It did not seem, at first, that anyone had noticed Sero’s arrival, but Sero knew better than that-and knew that pretending to have no interest in attracting attention was often the surest way to obtain the attention of a more discerning audience.

And there were certainly lots of people here whose interest he wanted-starting with Beddle, Beddle the virulently anti-Settler, rabidly pro-robot, and, needless to say, one of Grieg’s harshest critics. Beddle was still surrounded by a crowd of sycophants, all of them laughing a bit too loudly, behaving just a trifle too belligerently. Beddle caught Phrost’s eye and gave him a nod. Later they would talk.

And there was Tonya Welton, leader of the Settlers. Quite an occasion to get her in the same room with Beddle, Phrost thought. And quite a feather in my cap when they both want to talk to me. And that was no flight of imagination, either. Phrost had no doubt that both had hope of receiving his aid. The trick would be for him to provide it to both, and make gain in return from both, without either being the wiser.

Tonya Welton was making her excuses to the knot of people she was chatting with, clearly intending to come and welcome Phrost. He toyed with the idea of heading over to meet her halfway, but decided to indulge himself. Enjoy the moment. Let her come to him. He had worked long and hard to get this far. Why not enjoy it? He pretended not to notice Welton, and gestured to one of the waiters for a drink. Strange, very strange, to be served by a human servant-and an armed one at that. Governor’s Rangers on security duty, and picking up the tasks that would normally have been done by robots. The one who gave Phrost his drink was clearly none too pleased by the assignment.

Phrost was a tall, ruddy-faced man, a bit too strong-featured to be called handsome in any conventional sense, his cold grey eyes a bit too calculating in their expression for anyone to imagine him as charming.

His face was well lined, but not so much as to make him appear old or worn-out. On the contrary, the lines that life had etched on his face spoke of vigor and energy, of a life full of activity and experience. Phrost was enough of an egotist to be aware of his own appearance and reputation, and take some pleasure in them, but he was enough of a realist to know that a great deal of it was illusion. He was no more active or determined than the average person-but it was often helpful for other people to think of him in such terms.

His hair had been jet-black not so very long ago, but now it had turned to salt-and-pepper, the white hairs just starting to be more common than the black. Phrost could not help but notice that the touch of grey had a profound effect on the way people reacted to him. In a culture that respected age and sober experience more than it valued youth and enthusiasm, a few genteel marks of maturity were good for business, and that was all that mattered.

Ostensibly, what Phrost did was to serve as the middleman for the extremely short list of Settler products that Spacer law allowed to be imported. He also represented the even shorter list of Spacer export products that Settlers were willing to buy. In reality, of course, the main purposes of his import-export business was to serve as a cover for all his other activities.

And it had led to his being selected to represent the combine of Spacer industrialists bidding on the Limbo Control System project. It was the single largest, and most complex, part of the reterraforming project. There was a Settler bid as well, of course. Whichever of the two sides won the job would win the lion’s share of all the work that followed. It was no small thing for Sero Phrost to be representing the home side in such things. It made him even more a man of influence and power.

But for all of that, Phrost was, first and last, a salesman. Like all good salesmen, he knew that what he was selling was himself. He counted himself exceedingly lucky that the passages of time had enhanced, rather than diminished, his marketability.

So he came to this party to be seen, to do some business, to forge a new alliance or two, to strengthen the old ones. And here was Tonya Welton.

“Good evening, Sero, “ she said.

“Good evening, Madame Welton,” Phrost replied. He took her hand and kissed it, a somewhat theatrical gesture, but one that he knew pleased her. “I’m glad to see you here.”

“And I you,” she replied. “The Governor needs all his friends around him tonight. ”

“So the Settlers are still supporting the Governor? In spite of this jurisdiction fight?”

“We do not support him in all things,” Welton replied, choosing her words carefully. “But we certainly are in favor of the general thrust of his program. Though we do feel it is best if we offer our support-quietly.”

“Your overt support not being the most useful thing the Governor could have at this point,” Phrost said, being deliberately blunt. Tonya Welton was a woman who played hard, and sometimes a little dirty. He knew she was not the sort who would respect the obsequious approach. He would have been quite prepared to use such a gambit if he thought it would work.

“No, I suppose not,” Tonya said, offering a smile remarkable in its transparent insincerity. “But your support for us, Sero. That is something I would like to be made much more public.”

Precisely the sort of feeler he had expected her to make. “We all must move carefully in these times,” Phrost said. “But yes, certainly, I do wish to work more closely with your people. I’ve done well selling Settler hardware to tide us over the robot shortage-selling it quietly-and I’d like to do better. But, frankly, open association with the Settlers could be a dangerous thing. One must balance risk and benefit.”

“‘Benefit,’ “ she said. “So we come to the point. What is it you want? What ‘benefit’ are you after?”

“What is it you want? What risk do you want me to take? I can’t name my price until I know what the service is to be,” Phrost said.

Welton hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “Visibility,” she said. “We have gone as far as we can working quietly. It’s all very well to do private sales of our machinery here and there, but it is not enough.”

“Enough for what purpose?” Phrost asked. “Enough to wean this planet away from robots? Do you plan to use commercial means to accomplish what diplomacy could not?” He had to tread carefully here. Visibility was the one thing he could not afford to offer. The moment his alliance with Welton and the Settlers became known, his equally profitable dealings with the Ironheads would be at an end.

“Our goals are not so grandiose,” Tonya replied. The words “not yet” were unspoken, but they were there for all of that. “We merely wish that Settler products-and thus, by extension. all things Settler-become more acceptable to the people of this world.”

“Forgive me,” Phrost replied, “but I still do not understand how or why making my part in all this more ‘visible’ is of any use to anyone. Do you wish me to endorse Settler products in some way? I can tell you that will be very little more than an elaborate way for me to commit suicide, certainly in a professional sense-and perhaps in a literal one as well.”

Tonya Welton seemed about to reply, but she was silenced by a new arrival to the conversation. Shelabas Quellam, President of the Legislative Council, was coming over. He was a short, somewhat overweight man who gave the quite accurate impression of being indecisive and easily led. “Good evening, Madame Welton. Hello, Sero. Consorting with the enemy, I see,” he said in an attempt at a jovial tone, though his rather high and squeaky voice could not quite bring it off.

“Good evening, Legislator Quellam. I would prefer to think of us as all being friends,” Tonya Welton replied, her voice cold and angry.

“Oh, dear,” Quellam said, realizing his attempt at humor had failed. “I assure you, Madame Welton, I spoke in jest. I intended no offense.”