"Sir, you can't go in there!" the young man behind the desk cried out as he leaped from his seat. He was a soldier in uniform. But Moreau didn't care, nor did he stop.

He flung open the oaken doors to Balkan's office and barged in. "You're not so high up that you can keep me out."

The front desk soldier appeared at the door with armed security and surrounded Moreau.

Balkan settled calmly into his chair.

"Mr. Secretary, do you want us to remove him?"

Moreau glared at Balkan, daring him to give the order to have him removed.

Instead, Balkan waved his security off. At once, the guards backtracked and closed the door behind them, leaving the two men by themselves.

"Very well, what can I do for you, Director?" Balkan clasped his hands together.

"You think I wouldn't know?" Moreau blurted.

"Know what?" Balkan exhaled, annoyed.

"You trying to shut my project down. Let me remind you, your custodial government didn't fund it. This is proprietary intellectual property belonging to TexPax -- and I have its say."

"Will you take a seat?" The Secretary offered with a sweep of his hand.

"I don't plan to joust with you, Balkan. I've filed a complaint with Dallas-Austin. No way you're going to touch Carnivora. I spent my whole life on it and other people gave their lives for it."

"I'm sorry, but it's done."

"Sorry?" Moreau scoffed. "This is a Tier-1 program we procured, and TexPax has spent billions in development. You don't get to decide to close the doors, now that it's operational with verified performance . . . and I don't care what he told you. Until Drexel himself calls to tell me otherwise, you take your decision and ram it up your culo."

"So you know my conversation with Drexel?" Balkan smirked. "Let me guess, a little bird told you?"

Moreau clammed up, realizing he'd over-spoken.

"Those lips will get her in hot water, I did tell her so." Balkan sighed.

"Something this dastardly doesn't stay under wraps for long."

"No matter; the order stands. Please have all your materials prepared for transfer. We will mothball it for future development. At some later time, you will be allowed to resume the program -- but only if you behave. Now, if you don't mind, I have a busy schedule." Balkan slid the holo-screen over and continued reading whilst ignoring Moreau.

"I'm not finished, damn you." Moreau hissed with so much vehemence, the Secretary flinched.

"You're still here?"

"Government does one thing best -- it drags on society." Moreau gnashed his teeth, taking a step forward. "It saps progress and feeds on the people it was supposed to protect. Not anymore. You, sir, and the desk you sit behind are anachronistic relics. We technologists are the fuel that allows humanity to soar and advance its unlimited evolution."

"Your point is?"

"A former Viceroy turned second-rate Fednik administrator." Moreau sneered. "You're marginalized."

"Is that so?" Balkan chuckled.

Moreau paused, flustered, and demanded, "Do I amuse you, sir?"

"Let me tell you, Director Moreau. Big government may be a thing of the past but I still have the power to wage wars. You know how? The guns are with me. What do you have but your peacock bravado strutting around like you're relevant. You're a glorified laborer, Moreau, a railroad coolie thinking he's the conductor. In reality, you're an ant with delusions of grandeur, and I am the thumb."

"I am a senior technical director and Affiliate member of TexPax!"

"And I was a Viceroy." Balkan exhaled, losing patience. "The mandate did not originate from this office, Mr. Moreau. So go gripe elsewhere, if you don't like what you hear."

"Believe me, I will. In the meantime, I expect my facilities to remain open and untouched, until I get to the bottom of this."

"The problem with expectation is that it is often dashed."

"You haven't heard the end of it, Balkan."

"I'm sure I haven't." The Secretary pulled the holo screen round in front of him again.

Moreau turned to leave. He tried slamming the doors but the hinges were pneumatic. Irate beyond reason, he rushed past the reception desk red-faced.

Heading back to Advance Research Laboratory complex in Arlington, all kinds of ideas sifted through Moreau's mental filter. Regrets and self-accusations hammered him. He'd shown Balkan his hand and had betrayed Lisbeth. He cursed his impulsiveness and stupidity. How could he be so obtuse as to put her in jeopardy? How could he put things right and save his project too?

Sweat beaded his brow as he concentrated on possible solutions to his quandary, ignoring the blurred urban landscape below.

Balkan could not have acted by himself -- not without the proper by-your-leave. And the Oval Office had no reason to give one. No, the order to terminate Carnivora came from down south. The immutable fact stood out like a landslide blocking his path -- Dallas was behind the call, an implication he found hard to swallow. Deep down, he knew his efforts to overturn the decision would be futile. Mixed emotions tore at his ego and he found it difficult to breathe. Loosening his collar, Moreau wheezed from the onset of a panic attack, his mouth dry, throat parched. Anger replaced panic. Dallas-Austin, Chairmark Drexel, TexPax, they could all go to hell. They had used him and now brushed him aside. So why should he be different?

He will deny them their wishes. The Director didn't get to where he was by inaction. He had always bent the rules and cheated outcomes, re-postulated premises that didn't fit into his formula. Why shouldn't that work now?

Always the gambler, he'd learned many lessons dealing with lady luck. If the cards turned cold, find a different table. The idea made his heart race. It could work, he convinced himself. And it will. He had value-add. His expertise and clout were sought after any House would be proud to include him in their registry. In this he was sure -- they would roll out the red carpet for someone of his stature. Piss on Balkan, Drexel and TexPax. Defection was the answer -- it would give him everything he wanted -- new autonomy, and a new slate. But timing was key -- and the right contact could make or break it.

There was a man he once met at an Inter-Paramountcy Goodwill dinner and they'd hit it off. This individual was a close adviser to Devlin Augustine, Midland's firebrand Regent. But how to reach him? You can't just walk into a random Midland office and ask to see Harry DeWitt. First, no one would know who DeWitt was, and if they did would never take the request seriously; secondly -- if it were to happen, it can't be anywhere around here. He would have to hop on a flight and get clear of the East Coast. In recent weeks, Moreau could feel eyes and ears trained on his back everywhere he went.

Carnivora was his, he resolved. He'd built it from the ground up. He had as much ownership right as the check writers did, even more so. It was his legacy. And he would take his child with him and would protect her secrets from their groping hands. Again it came down to timing: how and when. One thing for sure -- the moment he transferred the petabyte of research data into his personal storage, the moment he locked out the system interface, they would be on him. He had a narrow window, so everything must be in place beforehand.

Moreau's stomach churned with worry.