society's future depending on how she dealt
with him. But now everything about him was meaningful.

Except for some graying around his temples, he looked young--normal for
an Imperial officer, with the anti-aging treatments they got. But
there was something in his bearing that made it obvious he was no
innocent, even if she hadn't been acquainted, however vaguely, with his
handling of the Sandeman annexation. He was, she decided, the sort of
man she could respect--which meant she'd have to be careful not to let
that feeling hinder her judgement during the negotiations.

She frowned when Medart, informed she'd been named negotiator, asked if
she were available--long-distance negotiations didn't strike her as a
good idea--but when Delayne replied that she was, she had no choice but
to go to the ultrawave. "I am Colonel Cortin."

"Ranger James Medart," the man on the screen replied. "Pleased to meet
you, Colonel. I'm also pleased to hear you'll be the one I'll be
talking to. Do you have any objection to Captain DeLayne and his crew
acting as Special Liaison until I get there?"

"I would appreciate their assistance, though I am not sure what you
mean by Special Liaison."

"In this case, a demonstration of what Imperials are really like,"
Medart said. "Maybe by the time I get there, you'll have decided we
aren't the sort of monsters you've apparently been taught."

"That is possible," Cortin said. "I gather you do not intend to carry
out our discussions long-distance?"

"No." Medart grinned. "All our experience says long-distance
negotiations are much less productive than face-to-face ones,
especially something that looks like it might be tricky--such as
working with a culture I know nothing about. So I don't plan on
anything except this type of talk, and that only if you insist; I
prefer to get my data in person. If there's anything you think I can
do to help, of course, don't hesitate, but I won't be able to go beyond
advice. Unfortunately, even an IBC can't go over three lights per
hour, and I'm over five hundred hours away."

Roughly three weeks, Cortin calculated. "I should be able to manage
for that time; if not, I am the wrong person for this job. Until your
arrival, then."

"Agreed. Medart out."

Cortin looked around, spotted one of her team and a couple of the
Imperials watching TV, what looked like a news special. "Chuck!" she
called. "What's up?"

"Aaron Spence's analysis of the I