Administrator Longin ran a hand over his white crewcut, fingered the scar over his broken nose where he’d slammed into the computer console on the fourth moon-flight, and turned to face Michael.
“Not he, she. She planned it all very carefully.” He nodded appreciatively. “She went straight to the American Embassy and then got in touch with us. Basically, she threatened to release the taped information she stole unless we agree to call off the shot and admit on-site inspectors to all subsequent multiple launchings.”
“That’s all? Look, why not let her go ahead and blab to the press? What harm can it do? What can she know? So we plan to launch six ships simultane-
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ously to celebrate the King’s birthday. So what?” Longin was shaking his head dolefully.
“It’s not as simple as that, Michael. The release of the tapes we could absorb. The problem is that she’s convinced we’ve an ulterior motive concealed in the launch. She should know if we do.” Michael’s smile disappeared.
“Why is that?”
“She works .. . worked … in your department.”
“My . . . ?” He stopped, then continued guardedly, “What does she think is this ‘ulterior reason’ behind the shot?”
Longin sat down behind his desk. “She is quite convinced from her inside knowledge of material being loaded on board some of the ships, that we are planning to establish a permanent military base on Mars and claim the whole planet for the Republic.”
Michael’s grim smile turned to a look of honest bafflement. “That’s the most nonsensical thing I ever heard. Doesn’t she know the Imperial Edicts forbid acquisition of territory except by vote of independent peoples? You say she works in my department. I can’t imagine what might motivate any of my people to jeopardize the King’s birthday.”