The old man had spent the morning in his office, as usual, going through the motions of being second-in-command of the Communications Department. Then he’d left and gone to his own apartment. From the cameras atop the administration building’s roof Vyborg watched Romero amble along the path to the apartment building, walking slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. A few minutes afterward he emerged again, dressed now in tattered, frayed work clothes, and strolled off into the woods out beyond the village, also as usual.

Morgenthau had refused to give him access to the cameras inside Romero’s apartment.

“That’s very sensitive,” she had said flatly. “Only myself and a very small cadre of sworn Believers are allowed to review those records. Besides,” she added, with a dimpled smile, “we wouldn’t want to invade someone’s privacy, would we?”

Simmering with frustration, Vyborg watched the views from the outdoor cameras.

Impatiently, he switched from one camera to another, keeping Romero in view on his holographic display until the old man disappeared down the slope of the culvert for the irrigation canal. There were no cameras down there. He’s alone out there, Vyborg saw, except now and then that young woman from Morgenthau’s department comes out to help him. I can get Morgenthau to keep her busy on the day when I strike. That should be easy. But how to eliminate the old man? It must look like an accident.

Vyborg cleared his display and closed his eyes to ponder the problem. Kananga, he thought. Kananga will know how to do it. He’d probably enjoy the task.

Eberly gazed at the document hovering above his desktop the way ah art lover would admire a Rembrandt.

It’s perfect, he thought, leaning back in his desk chair. A constitution that no one could possibly vote against. Every high-flown phrase from history that spoke of human freedom and dignity was in the document. And so was that tiny clause, buried deeply in all the other verbiage, that allowed the government to cancel all individual rights for the length of an emergency.

It’s time to bring this before the people. Let them debate its fine points, let them argue it out, clause by clause, phrase by phrase. He laughed, alone in his apartment. Let them spend the next few months dissecting the document and then putting it back together again. Let them babble and quack at each other. In the end they will accept something very close to this document. And I will see to it that the emergency clause is untouched.

He clasped his hands together prayerfully and held them to his lips. This will make Morgenthau happy. I’ll have the complete backing of the New Morality and Holy Disciples and all the other Believers scattered in among the population. They’ll vote for this constitution. They’ll make an effective bloc of votes that I can count on. If anything, they’ll want to make it more restrictive than it is now. I can just see Wilmot and Urbain and the rest of the scientists debating against the Believers! What a show that will make! Entertainment for weeks to come.

Once the constitution is enacted, the time will come to elect the habitat’s new leaders. No, not leaders, plural. There can be only one leader here and that will be me.

And once I am elected, it will be the time to clean house, the time to settle old scores, the time to make Morgenthau and those New Morality prigs grovel at my feet.

As she walked back to her office, Holly didn’t know whether she should feel disappointed or relieved. Actually, she felt some of both. And puzzled.

Lunch with Manny had been pleasant, even fun. He didn’t try to come on to me. Why? she asked herself. He was warm and friendly, but it was like a couple of nights ago never happened. Like he has amnesia or something. Just erased from his memory bank.

Are guys all like that? Didn’t it mean anything to him? She realized that it meant much more to her. And then there was Malcolm. Maybe it’s better that Manny isn’t really interested in me. He just had a fling with me, that’s all. I shouldn’t take it seriously. But he was so…

She realized she was close to tears.

Maybe I should talk to Don Diego about it, she thought. Then she shook her head. How could I tell him about it? I’d sound like a stupid dimdumb, or worse. But I’ve got to tell somebody. I need a friend and he’s the only real friend I have.

Kananga listened to Vyborg without saying a word, without nodding or gesturing or even blinking his eyes, it seemed. He walked alongside Vyborg in the dimmed light of evening, the lamps along their path making his shaved scalp gleam darkly, and listened so intently that Vyborg wondered if the man had gone mute.

At last Vyborg asked, “So what do you think can be done about it?”

“Why do you come to me with this problem of yours?” Kananga asked quietly.

Vyborg glowered at him. “Because you are a man of action. Because you wouldn’t be aboard this habitat if it weren’t for me. I convinced the Peacekeepers to allow you to emigrate. They wanted to put you on trial for genocide.”

Kananga’s dark face remained impassive, but the old fury welled up inside him once again. Genocide! The Hutu slaughtered us by the thousands and no one lifted a finger. Yet when we seized power, when we repayed the Hutu in blood just as they had done to us, the Peacekeepers come in with their satellite cameras and their laser weapons. They arrest us and put us on trial in the World Court.

Misunderstanding the rage in Kananga’s eyes, Vyborg said in a more conciliatory tone, “I need your help. No one else can do this for me. I need your strength and skill. Help me to get rid of this old man. Please.”

The tall, lanky Rwandan took a deep, calming breath. Pointing a lean finger at one of the light poles at the side of the path they were walking along, he said softly, “That is a problem.”

Vyborg understood immediately. “The cameras.”

Kananga nodded solemnly. “Morgenthau has even installed cameras in the apartments.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Of course, if we do something in his apartment, I’m sure that we could get Morgenthau to suppress the video.”

“So we could take care of him in his apartment and no one would know,” Vyborg said hopefully.

“But what would we do with the body?” Kananga put the slightest of emphasis on the word “we,” but Vyborg heard it and understood.

“Make it look like an accident. A natural death. He’s an old man.”

“In excellent health. I checked his medical records.”

“People die,” Vyborg snapped.

With a low chuckle, Kananga said, “Yes, especially when they have help.”

Feeling exasperation growing within him, Vyborg demanded, “Well, can you help me or not?”

Kananga was silent for so long that Vyborg thought the man was going to refuse. But at last he said, “There are no surveillance cameras down in the culverts where he spends so much of his time, are there?”

Vyborg realized he was right.