The CC hadn't mentioned it, but his means of access to the Double-C Bar Ranch was limited.  This was no accident.  Callie had deliberately set up her electronics such that she could function independent of the CC if the need should arise.  All communication had to come through a single cable to her Mark III Husbander, which really ran the ranch.  The link was further laundered through a series of gadgets supplied by some of her similarly paranoid friends, designed to filter out the subversive virus, the time bomb, and the Chinese Fire Drill-all forms of computer witchery I know nothing about apart from their names.

It was wildly inefficient.  I also suspected it was futile; the CC was in here, talking to me, wasn't he?  Because that was the real reason for all the barriers, for the electronic drawbridge Callie could theoretically raise and lower at will, for the photo-etched moat she hoped to fill with cybernetic crocodiles and the molten glitches she meant to dump into invading programs.  She claimed to be able to isolate her castle with the flick of one switch.  Bang! and the CC would be cut adrift from its moorings to the larger datanet known as the Central Computer.

Silly, isn't it?  Well, I'd always thought so, until the CC took control of my own mind.  Callie had always thought that way, and while she was in the minority, she wasn't alone.  Walter agreed with her, and a few other chronic malcontents like the Heinleiners.

I was about to go on with my tale of woe, but Callie put her finger to her lips.

"It'll have to wait a bit," she said.  "The Kaiser of the Chordates is returning."

#

Callie immediately went into a sneezing fit.  David's already avuncular expression became so benign it bordered on the ludicrous.  He was enjoying it, no doubt about it.  He seated himself and waited while Callie fumbled through her purse and found a nasal spray.  When she had dosed herself and blown her nose, he smiled lovingly.

"I'm afraid your offer of ninety-eight murders is-"  He held up his hand as Callie started to retort.  "Very well.  Ninety-eight creatures killed is simply unacceptable.  After further consultation, and hearing grievances that have astounded me-and you well know I'm an old hand at this business . . ."

"Ninety-seven," Callie said.

"Sixty," David countered.

Callie seemed to doubt for a moment that she had heard him right.  The word hung in the air between them, with at least as much incendiary potential as the fire.

"You started at sixty," Callie said, quietly.

"And I've just returned us there."

"What's going on here?  This isn't how it's done, and you know it.  There's no love lost between us, to put it mildly, but I've always been able to do business with you.  There are certain accepted practices, certain understandings that if they don't have the force of law, they certainly enjoy the stamp of custom.  Everyone recognizes that.  It's called 'good faith,' and I don't think you're practicing it here tonight."