The Elysium Commission (24 page)

“You're an idealistic cynic, Blaine.” Siendra shook her head, but the expression didn't seem like a condemnation.

I started to reply, but ended up yawning.

Krij gave me a sharp look.

“I'm fine.”

“What about the reclusive dramaturge, then?” asked Krij.

“I haven't had much success, except in determining that she's a professional in the Thurene area and clearly successful under three pseudonyms. Her language is elegant, yet not in a flamboyant way…”

“It sounds as though you're intrigued, brother dear.”

“In some ways. Her earlier work was rather depressing, though. There's more hope in the later dramas. I have to admit that I like that.”

“Always the hopeful cynic,” Krij replied.

“Cynicism is the last refuge of the idealist,” suggested Siendra.

I had to agree with that. In fact, I might even have said that myself at one time or another. Much as I agreed, though, I had to stifle another yawn. My eyes were heavy, too.

“And the fortune hunter who isn't?”

“Ah, yes. The good doctor Dyorr. One of his possibly soon relations insists he's a hidden samer keeping a lover so that he can marry the heiress. Some of my contacts who know every samer rumor before it's been uttered claim there's no sign of anything like that.”

“What do you think?” asked Siendra.

“I don't know. I've tracked down everything I can find on him, and I've observed him give a proposal to obtain research funding while his fiancée was watching. I don't think he's a samer, but…” I shrugged. I wasn't ready to mention my hunch.

“Maybe he's a straight-neuter,” suggested Siendra. “Friendly to all, and gets along better with women.”

“That wouldn't be a bar to his marrying the heiress, though.” I had to stop halfway through and yawn.

“That's the third or fourth time you've yawned. You need some more sleep,” Krij declared, rising from her chair.

“It's early. It's not even eight.”

“We have to work tomorrow.”

“On what?” I couldn't quite stifle another yawn as I stood.

“A client's compliance audit,” Siendra replied dryly. “We're getting to that season.” Again, she'd somehow gotten to her feet without my noticing. “We'll take care of the dishes.”

They did, and quickly.

After that, I walked them to the front foyer, then to the door. I watched as they went down the stone steps and entered the small gray limousine.

Despite the dull pain in my forearm, I'd enjoyed dinner. More than I had in a long time, and, surprisingly, even more than the evening with Odilia. I wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps because I hadn't felt the need to be on guard, to watch and weigh every word.

If anything, my arm felt worse on Sabaten morning. That was before the sessions in the villa medcenter. Afterward, it didn't feel much better, although the diagnostics told me that it was already healing “nicely.”

I didn't feel much like going anywhere, and I had nowhere to go. Not that I would discover anything by mere traveling. I thought about vidlinking to Siendra and Krij, just to thank them for the night before. Krij had mentioned an early client reg compliance audit, and I didn't want to intrude or leave a message. I decided to try later.

As for Myndanori, it was clear she wanted to let me know what she had discovered in person. Or that she'd found nothing. I didn't like the idea of dealing with the Tozzis only on the basis of my intuition, but…I might have to. I wasn't looking forward to that.

In the meantime, I needed to review and analyze the implications of what I'd discovered in my other commissions in a more considered light. So I settled down behind the table desk in the study and tried to approach things logically.

First, Seigniora Reynarda. Krij had effectively told me that she was probably an agent of the sisters. That meant that the sisters really needed hard evidence. Why? Because the Assembly was looking at Devanta closely? And if the Civitas Sorores acted against Eloi Enterprises without evidence, that would be another example of repression on top of what TABS was pressing? Or for some other reason? If Legaar Eloi were an actual Frankan agent, then Special Ops could move against Eloi without violating the Assembly prohibitions on actions against planetary governments and citizens. But that raised another question. What if the Assembly and Special Operations
wanted
Eloi disclosed as a Frankan agent so that they had an excuse to meddle in Devanta affairs without requiring overall Assembly approval for a planetary reformation?

On the other hand, if Special Ops had to wait until the Frankans' involvement became irrevocably clear…

Either way, someone needed hard evidence. The sisters couldn't just walk into Time's End without it because they would risk losing their power and subjecting all Devanta to the horrors of reformulation. Without it, Special Ops couldn't act, even after the message I wished I hadn't sent, not without a series of courts-martial and a major Assembly scandal that would weaken the Assembly at a time when the Frankans were trying to build up their own power.

That still left a couple of large questions. What was Elysium, and why was it so much of a threat? And if the sisters knew that it was, why couldn't they do anything? If they didn't, why couldn't they find out more?

Or was it all some sort of hidden commercial struggle, with Legaar trying to make whatever it was workable on a large scale before others found out? Did he have a deal to sell it to the Frankans?

But what was “it”?

It was as though there wasn't anything to discover. But how could that be?

I might also be facing a hard question myself. If…if I did discover hard evidence, then what? If the evidence got in the wrong hands, all Devanta could suffer. But whose hands were the wrong ones?

I shook my head. I was speculating on who would get what I hadn't found and never might. And I still had four other unresolved commissions, and some of those might end up paying more as well. The sisters didn't exactly spend credits freely—not unless a lot was at stake. That thought didn't help my frame of mind, either.

Siendra's comment the night before had gotten me to thinking about the missing heiress. Why had Maureen left TFA when she had? Especially if she'd been doing well? But had she? Or had something else been going on?

Max…all info on TFA—Thurenean Fashion Alliance from eight years ago until the present. Check correlations with Maureen Gonne. Order chronologically, oldest first.

Within minutes, information piled up in the pending section of the system.

I began to sift through it. There was nothing of interest for the first six and a half years, just media presentations, fashion commentary, economic projections. Of course, there were spreads on the new fashions and lots of in-depth holos trying to sell clothing. The first intriguing article appeared in
Devantan Banker
—the netsys industry journal—close to two years ago in what amounted to the rumors column. It was called “Spare Change.” I read the tidbit carefully.

If I read that correctly, Daavidou had suffered severe brain damage and would never be the same. I wondered if he'd been invited by Tony. I tried a search on Daavidou, but found nothing else about the accident or about his efforts at TFA.

I kept searching through the slag, searching for more that had been overlooked.

In Duem of 1350, a little less than two years ago, after Maureen had departed, a civil complaint had been filed against TFA, alleging unspecified “civil abuses.” The complaint had been settled. Then in Quintem of 1350 the Civitas Sorores had frozen all records at TFA and begun a criminal investigation of the deputy director of TFA and her immediate subordinates and staff. The deputy director—a Magdalena Portius—had vanished, and her assistant had been found wandering in the River Crescent, his intellect reduced and his memories vanished. TFA had been placed under compliance monitoring.

But none of the stories or information revealed the nature of TFA's offenses. I tried the public regulatory record as well. The criminal and civil orders against TFA were on file, and still in effect, but there were no details except the notation that TFA was operating under a “personal civil rights” compliance plan.

“Civil abuses” suggested some form of sexual predation, but that was only a guess. The “accident” that befell the assistant comptroller and the vanishment of the deputy director suggested links through Tony diVeau to Legaar Eloi. Again…all guesses.

But…all that might well explain why Stella Strong/Maureen Gonne did not want to claim her inheritance. If she knew more about the TFA scandal…and if Legaar Eloi were indeed involved, she might feel that no inheritance was worth that kind of risk.

Yet, once more, I really had no proof. I wasn't up to chasing people. Not physically. Not yet. I did make a hard copy of the names of the TFA top personnel and their staff assistants. Then I had Max run dossiers and seek personal images. If I had to chase people, it would have to wait until Lunen.

I wondered what sort of search I could run on Terrie McGerrie. I couldn't think of one.

So I went down and did a modified workout, one that took into account the sad state of my arm.

After cleaning up and dressing for the gathering at Myndanori's, I returned to the study.

I vidlinked to Krij. She wasn't there.

I tried Siendra. Neither was she, but I left a brief message.

“Thank you for last night. I appreciated the cooking and the company more than I can say.” I did, too. That might have been because those kinds of words came hard, except in a professional sense. I didn't want to be professional with Krij and Siendra.

I turned and perused the shelves. I settled on a classic—
Culture Crash
. The Exton Land book ranked up there with
The Prince
and
The Republic
, although it had been written half a millennium after Machiavelli's masterpiece. Land had gotten more than a few things right in foreshadowing the fall of Old Earth and the Diaspora. But then, the truths of history are always there for those who will look. Most people can't bear to.

No one vidlinked. No one that I wanted to talk to or had to, and I enjoyed rereading the book.

At a little after seven, I set
Culture Crash
aside and headed down to the garage. From there I drove myself.

Myndanori lived in the Heights, the district just to the north of the Narrows. I had to use the communal visiting carpark and walk a good two hundred meters. Her dwelling was a narrow glass-fronted structure that rose three stories above the faux cobblestones. It towered above the brick bungalows on each side. That was somehow fitting.

Even more fitting was the red-smoky half-disk of Bergerac almost directly above the dwelling as I walked up the rusty brick steps.

Before I reached the door, it opened. An angular man with eyes far older than the youthful figure he inhabited stood there. “You must be the mysterious Blaine Donne.” He stepped back.

“I'm hardly mysterious.” I entered the foyer. Loud voices reverberated from the sitting room beyond.

“Any straight-straight that Myndanori invites is mysterious. I'm Tyresias.”

“Throbbing between two lives, no doubt?”

“For that, you ought to be the hanged man.” Tyresias laughed good-naturedly. “Not the shadow knight.”

“They don't hang people in Thurene. They just vanish.”

“Blaine!” Myndanori emerged from the square arch into the sitting room on the far side of the foyer. She hurried across the room and flung her arms around me. “We must get you a drink. Tell me what naughty things you've been up to.”

Her arm entwined with mine. My left. The gesture was possessive only in proclaiming me as a trophy of sorts. Her grasp was gentle enough to preclude any additional pain.

“Your arm is stiff.”

“There's a nanocast on it. I had an accident.”

“That sounds naughty enough. How did it happen? Did you hurt anyone else?”

“Let's just say that they paid for it,” I replied as I accompanied her back to the small study. There an array of wines was set out.

“Besides the good doctor that you know about, I'm chasing an elusive heiress and a reclusive dramaturge. Neither seems to want to be found. There are millions of credits involved with the heiress.” I studied the vintages and picked the Sauvignon Thierry. I poured half a glass. That would be more than enough.

“Tell me about the heiress. She couldn't be me, could she?”

“You're better-looking and doubtless more personable. Her name is Maureen Gonne or Stella Strong. She used to be a media linkster at Thurenean Fashion Alliance until several years ago. Then she vanished.”

“TFA? There was a nasty little scandal there several years back. I don't remember all of it, but a sister of one of the models charged that she—the model, that is—had been conditioned to perform unspeakable acts and to enjoy it. The model vanished, and the sister fled to someplace like Moraviana. The Civitas Sorores did something, and I never heard another word.”

“I think Legaar Eloi was involved. A deputy director also vanished.”

“The Elois…” Myndanori shuddered.

“Do you know them?”

“Most thankfully, I do not. Those I know who have met them insist that both are sadistic straights—puritanically conventional and privately hedonistic, without a single quark of compassion.”

That sounded about right. I took a small sip of wine. “The heiress case is bizarre. You'd think someone would want to collect millions.”

“I would.” Myndanori laughed, tossing her head and flipping the short carrot red locks. They immediately settled back into faultless place. “Then I could really enjoy life.”

“You already do.”

“You could have, too, Blaine. Rokujo would have made an honest man out of you in a moment, taken you right out of the shadows.”

“I need the shadows.”

“Maybe this heiress does, too. Why does your client want her found? Usually, other potential heirs
don't
want people to come forward.”

“I probably should have asked that question directly, but the client implied that she preferred the heiress get her share rather than having it go to the other potential heirs.”

“And you believed her? You're getting soft, Blaine.”

I'd told myself that earlier. “You may be right.” I took another small sip of the Sauvignon Thierry. It didn't taste as good as it had the night before. “I've returned your vidlink…”

“This way…” She led me through the next door and closed it. We stood in an even smaller room—an actual library. “Everyone will think the worst.”

“What—”

She gave me a passionate and very intimate hug before disengaging herself. “That, dear man, is part of my payment.”

If that had been part, I wasn't sure I was ready for the remainder.

“There's not much there, and no one wants to say much.”

“I'd figured that.”

“But…one former lover of Darlya Rettek did let something slip. Oh, you were right about Darlya, but you have good instincts about women.”

That was news to me.

“She is a samer, and…until recently, she had been having a very quiet…shall we say closeness…with Dr. Tozzi.”

I couldn't help but nod.

“There's no proof other than what a few people have said,” Myndanori went on, “but knowing you…”

“Your confidence in me is boundless.”

“You'll manage. Now…back to the party…and you can't sneak off for a while.”

I inclined my head. “I wouldn't think of it.”

She led the way back to the sitting room.

She didn't introduce me. Tyresias had already spread the word. That was the way it worked. Two or three of the samer males looked in my direction, then away, more to confirm that I was straight-straight than to check me out.

Myndanori stopped next to a petite brunette whose long hair was swirled up into an elaborately coiled French braid. It emphasized her long, elegant neck. “Shanyta, you'd said you wanted to meet Blaine.” Myndanori inclined her head in a gesture I couldn't interpret. Her eyes went back to me. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I had to admit that Myndanori cut a fine figure. I knew that she meant what she said. I also knew that anything beyond continuing our past client-professional relationship would be trouble. The moment in the private library had emphasized that.