Free Strings by Dave Duncan Page A

all. The Institute operated on a United Nations charter, and Hubbard herself was a long-time political crony of Hastings, the S.G. In fact they had been paired once. He had pulled strings to win her appointment as director, and a few years later she had done the same for him. In their case, bedfellows had made very effective politics.
    It was all very profound. It meant that Hubbard was going down the sewer very soon, and WSHB was certainly prepared to help all it could. Curiously, this Cave Men in Space story might be enough all by itself. It might even reverse the expected flow of events: Old Mother Hubbard would fall, dragging down Hastings and the U.N. with her, and China would move even faster to throw its weight behind the Chamber. Speaker Cheung would certainly call a world election to confirm his hegemony. It was all very strong stuff, and sweet little Eccles Pandora was going to be a prime mover.
    Klaus had called from Cainsville just after midnight. He had contacted Wilkins. He had viewed the coin. And yes, it was everything that Wilkins had promised. Anything could be a fake, of course, but Deputy Director Devlin had been reeling around having apoplectic fits, his language on the subject of incompetence being hot enough to melt the rest of the polar ice caps. That alone, Klaus had suggested, might be worth a lot of money.
    Klaus had a good reputation in WSHB. Armed with his report, Pandora had bearded the senior lions, rousing them from their beds—or others’ beds in a few cases—until she had her approval. Ten million hectobucks had flowed electronically from one account to another, then another and another, destined to rest at last in one belonging to Wilkins Jules Smuts.
    But what was Klaus doing now? Hours had gone by. Had the Institute’s goons discovered the plot? Had Wilkins panicked and pulled out, or perhaps raised his price? Pandora’s pacing grew faster, although she was bone weary. She began to spend less time on planning and more on just worrying. Her old, old bunion operation began to complain, and she promised herself new feet if this deal worked out.
    Ping ! said the com. “Secured message, code Honeysuckle Thunderbolt.”
    Klaus at last! Pandora made one more quick check that her hair was in place and had not turned white. “ Code Naples Octave, accept and record .”
    The panel became a window into a grubby little cubicle, with solid, scruffy, dependable little Kubik Klaus sitting in it. She wanted to give him a hug. She might just give him more than that when he got back. He was smiling broadly and holding up a coin.
    “What kept you?” she demanded.
    He pulled a face. “Our friend had started celebrating already.”
    “You had to dry him out?”
    “Cool him down. He’s a plugin freak.”
    Ugh! Pandora prided herself on being broad-minded, but there were a few vices she preferred not to think about.
    “But the deal’s made now, the money spent. So I have a question, sweet lady. Do you still want me to bring this to you, or do you need it zapped?”
    Now there was an almost irresistible temptation. Klaus could transmit the entire coin in compressed format to Nauc, and the evidence would be in Pandora’s hands within seconds. Unfortunately, that way was risky. Their override codes would mask conversations—or so she certainly hoped—but a data transmission needed higher bands, and the legendary 4-I Security would certainly be alert for any attempt to zap data out of Cainsville. Its monitors would detect the sending, and very likely could do so in time to block it.
    There was one entrance to Cainsville, so it was said, and a million exits. Wilkins and Klaus might find themselves on Nile, being thumped with stone axes like the previous explorers, or perhaps somewhere even nastier, breathing the unbreathable. Pandora did not care a fig what happened to Wilkins, but she rather enjoyed Klaus once in a while. More important, she wanted that evidence intact.
    “Bring it!”
    He nodded