"Transfer granted!" said Orange brightly. "A modest amount like that might even deflect more suspicion than it raises. Thank you for calling!"

*

"On the whole," said Director Angus through his enormous walrus moustache, "we aren't doing too badly, down here in finance. It's diplomacy that's been suffering worst of all, for all that Trajan will whine and all that. No, nothing bad is going to happen to us financially one way or another, but you know what you say - put a dollar in, get a dollar out!"

Director Angus was by far the least qualified of Lhotse's senior leadership; an intellectually inert throwback risen to station by way of playing the game in that patient, agreeable way that took decades. Nothing was going to come from his quarter, good or bad - at least nothing that was his own idea. An empty piece like him made for a valuable and predictable pawn, and that's exactly what he had been to your predecessor, and your predecessor's predecessor. You couldn't trust him not to stab you in the back, but you could trust him to not do so until the political winds had already shifted so far that rebellion [i]was [/i]the status quo.

"Director Lights, that's where the problems will be, mark my words," he nattered on - an old windbag, for sure, but he listened as intensely as he spoke and knew all the gossip. "Been a bit into the bottle, as we'd say. Can't blame her. Nothing to do! Nothing to do it with! Asked her who the president of Crown and Slate was the other day and she burst into tears, would you believe it?"