“I agree that we need to keep a lid on this until we have something definite to report,” the admiral said after a moment. “I’m guessing that you told your staff people to keep their mouths shut?”

“On the research side, yes,” Kare agreed. “The problem is going to come on the funding and administrative side.”

Reynaud nodded. The scientists assigned to the project shared Kare’s opinions about the PR people almost unanimously. Some of them might even have put it a little stronger than the professor did, in fact. But RMAIA was also awash in paperwork, which was the other main reason Reynaud felt the government would have been better advised to let someone else run it. It had been bad enough in Astro Control, which for all its military rank structure was actually a civil service organization. RMAIA was even worse. Not only did government bureaucrats with perhaps three percent of Dr. Kare’s credentials and half that much of his intelligence insist on trying to “direct” his efforts, but they also insisted on exercising a degree of oversight which Reynaud privately estimated had probably doubled the project’s time requirements. People who ought to have been attending to research were spending at least fifty percent of their time filling out endless forms, writing and reading memos, and attending administrative conferences that had damn all to do with finding the termini of wormhole junctions. Almost as bad, the project managers were not only scientific ignoramuses; they were also political appointees whose first loyalty was to the politicians who’d given them their prestigious, well-paid jobs. Like Dame Melina Makris, the Exchequer’s personal representative on the RMAIA board. Although she was technically in the Countess of New Kiev’s department, everyone knew she’d been appointed on the direct nomination of the Prime Minister. Even if there hadn’t been any rumors to that effect, Makris herself would have made certain that every soul unfortunate enough to cross her path figured it out. She was officious, overbearing, arrogant, supercilious, and abrasive… and those, in Michel Reynaud’s opinion, were her good points.

But she also knew precisely how the bureaucratic infighting game was played. Better, in fact, than Reynaud himself did. And she had access to all of the agency’s paperwork. Which meant that the moment Kare and his scientific team started requesting additional funds for sensor runs, she was going to go running to the Prime Minister—and the public relations department—with the news that Dr. Jordin Kare had once again discovered the ultimate secret of the universe.

In which case, that same Dr. Jordin Kare was going to shoot her. And not just in a kneecap.

“Let me think about it for a day or so, Jordin,” Reynaud said after a moment. “There has to be a way to lose the funding in the underbrush.” He swiveled his chair gently from side to side, tapping his fingers on his blotter while he thought. “I might be able to get Admiral Haynesworth to help us out,” he mused aloud. “She doesn’t like bureaucratic interference any more than I do, and she still resents the hell out of having the project stripped away from her own people. She’s in the middle of a routine Junction beacon survey right now, too. Maybe I can coax her into letting us have a little bit of her budget for the extra sensor runs we’re going to need if we collect her data at the same time.”