"Yes, sir," Daviee said, looking dazed but recovering quickly. "Very honored to meet you, High Senator."

Forsythe nodded to him and turned back to Kosta. "I had to come to Seraph for a few days, and thought that while I was here it might be enlightening for me to check on the progress of your work."

"At the moment, sir, I'm afraid things are going very slowly," Kosta said, his voice apologetic.

"Somehow, my funding has been frozen, and until that's straightened out I can't use any of the Institute's facilities. Mr. Daviee has graciously allowed me to bring some sampling equipment aboard the Gazelle; otherwise, I'd be at a complete standstill."

"I see," Forsythe said. "Completely frozen, you say?"

"Yes, sir. Director Podolak's been trying to find the problem, but so far hasn't been able to."

"Perhaps I can look into it when I get back to Uhuru." Forsythe looked up at the ship looming over them. "You said you had some of your test gear aboard?"

"Yes, sir," Kosta nodded. "I could give you a tour of the setup, if you'd like."

"A very brief tour," Daviee interjected, looking a little pained. "Begging your pardon, High Senator, but we're scheduled to leave for Angelmass in less than an hour. The tow car will be attaching in twenty minutes—once we start rolling the regs require that the Gazelles hatches be sealed."

"Twenty minutes should be enough," Forsythe assured him. Ronyon was hovering in clearly nervous uncertainty at his shoulder; without glancing up, he signed the big man to follow him. "Lead the way, Mr. Kosta," he added aloud.

It had been many years since Forsythe had been aboard a working ship like the Gazelle. Enough years for him to have forgotten how small and cramped and unpleasant they were, particularly when compared to liners and official government transports. Gingerly, trying not to touch the walls any more than he had to, he followed Kosta through the maze. "I have to apologize for the mess, High Senator," Kosta said over his shoulder as he stepped over a section of half-disassembled machinery protruding into the corridor and started down a narrow stairway leading to the Gazelle's lowest deck.

"The Daviees have been working most of the night to try and get the ship ready to fly, and there are obviously still a few things to be done."

"I thought Gabriel was supposed to handle huntership maintenance," Forsythe said.

Kosta shrugged. "I don't know. You'd have to ask Hanan about that. Here we are."

He stopped in front of a small shiny box wedged into a space between two larger floor-to-ceiling equipment cabinets. A half dozen cables protruded from the top of the box, snaking their way to unknown destinations behind the cabinets. "This is the primary logic module of my experiment,"

Kosta said. "It takes data from a group of radiation sensors mounted on and just beneath the outer hull, does a fast analysis, and sends the results to a secondary module mounted in the Gazelle's main computer room."

Forsythe nodded, eyes flicking across the six cables. Four of them were readily explainable: three standard data-transfer mesh ribbons and one low-voltage electronics power line. But the other two cables... "What exactly is this particular experiment supposed to accomplish?" he asked.

"I'm hoping it'll help me get a handle on these unexplained radiation surges," Kosta told him. "I'm still not comfortable with the self-focusing theory that's been suggested."

"Yes, I got that impression from your paper." Forsythe nodded at the box. "Tell me about it. In detail."

Kosta took him at his word, launching into a convoluted discussion of spectrum sampling, corespiral generation, and real-time pattern analysis. Forsythe was able to follow only about half of it; but that half was enough to show that the explanation wasn't simply built out of moonbeams and silk handkerchiefs. Whoever Kosta was—whatever this scheme was he was running here—he'd clearly done his homework.

"Interesting," Forsythe said when he'd finished. "And that's all this experiment's supposed to do?"

"Isn't that enough for one experiment?"

"I'm certain it is," Forsythe said, giving him a hard look. "I was curious about those two power lines coming out of your logic module." He gestured to the two cables that had caught his attention.

"You're not going to tell me those are just more sensor lines, are you?"

The corner of Kosta's lip twitched. "No, they're part of something entirely different. A small test I'm piggybacking on top of the main sampling experiment."

"What kind of test?"

Kosta hesitated. "I'm sorry, High Senator, but I really can't talk about that. It keys off a discovery by another Institute member, something I promised to keep secret."

"Even from top government officials?" Forsythe demanded, adding a subtle note of threat to his tone.

"I'm sorry," Kosta repeated. "You can talk to Dr. Frashni directly—perhaps he'll be willing to tell you. But I can't."

"I see," Forsythe said, studying the younger man's face. Odd; he'd have thought a good con artist would try to avoid ducking questions he could just as easily invent answers to.

Unless he really was doing something for this Dr. Frashni. He made a mental note for Pirbazari to check it out.

Over the hum of machinery came the sound of approaching footsteps, and he turned to see Hanan Daviee come up behind Ronyon. "I'm sorry, High Senator," the fat man apologized, "but I wanted to let you know that the tow car is here."

"Thank you," Forsythe said, glancing at his watch. It had indeed been just about twenty minutes since he and Ronyon had come aboard. If there was one thing the Gabriel Corporation was famous for, it was punctual scheduling. "I'll get out of your way now. Good luck with your hunt."

"Thank you, High Senator," the other said. "If you'll come this way, I'll show you to the exit. Oh, and by the way, the reporters are starting to arrive."

Forsythe stopped in mid-stride. "Reporters? What are reporters doing here?"

Hanan blinked. "Why... I assumed you called them."

"No, I most certainly did not," Forsythe snarled, digging out his phone and punching in a number.

This whole trip was supposed to be secret, damn it. If this leak was Pirbazari's fault—

Pirbazari answered on the second ring. "Yes?"

"It's Forsythe," Forsythe identified himself. "Why are there reporters gathering around the Gazelle?"

There was a second of stunned silence. "Reporters?"

"Yes, reporters. I thought I made it clear that my presence here was not to be mentioned to anyone."

"We haven't told anyone you were here, High Senator," Pirbazari insisted. "My only guess is that the Institute receptionist jumped to that conclusion on her own."

Who had alerted her superiors, who had alerted the media, who were now gathering like scavengers at a picnic hunting for crumbs. It fit, all right. Unfortunately. "Wonderful. What do you propose we do about it?"

"You'd better stay aboard the ship until they leave. Can you get this Daviee person to tell them you're not there?"

"Probably," Forsythe growled. "There's just one slight flaw in that plan: the Gazelle's about to leave for Angelmass. I doubt they'd be interested in having us along while they go angel hunting. No, you're going to have to do something from there. And you're going to have to do it in the next three minutes."

Beside Ronyon, Hanan Daviee cleared his throat. "High Senator?" he murmured, raising a tentative hand.

Forsythe focused on him. "What?"

"If you'd rather not leave right now, you'd be welcome to join us," he said. "We have enough room aboard for both of you."

Forsythe stared at him, the automatic polite refusal catching midway up his throat. It was, on the face of it, a ridiculous suggestion.

But on the other hand, why not? The other High Senators talked a great deal about angels being the future of the Empyrean, but to the best of his knowledge not a single one of them had ever personally gone on an angel hunt. It was no more or less than basic research for a man in his position.