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cramp in the Company’s operation … Jesus, we don’t even need ogrilloi to work the mines; once we have full control of the
dil T’llan
we can ship a billion Laborers—five billion, more—there practically overnight. No wonder they think they don’t need me.
    Well, fuck. This could be going better.
    “So what’s the deal?”
    Faller hands me the palmpad. “The docs are in memory. You can read the details for yourself.”
    “Soon as somebody unstrips my cuffs.”
    His eyes shift, and his right hand fiddles with a loose button on his jacket, and for a second it’s twenty-five years ago and we’re waiting for the Black Knives and he’s playing with that fucking platinum coin. “Maybe not just yet.”
    “It’s that bad?” I twitch the pump’s hand unit. “Worse than this?”
    He sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
    “Don’t. Just … don’t.” I hate when people say they’re sorry. “Save that shit for the kiddie matinee.”
    He nods distractedly. “That story—that whole yarn you spun out for me to feed to the Board of Governors, about what happened in Purthin’s Ford—was
any
of it true? Any at all?”
    “Every word. True as fucking Gospel. Maybe truer. Whether that’s a word or not.”
    He’s too tired to even pretend to believe me. “All right. Um …” He drifts off toward the door. “Uh, Director? He’s ready for you.”
    I look down at the palmpad in my lap. Somehow seems too damn light to carry news this bad. Which is when it finally occurs to me to wonder just how bad this news will be.
    Something tells me we won’t part as friends.
    “Uh, Caine? This is the Director of Operations for this installation. I understand you know him.”
    I look up, and it’s Gayle fucking Keller. “Son of a bitch.”
    Gayle fucking Keller in a full-on formal chlamys-and-chiton, no less. Expensive too. The price of his sandals alone could feed a Labor family for six months. “
Administrator
Keller, is it now?”
    “Hello, Hari. I won’t pretend I’ve missed you.”
    I’ll give him that one for free. “You used to be afraid of me.”
    “I still am.”
    Huh. “That’s … unexpectedly forthright.”
    He clasps his hands together behind his butt and spends a second or two staring at the floor like he’s being sent up for life. “I know you disliked me, Hari.”
    “I won’t deny it.”
    His eyes come up just long enough to register a small, slightly rueful smile. “I know you’ve publicly registered opinions of me that range from
smug weasel
to
unctuous lying little fuck
. But I don’t think even you ever thought me to be stupid, or disloyal.”
    “You weren’t fucking loyal to me.”
    “I didn’t work for you. I was employed by the Studio and the Board of Governors—you may recall discovering you didn’t have the authority to fire me. But even though I wasn’t employed by him, I was loyal to Arturo Kollberg, because he recognized and rewarded loyalty. He valued me as an assistant and a friend, whereas you—”
    Different words, same tune. I wave him off. “Been practicing this conversation for a while?”
    Again the oddly sincere flicker of rueful smile. “Almost three years.”
    There’s something off about him that I can’t quite capture. “Is it as fun as you expected?”
    “Not even a little.” Keller sighs. “I won’t try to tell you this isn’t personal. I know you too well to hope you’ll take it any other way. Please understand that I am acting under orders, and that it’s not my intention to cause you distress.”
    “Nobody gives a fuck about your intention.”
    “I don’t expect you to,” he says. “You told me once that the only thingto which any man is absolutely loyal is his conception of the obligations of manhood.”
    “Did I say that? Deeper than my usual.”
    “Probably quoting someone smarter. But the idea stayed with me. I understand you, I think. In this context at least. Your