The Elysium Commission (15 page)

“Otherwise accounted for meaning deceased.”

“Usually. Or legally ineligible, as in the case of felons who might benefit from a crime.”

“Offspring who murder to get the inheritance? That sort of thing?”

“That's one class of ineligibility. The others are listed in the Codex.”

Cold and precise as she was, there was no sense of deception about her. That meant she'd offered no untruths but left much undisclosed. That was the way angels lied, I figured. Assuming there ever had been angels.

“You don't hold off disbursing until everyone is found? If they're not, that could be a long wait,” I pointed out. “Hundreds of years.”

“The maximum is three centuries and a year, the minimum fifty years. We disburse what is possible as soon as the legalities are satisfied.”

“Assuming I find this woman, what do you need to certify her?”

“Her proper Gallian identity, her birth record, and gene-certified record of parentage or, if she is not genetically related, the legal record establishing equivalency of parentage.”

I nodded politely. Angelique had as much as confirmed the bequest did go to children.

“Did you ever know a Terrence or Therese McGerrie?”

“The dramaturge? Not personally or professionally. I've seen one or two of her works.”

“Carey Douglass?”

“No.” Angelique smiled coldly. “I think there's little more for us to discuss, Seignior Donne. Good day.”

I left. I'd never even had the chance to sit down.

Legaar stood in the doorway to the suite, looking almost disappointed that I was unaccompanied by one of his nymphs, but I've never had much use for sycophants, especially for sexual sycophants. Magdalena was compliantly understanding, not falsely flattering, and there was a difference between the two.

Yet sometimes, I wondered about Magdalena. Should I have let her loose? Was indeed everything spoiled by use?

“I want to see the projections.” Legaar's words weren't a request because he never requested anything when he could order someone around. His brother Simeon was just the opposite, and the more quietly Simeon requested something, the angrier and more dangerous he was. Legaar was bullying and dangerous all the time.

“What about the shadow knight and the Fox?” I didn't really care about either, but Legaar did. Besides, it was a way of keeping him off-balance, and that was necessary with his calculating and predatory personality. “Has the Garda found the trails your agents planted from Jerome to Donne?”

“The Garda's still looking into the matter. They'll have trouble with the time displacement.” Legaar frowned. “We should have taken care of Jerome when you first realized the application of his work.”

I'd suggested that, but Legaar had thought Jerome wouldn't even notice the use of one modified jump-generator out of the thousands in use across the Galaxy. I wasn't about to remind Legaar that I'd warned him. “What about the shadow?”

“The shadow's been quiet ever since you shook him up. Hasn't even been haunting the back streets or the South Bank. This will tie him up further. Nothing new on the Fox. That could just be a rumor or a false lead for us.”

“Is that from your friends on the Garda?”

“And some others.”

“Do you want me to try with the field again?”

“No. It's too complicated and uncertain planetside. And it's slow. Besides, the local Assembly IS agents found out about the anomalies and the energy use, and they've beefed up satellite and local EDI surveillance. Now, they might be able to pinpoint the source. Unless the shadow comes out after us directly and without shields, it's better not to use the projection field. The shadow can't do that much anyway, but I don't want the Assembly sending in a fleet. Our…allies might disassociate themselves if that occurred.”

“How are the defenses?”

“We got more RPFs. They'll take care of anything local.” Legaar waved his arms. “We're set. Stop chewing the air and show me the projections.”

I called up the first projection, positioned so that the entire system hung between us, with Devanta a point of green, and the sun reddish orange. “The nodes are the fuchsia points. They're really MDLs.”

“Stop using all your acronyms.” Legaar snapped. “They're just glorified knots in underspace.”

“Overspace. They're multidimensional loci.”

“They have enough twists that they're knots. Call them that.”

Before he agreed to the project, Legaar wouldn't have known an MDL from a Hawking wormhole or sintered black hole or white hole. His interests lay in the credits produced from much shallower and more mundane depths and darknesses.

“Voltaire's the fulcrum,” Legaar said. “Do you have all the vectors and field positions calculated?”

That was another stupid statement followed by an even stupider question. I'd already reported that the calculations were as complete as they could be until the field was operational. For the system to work optimally, the sun and the target moon had to be on opposite sides of Devanta, and we couldn't make all the adjustments at the last minute. That's why as much as possible was precalculated. I'd told him that at least three times.

“Wipe that condescending look off your face, Maraniss. Unless you want to finish this operation as a brain-conditioned nymph.”

“I wasn't being condescending, Legaar.” I smiled politely. “I was just thinking about what was coming to the sisters.” Legaar's words were a bluff. After the operation…then it would be a real possibility…except that I wouldn't be anywhere that Legaar could reach. Matters were so far along that I could complete the project—if necessary—without the Hawking complex, but it would be messy, and the inflation would be less than ideal, not that it would matter in any lifetime I had. It would also leave traces of the methodology, and I didn't want to leave anything for the thoughtless and ungrateful Assembly.

Or for the Elois, except they wouldn't find anything.

The Civitas Sorores and all those who fawned over the sisters wouldn't get all that they deserved, but they'd get enough, and it would probably be sufficient for reformulation—assuming that there was anyone left to be governed. In any case, total revenge had to be secondary to my success. Legaar and Simeon would get their rewards as well, and that, too, would be as it should be, for a process in the weather of the world would blow the moon into the sun, figuratively, of course, and worlds would hang on the trees of time and gape, unable to act.

“It's not about revenge, Maraniss. It's about creds and power. Those are what count.”

I nodded. He was half-right.

“The next projection, frig it! Get moving.”

I called up the stress lines that would extend all across the Gallian sector. At this point, the projection went to modified scale, but that was good enough for Legaar to study and gloat.

“Bastards on Dreyfus…they'll get theirs, too.”

That was indubitably true, assuming one meant dying a slow and lingering death was “getting theirs.” The other systems in the Gallian sector were too distant for more than minor disruptions to their heliospheres.

“Next projection.”

“Did you ever discover who sent the military flitter to do recon on Time's End the other night?”

“Javerr did some checking. There was no record from ACS of any flitters headed northeast out of Thurene. Our systems had it coming due east. There's a SpecOps base east of Vannes, and it'd be a straight flight from there. The maneuvers were SpecOps, according to the analysis.”

“Special Operations? They're not supposed to be operating planetside.”

“Doesn't matter. They didn't get inside, and the outside scan they did won't tell them anything.”

“No, but they still shouldn't be planetside.”

“You want to tell them, Maraniss?”

I didn't, but in three weeks it wouldn't matter, not when I would have fostered the golden white light of Elysium and veiled the man-shaped galaxy that had spawned and rejected me.

It had taken some effort, but by late midafternoon on Lunen, I'd found Tony's groundcar in the restricted parking area for bank officials. I hadn't been able to get that close, but I'd used an airbolt projector to dust it with nanosnoops, placed so that some would sift inside when the doors were open. I was assuming that the vehicle parked in the space marked for the
VICE DIRECTOR, E&L
, was his. The carpark was beneath the pseudo-granite, faux-classical structure that housed the bank. The public section was on a different level, but I just walked down a ramp.

To any snoops or onlookers, I would have appeared curious. I just pointed at one vehicle, then turned away. The projector was hidden in my sleeve.

Then I walked briskly up the pedestrian ramps and through the main entrance to Banque de L'Ouest, guarded by two virties and a virtie receptionist. The guard images were symbolic of the nanobarriers that blocked unauthorized entrance to the Banque's business offices.

“Blaine Donne to see Antonio diVeau.”

“One moment, ser.” The virtie receptionist smiled warmly. Her brown eyes were supposed to show trust. They just looked flat to me.

As she checked, I looked past her image. The decor was a cross between brass rococo and green marble, with hand-painted replicas of ancient Old Earth French pastoral oils. The walls were paneled in dark pseudocherry. The handful of desks in the open area held young-looking men and women in severe gray suits and pin-striped shirts. The only color was modestly colored scarves for the women and fine-striped ties for the men. I hadn't seen such a living montage of antiquity in years.

“It will be a few minutes, ser. Would you like a seat in the waiting area?” The virtie gestured to a period love seat against the wall just past her console desk.

“Thank you.” I settled myself in to wait. I let my implants scan the energy flows. I was careful not to attempt to crack them. The temptation was strong because they were as obsolete as the decor and about as effective.

None of the pin-striped young bankers looked at me. All appeared fixated on the vid-holos before them. I had no idea what they were doing and less interest in learning. I waited almost fifteen minutes.

“Seignior Donne, Directeur diVeau will see you now. His office is the second door on the left.”

Directeur? That usage had gone out with the decor. Except in Banque de L'Ouest, I gathered. “Thank you.” I stood and walked to the second door. I opened it, stepped inside, and closed it. The office beyond was small, no more than three and a half meters square.

Tony diVeau stood after I closed the door. He had an oval and round, friendly face, a short, muscular neck, broad shoulders and a heavy torso emphasized by a gray pin-striped suit jacket that was a shade too small. His smile was the warm and welcoming type perfected by all effective bankers since the creation of banks. His hair was brown, of moderate length, and slightly wavy.

“Blaine…I thought I wasn't going to hear from you.” Tony gestured to the straight-backed chair across from the unnecessary cherry desk with its equally unnecessary drawers. “I hoped you would. Can I count on you for that cataract trip to Pays du Sud in Novem…”

“There are reasons for that.” I didn't sit down. I offered a smile meant to be furtive. “Tony…I need a moment of your time.”

“You can have all the time you need, Blaine.”

“If you'd just take a walk with me. Just across to the plaza or around the block.”

The barest hint of puzzlement flickered in his eyes. Then they went blank, as he linked to the bank's comm system. I could sense the energy flows. Again, I refrained from attempting to eavesdrop on the link. Even so, I caught some of it through the leakage of a sloppy system.

“…need to take a walk with a client…not more than half a stan…”

Tony's smile returned. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can certainly do that.” He stepped from behind the desk.

I let him lead the way out of the office and past the unseen security barriers. We crossed the lightly traveled Rue de Paix and began a stroll around the statue of the second Soror Prima. I'd never learned her name. That kind of history didn't appeal to me.

“What did you want to talk about, Blaine? I can guess it's not about cataract trips.” He laughed heartily. “A credit line…some sort of…special financial arrangement?”

“You make those sorts of arrangements?” I tried to let just a hint of tentativeness enter my voice.

“We try to be helpful to everyone.” Tony smiled more broadly.

“I'm not in the entertainment and leisure lines.”

“If it's something I can't handle, Blaine, I'll make sure you get someone who can.”

I nodded. “I'm curious…about…how this sort of thing is structured. I assume the interest is tied to…risk.”

“That's the usual way.”

“So…if it's an unusual business, say, like the Classic Escort Service, you look at the risks?” I laughed. “I don't imagine that's all that risky. It's an old line of business.”

There was the slightest pause. “It's a legitimate form of entertainment. We assess it like any other. What did you have in mind?”

“How well do you know Legaar Eloi?”

Tony laughed, genially. “No one knows the Elois, not even their bankers.”

“You're in the entertainment sector, and you're vice director. Don't tell me you haven't met them.”

He shrugged his wide, almost beefy shoulders. “I wouldn't say that. Director Eloi has always been most businesslike.”

“How long have you been dealing with him?”

Tony stopped and looked sidewise at me. “I don't think I ever said I had been. His manner's always been businesslike, even at receptions.”

“I've heard that.” Tony had still confirmed that he knew Legaar on a more-than-casual basis. “Do you know who first bankrolled him?”

“There are all sorts of rumors.” Tony laughed again, but there was a nervous edge to the sound. “I wouldn't believe them. We certainly didn't.”

“There are more than a few. Like the fact that he has people spy and snoop for him. Or that top people who aren't successful disappear.” I laughed again. “I'd thought about getting into a competing business, but talking to you, Tony, tells me that it's not a good idea. I'd just want to disappear people who did those sorts of things, and that just creates problems.” I smiled. “It's been good talking to you. I thought you'd be just like you are. And I appreciated the cataract offer, but I'm better at other things than swimming.” I stopped and smiled again. “Take care, Tony. You've got a good family.”

“Blaine…” He almost made my name sound like an expletive.

“Let's leave it at that, Tony. I don't like snoops dumped on me, and you don't want trouble.”

Before he could say more, I turned and walked away. I had my implants on full, but we were in a publicly monitored space. Tony wasn't stupid.

I walked back to my own groundcar. I couldn't help but think how much Tony reminded me of Lawrence Luchesi in
The Financiers.
The satire-drama had been ridiculous. Yet I could still smile at the idea of bankers with selectively adapted vampiritic and shark tissue implants. That idea had been around since the first Clone Conflicts back on Old Earth. It had almost been more satirized than the absurdity of intelligent design.

Once in my groundcar, I tapped into the snoops I'd planted on and around Tony. Then I started back toward the villa. I was almost there before the first signals came back.

“…who does he think he is…just walk in and pressure me…see how he likes being squeezed…”

Those remarks cut off. I was pulling into the garage when the signals resumed.

“Ser Daglione…it's a pleasure to hear from you. Yes, I know I linked you. It's about your line of credit…oh, we certainly do want to work with you, but there is a certain risk to the kinds of transactions you specialize in…we have to take that into account when we set the rate…I might be able to come down a bit…you've been a good customer…we're limited. There are certain guidelines set by the sisters, and we can't do much about them…Yes, I know…”

Tony went on for another ten minutes before he broke the link. I could tell he was doing something, but it was nonverbal.

Abruptly, he began to speak, his voice low.

“Pass it on…Blaine Donne. This guy Donne is onto something. He's fishing, and he knows where I stand. How? I don't know. No…a meeting won't do any good. He might even be watching and tailing me. That's one of the things he does. I said…just pass it on.”

Another silence followed.

“…ought to take care of him…threaten me…even veiled…”

Tony's remarks validated my earlier opinion of him and my suspicions of his links to Legaar Eloi. Again, I had no usable proof, not the kind I could take to the Garda or the justiciary. That didn't make the connection less real.