He phoned Brazis.

“This is Governor Reaux. I need to speak with the Chairman, immediately.”

Inside that apartment, he was well aware, Gide could already be sending other probes into their communications, trying to bypass their security by eeling his way through wide-open domestic systems.

Well, Gide could guess again: they weren’t wide open. Gide would hope to establish a private link with his ship that would let the ship in its turn try to get into their systems. It had all happened before. There had been protests from companies, from the PO, and from the ondat,on those occasions, angry protests that racketed all the way to Earth and Apex. And he had no plans to file a protest again, not using Southern Crossas a courier, at least. No, he was meditating a scathing letter to be carried by the next regular contact ship, on which his letter might not be lost.

“Governor?”Brazis himself answered.

“My office. Please. Immediately. I need to talk to you.” He hung up, not wanting to commit anything else to the phone system at this particular moment, hoping Brazis would realize the reason for such a cryptic invitation, drop everything, and come.

Perhaps the quick exchange did leave detail behind to be sifted by Earth’s investigators.

A record of his call, oh yes. That would exist inside their secure network, which might be a target of a probe.

But hadn’t Gide just requested him to talk to Brazis? To use his diplomacy to gain an interview with a certain young tap?

He was guiltless, whatever that ship’s probe turned up.

The lift slowed to a sedate stop. Dortland met him at the exit—his chief of security, thin, gray fellow who wouldn’t look remarkable either in a riot or a board meeting, except the eyes, which were likewise gray, and never held a vestige of liveliness.

Not his favorite person, Dortland, of people he dealt with—no sense of humor, not even at the grimness of his own position. Dortland was just what he was, and Dortland’s whole world was dependably what Dortland imagined it to be, the universe that Dortland created around himself: bleak and full of treachery and problems. Reaux always felt like taking a very long walk after he’d had to deal with Dortland, but at the moment Dortland took the walk with him, their two bodyguards lagging far to the rear.

Dortland reported in a low voice about the activity of the ship, which was nuisanceful but not destructive—yes, the ship had gotten into the network and fried that one system. It wasn’t critical and didn’t damage their security. Yes, the ondathad sent another query when that happened, but the office that dealt with such things was dealing with it, and Kekellen didn’t sound particularly disturbed, only curious.

The notion upset Reaux’s stomach.

“And what did Gide want, sir?” Dortland asked.

“Hell if it’s that clear,” Reaux said. “He wants Marak’s junior-most tap on a platter, is what he wants. He’s upset about replicated pots and he’s afraid of bugs coming in with them.”

“That’s not technically possible.”

“That’s what I understand. More to the point, he’s worried about taps taking notes from the onworld First Movement. As I understand, such notes wouldn’t be easy to hand-take or to hand-carry.”

“It could be done, in computer storage.”

“You think it hasbeen done?”

“Not likely, without our notice.”

“So, outside of the usual paranoia about rogue nanisms, what’s he after?”

“Clearly, this junior tap,” Dortland said. Who had no sense of humor. It was worth a second glance, to be sure, but Reaux decided in the negative. No sense of humor, and an imagination utterly devoted to predicting other people’s mischief.

“I’ve called Brazis in. I’m trusting him to say no to the interview with this young man, and that’s that.”

Dortland frowned and concentrated on the walk ahead of them, toward his office and inside.

A middle-aged woman in a gray courier’s uniform sat, prim and proper, in Ernst’s office, and stood up as he entered.

Outsider tap-courier. She was clearly waiting for him, dispatched from some location likely on this level. He didn’t like that. But it was Brazis’s personal presence—in a sense. And secure communication—it certainly was that.

“Governor Reaux, sir,” she said. “I’m asked to mediate your request of the Chairman.”

“Hell,” he said, peevish. He’d wanted Brazis in person—he hated dealing this way. But if he insisted, he’d raise warnings in Brazis’s very wary security. “Can you manage here?”

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t at all like it that a PO courier’s relays operated inside his office foyer, inside all his electronic shielding. He didn’t think Dortland liked that either.

“Where’s your base unit?” he asked. “Point of fact, you’re not supposed to be operating up here.”

“It’s amped a bit.” It might be Brazis speaking through her. “Ordinarily we don’t. But it’s convenient, today.”

Bloody hell. He didn’t at all like the notion of Outsider relays in his ceilings or anywhere near them.

“Dortland. You can be in on this.”

They moved inside. Shut the door between them and Ernst.

“Antonio?” Reaux asked.

“Yes?”from the mouth of this passive gray-clad woman, the antithesis of Brazis himself.

“The ambassador wants to interview one of your taps. One of Marak’s taps. One Jeremy Stafford. Which I’m sure you’re not going to permit.”

“Why? Did he say?”

“He’s got some intel who this tap is. That he’s young, and in this post. This is apparently some matter of concern. Is there any reason this young man would be a concern?”

“Curious. Very curious.”

“Is there a reason we should think anything’s wrong with this young man?”

“I’m disposed to find out. When does he want him?”

Brazis’s curiosity. Brazis’s damnable curiosity, which had had him meddle more than once in an investigation. No, no, that wasn’t at all the answer he wanted.

“Why would you possibly agree?” he ended up asking Brazis, and Brazis, through his living transceiver, answered:

“This ambassador has come so far on his mission. And I’m sure he’ll give something of his intentions away, just in the questions. When does he want this person?”

“As soon as possible, I gather. I don’t like this. If you’re going to agree to this, and I very much advise against it—”

“I understand that. But I’m extremely curious.”

“Curious!”

“Yes.”

“I want to see this young man first. In my office. Antonio, I have to stress—there can’t be any provocation.”

“Soul of discretion. This is a young man who deals with very volatile personalities on the planet. He understands diplomacy and certainly appreciates the value of understatement. I doubt there’d be physical danger to him in meeting this person. Would there?”

“I’d earnestly hope not. No, I don’t think so.”

“Then I’ll send him to you and let you make the exact arrangements. I must say I’m interested in the outcome.”

“Antonio,—” he began to say, thought of telling him frankly what the ambassador implied about his operation being full of leaks. But while he was drawing breath to do just that, the courier shut her eyes and opened them again. Her expression changed.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said. And turned to leave the office.

“Damn it.” He hatedtap-couriers. They jangled human nerves. You couldn’t delay one. You couldn’t get anything additional. They cut out on you. Rudely.

And on a second thought, he wasn’t that sure that he should forewarn Brazis of what Gide intended.

But after the woman had left his office, on a third thought, he wished he had done it. What if this kid—this tap—found out his governor had strongly indicated Brazis shouldn’t send him, and spilled that fact back to Gide?