“Very well.” She gave O'Hagen a disapproving look. “I'm not sure I should be endorsing this kind of action.”

“Jane, neither of us is getting any younger. If Firedrake works out the way we expect we'll have a decent nest-egg to sell to some kombinate or media prince. Hell, even Richard here might buy me out.”

“Let's take it one step at a time, shall we,” Richard said. “If I could see the accounts.”

With one last reluctant look at O'Hagen, Mrs. Adams handed Richard a pair of memox crystals. “They're completely up to date,” she said.

He put the first crystal into the slot on his cybofax and began scrolling down the columns of figures. O'Hagen had been optimistic rather than honest when he said the company's turnover was 70,000. This year was barely over sixty, and the year before scraped in at fifty. But it was an upward trend.

“I've already identified several new software products I'd like Firedrake to promote,” O'Hagen was saying. “I should be able to sign exclusivity rights for the English market on the back of this expansion project.”

“May I see the painting, please?” Richard asked.

“Sure.” O'Hagen picked up a slim kelpboard-wrapped package from behind his desk. Richard had been expecting something larger. This was barely forty centimeters high, thirty wide. He slipped the thin kelpboard from the front. “What is it?” he asked. The painting was mostly sky sliced by a line of white cloud, with the mound of a hill rising out of the lower right corner. Hanging in the air like some bizarre obsidian dagger was an alien spaceship, or possibly an airborne neolithic monument.

“View of a Hill and Clouds,” O'Hagen said contentedly. “Remarkable, isn't it? It's from McCarthy's earlier phase, before he moved from oils to refractive sculpting.”

“I see.” Richard pulled the kelpboard wrapping back on. “I'd like to get it valued.”

“Of course.” O'Hagen smiled.