Sarah Bowman sat at her desk and stared at a calendar with sombre eyes. In the early morning light she seemed haggard, with dark circles beneath her eyes and lines of worry and indecision scored deep into the surface of her mannish features. A videophone screen flared into colourful life and the old Matriarch stared dully at the picture of her receptionist.
“Madam?”
“What do you want?”
“Your secretary is here, Madam. Shall I admit her?”
“Yes.”
“Very good, Madam.” The screen dulled, swirled with fading colour; then resumed its normal gleaming blankness. Softly the door opened and Nyeeda entered the office.
She wore her usual black and her hair and skin displayed their normal, well-tended-for grooming, but, like the old woman sitting at the desk, she seemed tired and overstrained. Slow
