check on it as soon as we’re finished here.”
“I think we’re finished. Oh—what about Sujata?”
“I haven’t been able to see her.” Farlad held up his hands as though to fend off criticism. “Not my fault. She hasn’t been in her office since midday yesterday. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have something new to tell you about her. I’m not sure that it’ll be of any practical value, but let me tell you what’s been occupying her…”
Felithe Berberon frowned to himself and stared down at the hallway floor as he waited, listening to the chimes sound on the far side of the apartment door. Why did the Chancellor want to see me here? he wondered. The last time I was here was the party Chancellor Delkes threw after resigning—was that seven years ago or eight?
The soft whir of the security camera brought his head up again, and he flashed a vacant smile in its direction. A moment later the lock unlatched with a buzz, and Berberon stepped forward and into the apartment.
Inside, it was about as he had expected, considering the personality of its occupant: elegant, practical, uncrowded. Unlike some of her predecessors, the Chancellor clearly maintained the suite as a comfortable retreat, not a showplace for entertaining. Other than the sheer size of the suite, the only real touch of luxury was the viewpit, with its cushion sculpture and floor-to-ceiling windows, which occupied the far end of the rectangular greatroom. Arvade had that installed , he recalled fondly. I was young enough to enjoy it then .
“Hello, Felithe,” said Chancellor Blythe Erickson as she crossed the greatroom toward him, her white silk caftan flowing gracefully with her strides. She locked fingers with him in the formal greeting that said “equal,” stepped close to brush her cheek against his in a gesture that amended it to “friend,“then turned away.
“Thank you for coming up tonight,” she said, recrossing the room and retrieving a glass half filled with ice and an amber liquid.
“Is there enough of that for two?”
She gestured at the bar. “You’re welcome to choice of the house, so long as you promise not to compromise your judgment. I need you at your best tonight.”
Berberon smiled. “Since alcohol works only on the higher brain functions, I am hardly in any danger.”
“You are immodest in your modesty.” Pausing, she stared through the bottom of her glass at the floor. “Felithe, I’m about to tell you some things you are not supposed to know, because I need to ask your opinion. Do you have any objection to my doing that?”
“No—except it may not be necessary. I find I know many things I am not supposed to know.”
“Does the catalog include something called Triad?”
“A rather large entry, I am embarrassed to admit.”
Erickson shook her head and smiled wryly. “I might have expected it. You always know things that no one else does.”
He bowed in mock ceremony. “One of the few and decidedly minor compensations for having been here thirty-five years.”
With her drink replenished and his drawn fresh, they settled in the viewpit. The Chancellor settled gracefully on the padded floor near the center window, knees together and bare feet tucked beneath her. Berberon sat uncomfortably cross-legged opposite her.
“How can I help you, Blythe?”
“I believe that Wells is planning to bring the Triad proposal before the Committee tomorrow.”
That rumor was not meant for your ears, Berberon thought. Someone has been indiscreet. “I would not be surprised if that were true,” he said, nodding.
“Do you know how the vote will go?”
“How can I say, Madame Chancellor? I am only an Observer, not a Director. I cannot even vote myself.”
“Now you dissemble too much. Surely you have a sense of their leanings—”
“No better or worse than your own.” He hesitated, then added, “I must tell you that when it happens, tomorrow or another day, I will myself speak in