"In that same time," she added, "at least fifty other angel-wearers have also skated over the edge."

"And you managed to keep all this a secret?"

"The High Senate has been very good at covering up the problems," she said. "And for what it's worth, most of the people involved turned out to have serious mental or emotional instabilities they'd managed to hide up until then."

"Even so," Kosta protested. "Isn't this something the people ought to know about?"

"Yes, it is," she admitted. "And if it were up to me, they would."

"So who is it up to?" Kosta asked. "The High Senate?"

"Even most of the High Senators don't know," she said. "Only the top leaders, plus a few senior EmDef officers. Their view is that seven High Senators in ten years is hardly a terrible failure rate."

Kosta snorted. "More likely they just want to cover their tails after all these years of telling the people how safe the angels have made them."

"No, I don't think so," Podolak said. "The problem is that the angels do work, at least most of the time. They've made the High Senate run more smoothly and efficiently, as well as drastically lowering the crime rate."

"How drastically?"

"Substantially," Podolak said. "In the twenty years before the introduction of the angels, over two hundred High Senators were indicted, censured, or removed from office for illegal or unethical behavior."

"I guess that is significant," Kosta conceded.

"And the same pattern has translated over into EmDef and the local government sector of angelwearers,"

Podolak said. "So you can see their point in not rocking the boat at this stage."

"But you don't agree."

Podolak sighed. "You're right, the angels have made the people feel safe. The problem is, they've made them feel too safe. The normal vigilance a population needs to maintain toward its elected officials has been dulled, if not completely eliminated. Even if the angels were perfect, that wouldn't be a healthy thing. As it is, it's more than a little dangerous for the society."

Kosta felt his throat tighten. "Not to mention the Pax. The whole reason they're breathing down our necks is that the High Senate has convinced them the angels are an irresistible alien force."

"Perhaps," Podolak said. "Still, if it wasn't that excuse it would be something else. The Pax just likes to conquer people."

Kosta looked around at his stacks of equipment boxes. "So what is it you want me to do?" he asked.

"The same thing that all good scientists want," Podolak said. "I want you to find the truth."

"And then?"

"Let the political and social chips fall where they have to," Podolak said, standing up. "Now. You and Mr. Gyasi need to get going, I expect. Unfortunately, neither of you can check out this much equipment at once."

She smiled faintly. "Which means I need to go to the gate with you. You'd better call for some luggage carts; you're going to need them."

It was five-thirty precisely, and most of the Stardust Metals building had gone deathly quiet, as Chandris arrived at Amberson Toomes's office door and rapped against the panel. Toomes was clearly ready and waiting; the door slid open immediately. Squaring her shoulders, Chandris stepped inside.

He was waiting, all right. He was seated on the feather-upholstered couch, dressed in an elaborately embroidered ankle-length robe. Chandris couldn't tell whether he was wearing anything under the robe or not, but she rather expected she would soon be finding out.

"You're on time," he greeted her, his predator's smile back in place. "I like that."

He waved a call stick, and the door slid shut behind her. "I'm glad you approve," she said, walking toward him. There was a small clothing-style box on a corner of his desk; she pretended not to notice it. "You're all ready, I see."

"I am," he said. "But you're not. There's a box on my desk. Open it."

She changed direction to the desk. The box was smaller than it had looked from the door, she saw now. If it contained a robe like Toomes's, there wasn't going to be a lot of material to it.

She opened the box. No robe, but a full outfit nevertheless: bra, panties, leggings, and a short covering sarapi with bright red ribbon-ties. She was right about there not being much actual cloth involved, though.

"You want me to put this on, I suppose," she said, gazing down at the filmy material.

"If you would," Toomes said. As if she really had a choice.

"What about the money?" she asked.

Toomes gestured. "Pick up the outfit."

Chandris did so. The promised credit chit was lying at the bottom of the box. One hundred eighty thousand ruya, just as agreed.

"Leave it there for now," Toomes ordered, stretching ostentatiously and setting the call stick on the floor beside the couch. His robe opened slightly with the movement; he wasn't wearing anything else above the waist, anyway. "You can pick it up on your way out."

For a brief moment Chandris considered simply grabbing the chit and making a run for it. The money was there, and once she had it there was nothing Toomes could do to freeze or block the transaction.

But Toomes was surely smarter than that. The door was probably locked, with the call stick the only way to open it. There was nothing she could do but go through with this.

Or at least, part of the way through. "All right," she said.

"You can change in the bathroom back there," Toomes went on, pointing toward a door in the far side of the office. "Don't be too long."

A bathroom on the far side of the office, half a room away from the credit chit and a full room away from the call stick. "This is pretty," she said, dropping the filmy sarapi casually onto the desk beside the box. "But it won't be necessary."

"Why not?" Toomes asked. "I thought you wanted to be nice to me."

The word jarred oddly against Chandris's ear. Nice. Nice.

No. What Toomes wanted wasn't the definition of nice. Nice was what Hanan and Ornina had been to her when she'd come straggling along, cold and hungry, with nowhere to go. Nice was what they'd been to Jereko Kosta. Nice was what Forsythe was to his ever-cheerful handicapped aide, Ronyon.

Nice was even what Trilling had been to her, back in those early days.

Would Trilling have asked her to do something like this? Of course not. He'd taught her how to use her face and body, certainly; to distract men, or to weaken their resolve, or to pump them for information. But he would never have asked her to go all the way with anyone. Only with him had she ever had that kind of special closeness.

And now, after living with the Daviees and their angel all these months, she was even less interested in letting Toomes tom her. It was wrong for him to demand it—just plain wrong. He was already getting his money's worth; Kosta's information about Angelmass would be worth far more than a mere hundred eighty thousand ruya. Toomes was just being vindictive, or childish, or predatory.

And that made it just as wrong for Chandris to let him get away with it.

"Of course I want to be nice," she said, smiling seductively. "But I can do better than this on my own."

She started slowly across the office toward him, putting an exaggerated sway into her hips. "Let me try."

The predator smile was still there, but there was an edge of caution to it. But a man like Toomes would never admit to being worried that she could outsmart him. Not again, anyway. "Okay," he said, looking her up and down appraisingly. "I'm game. Let's see what you can do."

She took her time crossing the room, teasing down the sealing strip of her blouse as she went. She reached the couch and stopped an arm's length away from him, slipping the blouse fully open. The bra she had on underneath wasn't nearly as fancy as the one she'd left on the desk, but it should do for the purpose required. Toomes still looked a little uncertain, but it was clear he found this interesting enough to let her do it her way a little longer.