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confidently. “And I suspect that many of those who have indicated opposition will come around before our meeting is over. I’ve found that there are a lot of irrational fears surrounding what this might mean for independents, especially spotters.” He gave her a meaningful look, and she nodded wisely.
    “Still,” she said gently, “it is needed. The quality of merchandise has been declining for years now. I have seen common threads; a lack of dedication, a lack of the proper spark, the passion.” She shook her head sadly. “However, we cannot place the blame entirely upon the clientèle. We must bear this responsibility, as we are the foundation upon which the Marketplace exists. We are more than the conduit, Mr. Parker—we are the shapers of service. Surely, we must admit that there are universal standards of acceptability.”
    “Of course we do,” came a deep voice from behind her. “We accept the standards and teach them. But we can’t allow any governing board authority over us and our methods. That would go against the very essence of our origins and place in the world.”
    Michael cringed at the sound of that confident, cheerful voice. Chris and Ninon turned to welcome Geoff Negel into their little conversation, and Michael wished even harder that he could sink into the floor, unnoticed.
    “Mr. Negel,” Ninon said, extending her hand. He shook it, American style, and offered his hand to Chris as well. Michael half expected his trainer to refuse it, but without the slightest hesitation, Chris returned the greeting.
    “A pleasure to see you again, Ninon, Parker,” Geoff said. His eyes sparkling, he turned deliberately to Michael and held his hand out. “And great to see you, Mike! You’re looking well.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Negel,” Michael said softly, surrendering to the moment. He shook his old trainer’s hand nervously, and stepped even further back away from the little group.
    “Oh, please, we’ve never stood on that kind of formality,” Geoff said cheerfully. “Call me Geoff, the way you always did.”
    Michael glanced at Chris, but the man didn’t come to his rescue. “Uh, thank you, Mr. Negel, I’m honored. But, I’m—it would be improper for me to address you so informally. Please excuse me.”
    “Of course, of course,” Geoff murmured. “You’re quite the stickler for formality, Parker, aren’t you?”
    “Quite.” Chris said with a slight smile. “Which is why I see we shall be the principle opponents over this issue.”
    Geoff opened the binder and read, “‘Proposed: That the International Coalition of Trainers and Handlers create a standing committee of Standards of Training, including a certification process for accrediting new Trainers.’ It sounds so innocuous, Parker. But what you’re suggesting could destroy one of the primary freedoms we enjoy in the Marketplace—the ability to create new and innovative methods, to challenge the past and create for the future. I mean no disrespect, I hope you realize this. Your own methods are documented successes, and I have learned much from your input in Anderson’s reports. Anderson herself is truly the greatest American trainer of our generation, I will admit that freely. But there are other styles—perhaps better, perhaps equal, certainly worse. But styles which deserve to succeed or fail on their own merits, not on your personal judgment.”
    “What makes you think that my standards would be the sole basis for accreditation, Negel?” Chris asked. “My proposal clearly outlines a method for establishing the criteria by committee.”
    “And who selects the committee?” Geoff asked, waving one hand dismissively. “We all know that’s where the real issue is. Who is selected to rule over us, and what training methods will be approved of, hm?”
    “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Surely, this is one of those discussions best left for the debating floor?” Ninon said lightly, touching each man and smiling at both in