“Easy enough,” Thompson said.
“Godfuck.” Gore closed a golden hand into a fist. “Don’t you ever fucking learn? All the other Grands are maneuvering right now. Justine was right to put this weekend together for us, if we can influence the shape our placing will be unmatched.”
“What sort of shape do you want?”
“The main one has got to be location. Get Sheldon to let go of that hillbilly backwood Anshun. I want the agency centered at the High Angel, where it damn well should have been all along. The family has a lot of interest in the astroengineering companies based there; a real shipbuilding program will see their stock go through the roof.”
“We can probably make that sound logical,” Justine said.
“It is logical. What we need is a way to make it serve their interests.”
“I’ll work on it,” she promised.
Gore turned back to Thompson. “The other side to the navy is going to be the planetary defenses. Don’t allow that to be overlooked this weekend. People are going to want damn great force fields guarding their cities and making them feel safe. I can see that ultimately chewing up even more cash than the starships.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that one on the agenda,” Thompson said.
Dinner was the kind of formal event that Justine could sleepwalk through in her official role as hostess. They held it in the main dining room, with broad churchlike arched windows looking out across gardens illuminated by thousands of twinkling white fairy stars. She made sure Campbell was at one end of the long oak table with her father, while she chatted away to Patricia at the other end. Isabella didn’t join them for dinner.
“She finds these things a little dull, I’m afraid,” Patricia said as the band started playing some background jazz.
“She’s young,” Justine said sympathetically. “You did well getting her to come along at all.”
“It was the names, she’s a bit of a fame junkie,” Patricia admitted as she bit into her starter of cannelloni of smoked salmon. “Right now she’s accessing Murderous Seduction , it’s the penultimate episode.”
“Isn’t that a biogdrama of the last Myo case?”
“Yes. A bit melodramatic for me, but the lead character is sort of her age, and it’s a good production.”
“I wish I had time to keep up on pop culture. I’m surprised you do, especially right now.”
“Part of the job is coaxing various celebrity endorsements, among others.” Her smile was polite, but one hundred percent professional.
“Our family is very supportive of the starship agency proposal. Hence this weekend.”
“I know, and Elaine is very appreciative of that.”
“Will she be making it part of her platform?” Justine looked down the length of the table, straight at her father’s expressionless gold face.
“It’s a bit radical, but then the Dyson mission has injected a few new factors into today’s politics. The agency needs to go ahead, Elaine knows that, she’s prepared to go out on a limb if that’s what it takes.”
Gore Burnelli gave a tiny nod. “Our family will certainly do whatever we can to support her position this weekend,” Justine said.
“I’m very grateful for that help.” Patricia couldn’t quite conceal her predatory smile as she took another mouthful of the rolled salmon.
Justine studiously avoided any more verbal fencing with Patricia for the rest of the evening. The meal wasn’t the time for the serious negotiations to start in earnest; instead the three Burnellis made sure they talked to everyone separately at some point, preparing them for tomorrow.
It began in earnest at breakfast. The staff had set up an extensive buffet in the conservatory on the side of the main house, and Justine came over early to join Patricia and Crispin Goldreich at a table. Crispin’s two wives, Lady Mary and Countess Sophia, were still in their lodge taking breakfast in bed, though one of his aides sat beside him, pouring tea and fetching food from the buffet. Patricia’s immaculate young man was doing the same thing for her.
One of the house staff brought a pot of Jamaican coffee for Justine. She sat next to Crispin as he ate his eggs Benedict. It was the less confrontational position, she wanted to know the same things as Patricia, and Crispin was hugely influential. In addition to his leadership of the Budget Commission, he held a lot of authority among the bloc of European affiliate planets.
“Thompson told me you were one of the more moderate voices on the Council meeting,” Justine said.
“Cautious would be the more accurate word, my dear. I’ve been in this game long enough to spot an open-ended commitment. If this agency is approved by the Senate, there is no knowing how long taxpayers will be required to fund the endeavor. It won’t end with the Dyson flights, you know. If they turn out to be benign, there will be a precedent in place for government to fund exploration of other questionable unknowns.”
“Which is surely better than having it done by a private company?” Patricia said. “We’ve all heard the rumors of closed planets, worlds which have something so valuable the Sheldons have kept it for themselves.”
“And you believe that?” Crispin asked.
“Not personally, no. But I do believe that the government should be more involved with the investigation of potentially hazardous scenarios, such as the Dyson Pair. For that we need the starflight agency. After all, the Dyson Pair is the very first time we’ve found anything remotely threatening. And it’s a big galaxy. So far we’ve been lucky. We have to start being more cautious.”
“Which brings us to this dratted navy proposal,” Crispin said.
“You can’t deny that would be essential if the Dyson scouting mission proves them hostile.”
“No, I don’t. But the expenditure for that will be orders of magnitude above a starflight agency.”
“So how would you like to see this managed?” Patricia asked.
Crispin took a moment to finish the last of his eggs Benedict. “With a greater degree of responsibility,” he said eventually. “At the moment we’re simply throwing money at the problem. The first thing I’d like to see is some proper channeling of resources.”
“You mean some kind of oversight committee?” Justine asked. In her virtual vision, a calendar was displaying the date two years hence when Crispin’s senatorial seat was up for reelection. He’d get it again if he wanted it, that wasn’t a problem. But of course if he’s to carry on as chair of the Budget Commission he would need to be nominated by the executive.
“Oversight, management, steering: call it what you like. We have to insure the resources are spent properly.”
“Your Budget Commission has it within its purview to set up such an oversight body,” Patricia said.
“Technically, yes, unless the executive starts throwing up obstacles. I’m sure the President’s office would want to maintain a tight control over the agency, and certainly the navy.”
“Of course. But Elaine would be in favor of legitimate financial scrutiny. She absolutely does not want taxpayers’ money wasted, and I know she has a lot of confidence in the way you run the Budget Commission.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Crispin said. He poured himself some tea. “In which case, providing the Budget Commission can get those financial safeguards in place, Elaine Doi would have my support for the agency. If she gets elected.”
“If she gets elected,” Patricia parroted, keeping a composed face.
“Crispin is on board,” Justine told her father.
“Good work. What did it cost?”
“Patricia gave him the Budget Commission leadership after Doi’s elected.”
“There could be worse people in charge. Crispin is an old hack, but at least he understands the rules of the game. Well done. What’s next?”
“Utreth. Thompson’s with him after breakfast.”
It stopped raining after breakfast, leaving the grounds glistening from the overnight soaking. Thompson led his guest past the formal gardens, and into the woods beyond. They were a mixture of pine and beech and silver birch, not as densely planted as they had been during the logging centuries when they’d been all pine. As Washington state was now edging into springtime, a multitude of bulbs were pushing through the sandy soil, their verdure leaves contrasting with the mat of brownish winter grass that was still pressed against the ground from the weight of snow that had lain on it for months.