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suspected there had been UN pressure behind Westali’s decision to sack me. “And you’re already up to whatever rarefied level gets you expense chits for first-class Quadrail travel?”
    “Hardly,” he said dryly. “I’m just here to hold the hands of those who are.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re back on bodyguard duty.”
    “Don’t laugh,” he warned, his lips smiling but his voice only half joking. “I could still take on five of you young whelps and beat you to a pulp.”
    “I’m sure you could,” I said, deciding for once in my life to be diplomatic.
    “But, no, I’m actually more of a consultant,” he went on. “Deputy Director Losutu is on his way to talk with the Cimmaheem about buying some starfighters, and he wanted a military expert along to check them out,”
    So Biret Losutu was here, too. This just got better and better. “Isn’t that a little risky, politically speaking?” I suggested. “I thought the UN’s official stance was that Terran-built starfighters are as good as anything else on the market.”
    Applegate snorted. “And you and I both know what a piece of Pulitzer-Prize-winning fiction that is. But then, the UN hardly invented the art of hypocrisy.”
    I thought of all the crocodile tears shed on my behalf as I was summarily kicked out of my job, some of those tears coming from Applegate himself. “I don’t suppose they invented the art of political spindrift, either.”
    “Fortunately, that won’t be necessary in this case,” he said with a wry smile. “The Cimman fighters are slated for duty at Yandro and New Tigris. We both know how many people will see them there .”
    “There’s still the hole that much money will leave in the UN’s budget,” I pointed out. “ Somebody’s bound to notice.”
    “Maybe,” he conceded. “But you know what they say: A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you’re talking about real money. Anyway, we’re only talking about half a trillion for the eight fighters we’re looking at, unless we decide to go with something bigger. That’s what I’m here to help decide.” He took a sip of his drink, eyeing me over the rim of his glass. “But enough about me. What are you doing here?”
    “Nothing much,” I said. “A little sightseeing.”
    “Really.” His eyes flicked to the door I’d come through a minute earlier. “Who died and left you the fortune?”
    “It’s business sightseeing,” I said. Fortunately, I’d already worked out a cover story, though I hadn’t expected to need it this early in the trip. “I’ve been hired by a big travel consortium to scope out new vacation packages to pitch to jaded tourists.”
    “Ah,” he said with a knowing look. “And, of course, a proper scoping requires proper accommodations?”
    “Just part of the job,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, we also cater to the less than obscenely wealthy, so I’ll be switching to second- and third-class seats not too far down the line.”
    Applegate grunted. “A pity,” he said. “I gather you’re skipping New Tigris and Yandro and starting your survey with the Jurian Collective?”
    “What makes you think I haven’t already checked them out?” I countered.
    “Two things.” He lifted up a finger. “One, because we both know there’s nothing at either place that would entertain a tourist for fifteen minutes.” He smiled wryly as he raised a second finger. “And two, because I saw you get on at Terra Station.”
    I blinked. “You were there ?”
    He nodded. “Came in along the diplomatic route via Rome and Elfive,” he said. “Damned torchliner ran late, too—we nearly didn’t make it. Why, shouldn’t I have been there?”
    “No, of course you should,” I said, feeling some professional annoyance with myself for not having noticed him. Global awareness was something field agents were supposed to cultivate. “I didn’t mean it that way. Was Losutu there with you?”
    “No, he and the Cimman sales reps came on at