"Yes, I know. No doubt some mail from Moscow and Washington for us to argue about tomorrow." The original UN charter had ruled against representatives receiving instructions from their national governments, but nobody at Farside kept up any pretenses about that.

"I hope not too much," she sighed. "We should be thinking of the future of the whole planet. National politics shouldn’t come into this." She glanced sideways as she spoke, searching his face for a hint of a reaction. Nobody at Washington had yet been able to decide for sure if the UN stance was being dictated from the Kremlin, or if the Soviets were simply playing along with something they found expedient to their own ends. But the Russian remained inscrutable.

They came out of the corridor and entered the "common room"-normally the UNSA Officers’ Mess, but assigned temporarily for off-duty use by the visiting UN delegation. The air was warm and stuffy. A mixed group of about a dozen UN delegates and permanent residents of the base was present, some reading, two engrossed in a chess game, and the others talking in small groups around the room or at the small bar at the far end. Sobroskin continued walking and disappeared through the far door, which led to the rooms allocated for office space for the delegation. Heller had intended going the same way, but she was intercepted by Niels Sverenssen, the delegation’s Swedish chairman, who detached himself from a small group standing near where they had entered.

"Oh, Karen," he said, catching her elbow lightly and steering her to one side. "I’ve been looking for you. There are a few points from today’s meeting that we ought to resolve before finalizing tomorrow’s agenda. I was hoping to discuss them before it’s typed up." He was very tall and lean, and he carried his elegant crown of silver hair with a haughty uprightness that always made Heller think of him as the last of the true blue-blooded European aristocrats. His dress was always impeccable and formal, even at Bruno where practically everyone else had soon taken to more casual wear, and he gave the impression somehow of looking on the rest of the human race with something approaching disdain, as if condescending to mix with them only as an imposition of duty. Heller was never able to feel quite at ease in his presence, and she had spent too much time in Paris and on other European assignments to attribute it simply to cultural differences.

"Well, I was on my way to check the mail," she said. "If the discussion can wait for an hour or so, I could see you back here. We’ll go through it over a drink maybe, or use one of the offices. Was it anything important?"

"A few questions of procedure and some definitions that need clarifying under one or two headings." Sverenssen’s voice had fallen from its public-address mode of a moment earlier, and as he spoke he moved around as if to shield their conversation from the rest of the room. He was looking at her with a curious expression-an intrigued detachment that was strangely intimate and distant at the same time. It made her feel like a kitchen wench being looked over by a medieval lord-of-the-manor. "I was thinking of something perhaps a little more comfortable later," he said, his tone now ominously confidential. "Possibly over dinner, if I might have the honor."

"I’m not sure when I’ll be having dinner tonight," she replied, telling herself that she was getting it all wrong. "It might be late."

"A more companionable hour, wouldn’t you agree," Sverenssen murmured pointedly.

It was getting to her again. His words implied that the honor would be his, but his manner left no doubt that she should consider it hers. "I thought you said that you needed to talk before the agenda gets typed," she said.

"We could clear that matter up in an hour as you suggest. That would make dinner a far more relaxing and enjoyable occasion later."

Heller had to swallow hard to maintain her composure. He was propositioning her. Such things happened and that was life, but the way this was happening wasn’t real. "I think you must have misjudged something," she told him curtly. "If you have business to discuss, I’ll talk to you in an hour. Now would you excuse me please?" If he left it at that, it would all soon be forgotten.

He didn’t. Instead he moved a pace closer, causing her to back away a step instinctively. "You are an extremely intelligent and ambitious, as well as an attractive, woman, Karen," he said quietly, dropping his former pose. "The world has so many opportunities to offer these days-especially to those who succeed in making friends among its more influential circles. I could do a lot for you that you would find extremely helpful, you know."

His presumption was too much. "You’re making a mistake," Heller breathed harshly, striving to keep her voice at a level that would not attract attention. "Please don’t compound it any further."

Sverenssen was unperturbed, as if the routine were familiar and mildly boring. "Think it over," he urged, and with that turned casually and rejoined the group he had left. He’d paid his dollar and bought a ticket. It was no more than that. The fury that Heller had been suppressing boiled up inside as she walked out of the room, managing with some effort to keep her pace normal.

Norman Pacey was waiting for her when she reached the U.S. delegate’s offices a few minutes later. He seemed to be having trouble in containing his excitement over something. "News!" he exclaimed without preamble as she entered. Then his expression changed abruptly. "Hey, you’re looking pretty mad about something. Anything up?"

"It’s nothing. What’s happened?"

"Malliusk was here a little while ago." Gregor Malliusk was the Russian Director of Astronomy at Bruno and one of the privileged few among the regular staff there who knew about the dialogue with Gistar. "A signal came in about an hour ago that isn’t intended for us. It’s in some kind of binary numeric code. He can’t make anything out of it."

Heller looked at him numbly. It could only mean that somebody else, either somewhere on Earth or in its vicinity, had begun transmitting to Gistar and wanted the reply kept private. "The Soviets?" she asked hoarsely.

Pacey shrugged. "Who knows? Sverenssen will probably call a special session, and Sobroskin will deny it, but I’d stake a month’s pay."

His voice didn’t carry the defeat that it should have, and what he had said didn’t account for the jubilant look that Heller had caught on his face as she entered. "Anything else?" she asked, praying inwardly that the reason was what she thought it might be.

Pacey’s face split into a wide grin that he could contain no longer. He scooped up some papers from a wad lying in front of the opened courier’s bag on a table beside him and waved them triumphantly in the air. "Hunt got through!" he exclaimed. "They’ve done it via Jupiter! The landing is already fixed for a week from now, and the Thuriens have confirmed it. It’s all arranged for a disused airbase in Alaska. It’s all fixed up!"

Heller took the papers from him and smiled with relief and elation as she scanned rapidly down the first sheet. "We’ll do it, Norman," she whispered. "We’ll beat those bastards yet!"

"You’ve got a recall to Earth from the Department so you can be there as planned. You’ll be getting space-happy with all these lunar flights." Pacey sighed. "I’ll be thinking about you while I’m holding the fort up here. I only wish I was coming too."

"You’ll get your chance soon enough," Heller said. Everything looked bright again. She lifted her face suddenly from the papers in her hand. "I’ll tell you what-tonight we’ll both have a special dinner to celebrate. . . a kind of farewell party until whenever. Champagne, a good wine, and the best poultry the cook here’s got in his refrigerator. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great," Pacey replied, then frowned and rubbed his chin dubiously. "Although. . . . would it really be a good idea? I mean, with this unidentified signal coming in only an hour ago, people might wonder what the hell we’re celebrating. Sverenssen might think it’s us, not the Soviets, who are being underhanded."