Mark Tiedemann - Mirage

Lanra was nodding sympathetically. "We're too parochial here, we don't see things in terms of entire star systems and trade routes extending dozens of light years," he said, following her thoughts. "It's too much to take in. We're willing to believe the official numbers because we can't imagine past them."

"So how have you managed it?"

"Not easily, I'll tell you. Looms has been wanting it exposed for a long time. It's one more reason, he says, that we don't just turn our backs on space and be done with it. But letting people know how much money can be made at something… that's not always the best way to convince them to leave it alone. So he's been waiting and paying attention. He's got a big file on it."

"Does he have a favorite suspect?"

"No one person could do this. It has to be a consortium, and not just of Terrans."

"Spacers?"

Lanra nodded. "And a few Settlers. "

"The Settler representative-" Mia began.

"The Settlers are getting the worst end of the whole enterprise. A lot of Settler colonies have a real start -over-from-scratch attitude and set up their charters to limit trade with Earth. They aren't well disposed to deal with Spacers, either. As a consequence, a lot of Settler Worlds are austere. The black market for them is like a drug-people buying stuff that doesn't even exist on the open market. It also makes them an easy scapegoat. Most of us believed that the pirates were Settlers."

"You don't think so?"

"A few individuals, I'm sure. Have to have agents on the ground for something like this. But state sanctioned? No."

"How do explain the fact that not one member of DyNan's party was injured?"

"What better way to paint us the villain? It's simple, clear, obvious-all it takes is for someone to point out the fact at the right time in the right way."

"It's too obvious," Mia said.

"For who? You, maybe. A judge? Does it matter? This will be a political trial. It's not too simple for the masses and it has the added benefit of discrediting anything Looms might reveal about the black market before he can say word one."

"You're a cynical one."

Lanra nodded. "I've learned that expediency is the only constant. When you live like that it's easy to lose faith in anything else."

"I don't suppose you have any proof of any of this?"

Lanra pursed his lips. "What is it you're trying to do, Mia? You're supposed to be dead. What can you do?"

"I'm… trying to find out who set us up."

"Someone on the inside, obviously. Do you have a name?"

"Cupra and Gambel."

Lanra's eyes widened briefly. "Well, well. Three surprises in less than a day."

"I don't know them."

"Service all the way. If they're involved, you can be certain someone higher up is, too. I can't imagine them doing this on their own." He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a disk. He slid it toward her. "This is a synopsis of my conclusion from the last three years. My logic trees, my numbers, guesses. I"

He glanced at his desk top and scowled. "Time's up. You need to leave. Now."

"One more question. ",

Lanra glanced nervously at his desktop. "Quick."

"The guns, the assassins. I need a name, a supplier."

"Look at Kynig Parapoyos. Now you have to leave."

Mia tucked the disk inside her jacket and stood. She looked at Lanra an extra moment-an exchange of sympathies, a way of acknowledging a debt without saying anything -then hurried out of his office. running chameleon program, tactical parameters imitate severe motive impairment, isolate memory node to selective disclosure pending coded release, proceed to predetermined retrieval point, avoid undesignated humans, defensive protocols at minimum, corridor uninhabited, continuing continuing continuing, designated humans approaching, two, both armed, assuming wide field, defensive posture "I thought it was vaporized?"

"Well, it's tougher than we thought. Look at it, though-it hasn't worn well."

"Bogard, confirm command recognition, Agent Gambel." processing command recognition, partially impaired protocol, response limited, confirmed voice recognition "c-con-confirrrr-con-firm…"

"Oh, that's good, he'll love this. Listen to it."

"Knock it off. That device should have rendered it down to its component molecules. It's still walking around."

"I'm impressed. Can you imagine body armor made out of this stuff? Bogard, command imperative established, Agent Gambel and Agent Cupra. Confirm?"

"…con-firrrrm-ed…"

"Bogard, you will accompany us. We are your field retrieval. Confirmed?"

"… field… re-field-retrieve-field…"

"Confirm, Bogard."

"Con-firrrmed-field retrie-retrieval."

"Great. Come with us, now, Bogard. We're going to take you back to headquarters for debriefing."

"De-de-debrief-retrieve-rebrief-"

"This is going to be a nightmare."

"Just so long as what we see is what we get, I don't care. Bogard, come with us." command recognition confirmed, Cupra Gambel, initiate secondary protocol, conform to request "That's good, Bogard. Come with us. Everything will be just fine. We have a lot to talk about."

Imbitek occupied a good portion of the Navy District. Derec had heard stories that its manufacturing facilities went all the way down to the ancient Anacostia River, although these in D. C. were not Imbitek's main works. The largest plant was somewhere on the other side of the globe, near Kiev Sector.

Derec entered a high archway into a maze of walkways that wound among the offices. The entrance lay on the opposite side of a large fountain. A series of canopies at various heights obscured the towering bulk of Imbitek while letting light diffuse delicately onto the corporate mall. The result was an impression of Imbitek as warm, considerate, and human-scaled, most of it hidden from sight, like its products.

He walked through the broad doors and up to the reception desk.

"Derec Avery to see Mr. Mikels."

"You're expected, Mr. Avery," the receptionist told him. "Please wait a moment and I'll have someone take you up."

Another woman arrived, smiled pleasantly, and asked him to follow her.

Behind the reception area, they entered a wide hallway lined by doors. Derec was led to one at the far end. His guide pressed a contact and waited. The door opened and she waved him into the small cubicle.

"This will take you directly to Mr. Mikels' offices, Mr. Avery. He's looking forward to meeting you."

"Thank you."

Derec stepped into the cubicle. A bench hung from one wall. The door closed and he felt only the briefest of movements. A few seconds later, the door opened again to admit him into a spacious office.

Alda Mikels stood before an immense desk, smiling. He was a broadshouldered man, slightly shorter than Derec, with a thick mane of nearly-white hair. His eyes were a muddy brown and he tended toward overweight, though his tailored dark suit hid it well.

"Mr. Avery."

"Mr. Mikels."

"My apologies for the way my man Kusk brushed you off. We were rude. I am sorry."

"Contract restrictions often leave little room for cordiality, sir. Don't worry about."

Mikels laughed, a deep, pleasant sound. It could be easy to like this man. "Nevertheless, I wanted to make amends. Thank you for coming. Can I get you anything? A drink?"

"Water would be fine, thank you."

Alda Mikels gestured to the opposite end of the office where a bar covered most of one wall. It was not the kind of office where work got done, at least not the hands-on sort Derec thought of as work. He imagined meetings here, drinks or smokes offered, and talk designed to prepare the way for work. Clients met Mikels here, if they were important enough, and perhaps enemies as well. Derec wondered in which category Mikels placed him.