"Nothing. You know where to land?"

"They're telling me yet again. Black water, just ahead of us. We'll come down outside the harbor and spiral in like a big boat. I wonder where they'd put me down on a rough day"

Bury said nothing for a bit. Then, "On Sparta I am a second class citizen. Only here, but forever. Department-store clerks will serve me, and I can bribe a headwaiter and hire my own car. But there are parts of Sparta I may never see, and on the slidewalks…"

"You're getting mad before anyone's insulted you. Oh, well, why wait till the last minute?"

"I've been to Sparta before. Why in Allah's Merciful Name couldn't Cunningham see me today?"

"Maybe he thinks he's giving you a day's rest."

"He's making me wait. Damn him. My superior. Bless you for not using that word, Ruth, but I knew what you were thinking."

Ruth said, "It's a technical term."

"Of course."

On Serpens the flat land had been occupied long ago, as farmland or baronial estates. New buildings such as the Imperial Plaza Hotel tended to cling to the sides of cliffs. The Plaza stood eighty stories tall on the low side, sixty-six on the high.

Bury's agent had rented the lowest of the suites, the seventy-first floor. It had been fully furnished, and servants were in residence; but only two were awake when they arrived.

Through the picture wall they could see a vastness of sea and islands and a hundred shapes of boats and ships, and Sparta's gross red sun easing clear of the water. It was five in the morning of a twenty-hour day. By ship's time it was close to noon. "I feel like a serious breakfast," Renner said. "Coffee. Real cream, not protocarb milk. Restaurant probably isn't open, though."

Bury smiled. "Nabil-"

The kitchen staff had to be awakened. Breakfast took over an hour to appear, while they emptied their suitcases and settled in. Lots of luggage. No telling how long they would be on Sparta. How persuasive would Bury need to be?

Maniac. But was he wrong? It might be vital that a Master Trader send himself to inspect the Crazy Eddie Fleet on patrol at Murcheson's Eye. But if the Secret Service wanted something else from him... well, they had something on Bury. Probably something political.

They'd all learn tomorrow.

"Every little boy and girl wants to see Sparta," Renner told Ruth.

"What do we want to see first?"

Bury said, "The Institute doesn't open until noon. We'll have four hours to play in, I think. I expect I'll drop in at the Traders Guild and make some waves. Ah, here's Nabil."

Breakfast featured two species of eggs and four varieties of sausage and two liters of milk. The fruits all looked familiar. So did the eggs: chicken and quail. Life on Sparta (Renner now remembered reading) had never really conquered the land. There wasn't enough land to make it cost-effective. The planet had been seeded with a variety of Terran wildlife, and an ecology established itself with little native competition.

"They eat two meals on Sparta, breakfast and dinner. We should eat our fill," Bury told them.

"The milk's a little odd," Ruth said.

"Different cows eating different grass. Mark of authenticity, Ruth. Protocarb milk always tastes the same, every ship in the universe."

"Honestly, Kevin, I like protocarb milk."

The coffeepot was tall and bulbous. Bury looked underneath it. "Wideawake Enterprise," he said.

"You don't sound happy about it," Ruth Cohen said.

"Motie technology," Renner said. "Probably common here."

"Very common here," Bury said. "Nabil, do we have a computer?"

"Yes, Excellency. The call name is Horvendile."

"Horvendile, this is Bury."

"Confirm," a contralto voice said from the ceiling.

"Horvendile, this is His Excellency Bury," Nabil said.

"Accepted. Welcome to the Imperial Plaza, Your Excellency."

"Horvendile, phone Jacob Buckman, astronomer, associated with the University."

A moment passed. Then a somewhat waspish voice said, "This is Jacob Buckman's auxiliary brain. Dr. Buckman is asleep. Your Excellency, he thanks you for the gifts. Is there sufficient urgency to wake him?"

"No. I am at the Imperial Plaza and will be on Sparta for a week. I would like an appointment when convenient. Social hours."

"Dr. Buckman has meetings Wednesday afternoon and evening, and nothing else."

"I suggest Thursday afternoon and dinner Thursday night."

"I will tell him. Do you wish to record a message?"

"Yes. Jacob, I'd like to see you before one of us dies of old age and sloppy medical techniques. I told your machine Thursday, but any time will do. Message ends."

"Is there anything else?" Buckman's voice asked.

"Thank you, no."

"I will inform Horvendile when the appointment is confirmed. Good day."

"Horvendile."

"Your Excellency."

"Appointment with Dr. Jacob Buckman at his convenience, highest social priority."

"Acknowledged."

"Thank you, Horvendile. Now get me an appointment with the president of the Traders Guild."

The contralto voice said, "That is His Excellency Benjamin Sergei Sachs, chairman of Union Express. When did you wish to see him?"

"As soon as possible."

There was a pause. "His computer reports this morning is free. Shall I ask for an immediate appointment?"

"Yes, Horvendile." Bury sipped coffee. "Where will you go?"

Renner shrugged. "Doubtless we'll think of something. Are you sure you'll be able to see the president of the ITA on such short notice?"

Bury's smile was thin. "Kevin, I control seven seats on the board. Not a majority, but more than enough to veto a candidate for president. Yes, I think Ben Sachs will see me."

"His Excellency will be delighted to see you at any time, Your Excellency," the ceiling said. "If you wish, he will send a limousine."

"Please ask him to do so. Thank you, Horvendile."

The exterior facade of the clubrooms of the Imperial Traders Association alternated phases of opulent ostentation and quiet elegance, It had recently been redecorated in plain white marble. The severe lines extended into the lobby, but beyond the Members' door were the familiar walnut-paneled walls and original oil paintings Bury remembered from the last time he was there.

The President was waiting for him in a private conference room and stood when Bury drove his travel chair into the room. He was a large man, impeccably dressed in a dark tunic and matching trousers. A yellow sash broke the monotony of colors. Excellency. Good to see you. All well, I take it?" -

"Yes, thank you, Your Excellency. And yourself? Splendid."

Bury indicated his travel chair. "Sparta gravity."

"Of course. Some days I wouldn't mind getting around in a travel chair myself. What can I do for you, Excellency?"

"Thank you, nothing. I have only come to see my colleagues and enjoy my club."

"I'm glad you can find the time. But if there is anything at all we can do..."

"Well, perhaps there is a small favor you could do for me."

"Your Excellency has only to name it."

"How well do we get along with the government this year?"

Sachs shrugged. "Probably as well as we ever do. Of course they will never love us."

"It may be that you could help me. I wish to visit the blockade fleet off Murcheson's Eye."

Sachs's eyes widened. "The Navy has never been fond of us."

Bury snorted. "They hate us."

"Many do."

"I hope to persuade the Navy," Bury said. "What I must be sure of is expeditious service from the bureaucracy when I need the formal documents."

Sachs grinned broadly. Clearly he had been expecting a more difficult task. "Ah. That should be no problem. Your Excellency, I think you should meet the Honorable George Hoskins, our Vice President for Public Affairs."