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he’d lost traveling to outback planets. He swallowed the rest of his
wine to brace himself for what he knew was coming. “The Decemvirate will
support the majority decision, which will go against the old worlds. They’ll
attempt to distribute the elixir according to the decision, but every world has
a military arm to throw against the Decemvirate’s imperial legions. So it will
be the old worlds against the Decemvirate.”
    “Not
necessarily,” Calla said. “It’s not certain that the new worlds will carry the
decision. They say that the going rate for buying a vote in the Council of
Worlds is a fifty-year supply of elixir, most tempting to men and women in
their sixtieth standard year. Do you know how many council members are sixty or
older?”
    “Just
about all of them, but I didn’t know they could be bought. Their integrity is . . .”
    “.
. . questionable when it comes to doubling a lifespan. Not all of them, of
course, probably not even most. But maybe just enough to turn the favor to the
old worlds.”
    “What
is the Decemvirate doing about the problem? I mean, they must have probability
models that tell them all of these things.”
    Calla
drew a long, hissing breath as she got to her feet. She went to the window and
put the goblet on the sill so that she could rub her hip with her hand. She
seemed to be staring idly at the activity in the staging areas below, but Jason
knew she was thinking. She put her hands in her pockets and stood head hung,
the posture so familiar to him that it might have been only yesterday that he
had last seen it. “The Decemvirate is preparing for war. They just don’t know
which side they’ll be on until they put the alternatives before the Council of
Worlds and the decision is made.”
    “Historically
the Decemvirate has always supported the majority decision. But, since they
control the timing, they’re going to be ready either way, right?” When she
looked at him strangely, he added, “They’re delaying giving council the
alternatives, delaying the vote, and using the time to get ready.”
    “The
imperial legions are always ready,” she said. “Yes, they are, aren’t they. But
most of the facilities for processing the elixir are on the old worlds . . .
or are they?”
    She
hesitated, then nodded. “That hasn’t changed.”
    “Hasn’t
it?” he said suspiciously. “They haven’t moved any of the facilities to secret
locations while they still have control? Perhaps to planets like Mutare that no
self-respecting colonist would give a second glance? What are they calling the
new Red Rocks facility back in the Hub records? Dirty atomics research?
Volatile processing plant? Mutare is already filthy with cosmic rays that cause
mutations, and they’re all pretty proud of their genes, aren’t they. Oh, they
might tamper with them from time to time and be selective about which ones they
use for their offspring, but they won’t let nature do it, not the wild and fast
and unpredictable nature of Mutare. They’ll leave Mutare to the survey rangers
and feel content in knowing that in twenty thousand years there will be a tamed
planet ready for civilized colonization. In the meantime, if some good use
could come of it, why not make use of Mutare. What would they say, Calla, if
they knew their next supply of elixir was being manufactured here?”
    “I
said nothing about elixir,” Calla said.
    “You
didn’t have to,” he said, feeling grim.
    Stubbornly
she shook her head. “I came here to talk Hub politics to an old friend who has
been out of contact.”
    “You
didn’t have to say anything. Once I had an old friend, too, and she taught me to
hear what was not said.”
    She
nodded thoughtfully, then drank the rest of her wine. “You used to serve me
rot-gut liquor out of canning jars, too. Did I teach you to appreciate leaded
Sinn Hala crystal, as well?” She held up the goblet to admire it.
    “I’m
told the crafter claimed to have Picasso genes,”