“I don’t know. And don’t tell the others that.”

“Sure.”

“Damnit, I should have seen this. I screwed up completely. If Adam makes his blockade run now, they’ll come out into the biggest concentration of Starflyer firepower on the planet. And we can’t even warn him.”

“You’ll find a way.”

“Don’t say that, don’t just wish that everything will be all right. The Starflyer just secured the only route onto the planet.”

“Johansson will see we’ve dropped out of communication; he’ll know the Starflyer is on its way back.”

“There’s a difference between knowing and being able to do anything about it.” He glanced back at the sturdy stone and concrete edifice of Market Wall. “We might have to attack the Starflyer ourselves when it comes through.”

“But…the planet’s revenge,” she said it in almost reverential tones.

“The planet will be revenged if the Starflyer dies. I need to get our heavy-duty weapons ready. Just in case.”

***

Like most senior Dynasty members, Campbell Sheldon kept a private residence on Earth. His was on an artificial island, Nitachie, that had been built in the Seychelles several hundred years ago when the natural archipelago was threatened by rising sea levels. The greenhouse effect never did achieve the worst-case scenarios that the more evangelical environmentalists claimed it would. Some of the smallest islands were swamped by exceptional high tides, but the relocation of the population to protected land never happened. Once the worst industrial polluters moved offplanet to the Big15, and the UFN Environment’s Commissioners introduced their onslaught of regulations, the climate began its turnaround toward the benign nineteenth-century ideal that was the goal to which the EcoGreen campaigners had dedicated themselves. The worst damage to the Seychelles in ecological terms was the coral bleaching, which had killed off thousands of reefs. Even that was being countered as new polyp was planted, allowing the magnificent coral to expand again.

From her private hypersonic, Justine could just see the odd glimmer of light that indicated an island. The rest of the sea was pitch-black, there was no moon to shine off the water, and precious little starlight.

They began to decelerate hard, the nose pitching up as the delta-wing plane began its long curve toward the ocean twenty kilometers below. Justine accessed the sensors in the needle nose as they descended. Nitachie was just visible against the dark water, a warm patch against the cooler sea. The island was square, five kilometers to a side; with long breakwaters extending out from the steep concrete walls, where white sand was building into deep curving beaches. Several lights twinkled around the solitary house, set above the northern side. As they swept in close she could see the glowing blue-green patch of a big oval swimming pool.

Red and green strobes were flashing on the landing pad, a metal grid standing a couple of hundred meters offshore. The small hypersonic settled with only the slightest bump.

Two of Justine’s Senate Security bodyguards walked down the air stairs. Only when they gave the all clear did she and Paula step outside. It was warm, even for the middle of the night. Justine breathed in the clean salt air, feeling quite invigorated after the cabin’s air-conditioned purity.

Campbell Sheldon was standing at the side of the pad, flanked by his own security staff, dressed in a white and gold toweling robe. He yawned, trying to cover his mouth with his hand. “Good to see you,” he said, and gave Justine a small kiss on the cheek. “You okay? I accessed the reports from New York before I turned in.”

“I’m fine.” She was amused to see he had threadbare slippers on his feet.

“Sure.” Campbell was giving Paula a curious look. “Investigator. Always a pleasure.”

“Mr. Sheldon.”

“Do you mind if we go back into the hut?” Campbell asked. “I’m not even on Seychelles time yet.”

“That would be nice,” Justine said.

There were a couple of small carts parked on the edge of the landing platform. They drove the small party back along the causeway and up to the house. Architecturally, Campbell’s beach hut was all curving arches and glass bubbles. Even though the larger outside arches appeared to be open, they framed pressure curtains; a subtle air-conditioning cooled the interior, extracting the worst of the humidity. He led them into a big living room full of casual chairs. Justine sank down into soft white leather cushions, and nodded dismissal to the bodyguard team. Campbell’s own security team withdrew. An e-shield came on around the room.

“Okay,” Campbell said, rubbing at his dark blond hair. “You have my full and complete attention. You get shot at by the most lethal assassin in existence, and the first thing you do is come and see me. Why?”

“I came in person to emphasize how important this is to us. We need to know where the Sheldons stand on certain points, and I don’t have time for the usual Senate Hall talking-in-bullshit routine. I’m only a senator by default.”

“A damn good one, I’d say. I access our Dynasty’s political office bulletin.”

“Thanks.”

“So ask away. I’ll answer whatever I can, and if I can’t I’ll tell you. We know each other well enough for that.”

“Very well.” Justine leaned forward slightly. “There’s going to be a vote in the Security Oversight Committee, engineered by Valetta, to dismiss Paula from Senate Security. I need to know which way the Sheldons will vote.”

Campbell gave her a strange look. It was clear the request wasn’t what he was expecting. He glanced at Paula, then back to Justine. “You came here for this?”

“It’s the strategy behind it which is crucial,” Justine said. “And, Campbell, the answer must come from Nigel himself, I don’t want some aide in Jessica’s office to trot out a standard response.”

Campbell gazed at Paula, clearly confused. “I don’t get this. Does the Senator know about Merioneth?”

“No,” Paula said.

Justine turned to the Investigator. She knew she’d just lost a considerable amount of momentum. “What’s Merioneth?” she asked in annoyance. Her e-butler flipped a file up into her virtual vision that told her Merioneth was an Independent world, which had left the Commonwealth over a century ago.

“An old case,” Paula said.

“For which our Dynasty was, and remains, deeply indebted to the Investigator,” Campbell said.

“That’s the problem,” Paula said. “And why I’m here to back up the Senator. I do need to know your current policy toward me.”

Campbell remained silent for a moment, his eyes studying data in his virtual vision. “This is connected with Illuminatus, not the assassination attempt. Right? One of your old team was some kind of infiltrator.”

“Tarlo, yes. But this is connected with the assassination, too, and your Dynasty’s political strategy. The question about my future is the key to that.”

“This is why I chose the development side of CST, not politics,” Campbell said. “The intrigue and backstabbings that you people…” He shuddered.

“Can you get us the answer?” Justine inquired.

“You want me to ask Nigel personally if the Dynasty is trying to fire Paula?”

“Yes please.”

“Right,” he said briskly. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what you get. Hang on a moment.” He closed his eyes and sank back in the thick cushions of his own chair.

Justine turned to Paula. “Merioneth?”

“Long story from a long time ago. I took a holiday from the Directorate to finish up a case on the planet after it went Independent.”

“After?” Justine couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Not for the first time, Justine considered how totally boring her own life was compared to that of the Investigator. Until recently.

Campbell’s eyes opened. There was a bad boy smirk on his face. “Well, that’s me out of favor for a week. I interrupted Nigel while he was, er, busy.”