“I got your note,” Horn said. “Do you have something for me?”

“First things first,” Jonah told him. “Can you arrange to take some time off from General Delivery?”

“Maybe,” Horn said. “For how long?”

“A month, give or take a few days.”

Horn gazed for a moment at the artificial yellow-orange flames and red coals of the faux-logs. Whatever he was calculating, it didn’t show on his face. Finally he said, “I should be able to swing a leave of absence. Much longer than a month, though, and General Delivery might decide they could do just as well without me. If your project isn’t done by the start of the new year, I’ll have to hand it over to somebody else.”

Jonah thought back to his meeting with the Exarch. Redburn wanted results before the last day of December and the date set for the election. “I think I can safely promise you that, one way or the other, the project will be finished before that.”

Horn gave a decisive nod. “We’re good, then.”

“Good,” said Jonah. “Consider yourself hired at the usual rate, plus expenses.”

“I’m at your disposal, Paladin. What’s the job?”

“I’ve been appointed by the Exarch to investigate the death of Victor Steiner-Davion.”

Horn looked curious. “I hadn’t heard that there was anything suspicious about it. He was an old man, after all, even if he was tougher than boot leather.”

“He certainly appears to have been tougher than somebody expected,” said Jonah. “There are indications—you’ll see what I mean when you read the folder from Santa Fe—that his death needs to be attributed to foul play, rather than to natural causes.”

“And I suppose the Exarch wants to know the who and why to go with the how?”

Jonah nodded. “I’ll be doing most of the political work here in Geneva, but I’ll need you to handle the street-level investigations on-site. And a word of warning—this may become dangerous. It’s not impossible for a Paladin of the Sphere to be murdered by a random housebreaker looking to crack his wall safe and steal the family silver, but it’s unlikely. Extremely unlikely, in this case. You may find yourself drawing the attention of some very powerful people before you’re done. Watch your back.”

“I always do. But if there’re high-ranking people involved, I’d appreciate it if you kept an eye on it, too.”

Red Barn Cafeteria, Petit-Saconnex

Terra, Prefecture X

27 November 3134

The executive core of the Kittery Renaissance Action Committee had met this week at the Red Barn in Petit-Saconnex. The perpetually unpopular table six was waiting for them, and, thankfully, the cook had remembered to wear a hairnet today. Since it was approaching midnight, most of the rest of the tables were empty, and those that were filled contained people in no condition to eavesdrop on nearby conversations.

The meeting tonight had been larger, spilling to a second table, as the pace of planning increased. Now, though, only the core officers remained in what Cullen called “executive session” and Hansel called “dessert.”

At the moment, there was only one thing on Cullen Roi’s mind.

“Victor Steiner-Davion,” he said.

“Dead,” Norah said.

“What about him?” Hansel asked.

“What have you heard about his death?”

“Heart attack,” said Hansel.

“There’s going to be an investigation,” Norah said. “Probably by a Paladin. There’s something more there, but no one’s saying what yet.”

“Anyone linking us to the death?”

Norah looked at him sharply. “Should they?”

“No.” Cullen paused. “Probably not. We have some skilled people in Santa Fe, and I can never be sure when someone is going to freelance. But for my part, I had nothing to do with it.”

Norah sipped at a daiquiri. “Maybe we should have.”

“Not with a Paladin investigating. We don’t need extra heat on us at the moment.”

“So how do we respond?” Hansel asked.

“We capitalize,” Cullen said. “Everyone on Terra already knows about his death. They know we’re going into an election with two new Paladins and the most influential of their number dead. If we thought there was uncertainty before…”

“Uncertainty’s no longer the word,” Norah said, pursing her lips in satisfaction.

“Right. Things have just moved closer to the edge. It’ll be that much easier to push them over when the time comes. We can’t let things settle before the election.” Cullen Roi contemplated the dregs of his coffee for a moment, weighing plans and possibilities in his head and balancing one thing against another until something clicked. “We need a riot.”

“I thought we were saving that for—”

“No, no,” he said impatiently. “Not the riot. We’re still saving that. Just a riot. Small enough that nobody important gets hurt; big enough to keep everyone on edge.”

Hansel said, “Do we want it in Geneva, or somewhere else?”

“Geneva,” said Norah. “Rioting anywhere else won’t even make the evening news in Geneva.”

“And getting on the news is the key,” Cullen said. “I’m turning this over to you, Norah. This is your specialty—do whatever you like so long as it makes the news.”

Norah’s expression brightened. “Casualties?”

“Are acceptable.” He caught the look in her eye. “Remember, I want people on the edge—but not yet over it.”

Senator Mallowes’ Penthouse, Geneva

Terra, Prefecture X

27 November 3134

On the evening after the first session of the Electoral Conclave, Gareth Sinclair had dinner with Senator Geoffrey Mallowes of Skye. The invitation to the Senator’s penthouse apartment in downtown Geneva had not come as a surprise, since Mallowes was an old and close friend of the Sinclair family. Gareth had known the Senator since childhood, and had grown up regarding the man as a sort of honorary uncle.

For that reason, he’d always made a point of visiting the Senator’s apartment whenever he happened to pass through Geneva. He would have done so within the next couple of days if Mallowes hadn’t invited him to dinner first.

The Senator lived in an elegant set of rooms near the Hall of Government. His home was luxuriously furnished, floored and paneled in dark natural woods, and curtained and carpeted in earthy greens and browns. It was fully staffed as well, with personnel alert and prepared to serve at any time of day. They could make a cheese soufflé at midnight and set a table for four at three in the morning.

At the moment, one member of the staff stood directly behind Gareth, waiting to serve his every whim. Gareth hated for them to be bored, and tried to come up with a whim that might keep them happily occupied, but creating off-the-cuff orders for servants was not one of his strengths.

By contrast, the servant behind Senator Mallowes had, in the past ten minutes, cracked pepper over the Senator’s salad, fetched a fresh napkin because Mallowes detected a faint stain on the corner of the one he had been given, and retrieved an extra ice cube for his scotch. Mallowes knew how to make sure the people in his employ did not stay idle for long.

Apart from a brief congratulations on Gareth’s promotion at the outset of the meal, the Senator had focused conversation on mutual acquaintances, pressing Gareth for any and all news about his entire family. His features, which looked stern beneath his flowing gray hair on tri-vids, had relaxed into grandfatherly lines—though the type of grandfather still capable of taking a switch to you when necessary.

From the consommé to the roast lamb to the meringue torte, Mallowes’ posture remained straight, his eyes keen and the crease in his pin-striped wool trousers sharp. When he was younger, Gareth had found Mallowes intimidating, though the Senator had always treated him with nothing but kindness. Nonetheless, the dark suits, silk ties and the crested cuff links still brought him to attention as quickly as the dress uniform of a Paladin.