There was no more cutting insult that one Quelhagen aristocrat could fling at another. Mark felt his lips instead spread into a smile. As if he could be worried about money with what was happening outside the hotel right now!

But Macey was. To her, money was always the first principle. Concern about losing money had brought her out tonight, even though that meant risking her life.

"No, ma'am," said Mark. He realized for the first time how much he'd changed in the past months. "Nothing like that. I just felt honor-bound to let you know where my basic loyalties lie. Honor is important, even to a dirty Greenwood settler like me."

"Bah!" Macey said. She held the video chip out to one of her aides. " Langley, don't lose this," she ordered. "We've got to get back to the mission and hope the riot hasn't spread in that direction."

She swept Mark again with her eyes. "I couldn't understand how you and Bannock got along, Maxwell," she said coolly. Her fear of the riot seemed to have passed, or at least been controlled. "Now I do. I've never seen intelligent men as determined to go off in crazy directions as the pair of you. You're human pinballs!"

She turned and strode toward the door by which she'd entered the lobby. Her aides fell into step with her.

At the door Macey looked back over her shoulder. "Also," she added across the empty room, "I suspect you're both too dangerous to live!"

30. Watching the Fireworks

The windows of the seventh-floor conference room looked down on the street in front of the Civil Affairs Building and the central park. Vehicles and pedestrians were moving normally, though Mark thought there was less traffic than he'd seen on his previous visit to New Paris.

Several cars, crushed and burned out, had been pushed through hedges to get them out of the travel lanes. Clothes, repeller magazines, and gas canisters littered the view. One of the streetscape's trees was now a shattered stump three feet across. A maintenance crew wearing orange dickeys was sawing up the wooden corpse for disposal.

Candace, Protector Giscard's legal advisor, closed the door behind him as he returned to the conference room with a sour expression. Everyone in the room-Mark and Dagmar Wately, Biber and Finch representing the Zenith claimants, and Colonel Wordsworth of the Alliance military forces-stared at Candace silently.

"I believe we can get started now," the counselor said briskly as he pulled out a chair at the circular table. "Protector Giscard has just informed me that I'm to deputize for him at this meeting. The events of last night require his urgent attention at headquarters."

Colonel Wordsworth snorted. Her iron gray hair was cut short to fit under a helmet. "What he should turn his attention to is finding a pair of balls to replace the ones he lost before he was appointed protector here," she said, glaring at Candace.

"If Giscard's afraid to come to New Paris," Dagmar asked, "why isn't he holding the meeting at his palace?"

"Because to guard against spying and sabotage in the present state of unrest," Wordsworth said gratingly, "no Zenith citizens are being permitted into the headquarters area. That particularly includes-" She rotated her grim expression toward the pair of Zenith investors. "-our esteemed vice-protector there. Eh, Finch?"

"Colonel," Candace said coldly, "if you choose to discuss local politics, I strongly recommend you find another venue for it. Your words in this company might well be considered treason against the Atlantic Alliance if they were reported by an enemy of yours."

Wordsworth grimaced. "Giscard knows what I think about all this pussyfooting around," she muttered, but she didn't meet the legal advisor's eyes.

"Very well," Candace said. He waited until everyone was seated, then continued, "For the purpose of this meeting, Mr. Finch is acting as a private party rather than as a representative of the Alliance. I wish to be very clear on that point."

Finch flushed. "We're here to negotiate, Candace," he said. "If instead you plan to play tin god, then I have better ways to spend my time."

"Finch has no more rights here than anybody else," Mayor Biber said. "And you bet we're here to end this nonsense once and for all."

Both men were in flashy civilian clothes in place of the uniforms they'd worn for their court appearance. Nevertheless, Wordsworth glowered at them like a cat eyeing caged birds.

It struck Mark that he and Dagmar were the only two people in the room who didn't heartily dislike all the others. Zenith's internal muddle was worse in some ways than what was happening on Greenwood, and all the players were looking for other people to blame.

Of course, nobody was threatening to plant a city of fifty thousand in Mayor Biber's front yard.

"We accept that Protector Giscard is acting on behalf of the Alliance, not for parochial interests," Mark said. "This meeting isn't an attempt by a corrupt official to circumvent the plans of his superiors on Earth."

Candace gave Mark a smile of respect if not liking. He'd understood Mark's threat to go over Giscard's head if matters didn't develop to Greenwood 's liking.

"I'm glad positions are clear," Candace said. "Now, first." He looked at the investors. "While Protector Greenwood of Hestia clearly had no authority to make settlement grants for the planet that now bears his name, it appears that a number of Alliance citizens have in good faith transported themselves and their chattels to Greenwood on the basis of such grants. It would be inequitable to displace those innocent parties."

Heinrich Biber started to rise. "If you think," he said, "that I'm going to let Giscard take the money I paid into his pocket for those grants go with a 'Sorry, guess I made a mistake,' then you haven't seen the start of trouble on this planet!"

Dagmar opened her mouth to speak. Mark quickly put his hand across hers to silence her. It wouldn't help if she blurted the threat he knew was on the tip of her tongue.

"Do you plan to negotiate this matter from a cell in the Protector's palace, Biber?" Finch said with a sneer. "Counselor Candace, continue with your appraisal. We'll refrain from comment until you're done." He glanced at the Mayor and added, "Further comment."

Biber's face was angry, but there was a touch of unease in his expression also. He knew that his outburst had indeed been grounds for arrest under the emergency regulations, though Protector Giscard wasn't confrontational enough (or probably brave enough) to jail a prominent citizen.

Candace focused his attention on the settlers' representatives. "A right to remain on Greenwood doesn't mean a right to ignore legal obligations, however," he said. "Administrative control of the planet is in the hands of the Protector of Zenith. Unless you settlers are willing to accept that, you're in rebellion against the Atlantic Alliance."

Dagmar looked worriedly at Mark. He touched her hand again. "We're loyal citizens of the Alliance, sir," he said to Candace. "Of course we accept her laws and administrative structures."

Mark wasn't sure how true that was, even for himself. He was sure it was the proper thing to say.

"As a corollary to that," Candace continued, "illegal armed groupings on Greenwood will have to disband immediately or face suppression by the armed forces of the Alliance. The Alliance will guarantee the rights of individual settlers, but harassment of officials properly appointed by authorities on Zenith has to stop immediately."

He glared at Mark. Mark, who'd faced a furious Yerby Bannock, tried to avoid smiling. He nodded solemnly and said, "Our only desire is for justice, sir."

The counselor seemed to have taken Mark's statements as gospel truth, because he relaxed noticeably at the mild replies. One of the problems faced by people who deal with words-and laws are only words-is that those folk tend to mistake the image for reality.