She stepped out onto the landing deck where she could crane her head around to check the observation deck. The wind whipped her hair across her face, but the strands did not sting her replacements as they would meat eyes. A slight adjustment reduced the glare of reflections and let her view the small group of people watching the pad from the warmth and safety of the Transparex-shielded lounge. Sato stood next to the brass rail, hands clasped behind his back. To his left were his special bodyguards, and to his right were Marushige and Silla. Crenshaw frowned at the unwanted presence of the security director. This was supposed to be her show.