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growing ever more obsessive about it.
    “Now, however, the IDRF is sending a new officer to Zirankhu to take charge of the investigation. An officer with intelligence training in addition to considerable combat experience—including some experience in dealing with Transhumanists. In fact, she is here now. You and she are already acquainted, Jason.” Rutherford spoke into his interoffice communicator grill. “Send her in.”
    A side door opened and a thirtyish woman in the dark blue service dress uniform of the IDRF entered.
    “Major Rojas!” Jason rose halfway to his feet and extended a hand. “Good to see you again.”
    “Likewise, Commander,” said Elena Rojas, the Peruvian IDRF officer who had led the raid on the Transhumanist temporal displacer facility. She shook Jason’s hand, but her features barely softened from their usual severity. Those features, with their high cheekbones and curved nose, together with her coppery coloring, suggested more Indian blood than Castilian. But she was exceptionally tall and slim for that heritage, and obviously in an extreme state of physical fitness. Her straight black hair was gathered into a practical braid at the back of her head. “But I haven’t met your colleagues here.”
    Jason made introductions. Rojas acknowledged Aiken with noncommittal courtesy. She was civil enough to Mondrago, although something ambivalent in her expression suggested to Jason that she knew of his mercenary background. But when the introductions came to Chantal she ceased to have any expression at all. Her face became an immobile mask of chill control, and her eyes narrowed and froze into black ice.
    Yes, thought Jason, she knows more about my “colleagues” than she admits.
    “Since you’ve undoubtedly been briefed on the situation on Zirankhu,” he said aloud, “I was hoping that you would be able to fill us in on the findings of your investigators before they came to a dead end.”
    “Certainly.” Rojas took a seat, apparently willing to change the subject. But first she turned to Rutherford. “Director, may I assume that everyone here is cleared, and has a need to know?” This was accompanied by a pointed glance at Chantal.
    “You may, as your own superiors will confirm if you insist.”
    “That won’t be necessary.” Rojas still looked skeptical. But she addressed Jason. “How much have you already been told?”
    “Only the manner in which your people became aware of the previously unsuspected presence of Transhumanists on Zirankhu.”
    “Then you know it was a lucky break. We could hardly expect any more such breaks, and we certainly haven’t gotten them.” Rojas didn’t add as of my most recent information. That always went without saying. In the absence of any sort of instantaneous interstellar “radio,” messages had to be carried by ship, as they once had been carried across the oceans of Earth. Information was chronically out of date. “We never dreamed there were Transhumanists there; that wasn’t what our people were there for.” She paused. “How much do you know about the situation there?”
    “It’s a little outside my field,” Jason admitted. “I know our merchants and diplomatic representatives there are in an awkward position as a result of the rebellion against the ruling Manziru Empire.”
    “That’s putting it mildly. We’re walking a tightrope. The Dazh’pinkh rebels have asked for our aid, saying that we’re natural allies, since they claim they’re inspired by ideals we humans have introduced to their race’s ossified culture. We can’t even acknowledge receipt of these requests.”
    Aiken wore a look of youthful perplexity. “I’ve never understood why that is. With our help the rebels would make short work of the rotten, corrupt Manziru Empire. And from everything I’ve read, a Dazh’pinkh regime would have to be an improvement.”
    “Don’t be so sure,” Rojas cautioned grimly. “Part of the problem is that a lot of