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the immediate universe—the one in direct contact with the ondat, who could still, in a mis-understanding, devastate human civilization—meant that Concord’s governor most often rode through governmental changes untouched, no matter what craziness—even minor wars—convulsed and overthrew the Inner Worlds.
    As for the arena controversy, and all of local politics—silly small issues obsessed Concord’s local news services precisely because Concord had no close connection with events outside its own perimeter. That insularity was why a stupid social tempest in the sports club blew all out of proportion and bounced through every governmental department. It was why the president of Concord Bank and Trust, Lyle Nazrani, had fired the head of the CB&T’s corporate finance department, and then was all over the media in a campaign of high-profile interviews laced with innuendo.
    Stupidity. Lyle Nazrani might even try to lodge charges, but 2 8 • C . J . C h e r r y h
    Earth wouldn’t give a damn about the luxury seating in the arena or the ownership of the suppliers. It would never question the finance: more to the point, Lyle Nazrani, colony-born, didn’t have the personal connections on Earth to make that issue a threat. The ship had certainly stirred the local rumor mill, made a major to-do in the media, and unsettled the markets. That was the sort of col-lateral damage this ship could produce just by its appearance, trouble for him to deal with long after it left with its own business settled. But of all possibilities, Lyle Nazrani’s political ambition surely wasn’t why they were here.
    One surety was that if this off-schedule visit had disturbed the ondat, that was a problem with far-reaching repercussions, a problem that concerned more than Earth’s authorities. Foreseeing uneasiness in the Outsider offices, he sent Chairman Brazis one very short message; in effect, call me, stat .
    He had answered Kekellen, sent a message to the inbound ship, and invited consultation with Brazis. Now he had to feed something out to the news services, whose initial clamor for interviews had now devolved to half-wit speculations on the incoming ship.
    So-named well-placed sources had leapt up to recall every forgotten piece of business in his administration and the prior administration that might be at issue—including the construction of the new station and the sports arena, damn them one and all. One news broker in particular he had marked for his personal wrath when all this blew over. And the news had to be diverted. Given something else to cover. Some other headline. We have sent a welcome to the inbound ship, and anticipate a constructive meeting: constructive was a good, a positive word. Let the commentators gnaw on that one. He sat at the center of an informational web and managed it as skillfully as he could.
    He’d stayed at his desk, he’d ordered supper and now breakfast in. The news services were lurking out there to catch him on any transit he made between home and office. He had three different terminals active, heard reports from various agencies, went over the last six years’ tax records, and wondered extraneously if he could call in a personal favor from an editor to keep a certain senior reporter’s series on finance from airing. He didn’t want any current quotes floating through the news services.

    Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 2 9
    Chime of an incoming contact from his secretary’s office . . . the uninvited input passed through Ernst, and most minor nuisances stopped at Ernst’s desk. The major ones, unfortunately, didn’t.
    Reaux unhappily pushed the button. “Yes?”
    “Your wife’s on, sir.”
    He’d called and told Judy he’d be doing an overnighter. He had called.
    Hadn’t he?
    “Put her through.” Deep breath. He heard the click. “Judy?”
    “Setha?” There was upset in that voice. “Setha, she’s blond !”
    Their daughter’s hair. He dimly recalled an argument. Kathy’s