Meredith turned back to her with a wry smile. "I think you've been our trade rep too long—you're getting entirely too good at this sort of bargaining." He pursed his lips. "All right," he said slowly. "As a matter of fact … yes, let's do it. We'll take them in to see it tomorrow morning; no word to either until then, understand?"

"Yes, sir—and thank you. I know you wanted to keep the ship secret, but I really think this is the only solution."

For a moment an odd look passed across his face … and then he again smiled faintly. "Yes. I think you're right."

Nodding, he turned and left. Strange sort of comment, Carmen thought as she headed toward the cavern exit. But she quickly put it out of her mind. So far, certainly, Meredith had proved he generally knew what he was doing.

"A Spinner spaceship."

Msuya made no attempt to hide his satisfaction as he repeated Ermakov's words aloud. At last—at long last—he had the key that would bring him the political power he desired even as he crushed Meredith down into final humiliation and defeat. "Is it operational?"

"Williams didn't know, but it's obvious Meredith thinks so," the Russian's voice came from the speaker on the control panel. "She was shown the craft for the first time only two days ago."

"And she'll be working with the others until all the systems are deciphered?"

"She didn't say." Ermakov hesitated. "I think it would be wise to provide her with a new radio, if that can be arranged. She's been rather cool toward me ever since Dunlop's fiasco."

"Did you explain the radio in her tape player had been autovaporized and that there was no way Meredith could connect her with the revolt?"

"As a matter of fact," the other said dryly, "I believe it's the revolt itself that has annoyed her. Perhaps a small talk with her would remind her of her responsibility to the UN."

Msuya smiled to himself. Ermakov probably saw his own duty on Astra as furthering the goals of Mother Russia, with his UN allegiance a convenient facade. Old habits die slowly, he thought, but the Soviets too will learn not to trifle with us. "You may inform Dr. Williams that there is a backup radio built into her hair dryer," he told Ermakov. "Assembly and use are as she learned in her training. I will expect her to resume her normal contacts with me."

There was a short silence from the other end: Ermakov, Msuya decided, wondering if a second radio had also been planted on him … and wondering perhaps what else might be in his belongings. Msuya's smile widened; these operations always ran more smoothly when the carrot of greed was accompanied by the stick of fear. "I'll tell her," the Russian said at last.

"Good. Then let me hear your own report."

He listened with half an ear as Ermakov plunged into the arcane language of electronics, knowing the recorder would save the details for later scrutiny by the Trygve Lie's experts. Little was new; that much even his layman's ear could tell.

Still, a breakthrough could always occur, so when the Russian had finished he avoided criticizing the lack of progress. Instead, he merely thanked the other and signed off.

Afterward, he gazed for several moments out the porthole, watching Astra and the stars tumble by and savoring the news. At last—a piece of the alien technology that was self-contained and movable. A better chance to break Meredith's monopoly would be hard to find … and Msuya had no intention of letting the opportunity pass. As soon as Williams learned how the lifeboat worked, he would find a way to steal it.

Glancing at the room's clock, he rang the galley and ordered another pot of tea. It would be ten more minutes before the Indian computer man—Udani—was due to report in.

Meredith read the report through twice, feeling the tightening of his stomach muscles that had become almost as common as inhaling for him. The bombshell he'd known was coming had done so … and at the worst time he could have imagined. Flicking the page from his screen back to the secure file, he muttered a curse and leaned back, gazing at the snow outside his window.

The timing was ultimately his own fault, of course, which was probably what rankled the most. Carmen had originally suggested Council terms of one year; it had been his idea to cut that to six months. At the time it had seemed harmless enough … but at the time there'd been no Spinneret and no Spinneret profits. Or hot debate as to what to do with them.

The real problem was that both of the main factions had reasonable positions, a fact that made Meredith's job as ultimate decision maker all the stickier. Perez, as usual, was pushing for immediate—if somewhat selective—immigration, arguing that while trapped in unfair sociopolitical systems the poor of Earth had no chance to improve themselves, no matter how much aid was given them. On the other hand, the group adopting Hafner's "In Loco option" pointed out the vulnerability of the Spinneret to takeover and possibly sabotage, and claimed to have developed a method by which unfair Third World governments could be successfully bypassed in giving assistance to their people. With Hafner on his crutches as their symbol and most credible spokesman, they were successfully cultivating the xenophobia that had simmered at a low level ever since the UN had tried to take over back in August. With only three weeks left before the election, the campaigning was beginning to get uncomfortably warm … and relationships between the five supervisors increasingly strained.

And now this.

Raising his wrist, Meredith punched Carmen's number into his phone. There was no answer; disconnecting, he keyed for the Spinner cavern duty officer and left a message. Then, pulling his chair up to the desk again, he called up the main supply inventory and started to assemble the equipment he half hoped he wouldn't be needing.

He'd finished that job and was busy typing in a detailed interim instruction list when Carmen arrived. "You wanted to see me?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

"Yes." Meredith waved to a seat. "I need the lifeboat ready to fly before morning.

Can it be done?"

Carmen froze halfway down to the chair seat, her eyes widening. "By morning!"

"Yes. You know how to handle it yet?"

Slowly, she sank the rest of the way to the chair, expelling a breath through pursed lips. "I don't know what to say. Yes, we've got all the controls relabled, and the operating manual we found on the computer makes the thing sound absurdly easy to run. But there's no way to check the engines or other gear until we understand how they work, and that's a long way in the future."

Meredith nodded. "It's a risk we'll have to take—though given the Spinneret's performance record I think it's a pretty safe one. All right. I want you, Dr. Hafner, and Dr. Williams to go back in there immediately, do all the checking you can and try to figure out the launch sequence. You said once that the navigation system was designed for children—does that still hold?"

She nodded. "The computer displays your choices on a map and all you have to do is indicate which one you want. The selection's sort of odd; it includes only a few of the stars shown, but all of them are listed as being only five to fifteen days'

flight away."

"Maybe it only lists the places emergency facilities were available," Meredith grunted. "All right. I'll be there sometime tonight with the supplies we'll need and our other passenger."

"Yes, sir." Her tongue flicked across her lips. "Uh … may I ask … what's going on?"

Meredith sighed. "What's going on is the collision of three major events: the upcoming elections, the discovery of that Spinner lifeboat"—he hesitated—"and the cracking of the Gorgon's Head security system this morning."