“Stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself,” Justine told her reflection in the mirror. She splashed some cold water on her face, which wasn’t looking so hot these days. Ah well, it wasn’t as if she was on the prowl for lovers right now. Her virtual hand touched her father’s icon. “She’s here.”

“I’m on my way down,” Gore said; he had the apartment above.

As always, Paula Myo was dressed impeccably, in a blue suit that was obviously tailored in Paris. There was a stern expression on her dainty face as she looked around the big living room with its exquisite antique furniture.

“I was in another Park Avenue apartment yesterday, about a kilometer away from here,” she said. “I thought that was ostentatious, but it would fit in this room and still rattle around.”

“Some people are aspirant,” Justine said. “Some of us obtained a long time ago.”

“Materialism never really appealed to me.”

“Is that part of your Huxley’s Haven heritage?” Justine had almost said: Hive heritage.

“I don’t think so.”

“Course it is,” Gore Burnelli said. He marched in through the living room door, dressed in a mauve polo sweater and black jeans. The overhead chandeliers reflected a burnished amber light off his golden skin. “Materialism would distract you from your obsession, wouldn’t it, Investigator? The Foundation wouldn’t want that in their police force; I suppose it makes you immune to bribes, too.”

“Father!”

“What? Everyone appreciates honesty, especially a policewoman.”

Justine was too weary to remonstrate with him. She could feel her stomach churning again, and hurriedly told her e-butler to get her an antacid. It acknowledged the request, and told her Gore’s subsidiary personality programs were filling the apartment arrays, moving with him like attentive ghosts. “Can we get started, please?” Justine asked; it was almost a plea. The big windows leading out to the balcony turned opaque and shimmered with a gray curtain of energy, sealing the room. She sat in one of the big couches as a maidbot trundled over carrying her a glass filled with a milky liquid. Gore came and sat beside her, while Paula chose a high-backed chair, facing the two Burnellis.

“I’ll start with my bad news,” Justine said. “I haven’t been able to confirm who told Thompson about Nigel Sheldon blocking the examination of cargo to Far Away.”

“Damn it, girl,” Gore complained. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not the most popular Senator in the Commonwealth right now. All that goodwill I was getting at the start because of Thompson’s death has just about evaporated. Columbia and the Halgarths are building themselves a lot of new alliances, and of course Doi’s always keen to receive their votes. Those of us who ask awkward questions are gradually being frozen out.”

“Then burn your way back in. Come on, this should be child’s play to you.”

“I’m up against some masterclass opposition here, actually,” she snapped back. “Not knowing if I can trust the Sheldons is proving to be a real problem; it’s leaving me very isolated in several committees.”

“You’ll pull through,” Gore said. “I can always depend on you. That’s why I’m so proud of you.”

Justine blinked in surprise. That wasn’t like him at all.

“The navy has made some progress on the Mars data,” Paula said. “Not that it’s particularly helpful. I asked the Admiral to pursue the matter, and he took that to a level I never expected.”

“I heard they actually went there,” Gore said.

“Nigel Sheldon made a CST wormhole available,” Paula confirmed.

“Which is interesting in itself. Whose interest is he considering, pursuing this lead against the Guardians? In any case, the navy team managed to find out what all the data was that’d been encrypted. It’s purely meteorological.”

“Did they find a key?” Justine asked.

“Unfortunately not, the encryption writing software was a use-expire program. There’s nothing left of it. Forensics are running a quantum scan of the hardware, but it’s unlikely they’ll be able to pick out a remnant. The actual data remains beyond us unless the Guardians choose to make the key available.”

“So even if we decrypted it, we wouldn’t know what they wanted it for.”

“I’m afraid not, Senator.”

“This is such bullshit,” Gore said. “If you ask me, the Guardians have just notched up another smart hit against the navy. All that stealing meteorological sensor crap is a clever piece of misdirection. There’s got to be something else hidden on Mars. Some transmission from a secret base or device, maybe a weapon. If they’ve been landing Von Neumann cybernetics on the surface, who knows what they could have built by now.”

“The research packages which robot ships dropped on Mars are well documented,” Paula said. “There is no surplus mass unaccounted for, not in twenty years. And the navy team didn’t see anything unusual at Arabia Terra.”

“Four computer geeks and two characters from ancient history on a nostalgia trip don’t make what I call a decent exploration team. There could have been a missile silo right under their feet and they’d never have known.”

“Or even a hollowed-out volcano,” Justine muttered.

“I don’t believe they would have been able to smuggle anything like a cybernetic factory onto the surface,” Paula said levelly. “We know the Guardians simply purchase whatever equipment they want.”

“Weather!” Gore grunted in disgust.

Justine covered her smile by drinking more of the antacid.

“I believe Mars is something we will have to put aside for the moment,” Paula said. “One of my ex-colleagues in the Paris office may have uncovered another Starflyer agent: Isabella Helena Halgarth.”

“Shit!” Gore said.

Justine took a second to place the name, pleased she didn’t have to use her e-butler to reference it for her. “Damn, do you think that’s their link to the presidency?”

Gore held up a hand. She could see her own distorted reflection in his palm. “Wait,” he said. “I’m analyzing this. I always fucking knew there was something wrong about that weekend we hosted in Sorbonne Wood. Let’s see. Patricia was always willing to accommodate every party; at the time I thought she was doing it to secure endorsement for Doi. But take a look at the weekend from the Starflyer’s perspective. Assume it wanted a human navy for its war between us and the Primes. Yes, goddamnit. Think of the true sticking points we faced. Either Isabella or Patricia was there to oil things along every time. Isabella even slept with Ramon DB.”

“He slept with her?” Justine couldn’t help the indignation. She pursed her lips, vexed with herself for caring. After all, they hadn’t been married for eighty years. Still…he’d done it under her roof, technically.

“It was even Ramon’s parallel development idea which helped the agency move all the starship production facilities to the High Angel with the minimum of fuss,” Gore said.

“Which he produced on Sunday morning,” Justine said coldly. “I suppose we’ll never know who actually came up with the idea.”

“I assumed it was Patricia, who relayed it through Isabella,” Gore said.

“It’s the kind of compromise a presidential aide could come up with in an instant. Now, though, we’ll never know.”

“You could ask him,” Paula said.

Justine finished off the last of her antacid drink, which might have accounted for the little grimace of distaste. “Yes, I could. I’m not sure he’d give me an answer.”

“He will,” Gore said. “You know he will.”

“Maybe, but he’d want to know why.”

“Is he strong enough to join us?” Gore asked. “We need allies.”

“He’d need some very strong proof,” Justine said carefully. “I’m not sure what we’ve got right now is enough.”

“What more can we give him?” Gore asked. “For Christ’s sake, Ramon isn’t stupid.”

“I’m not about to tell him we suspect Nigel Sheldon of being behind the greatest antihuman conspiracy there’s ever been. He’d shoot us down in flames.”