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toxins did build up in some food animals, were they allowed to eat of them, rendering those animals equally toxic. This, too, would have tended to limit the development of civilization, even had early intelligent life managed to survive the tranzitrees, bolshiberries, and progressivines, by limiting the food supply.
    The tranzitrees had no real use but aesthetics. The bluegums, on the other hand, were cultivated locally for their edible nuts, high grade lumber for cabinetry and furniture, and the refinable resin—a rubberlike compound—which gave them their name. All were blue, as were the trees' leaves. The leaves were used to make a rather good dye.
     
    Of course, there's no law in this place. It's all who you are related to, who you know, who are your friends, what bribes can you pay, and how much clout do you have. A well-connected man can get away with murder—some of my in-laws have— manslaughter, anyway.
    Want to set up a new business? "Well, my brother-in-law is at the planning commission. I am sure he could help you if you made it worth his while." Need to buy a chunk of land? "My cousin, the procurator, could probably help but he doesn't come cheap." That's all fine for me; I'm connected through Linda's clan. But what about the average Joses? They're screwed, unless, that is, they know somebody.
    Add a little law, a little integrity, to the government and this place could be perfection.
    The maid, Lucinda, found him under the bohio , lost in thought.
    " Señor ?"
    "Yes, Lucinda?" he asked.
    The woman was older, from a poor family, and never terribly pretty. Nonetheless, her family had been in service to Linda's for generations. This explained why she had taken a job even at the wretched salary earned by a domestic in the undeveloped and unindustrialized parts of Terra Nova. Hennessey tried to treat her kindly and, had she been asked, the maid likely would have voiced no ground of complaint.
    " Señor , there are two men here to see you. One is from the Fuerza Civil ; a Major Jimenez. The other is General Parilla. You know, sir, the old dictator?"
    "Xavier? Here? Great! And Parilla? Wonderful, Lucinda." Hennessey rousted himself from his chair and walked briskly to greet his old friends and former enemy.
    He reentered by the back office door, then walked briskly across the cobblestoned way that led through the courtyard. In the open courtyard Hennessey stopped briefly to study the clouds gathering overhead. To himself he muttered, "Storm again, from the west, it seems. Oh, well, I've always liked the rain."
    The door leading from the courtyard to the foyer was open, befittingly so in country so warm. Hennessey passed through it without pause and saw two men, rising politely from the overstuffed chairs in the iridescent bluegum-paneled foyer.
    Rank had its privileges. He thrust out a welcoming hand first to retired ( forcibly retired) General Raul Parilla; short, dark, gone a little fat now with his years of service behind him. Most of the general's still abundant hair had gone to gray.
    The general returned the clasp warmly. "Patricio, it is good to see you again after all these years."
    "Sir . . . you too, sir." Hennessey meant it. Cut off, as he was, from his old army, he valued the contact even with a foreign one. Though it would be pushing things, really, to call Balboa's Civil Force an army.
    Smile broadening at his other guest, Hennessey greeted a friend of much longer standing and even deeper feeling. Indeed, so close were he and Xavier Jimenez that neither of them much minded that they had once fought each other nearly to the death . . . and had fought to the deaths of many of their followers.
    Where Parilla had grown a bit rotund with the years, Jimenez remained whippet thin, a lean, black hunter and racer.
    No words passed between Jimenez and Hennessey. With friends so close, none were needed.
    "Lucinda," Hennessey called. "Please bring a bucket with ice, a bottle of rum, some coke and some