by E G Manetti
“Better? Yes,” Lucius nods, “but not recovered, as evidenced by those dreams. Being chased into a Crevasse by a dead man? And they are not new; they started with her protocol review.”
“Lucius, it is not a wonder that a protocol review would bring on evil dreams of being chased by death,” Chin says in a reasonable tone, surprised that Lucius is concerned about a common and benign issue. “Nor is it a wonder that being chased through the halls of Serengeti by a man intent on rape and murder would call them forth.”
“Mayhap.” Lucius pushes from the chair and stalks to the window. “You were not there. She showed no such terror the day after Martin’s assault.”
“Which is why she dreams it away now,” Chin insists, suppressing a smile at Lucius’ agitation. Once again, Estella has proven marvelously insightful. “As long as they do not come so frequently as to deprive Lilian of slumber, there is naught in this to concern you.”
“She claims the thorn keeps the evil dreams at bay.” Lucius sighs. “It was only in its absence that she was troubled.”
“She sleeps with it?” Chin shakes his head in bemusement.
“It is a shrine relic,” Lucius admits. “She has had it since she was a child.”
“An odd choice for a comfort item,” Chin shrugs, “but if it allows her to sleep, so be it. Unless there are signs of increased strain, the occasional nightmare is not a concern.”
“My thanks, Chin.” Lucius moves to his desk, his frown easing.
Knowing himself dismissed, Chin takes his leave, passing Trevelyan in Lucius’ reception area. The spymaster barely acknowledges Chin, intent on the sudden sharp increase in his assignment load. All associated in one manner or another with Lilian. Crossing the scarlet threshold, Trevelyan finds Lucius behind his desk, engrossed in his techno array.
“Await me at the conference table.” Lucius does not look up. “There is tea on the cart.”
Collecting a cup, Trevelyan takes a seat at the table. A moment later, Lucius rises and joins him, his tone clipped. “What have you for me?”
“As many questions as answers, Monsignor,” Trevelyan begins. “Permit me to begin with Mistress Pippa. The news is good, and it will take but a moment. Mercium and Fenrir are more involved.”
At Lucius’ impatient gesture, Trevelyan launches into his discoveries. “Mistress Pippa is all Lilian believes. Aside from an uncanny brilliance in navigating ancients’ archives, the woman is universally regarded as beyond silly. Certainly, the evidence I collected bears it out.”
At Trevelyan’s words, some of the tightness leaves Lucius’ mouth, and he reaches for his tea. Although Lucius does not voice it, Trevelyan knows his lord is beyond pleased that this once, a shade from Lilian’s past intends no ill. “The day you exited Fortuna, Leonardo’s Archive Mistress Dagmar had Mistress Pippa in conference. Mistress Pippa was no sooner released than the silly girl promptly sat down in a public café with her sister and a friend and discussed Mistress Dagmar’s unaccountable interest in Mistress Lilian.
“If Monsignor permits?” Trevelyan waves his slate in the direction of the wall reviewer. At Lucius’ nod, Trevelyan taps out a command, and a rapid soprano emits from the reviewer: “It is unfortunate about Lilian’s father, but she is part of Bright Star. No one can truly care any longer. It is not as though I could offer Serengeti secrets about Leonardo Society. I do not know any, and besides, Lilian already knows more secrets than I ever will. She has actually met Monsignor Angus.”
Ending the inane prattle with a tap, Trevelyan says, “It goes on, for bells. The woman is never quiet. Mistress Rebecca is the only one on my staff who can tolerate sifting through the transcripts.”
With a grin, Trevelyan adds, “Andreas yielded a private office to the woman so he would not be required to endure her chatter. He also confirms that for some unaccountable reason, Lilian and Mistress Pippa were fond of each other and got on quite well. I suspect that when Lilian left him, Andreas was as annoyed at losing the buffer with his research assistant as he was at losing Lilian as an ancients hunter.”
Moving from humor to marginal approval, Trevelyan concludes, “The woman also owns a good deal of faith in Mistress Lilian’s abilities. She laid a heavy wager in the conservator’s favor the day Lilian’s bond was sealed.”
“Well done,” Lucius approves. “What think you, will Mistress Pippa be joining the Leonardo Bright Star team?”
“Monsignor Angus will not overlook the opportunity,” Trevelyan agrees.
“Mercium next.” Lucius stretches out his legs and leans back in his chair as if bracing for Trevelyan’s finding.
Monsignor is as prescient as always. He will not find this report at all pleasing. “Mistress Lilian appears to have uncovered another instance of fraud or theft. Mercium is definitely disappearing once it enters the logistics and supply network.”
“Not at the facilities?” Lucius challenges, eyes narrow. “You are certain? It must be Grey Spear? Again.”
“Absolutely,” Trevelyan insists. “My operatives have been in place from the first, there is no possibility it is happening prior to transport.”
“Seigneur Ayesha?” Lucius demands.
“She must be involved,” Trevelyan responds. “There can be no other explanation. To spirit Mercium out of the logistics and supply network requires highly placed intervention. But I have no evidence.”
“I will need evidence for Monsignor Hercules.” Lucius frowns. “Ayesha is his kinswoman as well as Grey Spear.”
“Aye, Monsignor,” Trevelyan acknowledges. “I have placed infiltrators in the logistics and supply network, but it is likely to be some sevendays before they find aught. The thefts are well spaced, coming only every third or fourth shipment. I have yet to discover where it is going, but I suspect it is being diverted to the First or Second Systems.”
“Why those?”
“Potential demand, and the proximity to the fabrication facilities,” Trevelyan responds. “Whoever is doing this will not want to be caught transporting the Mercium, so they will look for the nearest areas of high demand.”
“And they will not attempt the Third System, knowing we will be watching.” Lucius nods. “What is your plan?”
“The Mercium will need black and gray market conduits,” Trevelyan says grimly. “We have contacts in the First and Second Systems, and then there is Tiger. We will know when the Mercium begins to circulate, and then it will not be long to trace the thefts to the source.”
“Very well,” Lucius approves. “Now, what of Fenrir?”
“Seigneur Fenrir visited Metricelli Prime five times in the years between Mistress Lilian’s twelfth and fifteenth years. Twice he came for warrior rituals, one of which was the dedication of Master Raphael to Socraide Omsted.” At that last, Trevelyan raises his eyes from the record to his lord.
Lucius’ expression is harsh, the black eyes hard. “All of Matahorn’s leadership was invited.”
With a nod, Trevelyan continues, “Twice Fenrir came for the Moon Races, and once for the protocol review of a Matahorn retainer. In all instances, his residence was in the Garden Center District—either a guesthouse or an acquaintance. I have visuals from all five visits. If Monsignor would send for Lilian?”
»◊«
Lilian crosses the scarlet threshold to find milord and Seigneur Trevelyan seated on the couch, regarding the reviewer. At milord’s gesture, Lilian takes a position in front of the reviewer. Images of a younger Fenrir flit before her intent gaze. After her second review, Lilian disqualifies two sets of images. In both, Fenrir has facial marks, a split lip in one and a swollen nose in the other. “The face I recall was unmarked.”
The remaining images could all be of the Fenrir Lilian recalls. There must be a means to eliminate a few more. There is one possibility. “Seigneur, when were these collected?”
With that information, Lilian eliminates another set of images. “Maman’s foster mother was accepting the chalice. We were in the northern hills.”
Lilian barely recalls the ancient woman who gathered her family and retainers to witness her ritual passing into the hands of the warriors. Lilian’s memories are of a sweet spaniel and deep woods.
“Foster mother, Lilian?” Milord’s voice drags Lilian from the memory of the spaniel.
“Yes, milord. Maman’s parents died in a transport accident when Maman was but eight. My mother was raised by cousins in the northern hills.” Lilian does not add that the remaining cousins shun them.
“A visit for the Moon Races in Mistress Lilian’s twelfth year, and one for a protocol review in her fourteenth, that narrows it nicely, Monsignor. I will have more in a few days.” Trevelyan takes his leave.
»◊«
“Master Aidan is not the first to have these ideas,” Seigneur Solomon explains. “It is not impossible to cut Vistrite into spheres and cubes, but it is pointless.”
“I beg pardon, Seigneur.” Lilian glances down at her slate. “I do not understand. While the cutting process would generate extensive waste, the benefit to Bright Star would outweigh the costs. The velocity Master Aiden projects would significantly reduce risk and allow for much faster exploration.”
“It is not a matter of cost,” Seigneur Rachelle interjects. “The wafers, cylinders, and spikes that are easily cut are also the only shapes that can support the encoding.”
“Seigneur?” Lilian looks up. “I thought the standard shapes were designed to maximize the core harvest?”
“The standard shapes maintain a necessary ratio of surface to density,” Rachelle replies. “Cubes are too dense relative to surface area, as are spheres.”
“The Vistrite fractures within the controllers in days, if not periods,” Solomon adds.
“What of Master Aidan’s other proposition?” Lilian pursues, unwilling to be defeated. “If the spikes could be configured in a sphere and cylinders in a cube, it would give almost the same performance.”
Before she finishes, Solomon is shaking his head. “Each controller unit is essential to manage both the transmission of commands and keep the Vistrite from overheating. In such a tight configuration, heat would not dissipate, and the Vistrite would burn out.”
“We have tried,” Seigneur Rachelle says. “Before the advent of Mercium, experiments with shapes and alternate controller configurations were a major function within research and development. That work continues, but there is naught promising.”
“Mercium,” Lilian echoes, her eyes going vacant as she drops into her inner landscape. Mayhap. Turning her focus to Seigneur Rachelle, Lilian says, “The fabrication of Mercium mimics the shapes of Vistrite to enable encoding and use of the standard controllers.”
“And is limited by the same constraints as the naturally forming Vistrite.” Rachelle’s eyes narrow with speculation. “Spheres and cubes will not have the necessary surface to density ratio.”
“What of a more rectangular shape?” Lilian taps her slate, examining Master Aidan’s specifications. “A cylinder that has been squared? Would it not have the needed ratio?”
“It might,” Rachelle agrees. “But did not Master Aidan specify cubes?”
“Yes,” Lilian agrees, examining her slate, “but if we were able to offer two rectangles in place of a cube, that might suffice.”
“Mercium does not have the quality to hold such complex encoding,” Solomon reminds them.
“It could,” Lilian says, her fingers flying. “For common applications, it is not worth it. It would cost more to create a pure enough crystal than to mine and refine Vistrite.”
“But for the SEV1,” Rachelle grins, “then it would be worth the cost.”
“Can it be done?” Solomon looks to Rachelle.
“Allow me a few sevendays,” Rachelle returns. “If it is possible, Simon will find a means.”
“And spheres?” Solomon asks, eyes bright with excitement.
“I do not think so.” Rachelle shakes her head in regret. “Lilian is correct that a cylinder and a rectangle will have a similar surface and density ratio; a sphere simply will not.”
“Even if we can achieve half of Aidan’s design, it will be worthwhile,” Solomon states. “Mistress Lilian, please confirm with Master Aidan that two rectangles will suffice in the place of a cube.”
“Yes, Seigneur.”
Sevenday 99, Day 3
The graffiti-adorned warehouse appears much like the scores of others that edge the Refinery District near the stellar transit center. The interior is another matter, extensively refitted as Tiger’s highly profitable fight club. Observation tiers surround the pit and cage and there are a variety of side chambers for the discreet execution of all manner of legal vice.
Entering his first legitimate enterprise usually fills Tiger with pride. This day, frustrated rage drowns all other sentiments. Flanked by two bodyguards and accompanied by a wiry woman of indeterminate years, the black commerce raider strides rapidly to the hidden risers and descends to the ancient storage cellars. The cold stone chambers once held wine and liquor; now they hold those unfortunate enough to incur Tiger’s wrath.
The scent of cold stone, blood, and fear permeates the cell. The naked man hanging in chains from the rafters has one eye swollen shut, and his hands are dark from constricted circulation.
Sitting on a chair, sipping a vial of water, a burly man with a shaved head watches the prisoner slowly revolve, toes barely touching the floor.
Picking up a cane from the nearby table, Tiger lightly taps one swollen hand, eliciting a shriek from his victim.
“Good news for you.” Tiger shrugs. “Still has feeling. You might not lose it.”
At the man’s grunt, Tiger smiles cruelly. “You’re thinking that having hands doesn’t mean much to a dead man.”
Silence.
The cane swings out, slicing across the man’s lacerated back and eliciting another cry.
“I’m trying to have a conversation,” Tiger says, circling to face his victim. “That means you answer.”
“Yes,” hisses from torn lips.
“Yes, what?”
“Dead man. Doesn’t need. Hands.” The man forces out between gasps.
“You’re the third one Nova has sent to steal my decadents trade,” Tiger says, tapping the cane in his palm. “You’re going to be the last.”
“Giving up?” the man gasps.
“Don’t be stupid,” Tiger snarls. “It’s mine.”
“Nova won’t stop.”
“Nova thinks I can’t touch him in the Seventh System.” Tiger swings the cane by his side. “He thinks that because he’s primus of the assassins’ guild in that system, I can’t get to him.”
Eyes focused on the cane, the man grunts, “Yes.”
“You can,” Tiger states.
“Can’t,” the man hisses. “Dead, if I return.”
“Oh, you’re not going alone,” Tiger explains. “You’ll live to deliver my message. After that, if you’re still alive, you can return here and work for me.”
“Insane . . .” the man whispers.
“Or you can hang there until your hands fall off,” Tiger suggests.
“I’ll. Do. It.”
Turning to the woman, Tiger says, “Spider, he’s all yours.”
“Get him down and clean him up,” Spider orders the burly man.
“Do your own work,” the burly man snarls back.
“Don’t test me.” Spider has crossed daggers at the burly man’s throat in a movement so sudden, it is almost invisible.
“As you wish, assassin,” the burly man whispers.
»◊«
The fisheries militia report on the brawl was factual and terse and provided Lilian very little of what she wished to know. Lilian has known for a season that tension was escalating between the established fishery retainers and the newly arrived Mercium retainers. While many of the lower-level positions within the plant were filled with fisheries folk, the supervisory and skilled positions were filled by outsiders, skil
led workers recruited from the prime city of the Western Continent, five hundred miles north of the fisheries. Both Fisheries Chief Diana and the Mercium Facility Master Vishnu had been doing their best to integrate the groups, but brawls and disruptions had been increasing.
To Lilian’s delight, Chrys was hugely helpful in identifying and avoiding obvious problems. Well integrated with the plant workers, the technologist’s agrarian background provided him an affinity to the fisherfolk as well. In order to establish a rapport with the locals, as soon as construction began, Chrys and Master Simon made a point of patronizing the taverns and cafés of the port town. When Lilian had asked Chrys’ aid with Master Raphael, she had been well aware of his regular interactions with the fisheries folk.
The last outcome she expected was that Chrys would have involved milord’s son in a full-scale melee between plant workers and fisherfolk at a local tavern. Ever discreet, Fisheries Chief Diana’s report was circumspect. Lilian did not miss the message that the fisheries master is very pleased with the overall outcome.
It is a relief that no blame has attached itself to Chrys, Master Raphael, or Master Simon. There is a great deal more that Lilian would know. To that end, she is sipping sparkling water with Chrys at the art museum café as the evening crowd arrives. Setting aside his drink, Chrys begins his tale, “Those six louts had been naught but trouble since the outset. The worst of the lot was that Servant of Anarchy, Olaf. He was always in the taverns complaining about the fisheries supervisors—how they were jealous of him and held him back, gave him the worse assignments and so forth.”
“I know of him.” Lilian nods. “He lost his boat through incompetence. He has been a hand in the ocean pods for the decade since.”
“Then it will not surprise you that at Master Simon’s instruction, Master Vishnu refused to hire Olaf and his crowd,” Chrys rejoins.
“I understand that Master Simon was polite, even sympathetic, when he explained to Fisheries Chief Diana that those louts are her problem,” Lilian responds.