"It concerns the angels, Zar," Forsythe reminded the other sternly. "The angels, the Institute—maybe Angelmass itself. That makes it High Senate business." He let his expression soften into a tight smile. "Besides which, a con artist used to dealing with police may not be nearly as adept at handling a High Senator. Or a former EmDef commander."

Pirbazari nodded, his expression that neutral one he seemed to be wearing more and more these days. "Yes, sir. With your permission, I'll go make the arrangements."

"Keep it small," Forsythe called as he headed for the door. "You, me, Ronyon, maybe one more, plus the crew. And keep it quiet, too. I don't want word of this leaking out."

Pirbazari paused at the door, and for a moment Forsythe thought he was going to insist on an explanation. But—"Yes, sir," was all he said.

The door closed behind him, and Forsythe swore gently under his breath. But Pirbazari and his neutral looks were the least of his worries at the moment. The key to stopping or at least slowing the flow of angels was—maybe—within his reach.

Kosta's data could prove vital to the Empyrean's survival. Even if Kosta himself wasn't.

Deep within the cocoon, the fabricators came to a halt. The task, at long last, was finished.

A tiny tunnel appeared in the side of the asteroid shell, similar to the one Kosta's ship had emerged from but much narrower. A chunk of rock rolled out, moving just quickly enough to drift slowly ahead of the cocoon. If the task force was on schedule, the next Pax ship would be coming into the nearby Empyreal net in six days, eighteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes. It would leave with the data-pulse satellite's message.

Shifting into low standby mode, the cocoon settled down to wait.

"According to the receptionist's records," Pirbazari said, leaning over to peer through the line car's right-hand window, "Kosta headed out to the huntership fields early this morning. He took a bunch of equipment with him."

"Interesting," Forsythe said. Had Kosta somehow caught wind of this and rabbited? "How much equipment is there in a bunch?"

"Not much," Pirbazari said. "I don't think he's pulled the plug, if that's what you're wondering. She said he was just taking an experiment aboard one of the ships."

"The Gazelle?"

"That's the one," Pirbazari nodded. "Same ship he used before. Ten to one we'll find the Xirrus's stowaway somewhere in the vicinity."

"I'd bet money on it," Forsythe agreed. "We have a number for the Gazelle's yard?"

"Yes—S-33, south field. Owner/operators are a brother and sister named Hanan and Ornina Daviee.

You want to head over and take a look?"

Forsythe looked over Pirbazari's shoulder at the Angelmass Institute looming behind him, his mind sifting the possibilities and options. "Yes," he said slowly. "But just Ronyon and me."

Pirbazari's expression hardened, just a little. "I strongly recommend against that, High Senator," he said. "We don't know what sort of people we're dealing with here. It could be dangerous."

"I don't think so," Forsythe soothed him. "Not yet, anyway. We know they're smart, and smart operators don't panic that easily. Besides, I may need you to move undercover later on, and it wouldn't do to let them know we're connected."

"The decision is of course yours," Pirbazari said grudgingly. "I still recommend against it."

"Recommendation noted." Forsythe nodded toward the Institute building. "Is Slavis going to have any trouble?"

"You mean in getting hold of Kosta's data?" Pirbazari shook his head. "No. High Senate staff IDs are quite persuasive."

"Good. You might as well go give him a hand. You didn't tell anyone I was here, did you?"

"No, sir. All we said was that we were members of your staff, here on a fact-finding mission. Which is all true, of course," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Forsythe suppressed a grimace. A few months ago Pirbazari wouldn't have had any qualms over a judicious lie or two in the line of duty. Clearly, despite Forsythe's best efforts, the angels were still having an effect on his people. "I'll see you later, then," he said, settling himself against the seat cushions. "Line car: huntership service yard S-33."

The vehicle pulled away from the curb; and as it did so Forsythe felt a diffident tap on his shoulder.

Yes? he signed, turning to look at his companion.

Ronyon had a strangely puckered look on his face. Is there danger? he signed back.

Forsythe smiled. Not really, he assured the other. Seated to Forsythe's left, the big man had of course been able to lip-read only Pirbazari's half of the conversation. We're just going to go and see some people. You have our angel?

Ronyon nodded with his usual eagerness. Right here, he signed, patting one massive hand against his left-hand pocket.

Forsythe nodded and smiled again. Good. It was, not coincidentally, the pocket farthest from him.

Among Ronyon's many endearing qualities was the ability to follow simple instructions to the letter.

With the emphasis on simple...

He threw Ronyon another look. Up till now the big man hadn't screwed up with any of this; but up till now he'd been in the more or less familiar setting of politics. This was different... and with a pair of con artists working the area, it would not be a good time for that first slip. The people we're going to see are some of those who go out in little ships to look for angels, he signed to Ronyon. Because of that, there may be other people around who are looking for angels to steal. So I want you to be extra careful about keeping ours hidden away. Okay?

Ronyon nodded, his expression solemnly eager. I won't let anyone know.

They were into the huntership yards now, row after row of dusty concrete rectangles, each blocked off from the street by a wire fence, many of them with a huntership resting on well-worn grooves in the middle. It was more than a little reminiscent of the condition the Iathrus Shipyards had been in before Forsythe rammed some reforms through the Lorelei Senate, and he made a mental note to check on just how much of the Gabriel Corporation's profits were going into basic maintenance.

Ronyon tapped him excitedly on the shoulder. There it is, he signed, pointing ahead. S-thirty-three, right?

Right, Forsythe agreed, settling himself into confrontation mode and trying to ignore his racing heartbeat. Smart operators, he reminded himself firmly, didn't panic easily.

There were two men standing outside the ship as the line car rolled to a halt: one balding and rather fat, the other much younger and looking like he was fresh out of university. Ronyon beside him, Forsythe stepped to the gate. "Excuse me," he called through the wire mesh.

Both men turned. "Hello there," the older man said, waving them forward. "Come on in."

Forsythe lifted the catch and swung the gate open. "Sorry to bother you," he said as he and Ronyon headed toward the ship. "I'm looking for a Jereko Kosta, and thought I might find him here."

Even at their distance Forsythe could see the flicker of surprise and wariness that crossed the younger man's face. "I'm Kosta," he said. "And you?"

Forsythe waited until he and Ronyon had reached the other two before answering. "I'm High Senator Arkin Forsythe of Lorelei," he said, watching Kosta closely.

The reaction was more or less what Forsythe had expected: another flicker of surprise and perhaps a shade more wariness, but nothing even approaching panic. "I see," Kosta said. "I'm honored to meet you, High Senator."

"And I you," Forsythe told him gravely. "I've been following your work very closely. There are parts of it I find extremely interesting." He looked at the older man. "You must be Hanan Daviee."