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murdered.
    “So we’re looking to elect a candidate who can fix UNVRP’s public image,” Lorna concluded. “And Angelica Lin is just the woman to sell Venus to Earth all over again.”
    “Still, it’ll be tough to get her elected if she hasn’t got the right qualifications.” Mendoza hoped Lorna did not think he could magically fix that problem.
    “She’s got the only qualification that matters. Did you look at her? Va-va-va-voom.”
    Mendoza laughed.
    “Fanta?” Lorna drew two cold cans out of a mini-fridge in the side of the gondola. Mendoza accepted one. “So, if you’re on board, we can get started on Angie’s campaign any time.”
    “Uh, isn’t she going to have a dedicated team?”
    “Yeah, for the PR stuff, yeah. What we’ll be doing is more in the way of … oppo research. You know.”
    Mendoza made a noncommittal noise. He sipped his Fanta. It was sticky-sweet. “You ought to run for the UNVRP job yourself,” he said. “Sir.”
    “Ha! Thanks, but I don’t like to travel. I haven’t left Luna in twenty years.”
    The roof was darker now. Mock stars enhanced the illusion that the airship was floating in the night sky. The only difference was no Earth overhead.
    The airship had been gliding in circles. Slowly, it descended towards the edge of the dome. Verneland—named after nineteenth-century author Jules Verne, one of the founders’ idols—boasted a band of parkland inside its perimeter. People sat in a grove of attentuated plum trees, bobbing their heads to the beat-boxing of an a capella techno group. They turned to stare at the airship as it landed on a nearby lawn.
    “Dog, what a horrible noise,” Lorna said. “That’s not music, it’s some kind of Cro-Magnon tribal bonding shit.”
    “No kidding.” At least they agreed on something. Mendoza had to give Lorna the impression that they agreed on everything. He didn’t know if they did or not.
    “You should be able to get home from here,” Lorna said. “Train station’s over that way. So to get started, I’d like you to design a poll focusing on the other candidates, or maybe one for each of them. We’re looking to find their weaknesses. Take your time, do your best work. Think you could have something for me by Wednesday?”
    So, take your time, but have it done within 24 hours. Lorna must be a nightmare to work for. “No problem,” Mendoza said. “I can hack away at it during office hours. They haven’t given me that much to do yet.”
    “Fantastic,” Lorna said.
    Mendoza got out, stumbling slightly on the grass. The airship lifted off again. Mendoza waved, but all the time, questions thundered in his mind.
    There had to be other psephologists on Luna. Or if Lorna wanted real talent, he could have hired someone on Earth. Mendoza hadn’t even used his training in years before he got transferred to MeReMSG.
    So why me?

iv.
     
    While working on the polls Derek Lorna had asked for, Mendoza did a bit of digging around the edges of Lorna’s public profile.
    He learnt that in addition to all his other posts and honorary titles, Lorna held the title of lead researcher at the Dasein Institute, a space station orbiting 4 Vesta, which had been put there after last year’s catastrophe, for the purpose of studying the Heidegger program.
    The Heidegger program was the name given by humanity to the PLAN’s malware—the stuff that had infiltrated people’s BCIs on 4 Vesta and hijacked their brain reward pathways, turning them into meat puppets.
    All the meat puppets had died when Vesta’s life support systems failed, but the Heidegger Program was still there, in the infrastructure of the abandoned colonies. It controlled several phavatars, and sometimes used these to try and sabotage the rail launcher that was driving 4 Vesta slowly towards the inner solar system.
    The Dasein Institute researchers sat in their space station and watched the fun. As far as Mendoza could find out, that was all they’d done so far.
    Lorna, of