Nyeeda sat at her desk and conducted the normal business of the day. As usual she wore iridescent black and the late afternoon sun reflected from a wide band of intricately fashioned gold around her left wrist. Her secretary, a plainly dressed, middle-aged woman, worked quietly at her desk and aside from the soft sounds of her keyboard, silence filled the office.
A videophone chimed its muted warning and the screen flared with swirling brilliance.
“Yes?”
“Report from the Trans-European Stratolines, Madam. They state that one of their passenger transports is overdue at the airport. The flight had a three nines favourable prediction.”
“Then the ship will arrive,” said Nyeeda flatly. “Three nines is a high probability. Nothing can have happened to the stratoliner.”
“As you say, Madam.” T
