Marta suspected that Parsons understood most of the advanced technology she had shown him in this underground laboratory. He was also a master of personal relations. The brief exchange at the landing field with her and Dr. Chin had finalized arrangements for this more protracted meeting in a few seconds.

Why? Marta wondered. Mirach technology must seem primitive to someone of Parsons’ stature in the Prefecture. She had to play out the charade until he revealed his reasons for coming to the AWC facilities.

“That’s right,” she said. “The advantage of putting our stations on the moons is that their bulk provides shielding against solar flares. We can use off-the-shelf equipment and don’t need to do extensive design work,” she said. “Would you like to see some of our bolder research projects?” She half turned and saw Parsons had not budged.

“No, Ms. Kinsolving, I don’t think so.”

“If you are overtired from the Legate’s military demonstrations this morning we can—”

“I’ve asked other leaders of the MBA to join us,” he said flatly, without the flowery language he normally used. “I trust I did not overstep my welcome.”

“No, I don’t mind. How much time have you allotted us? Are you on a tight schedule?” she asked.

“Very,” Parsons said. He pushed back the billowy sleeve of his informal shirt and peered at his watch. “They ought to arrive about now. Will you see that they are escorted here? Or do they have standing clearances?”

“My security chief—” Marta started. She stopped in midsentence when she saw Ryumin ushering Chin and Nagursky into the lab.

“What’s this about?” demanded Benton Nagursky in his gruff voice. “I’m no errand boy to be ordered about.”

“Your Excellency,” said Dr. Chin, bowing slightly. “Please excuse our colleague. Mr. Nagursky deals with constant strife at his facilities and it shortens his temper.”

Parsons looked questioningly at Marta.

“No one can eavesdrop on us here,” she said, guessing his concern. “My best scientists and technicians certify it once a week and also at random intervals.”

“What’s your business with us?” Nagursky asked bluntly. He was a gruff, intemperate man who looked as if he labored alongside his miners, but he had the golden touch when it came to finances. Nagursky had built a banking empire, then abandoned it to begin what his advisers told him was financial suicide. His rare-earths mining concern had multiplied his fortune a hundred times over. No electronics device on Mirach—or a half dozen other worlds—could be made without the precious elements dug from the ground by the vertically integrated Nagursky Enterprises.

The company owned everything from the claims themselves to the rugged MiningMechs all the way through the smelters to the sales force responsible for getting the best price possible for the rare earths, both on Mirach and beyond.

Marta saw how amused Parsons was by Nagursky’s manner. Considering how his morning must have gone with the Legate, such crustiness might be refreshing. She hoped so. Everything about Parsons spoke of a mission—and not one devoted to woolgathering.

“The Lord Governor strives to learn the concerns of all citizens throughout the Prefecture,” Parsons said obliquely. He folded his hands on his paunch and smiled like a Buddha, but there was nothing serene in the man’s sharp, bright eyes.

“Marta, I’ve got no time for this kind of chatter. I got miner strikes in Ventrale threatening to spread back closer to home.” Nagursky eyed Envoy Parsons with distaste. Nagursky was everything Parsons was not. Dressed as roughly as any of his mining engineers piloting their ’Mechs underground, Nagursky obviously had little appreciation for the finely tailored clothing Jerome Parsons favored. Where Parsons was stout, Nagursky was heavily muscled. Parsons’ green eyes met Nagursky’s earth brown ones. Neither man blinked.

“You fear attack? From the crowds of the disaffected? Or some less tangible but still potent force?” asked Parsons.

“Since you let the net go down, we don’t know which end’s up,” Nagursky said with his characteristic lack of diplomacy. “Get to the point. I’ve got a business to run and so do Ms. Kinsolving and Dr. Chin.”

“My time is limited,” Parsons said, sounding more like Nagursky than a diplomat now. “My immediate mission is to listen.”

“Say again?” demanded Nagursky. “You want me to shout at you?”

“If you wish, if that’s the way you can best express your problems and how the Lord Governor might solve them,” Parsons said. He settled down in a chair at a large table and leaned back slightly, folding his hands on his belly. His eyelids drooped slightly, and it looked as if he might go to sleep. But Marta thought the reverse was about to occur. Parsons was going to remember every word, every nuance, and every single twitch anyone made in the room as if it had been digitally recorded.

“You want to hear what I got to say about the mining business?” Nagursky asked belligerently. Parsons nodded slightly.

Ben Nagursky launched into a detailed description of trade restrictions between Mirach and other worlds in the Prefecture, all engendered by fear. Other planets erected trade barriers because of the loss of communication. Increased JumpShips meant increased risk from invasion, so every planet restricted travel to the detriment of free trade. He went on to describe the economic woes of Mirach and how Sandoval could alleviate them.

Marta listened to Nagursky’s tirade with half an ear. She had heard it all before and agreed. She was more interested in studying Parsons. The man bobbed his head now and then, encouraging the MBA director to continue until he sat breathless. Then Parsons urged Dr. Chin to give an overview of food production on Mirach and the impact of the HPG failure on his research.

“So, Your Excellency,” Marta said when Boris Chin had said his piece, “how will the Lord Governor aid us? How will he aid Mirach?”

“I am pleased to hear that you do not consider them one and the same, Ms. Kinsolving,” Parsons said. “Too many business leaders think their world’s destiny is inextricable from their own. I am especially interested to see that you defend your own corporate interests—”

“Those of the MBA members, too,” cut in Nagursky. “We’re allied for a reason. One for all, all for one.”

“How noble,” Parsons said dryly. “I see you will defend your collective corporations but do not seem inclined to seize power from the Governor to further your fortunes.”

“Our security guards are no match for the Legate’s forces,” Nagursky said.

“Don’t think me a fool, sir,” Parsons said. “Each of your three corporations has an IndustrialMech being refitted. While you are correct that they might not prevail, even one modified ’Mech would wreak massive destruction. You know their capabilities. You’ve got three in your MBA arsenal.”

“Four,” Marta said, seeing no reason to lie and wondering how much more he knew.

Parsons hesitated, then reached into a pocket. His eyebrows rose slightly as he studied a small paging device. He tucked it back into his pocket.

Marta’s heart leaped into her throat. No signal should have penetrated to this Faraday-caged, comm-protected underground room.

“The Legate has invited me to a war game tomorrow, an exercise pitting his best unit against the Governor’s First Cossack Lancers. All in good fun, I am sure,” Parsons said in his ironically understated manner. “I will be in a better position to make recommendations after I view this military drill.”

Jerome Parsons rose, bowed in turn to Chin, Nagursky, and Marta, then asked her, “Would you be so kind as to escort me to where your security chief pummels my staff with questions?”

“Who’re you making your recommendations to?” blurted Nagursky.

Parsons faced him, smiled slightly, then said, “To those in the best position to aid you. Good day, sir.”