She chuckled and reached for her small evening bag. God, it felt good to be going somewhere besides to another floor fight! But the Corporate Worlds were on the defensive now. Now they were fighting to delay the vote, though she didn't really know what they hoped to achieve; delay only strengthened her hand at this point. No doubt they planned something devious, and equally no doubt Ladislaus or one of the others would figure it out if she didn't. But for now she felt younger than she had in weeks, and she looked forward eagerly to the night's entertainment. True, the thin Old Terran atmosphere detracted a bit from her enjoyment, but the strength of the performance more than compensated. Opera had been born on Old Terra, and in her opinion it still achieved its highest expression here.
She glanced into her bag at the chunky, snub-nosed two-millimeter needler and debated leaving it behind, for if it was small, it was still heavy. And it wasn't as if she were headed into the back islands. Granyork was the epicenter of the ultracivilized Heart Worlds. Still, she knew how Lad would react if she went unarmed . . . She sighed and closed the bag.
She keyed her bedside terminal and the screen lit briefly with an attention pattern, then with Ladislaus' face.
"All set, Lad," she told him cheerfully. "Would you have the car sent around, please?"
"Aye . . . if you're not leaving your little toy behind," he said suspiciously.
"Me?" She laughed and clunked the bag solidly against the terminal. "See, Daddy?"
"Laugh if you will," he said with a slight grin, "but I rest easier knowing you're armed, Fi."
"I know, Lad." She was touched by his use of her name, for Ladislaus was always careful to call her "Chief" to avoid any impression of taking advantage of their lifelong friendship. "I may think you're a little paranoid, but you're the man I chose for security chief. If you want me in a combat zoot with a grenade launcher, that's how I'll go."
"I know you mean it for a joke, but it's happier I'd be for it," he said, only half-humorously. "Still, it's the offalbirds are on the rocks the now, it's to be seeming. So go-have a good time, Chief!"
"Why, thank you, Lad," she cooed, batting her eyes. "I certainly shall." She touched the button again, and the terminal blanked.
Twenty minutes later, Ladislaus' terminal hummed once more, and he looked up from his report with a frown, for he'd left orders not to disturb him. Then he looked again, and his brow furrowed. It was an outside call on his priority number, and his eyes widened as he touched the acceptance key and Oskar Dieter's sweating face filled the screen.
"Please excuse the intrusion, Mister Skjorning!" Dieter took advantage of his shock, speaking quickly to wedge a toe in the door. "I had to call you. I have . . . have vitally important information for you."
"Do you, now?" Ladislaus' voice was cold, but his mind raced. Under Beaufort's code, Dieter no longer existed as far as he was concerned, and he could imagine nothing they might have to discuss. Yet the Corporate Worlder had to know he would feel that way, so it followed that there was something important here-but what?
"Yes. I-I don't know who else to give it to," Dieter sounded desperate, and Ladislaus suddenly noted how low-pitched his voice was. Was he afraid of being overheard?
"And what's that information to be?"
"B-before I say any more, you have to promise to keep its source confidential," Dieter said feverishly, wiping his brow.
"I'm to be but a simple fellow. What's-"
"Please, Mister Skjorning! You may have convinced the others-indeed, you play the part very well-but must we continue to pretend?"
Ladislaus' eyes narrowed. So a Corporate Worlder had finally bothered to pierce his mask. Yet it seemed Dieter had little interest in sharing his deductions with his fellows . . . not if he was honestly seeking to impart some sort of sensitive information. . . .
"All right, Mister Dieter," he said. "You have my word."
"Thank you, Mister Skjorning!" Dieter drooped with relief, yet now that he had Ladislaus' promise, he seemed to find it difficult to go on. Ladislaus could almost feel the painful physical effort with which he screwed up his courage.
"Mister Skjorning, I-I made a fool of myself the other night. I know it and you know it, but I swear to God I had no idea where it would lead!"
"What are you talking about?" Ladislaus' brows knitted. Could the man be drugging even now?
"I wrecked a lot of plans," Dieter said in a fast, frantic monotone. "I'm sure you know what I mean. But I never realized just how . . . how desperate some of my colleagues have become! They're going to kill her, Mister Skjorning!"
Dieter seemed to sag, as if simply voicing the words lifted a great weight from his shoulders, but Ladislaus was totally at a loss for an instant. Then it penetrated.
"Are you serious? They're going to assassinate Assemblywoman MacTaggart?!"
"Yes! That is-I think so." Dieter squirmed in fresh uncertainty. "All I really know is that there was a lot of talk. You know-hypothetical discussion about how 'convenient' it would be if something happened to her. I-I tried to oppose it, but I don't have the influence I had. . . ."
"Who's going to do it and when?" Ladislaus snapped.
"I'm not even positive they are going to do it," Dieter said anxiously. "I think . . . I think it's Francois Fouchet's project. I don't know when or how."
"Is that all you have for me?"
"Yes. Except . . . except Francois said something about how dangerous Granyork can be."
"My God!" Ladislaus paled and reached for the disconnect, then paused, his eyes on the wretched man before him. "Mister Dieter, I thank you. What was between us is no more."
Dieter's miserable expression lightened slightly as he recognized the formal renunciation of challenge.
"Thank you," he whispered. "And for God's sake, don't let them kill her! I never dreamed-" He stopped and chopped his hand at the pickup. For a moment, he became the man he once had been. "Enough! Protect her, Mister Skjorning. And tell her . . . tell her I'm sorry."
"I will. Good night."
Ladislaus cut the circuit and immediately punched for another, staring at his watch. With any luck and normal Granyork traffic, Fionna had not yet reached the Met.
"Goodness, Chris, I don't believe we've ever made such good time," Fionna remarked as the ground car slowed.
"I think you're right, Chief," the young security man agreed, his eyes flickering over the smartly dressed crowd before the opera house.
"Good. I hate finding my seat after the house lights go down."
Chris Felderman opened her door and she stepped out, picking her way through the crowd towards the huge front doors behind him.
"Stop, thief!"
Fionna and Felderman swung to face the shout as a running man suddenly burst from the crowd and snatched at the purse of the wife of Hangchow's chief delegate. His course carried him close to Fionna, and she punched her bodyguard's shoulder sharply.
"Stop him, Chris! That's Madam Wu's purse!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Felderman lunged after the thief, his long legs gaining ground quickly, and Fionna watched for an instant, then felt something like a chill on the nape of her neck. She turned, and her eyes widened as she saw two men approaching her. She'd never seen them before, but something in their purposeful expressions woke a warning deep inside her. She felt an instant of helpless panic as a terrible premonition struck-replaced in an instant with icy calm.
She knew better than to turn and run. There was no time to resummon Chris. The thoughts flicked through her brain like lightning, yet her reactions were even faster. Her hand darted into her bag. Her fingers found the butt of the needler. She didn't try to draw the weapon; she simply raised the bag and pistol together.
The killers were from the world of Shiloh. They hadn't expected their target to be armed; still less had they allowed for the reaction speed a high-grav planet instills. But they could not mistake her movements, and they were the best money could buy.