“But I was Chief of Party!”

“No. I am Chief of Party. You are the science delegate on the advance team. Your sole function is to ensure that there are no inadvertent science and technology breeches during preparations to receive the Accession Delegation.”

“And to do that—”

“To do that, you look over Colchis Barthes’ shoulder during Library installation—though I daresay the man knows his job—and, as far as I care, give Quinn enough rope to hang.”

Renner rolled his eyes and waved the Quinn comment away, grunting. “Umph. Stay on point. Quinn’s mission is—to do what?”

“To set up extension offices in Bonneville.”

“Pending your full Science and Technology assessment?”

“Yes.”

“And so far as you know, that’s where Quinn’s gone?”

HG blustered. “Well, yes, but—”

“So, there’s no problem, then, right? You’ll just compare the pre- and post-assessments, and look for evidence of technology leaks.”

HG flushed, but did not answer. Horvath’s eyes flashed. Renner pounced. “You did do a pre-assessment in Bonneville?”

“Well, no, actually.” HG’s lips disappeared. He addressed his answer to Horvath, but glared sideways at Renner. “It’s not precisely easy to get there.”

“But your own report shows air, rail, and road lines-of-communication. Aside from the Lynx.”

“Road takes ten days. “Air” is the solar glider, and that takes four, weather allowing. The SunRail runs overnight, but—but…” He trailed off.

“But what?”

HG squirmed. “There are no sleeper cars. No berths. Just—seats. And I was told there could be bandits.”

Renner laughed. “Well, Horvath, you’ve got to hand it to Quinn, the fool who rushes in where Science and Technology fears to tread.”

Horvath was furious, grim. “Are you at least in communication with Barthes?”

HG shook his head. “No. I couldn’t even get through to you until I was well out of atmosphere. I had to use Naval communications. We’re close to the tramline opening, I think. I’m no astrophysicist, but I’m guessing that neutron star is getting close enough to suck matter off its mate. New Utah’s sun. And spitting it back out as RF energy. Or pulling sunspots from the sun. Or both. ” He glowered at Renner. “It’s touch-and-go even getting through to Bonneville from Saint George on anything but landline. Even then.”

Renner nodded. “That’s the old report. A good yellow star; a neutron companion in an eccentric orbit around their mutual center of mass. And the TC’s little secret was that every twenty-one years, they both swing in close enough to each other to open up the Alderson tram—”

Horvath cut in. “They have landline?”

“Oh, yes. Backup fiberoptic, you know. Especially out into more remote areas. Old mining camps and such. Simple emergency communications. Ancient, but they keep it patched together. But sometimes it’s so bad even that doesn’t work right. As far as contacting you, there’s just the one TCM satellite, but of course that’s even less reliable. Anyway, they control it, so I was hardly going to use it for classified communications. Even encrypted.”

Renner said nothing. Horvath became thoughtful. “OK, so you came back here to report. Damned waste of time, all this traveling. Still.” He sighed. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped. One way trip, and all that?”

“Yes, precisely. I think the mate’s exact words were: ‘On, or off, mister-bloody-scientist. This is a scheduled ferry, not a personal-bloody-chat line.’ So, I got on. And told Colchis to stay and keep an eye out for Quinn.”

Renner smiled. “Sounds like a business opportunity, that.” He knew he shouldn’t be goading HG, but it was just so easy to raise his hackles, he couldn’t quite resist. And he was gearing up to do Renner again for the crowd. “OK, let’s get the others in here. Sounds like opportunity’s knocking. That tramline opens, we need to be first through the door. Time to finalize the Accession Delegation.”

HG didn’t rise, though. Dry as dust, level as a playing field, finally, he looked directly at Renner. “And you, Sir Kevin, are involved in this process—because? I should have thought it was the Governor’s prerogative?”

Renner grinned. “Ah! Doctor Science Minister, didn’t you let him in on what good friends we’re all going to be?” He leaned forward, and dropped the grin. “Because I own—and pilot—the ship that’s bringing the delegation in. Because if it weren’t for her previous owner’s commitment to proper investigation, there’d be no New Utah, let alone a second Jackson delegation.”

Horvath sighed. “You really should know, I suppose. Sir Kevin and I go way back. I don’t like him—never did.” He didn’t even bother to look at Renner. For his part, far from flinching, Renner resumed grinning. “Before he died, Horace Hussein Bury detected certain financial—irregularities—in the system. Given the relative proximity to the blockade—”

His social failings aside, HG was not stupid. “—he suspected Motie involvement?”

Kevin nodded. “Feared, more like. Sent me in to check things out—”

“ His own initiative? His own expense?”

“Yes on both counts. Not that it constituted much of an expense for him—just let me finish!”

HG bit off his next word before it began; nodded; sat.

“I went down to Maxroy’s Purchase, and the whole damned planet was “gripping hand” this, and “gripping hand” that. Made me more than a little suspicious, and then I got mugged by some True Church goons when I tried to report in. Bury was ready to nuke New Utah and hand Maxroy’s Purchase off to the Empire for the Navy to deal with in an equally draconian fashion.”

Horvath was twiddling with his fingers, bored to death by Renner’s grandstanding. He’d heard this story at least a dozen times. But it was new to HG, who looked horrified.

“But wh—”

“Let me finish. So I went on a little hunting expedition. Got a nice double catch: one snow ghost; one secret spaceport under Hand Glacier. That’s when we copped to the periodic tramline. True Church was getting all primed to jump a big shipment in. Scared the crap out of ‘em. Told ‘em that if they didn’t prove to me, on the spot, that there was no Motie technology involved in any of it, and no Moties anywhere, Bury would turn New Utah into glass just to be on the safe side, and ask permission later. Which he would have done.”

HG was even more confused. He looked from Renner, to Horvath, to Renner, to Horvath, waiting for a volley of salvation.

Horvath sighed. “Now you see the earnestness of this mission. ”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry, but I just don’t—”

Horvath continued. “A little over thirty years ago—my God Kevin, has it been that long?—thirty years ago I was—about your age—and science minister for the Trans-Coal Sack sector. I was assigned to the First Contact mission.”

HG nodded vigorously. It had made Horvath famous. My God, the first scientist to have exclusive access to a newly discovered sentient civilization, with unimaginable technology and—

“Kevin here was sailing master on the MacArthur. We disagreed on just about everything to do with the Moties. Did. Disagree. Don’t now. Once we understood their phenomenal reproduction rates; their endless internecine warfare; their sheer capacity to overwhelm our own economies with their constant technological innovations—”

“Yes, yes, I know this. Everyone does. Every taxpayer does. The blockade is hideously expensive.”

“Yes, and hideously necessary. Even I have come to understand this. But even then, Bury was positively adamant.”

“Yes, yes, but since second contact and the C-L worm—”

“Now let me finish. Think about that. Horace Bury, Magnate of Imperial Autonetics, fully supported absolute blockade and a Motie technology import ban. He could have made—well, he already had made billions. Trillions maybe. But he saw the Moties as a direct, personal threat to the existence of humankind. After that, Bury made Kevin an offer he couldn’t refuse. Kevin signed on as Sinbad’s pilot.”