“Yes… but not your specialized knowledge.” “What do you want to know?” Ordier said resignedly. “Everything you can tell me.” “Parren, you’ve been misinformed. I’ve retired.” “Then that wasn’t a scintilla detector I noticed in your house.” “Look, I don’t see why you’re interested.” Parren was sitting forward, away from the rock, and his manner had changed. “Let’s not prevaricate, Ordier. I need some information from you. I want to know if there is any law in the Archipelago prohibiting the use of scintillas. I want to know if scintillas could be used to observe the Qataari. And lastly, if you think the Qataari would have any way of detecting or jamming scintillas.” “Is that all?” “Yes.” “There’s no law against using them. I can tell you that much. Only the Covenant of Neutrality, but it’s never enforced.” “And the rest?” Parren said. Ordier sighed. “The scintillas could obviously be used against the Qataari, if you could think of some way of planting them without them knowing.” “That’s easy. They can be sown from an aircraft at night.” “I see you’ve worked it out. But your last question interests me. Why do you think the Qataari would be able to jam scintillas?” “They’ve had plenty of experience of them.” “How do you mean?” Ordier said.
“Both sides were using them during the invasion of the peninsula. The military work on saturation principles… scintillas must have been ankle-deep. A race who so obviously dislike being watched would have realized what they were for.” “I was under the impression you thought the Qataari were primitive.” Parren said: “Not primitive… decivilized. Their science is a match for anything we’ve got.” “How do you know that?” “An intelligent guess. But what’s your opinion, Ordier? Do you think they could jam scintillas?” “No one else can, so far as I know. But technology is always advancing.” “Qataari technology?” “I don’t know, Parren.” “Look at this.” Parren reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small box. Ordier recognized it at once: it was a scintilla quiet-case, identical to his own. Parren opened the lid, reached inside with a pair of tweezers he took from a mounting in the lid. “Have you seen one of these before?” He dropped a scintilla into the palm of Ordier’s hand. Ordier, guessing, said: “It hasn’t got a serial number.” “Right. Do you know why?” “Do you?” “I’ve never encountered it before.” “Neither have I,” Ordier said. “Except here on Tumo. My guess is that they’re military.” “No, I’ve checked. They’re required by the Yenna Convention to mark them. Both sides abide.” “Then a bootleg?” “They’re usually marked too. A few of the pirates might leave them blank, but these little devils are all over the place. I’ve seen hundreds since I’ve been on Tumo.” “You’ve checked them all?” Ordier said. “No, but every one I have checked has been blank.” Parren picked up the scintilla with the tweezers, and returned it to the quiet-case. “Then whose are they?” “I was hoping you’d tell me, Ordier.” “You’ve already revealed that you’re better informed than I am.” “Then I’ll tell you what I think. They’re connected with the Qataari.” Ordier waited, expecting more to follow, but the other man was looking at him in a significant way as if waiting for a response. He said in the end: “So…?” “Someone,” Parren said with ponderous emphasis, “is spying on the Qataari.” “With what purpose?” “The same as mine.” And Ordier heard again the edge to Parren’s voice he had heard at Jenessa’s dinner party. Personal ambition was strong in the man. For a moment Ordier had felt a guilty suspicion growing in him, that Parren had somehow guessed that he had been spying on the Qataari from the folly, and that he was about to accuse him. But Ordier’s own guilt was as nothing beside Parren’s ambition, which was so bright it blinded him.