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finally managed. “Given the intelligence resources at your command.”
    “You flatter me. I gather you have not had an opportunity to view this morning’s news.”
    “No, I haven’t. You mean they’ve gone public with it?”
    Instead of answering, Svyatog manipulated other concealed controls, and a holographically projected display appeared in midair over the desk.
    “Yesterday,” a well-known news announcer intoned, “the Confederated Nations lost one of its heroes. Naval authorities have announced the sudden and untimely death of Admiral Nathan Arnstein. The cause of death is still under investigation. Admiral Arnstein will be best remembered for stopping Gev-Rogov’s aggression in its tracks in 2067 with his great victory at—”
    Andrew had stopped listening. Yesterday? Cause of death under investigation? The thoughts echoed through his incredulous mind.
    Svyatog, with half a century of experience at reading human faces, gave Andrew an expressionless regard as he turned off the recording. “Actually, your initial assumption about Hov-Korth’s intelligence apparatus was not entirely unfounded. We have reason to believe that Admiral Arnstein in fact died several days ago, and that your government has been sitting on it, as I believe the expression goes. Of course, I will not ask you to compromise yourself by giving me confirmation of that.”
    “Besides, you don’t really need my confirmation, do you?” Andrew reached a hasty but unequivocal decision. “Nevertheless, I’ll tell you that your sources are correct as far as they go. In return, I’ll ask you if you have any information on the Black Wolf Society, dating from the period just before the war.”
    For a few heartbeats the slit-pupiled eyes that humans found to be the most disturbing Lokaron feature regarded Andrew in silence. When Svyatog finally spoke, the translator implant conveyed his expressionlessness. “Why do you suppose we would have information on what is essentially an internal human matter?”
    “You have information on most things. And if the stories about the Black Wolf are true, it isn’t just a crime syndicate of no interest to anyone except human law enforcement agencies. With its strident human expansionism, its influence could have a destabilizing effect that would be bound to impact the interests of Hov-Korth.”
    Had Svyatog been human, Andrew would have sworn he was affecting an air of casual interest. “Have you had the opportunity to access your late father’s upload?”
    Andrew did his best to equal the old Lokar’s expressionlessness. He knew he was skirting the edges of revealing Reislon’Sygnath’s double game. He decided on an approach that could do no harm if Svyatog was, in fact, already aware of that game. “Yes, I have. I’m sure I needn’t pretend that I didn’t put these and other questions to him. He was able to give me certain vague hints, based on contacts he had maintained in the Confederated Nations intelligence community after his retirement. But nothing really useful. Which is why I’m here today.”
    Over the decades, Svyatog had picked up certain human mannerisms. One was steepling his fingers—twelve altogether, in his case—and peering over them. He now leaned back and did so. “I did, in fact, receive a report on the subject during the period to which you refer, from one of our agents—a very important agent, who reported directly to me. I have never known quite what to make of it, since the agent in question turned out to be playing a double game.”
    Andrew held his breath and ordered himself not to mention the name Reislon’Sygnath.
    “This was not known to us at the time he submitted the report,” Svyatog went on. “It was not until just after the war ended that we became aware that he had been simultaneously working for Gev-Rogov.”
    Afterward, Andrew had the leisure to congratulate himself for the complete expressionlessness he enforced on his features. At the time, he