The Elysium Commission (21 page)

The bulky cast placed on my forearm by the RT forester had hardly been a medical miracle, but it had reduced the pain to manageable agony. As soon as I'd gotten back to the villa, I'd had my systems take over. After an antiinflammatory treatment, and an initial regrowth session that lasted almost a stan, the villa's med-system replaced my field splint cast with a nanospun flexicast that fit under a shirt. The nerve blocks were set to maintain an intermittent low-grade dull ache. Otherwise, the system told me, “You will be tempted to act as if the bone were not broken.”

Were people that stupid?

Probably. At times, pain serves a most useful purpose, even for me.

By that time, the sun had set, and I was exhausted. I gratefully had climbed into bed and collapsed into an exhausted sleep. That state had lasted only a few stans before the nightmares began.

The first was predictable—a repeat of the events on Pournelle II—except that I was watching and telling my former self that it was more than an ambush. Even in the nightmare, I didn't listen to myself.

The second was a modified replay of what had just happened at Time's End. This time I got potted with a bracketed missile launch that destroyed the nightflitter, and started a raging fire that turned thousands of hectares of RT forests into ashes. Somehow I escaped and was standing stark naked before the planetary justiciary trying to explain why I wasn't guilty of inciting the events that led to ecocide. The justicers weren't listening, but I jerked awake before the verdict was read.

I got up soaked in sweat and walked around my bedchamber to cool off.

It was just past midnight. Should I try sleeping again?

A leaden feeling and several yawns convinced me that I should at least make an attempt.

I woke well after dawn, convinced that I'd had more nightmares. I was unable to remember them. For that I was thankful.

As I began breakfast—an orange from one of the trees in the courtyard garden, a single poached egg topped with cheese, and a small butter croissant, accompanied by a large mug of earlgrey—I set Max to scanning the news. By the time I started on the second mug of earlgrey, he reported that there was nothing about what had happened at Time's End. Not a thing.

After breakfast, I sat in my study and reflected. I tried to, anyway.

Fiorina Carle had known about Maraniss, but either hadn't connected me to the link between Maraniss and Legaar Eloi or hadn't wanted to call attention to it. I got a definite feeling of insignificance. Not only that, but I was feeling less than competent in the whole business. I
knew
something enormous was about to happen. I also knew it was called Elysium, and it involved a modified jumpship generator and infringement on Lemel Jerome's patents, and would take a lot of power. Part of what it was
might
involve the transport device, because Lemmy's patents had dealt with transport.

I frowned. Had Maraniss or Legaar found a technology that allowed instant on-planet transport? That would be worth billions, and would certainly explain why Legaar didn't want to let Lemmy know, and why the inventor had been silenced. Could it be that Elysium was the code name for the project?

Again…I just didn't know. That was another possibility. I did have a good idea that Tony diVeau had allowed himself to be suborned by the Elois just in order to keep Banque de L'Ouest solvent—and his own position. And somehow Sephaniah's daughter had been involved in the creation of the Sephaniah impersonator. Why that had been done, I couldn't say. It didn't fit.

I also knew that a number of the top Classic personnel had been transferred away from Devanta, and that Eloi Enterprises had moved funds and capital—as much as possible, I judged—out-system. Yet both Maraniss and Legaar Eloi appeared to be still on Devanta. Didn't they?

Max, interrogative physical presence and location of Legaar Eloi and Judeon Maraniss?

Probability exceeds ninety-three percent that both are currently situated at Time's End or at Pier One.

I would have preferred a probability of absolute unity.
Based on what?

Legaar Eloi appeared as a witness in a preliminary hearing on the EsClox proceeding late yesterday, and he is scheduled to testify in two stans at the justiciary building in Thurene. Neither he nor Maraniss is manifested on any out-system transports…
Max went on until I cut him off.

Let me know if Eloi doesn't show for his testimony, or when he does.
I stopped.
Calculate the probabilities that the body testifying as Legaar Eloi is actually Eloi.

Probability approaches unity. Civitas Sorores require physio-genetico-somatic identity verification.

That didn't preclude an absolutely identical clone—not if Legaar wanted to risk being destroyed by himself—but it was close enough to totally unlikely that I could bet on Legaar still being on Devanta. For now, anyway.

I wasn't going to get anywhere obsessing about what I didn't know. So I tried to recall the “new” angles I'd considered on my aborted recon before Legaar's commando goons had arrived. First, I reviewed the recording of the original request by “Nancy.” I'd never followed up on either the names Vola Paulsky or Relian Cru, not beyond a quick data search. I set Max to work on a complete direct and indirect search. It didn't take long for the direct information to appear—after he informed me that Legaar Eloi had indeed appeared and was now testifying in objection to the amendment before the justiciary.

Incoming from Seldara Tozzi.

The last thing I wanted to do was explain my report to a doubtless angry Seigniora Tozzi. But the need to make the explanation wasn't going away.
Accept.

Seldara Tozzi wore a silver jacket over a brilliant white pleated blouse, and dark gray trousers. She was seated behind a wide and simple dark wooden table desk. I forced myself to smile and wait for her to speak. For a moment, neither of us did.

She smiled. I would rather have faced battle laser focused in my direction. Not really, but that was partly how I felt.

“Seignior Donne, I have read your report on the presentation to the Humanitas Foundation. I studied it, in fact. It is a remarkable piece of work. In fact, it is excellent. Upon reflection, I asked my great-granddaughter for her opinion about it. She agreed. Your work was precise, accurate, and concise. Your analysis was trenchant.” The smile turned fainter. “There is one small problem with it, however. It doesn't bear upon your commission.” Her voice remained cool.

“Principessa Tozzi, I disagree. Politely. It has a great deal to do with your commission.”

“I would be
most
interested to know how that might be.”

“If you would bear with me, I would like to ask you a question before I give you a fuller reply. Exactly how did your great-granddaughter respond to the report, and what did she say?”

There was no hesitation in her reply. “At first, she was disturbed that I had dispatched an observer to analyze Dr. Dyorr's presentation. After she read it, she said that it was succinct and accurate. She said she'd seen few analyses so impartial and accurate. She asked for a copy. I provided it.”

“Did she say anything about Dr. Dyorr personally?”

“She did not. She did say that he would be pleased to know that at least some observers actually understood the import and impact of his research.”

I nodded. “Good. I have done a great deal of searching behind the scenes. Both before and after the presentation. I have contacted, under accurate but misleading introductions, a number of professionals who would have every desire to reveal anything untoward about the doctor. Not a one did, even given every opportunity. There is absolutely not even a whiff of anything unethical or concealed by the doctor.” I held up my right hand to forestall an objection. “That does not necessarily mean it does not exist. What it does mean is that if there is something not right, it is most likely something else. I had wondered about this from early on, but I wanted to see Dr. Dyorr in person, especially with your granddaughter watching him. There's no substitute for personal contacts.”

“Doubtless you are suggesting the expenditure of more credits.”

“No. I have not utilized all that you provided.” Close, but not quite. “As you may recall, I also agreed to an absolute limit on your exposure. I would like you to consider a possibility for discovering more and possibly resolving this. You had said that your granddaughter had appreciated my report. Would you consider inviting me to a lunch with her and with Dr. Dyorr to discuss his difficulties in obtaining accurate and fair representation of his research?”

Seldara Tozzi offered only a momentary frown. “I don't know why you think this would resolve matters, but it could be done.”

“How soon could this be arranged?”

“I suppose we should resolve matters as soon as possible. I doubt that we could arrange anything before Lunen, although…” She paused. “I might be able to work out something for Domen afternoon. Marie Annette was going to meet me for lunch. I will let you know shortly, Seignior Donne. Why do you think this would help?”

“I'm going to ask you to trust me on this, Seigniora. I will say that Dr. Dyorr would never let anything interfere with his medicine, his reputation, and his research. I think that will prove the key.”

She nodded slowly. “I can see that might prove…useful.” The slight hint of a predatory smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. “Very well. I will contact you with a proposed date.”

“Thank you.”

Once the holo vanished, I took a deep breath. I believed what I'd said. The only difficulty was that I had no idea of how I'd be able to resolve the problem. There was no doubt in my mind that Richard Guillaume Dyorr was not a samer. Not even a closet samer. What he was exactly was another question.

I decided to let my subconscious stew over that while I returned to the Maureen Gonne commission. I also hoped it wouldn't be too long before I heard from Myndanori.

The dossier on Vola Paulsky was slim—private citizen, born in Seveignon, Devanta, [date not given], degrees from Hyhail College and L' Université de Vannes, advocate in nonpublic practice, Carcassonne. A code followed the office link, along with the notation that all other personal information was restricted. Seveignon was a small town less than fifty klicks west from Vannes, and Carcassonne was about sixty northeast. Nonpublic advocacy meant she worked for a corpentity or a nonprofit…or possibly as a counsel for a government body. Previous occupations included a brief time as a literary instructor at Hyhail, followed by work for hire as an author of elaborate wish fulfillment scenarios for White Hyppogrif, Limited, an entertainment combine outside of Vannes.

There was even less on Relian Cru, except for an old story about a summer racquets competition, where “Lucky” Cru had won the youth division. The only other notation was that he was currently listed as in service to the Assembly of Worlds. No public information was available on what his service was or where. That was standard. It didn't help me.

Max had also come up with close to fifty passing and indirect references. I began to read. When I finished sorting through them more than a stan later, I knew just a little more. Vola had contributed to the Vannes Opera Civique and the Carcassonne Literary Society for the past twelve years. She had been listed as the pro bono advocate of record on behalf of a number of legally disadvantaged individuals in the Carcassonne subdistrict. There was no record of her appearing in any other proceedings. That suggested she was an in-house advocate who did not appear in justiciary proceedings for her employer, but I was only guessing at that.

At that moment, I got an incoming text document from an in-house advocate at Rothschild Thierry. As Fiorina Carle had promised, it included both a waiver and an invoice for special transportation services—two thousand credits.

That reminded me to put in an indemnity claim for the nightflitter. Gallian Re was not going to be happy even though I'd only been able to indemnify a third of the cost—and that had cost more than thirty thousand credits a year, my single largest expense. I wouldn't have bothered, except that much coverage had been required by the sisters, mainly to assure that I had liability coverage to protect others.

I had twenty days to pay RT, but I sent off the two thousand credits immediately. I hated owing anyone anything.

Then I linked to the code given for Vola Paulsky.

A slender, almost scrawny, and thin-faced woman appeared. The talking head was virtie, but based, I suspected, on Vola herself. “You have reached the Performing Arts Society. Please leave a message.”

That was all.

I didn't leave a message. What would I have said? What performing arts society?

I eased back in the chair. I still hadn't any better ideas, and I was running out of time.

I must have sat in the study and stewed for half a stan.

Then I had an early lunch, and a long one. I didn't eat much, and my subconscious didn't come up with anything novel. So I finally went back to the study and began to reread what I'd had compiled.

Incoming from Siendra Albryt.

The message startled me. I jumped slightly, and the flexicast bumped the edge of the table desk. A wave of pain flashed up my arm. I managed not to shudder and bang the arm again. “Accept.”

For once, Siendra wasn't wearing earth tones but a warm green shirt and a dark gray vest. I thought I liked her better in earth tones. Her pleasant expression changed to one of concern as soon as her eyes focused on me. “Blaine…are you all right?”

“I've been better. I lost the flitter and suffered a broken radius.”

“It wasn't an accident, was it? It had to do with the Elois.”

“I couldn't prove that, but I ended up getting treated by an RT forester and grilled by a top-level RT info specialist.”