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small sum also, buying the broadcast for Goddard Colony in order to keep up to the minute re the anti-Spacer campaign. Three ledgers, three siblings—separate, scrupulously maintained and audited. Jael hired only the best, whether it was a cook for Saunderhome, a sharpshooter security guard, or a bookkeeper. In places where they didn’t own an enclave, the Saunders cheerfully paid taxes to the government in charge. But whenever possible, the input and outgo of the family corporation went from one sibling’s pocket to another. Jael called it intrafamily courtesy. Their rivals, particularly the other family-owned quasi-nations, like the Nakamuras, Alamshahs, and LeFevre Société, called them a power-grabbing monopoly threatening to consume the entire world.
    Click-click status on the ComLink signal. Jael leased Todd’s best techs to handle their political broadcasts.
    The newsman’s voice was mellifluous, almost as persuasive as Pat’s. Kirshon’s Slavic accent didn’t matter. ComLink’s translator-splitter instantly converted his words into a thousand tongues and dialects. One world, one language, with a little help from Ward Saunder’s patents and ComLink’s satellites.
    Alien messenger, listening to us out there at thirty A.U., what will you make of Pat’s speech, once the signal crosses the gulf and reaches you? And what will your response be?
    Maybe the next response would include that all-important key that would help them break down the remaining mysteries in the alien’s signal. Convert it all to real language, not blips and patterned static, testing each other’s ability to riddle out spectra or numerical sequences.
    Todd glanced at the satellite’s watchdog monitors. Little orbiting cameras provided an exterior view of Geosynch HQ, Todd’s home in space. The satellite was a silly-looking structure, by planetside standards. Gravity didn’t matter here, nor did neatly rounded corners or roofs over warehouses. The orbiter’s offices, shuttleport, living quarters, and maintenance facilities bulged with knobby extensions, spindly girders, and connecting tunnels sticking out at odd angles. Robot teleoperators crept over the satellite’s skin, repairing or adding onto the original massive structure. Annexes held clusters of com and power sats, ready for placement in various orbits. Old sats, brought in for repair or recycling, rode in the collection shack “ahead” of the main body of Geosynch HQ. Five spacecraft rode in parking orbit. Access tunnels and electronic umbilici tethered them to docking. Todd’s private ship, an interorbital shuttle he share-leased with Mariette, waited first in line to depart.
    In a couple of hours, Gib Owens and I will ride her up to Goddard. And if Pat kicks Mari with this speech, I’ll walk into a million-megaton explosion.
    Thirty-two thousand kilometers away, close-up techs wearing miniaturized chest pack cameras doubled as crowd control around the podium, focusing on various guests and committee members. The screen divided, showing an assortment of group and individual portraits to Earth and space. The media theater of Protectors of Earth had been designed to showcase the organization’s triumphs in just this way. Three decades of wars and disasters had stimulated P.O.E.’s rise to near-absolute global authority. World leaders scrambled to join its ranks, and many of them had gathered in the theater for this occasion. CNAU President Galbraith was there, even though the aging politician was a puppet without much real power. His nation provided the land for P.O.E.’s facilities and he showed up at all its functions, reliving the days when his office had genuine clout. P.O.E. Chairman Li Chu presided over the famous guests and committeemen. She was retiring after her present term and had already named Patrick her political heir. Cynically, Todd wondered if Jael had bought the woman off to gain that favor. The Chairmanship of Protectors of Earth was now, in effect,