Still he watches her, fierce intelligence afire within the gold-flecked brown eyes. “The police?” he says. “Were they after you?”

“Yes,” she says, then, “No. Maybe.” She shrugs. “They knew I was a part of it somehow, but I don’t know if they could prove it. They had me under surveillance.”

“You got away without trouble?” “I got away.” She hesitates. “I had some help. I think. It was easier than I expected.”

“What of your young man? Gil?”

She straightens her shoulders, steels herself against the threat of sorrow. “Over,” she says.

“And your job at the Plasm Authority?”

“I wired them and told them I was taking time off.” She shrugs. “I don’t know why I didn’t resign outright.”

There is amusement in his glance. “You are cautious, Miss Aiah. Wise of you, not to quit until you discover if you have a new job waiting.”

She looks at him. “And do I?”

“I think I have one that will suit your talents.” He puts his hands in his jacket pockets and begins to prowl around the table, his restless movement an accompaniment to the uneasy movement of his thought.

“You know that the last government was worse than bad,” he says. “They were corrupt beyond… beyond reason.” He waves a big hand. “Even granted that they were thieves, that they wanted only enrichment and perquisites… the scope of larceny that they permitted, against their own metropolis, was irrational. The amount of plasm stolen is staggering. It constituted a vast plundering of their own power, a threat to the security of their own state of which they seemed unaware. Well.” He plants a fist on the table and looks at Aiah with a defiant glare. “Well, / am not so blind, not so unaware. The theft of this most singular public resource must stop. But what force do I have to enforce any new edicts—or even the old ones?”

He shrugs, adjusts the position of one of the gold ashtrays, begins to pace again.