to do anything—"
"I don't know, Ev. I just don't know. I have to talk to Satay."
"I thought he was out of town."
"He'll be back at the end of the week."
"Good. I didn't know he cared about politics."
"He doesn't, but—I still think I ought to talk to him."
"All right. Talk to him. But promise me one thing, will you? Before you tell Blaine, will you come see me first?"
Ann took a deep breath. Nothing makes sense anymore. Still, family has to count for something. "All right, Ev. I will."
Ursula walked so slowly Lysander was afraid she might stop. He kept his arm around her waist as they entered Falkenberg's office.
"Good of you to see us, Colonel."
"Not at all, Your Highness." Falkenberg stood at his desk. "Miss Gordon. Please sit down. Would either of you care for a drink?"
"Thank you, no," Lysander said.
"Sherry?" Ursula said faintly.
"Of course." Falkenberg took a decanter and glasses from the credenza behind his desk. "Your Highness?"
"Well, since everyone else is. Thank you."
Falkenberg poured, then sat down facing them across his desk. "Cheers."
"Cheers," Lysander said automatically.
Ursula drained her glass. Lysander glanced at Falkenberg, then refilled her glass from the decanter.
"So," Falkenberg prompted.
"Colonel, Ursula has a story I think you should hear. It happens that six weeks ago she was an overnight guest at one of the Girerd family's establishments. The main one, I think, given the circumstances of her visit. Can you find it on your map there?"
"Should," Falkenberg said. He moved a stack of papers to the side table and pulled out the keyboard drawer. "Hmm. Girard. G-I-R-A-R-D-?"
"No, it ends in 'ERD,' " Ursula said.
"Ah. There are three villas. Let's see—" The map appeared and zoomed in.
"Not that one," Ursula said. "There was a sea inlet to the south."
"Was there? Ah. Here we are. 'Rochemont Manor.' Grand name for a drug farm on a prison planet." A satellite photograph replaced the map. "Nine hundred kilometers southwest of here."
"That's it, I'm sure it is," Ursula said.
"Good." Falkenberg refilled her glass and waited.
"It was about four in the morning," Ursula said. "I was—the party was over, and it was hot, and I couldn't sleep. The room was on a balcony, and I thought I heard something. More like thunder than wind, but there wasn't any thunder. No wind either. I got up. I told myself it was to go look, but really I just wanted to walk around. While I was getting my robe I heard a helicopter land."
"At four A.M.," Lysander said.
Falkenberg nodded.
"When I got outside, I swear I heard some people talking down below somewhere, but I couldn't see anyone, and there wasn't any helicopter."
"And you should have seen it?" Falkenberg asked.
"Yes. The helipad was down the hill from the balcony."
"But they hadn't put her in a room facing it," Lysander said.
Falkenberg frowned.
"The veranda runs all the way around the house." Ursula pointed to the satellite photo. "See, there it is. The room was over here, and the helipad is down there. I don't know why I walked around to the north side. I suppose I was curious about the helicopter. It did seem a little unusual—"
Falkenberg waited, but she was staring at the map. "I see," he said. "You were in a room on the east side."
"Yes, I thought that was strange, because the best rooms are always on the north side. But that's where we were. And they would have given us—I mean—"
"It's all right, Ursa," Lysander said, and squeezed her hand.
"You were in an east room," Falkenberg repeated. "You heard sounds. As you got up, you heard a helicopter land. By the time you were above the helipad, there wasn't any helicopter. How long did it take you to get around to the north side?"
"Not very long at all. Well, a minute or two," Ursula said. "I had to find my robe. And the bedroom isn't really off the veranda. It has a little balcony of its own, with steps that go down to the veranda. It was still dark, and the veranda lights were out, so it took a little time getting down the steps. And I wasn't in any hurry. Really, Colonel—"
"So you walked around the veranda until you could see the helipad, but there was no helicopter. What happened then?"
"Not much at all. There was nothing there, so I walked back around to the balcony. My—Oskar was waiting for me there and we went back inside."
"I see. And you say the noise that woke you sounded like thunder?"
"Well, at first I thought it was thunder. But it wasn't anywhere near as loud, and it lasted a lot longer than thunder does."
"And there was no storm."
"None at all. The night was quite calm."
Falkenberg took out a pair of rimless spectacles and put them on. He leaned over the map for a minute. "This party. Who were the guests?"
"Uh, Colonel, is this relevant?" Lysander asked.
"I think so."
"It's all right," Ursula said. "It was—Oskar Girerd's sixteenth birthday party. There were about a dozen planters and their sons. Most of the boys were about Oskar's age. But they all left about midnight."
"All? No overnight guests?"
"Well, let's see. There was quite a crowd at breakfast. Supervisors and overseers and—of course. Jonkheer van Hoorn and his son were still there."
"Supervisors and overseers," Falkenberg said. "Any military people?"
"I don't think so—well, there were the Girerds' own guards. At least that's who I thought they were."
"Uniforms?"
She shrugged. "Standard camouflage coveralls. Nothing I'd recognize."
"Think hard," Falkenberg said. "Badges? Patches?"
She shook her head. "None I remember."
"Did any of them wear earrings?"
"Why—well, yes, now that you mention it. Not exactly rings. Cuffs. Two of the security people—"
"Wore bulldog ear cuffs," Falkenberg said.
"How did you know that?" Lysander began. "Ah. Of course. Barton's Bulldogs—"
"Was once their official name," Falkenberg said. "May still be. What would you engrave on a 'bastard' earring?" He shook his head. "One or two things puzzle me. Miss Gordon, what was the weather like the day before this party?"
"Terrible. It was one of the last big storms of the harvest season, and it rained all week. We weren't sure I'd be able to get there."
Falkenberg typed rapidly. "And more bad weather was forecast."
"I don't know. I guess so—"
"I'm not guessing," Falkenberg said. He gestured toward the data screen. "So. They knew they had exactly one night of good weather for at least several days to come. Still, it seems exceedingly stupid of them to have run the operation with strangers on the premises. Just what were—just how did you come to be invited to that party, Miss Gordon?"
"Colonel, really, I don't think—"
"Your Highness, Miss Gordon, I am not asking out of idle curiosity."
"I was—invited—by Jonkheer van Hoorn."
"Directly?"
"No, sir." She set her lips. "They bought me for the night from the Hilton."
"I see. Could—would they do this without consulting the Girerd family?"
"It's not the way it's usually done, but it does happen." She glanced quickly at Lysander and went on. "This wasn't the first time."
"Thank you."
"Colonel—"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I had to establish whether the Girerds were incredibly stupid or had no choice in the matter. Miss Gordon, the one thing that surprises me is that you were allowed to leave that house alive."
"I—" She shivered. "I never thought of that."
"Doubtless there were reasons. You would have been missed by your employers and—"
"And others," Ursula finished for him.
"Yes. Well. You may have done us quite a service," Falkenberg said. He took off his spectacles and turned to Lysander. "Your Highness. Under the circumstances, I suggest that Miss Gordon remain a guest of the Regiment. She might not be safe at the Hilton."
"But I have to go back!" Ursula protested. "My contract—"
"I doubt you need concern yourself with your contract any longer," Falkenberg said. "We'll buy what's left of it."
"But—I need the job. Not that it matters, I guess. The Hilton won't keep a girl who talks about her clients."
"I think you'll find no lack of alternatives," Falkenberg said. "If need be, we can discuss the matter with Governor Blaine." He stood. "Now, if you'll both excuse me—"
"Certainly, Colonel." Lysander stood. As he opened the door for Ursula he heard Falkenberg talking rapidly into the intercom.