The Machiavelli Interface by Steve Perry

"If we're still around after the Confed turns belly up, probably we'll be taking orders from you," Sleel said.
    "But until then, we go with what Dirisha says. She knows what she's doing.
    We trust her."
    Around the table, the other matadors nodded or smiled in agreement.
    Rajeem sighed, and turned to his wife. "What are we going to do? They're all crazy."
    * * *
    The spiral Sb called the Milky Way was by no means completely explored, but even the human and mue inhabited portion of it was too large for slower-than-light communications. White Radio—a misnomer, for it was neither invented by Desmond White nor was it radio—was the most efficient means yet devised by men. White got the credit because he supplied the research lab and funding; the device itself was the creation of several teams of physicists, electronicists, and biologists, as well as assorted engineers, military types, and even psychics.
    To understand exactly what White Radio did required several advanced degrees, an IQ nearing high genius, and intuitive abilities rivaling those of mystical seers. Mathematics aside, the relatively simple explanation was that the machineries somehow detected hitherto undetected subatomic particles called impious chronons—of which there were three types: eclectic, reverse entropic, and pan-neurotic—focused, transmitted, received and managed to somehow attach meaning to these invisible particles. The scientists had called the prototype the A-17 Chronometric/E-RE-PN Impiotic Particle Acceleration/Reception Augmenter, which was why it quickly came to be known as White Radio.
    That Dirisha knew all this was due to research she and the other five matadors had done, in preparation for their planned undertaking to contact the other matadors. She also knew that while White Radio had a theoretically unlimited range, in practical terms anything over a hundred light-years was yet to be accomplished. For reasons no one had yet determined, communication at longer distances took less time than shorter spaces. At five LY, there was a nine second lag; at thirty LY, the lag was only two seconds.
    Mostly, the system worked, but there were problems. Visual transmissions were possible, but only in shades of gray. Color augmentation was added at the receiving end, but it left something to be desired—people sometimes looked like ancient, tinted, flat-photographs. In its own way, White Radio was much like the early days of terran radio and television: useful and interesting, but less than perfect.
    White Radio was expensive, but widespread. There were system nets, for commercial and industrial communications, and there was even a galactic net.
    It didn't cover the galaxy, of course, but it did reach most of the human worlds and wheelworlds. It was Confed controlled, used for entertainment, propaganda, commercial advertising, and education.
    If she couldn't locate each of the hiding matadors individually, Dirisha reasoned, she would just have to send them all a message at the same time.
    The plan, like all good plans, was simple: she and the other five matadors would take over the galactic net broadcast station.

Ten
    REVENGE, IT WAS SAID, was a supper best served and eaten cold, in order to savor it fully. Wall knew this, for he had taken such dishes many times during his career. But there were times when a meal still warm had more appeal; this was one of those times, while Wall's ire raged impotently within the hot cage of his anger. Drawing it out over months or years would leave it with him too long. He would lance it like a festering sore, and be done with it. His solutions, in any event, were not final. With his initial irritation spent, he could reflect more upon further additions in time to come.
    "Minister Miyamoto and Nichole have arrived," Cteel's disembodied voice said quietly, almost as if the computer could somehow sense Wall's simmering purpose and feared to arouse it.
    "Scan them for weapons and admit them."
    A moment later, the