Farren Siliom folded his hands. “I do not know how our Terrestrial citizens will view this problem. Or even whether they’re capable of judging now. For most Old Natives, the Way is a very foggy concept, at best. Earthbound citizens do not have direct access to extensive city memories or libraries yet. I suspect, however, that the neo-Geshels will invoke the Recovery laws and cut Earth out of the voting entirely…. That would be exceptionally distasteful.”

“Earth’s senators would fight it every step of the way,” Lanier said.

“The Recovery laws haven’t been used for a while, but they’re still in place.” Farren Siliom raised his hands, face drawn. “The way I read the Hexamon’s temper now, those who want to re-open are about evenly divided with those who don’t. Social condensations and coalescences are not at all unlikely in such a split; rapid formation of power groups…perhaps even a neo-Geshel domination in the Nexus. The neo-Geshels could force me to act as they decree, or resign and let them form a new government. These problems are not specifically your problems, my companions. But you bring them to me, and I can’t say I’m grateful to you. Nor can I say how the vote will go. We face a number of problems, a number of decisions, and now that the genie has finally crawled—or exploded—out of its bottle again…”

Farren Siliom stood and picted a query at the quarters’ monitor. “If you could stay here for another few minutes, gentlemen, I’ve arranged for another Old Native to join us. Ser Mirsky should remember him. You were companions, fellow soldiers, during the invasion of Thistledown by forces of the Soviet Union, before the Sundering…before the Death. He returned to Earth after the Sundering, and has lived in what we now call Anatolia.”

Mirsky nodded, face composed. Lanier tried to remember the surviving Russians who had worked with and around Mirsky, and found only a few faces weakly linked with names in his memory. The sharp, acerbic zampolit Belozersky…assured, calm, doomed Vielgorsky, senior engineer Pritikin.

The monitor flashed and Farren Siliom ordered the door to open. “Gentlemen, this is Ser Viktor Garabedian,” he said with a look of triumphant expectation. He believes he’ll expose Mirsky, Lanier thought.

Garabedian entered the room, white-haired, thin, slightly stooped. His hands were hideously scarred. His eyes were half-lidded, rheumy. Lanier could read his condition almost immediately. Talsit-cleansed radiation damage…he must have tried to return to the Soviet Union, decades ago.

Garabedian looked around the room, obviously not prepared for this meeting. His eyes lit on Mirsky and an ironic smile crossed his face. Mirsky seemed stunned.

“Comrade General,” Garabedian said.

Mirsky rose and approached the old man. They stood apart for a moment, and then Mirsky spread his arms and hugged him. “What happened to you, Viktor?” he asked in Russian, holding the old man at arm’s length.