He stood up and moved away from the desk, stretching.
From the landing at the shuttle port onward, everyone had been so polite.
“Yes, Ser Corson.”
“This way, Ser Corson.”
“Will there be anything else, Ser Corson?”
His credentials as a purchasing agent for RERTA, Limited, as well as the Imperial passport, gold-bordered, and the maximum credit line on Halsie-Vyr, showed him as one MacGregor Corson, but the locals were scarcely interested in his name, but in the credit line he represented.
The Empire might, in time, find out about the name and wonder if MacGregor Corson and Commodore Gerswin were one and the same, but the Imperial bureaucracy could have cared little enough about him as Gerswin, and doubtless cared less about him as Corson, so long as no trouble was overtly attached to either name.
The former commander wrinkled his nose, suppressed a sneeze. Despite the spotless appearance of the small suite, really a large room divided into two halves with a thin wall, it smelled musty.
“Assshooo!”
The violence of the too-long repressed sneeze sent a twinge through Gerswin’s shoulders, made his eyes water momentarily. After rubbing his neck and shoulders with both hands to loosen the muscles, he stared at the list frozen on the console.
To search for all the names in the entire planetary listing which began with “Hy” would be enough of an alert to have every security agent in Illyam trailing him.
“You’re assuming too much.”
Gerswin realized that he had spoken aloud, and that there had been no echo whatsoever.
He frowned, ambling around the suite as if to familiarize himself with the furnishings, though he was more interested in the underlying construction.
The relative smallness of the window overlooking the courtyard had already struck him, but not the massiveness of the casement surrounding it, nor the thickness of the armaglass which did not open.
That the hotel had the latest in heavy-duty portals, rather than hinged doors, seemed out of character with the antique furnishings, unless Gerswin assumed certain things about the character of the government of Byzania. Those assumptions were solidifying as more than mere assumptions.
He returned to the console and seated himself.
“Time to get to work, Corson,” he told himself and the sure-to-be listening agents as he reset the console and accessed land agents.
A dozen names appeared on the list. Gerswin picked the third and tapped out the combination.
“Cerdezo and Associates.”
“MacGregor Corson. I’d like to make an appointment with Ser Cerdezo.”
“Your interest, Ser Corson?”
“Must remain relatively confidential.”
“Ser Corson…I know not how we can help you without adequate information,” suggested the sandy-haired young man who had taken the call.
“I understand your problem. Perhaps my credentials would help to resolve the difficulty.”
Gerswin placed his passport, credentials, and authorization for maximum credit in the scanning drawer, with a blot bar across all three. The thin strip was designed to prevent the scanning equipment from reading the magfield codes contained in each of the three flat squares.
“Ah…I see…,” said the Cerdezo employee. “I will check with Sher Cerdezo’s schedule. She may have an availability this afternoon.”
Gerswin waited, not volunteering more information, but retrieving his credentials from the scanning drawer.
“Would you be free at 1430?”
“Local time?”
“Yes, ser.”
“That would be agreeable. I am at the Hotel D’Armand. What is the best way to reach your offices?”
After getting directions, Gerswin called two other firms and obtained appointments.
Now, if he could get access to another console, without using his identification…He shrugged. There were ways, even in Illyam. The important thing was not to be too impatient. While he had more time than most, he didn’t have any more lives.
He spent the next hour or so retrieving background, tourist-type information from the console, and reading between the lines, before freshening up for his first appointment.
Leaving the hotel was another exercise in politeness.
“Good day, ser.”
“Enjoy your stay, ser…”
Byzania was an interesting planet, reflected Gerswin as he strolled down the Grande Promenade toward his appointment with Raymond Simones. With the agricultural predominance and the military control, he had expected a climate warmer than the midday high of 18°C, as well as police on every corner.
Outside of the man in the standard brown tunic who had shadowed him from the hotel, and the one uniformed policeman in a small booth three blocks down from the hotel, he had seen no other obvious police representatives among the light scattering of people on the streets.
While there were some flitter-for-hire stands, the majority of citizens visible to Gerswin chose either to walk or to take the small electric trolleys that seemed to run down the center of all the major avenues.
The people in Illyam looked like people everywhere—no one extravagantly dressed, no one in rags. Some smiling, some frowning, but most with the preoccupied look of men and women with somewhere to go, something to do.
Tunic and trousers were the standard apparel for both men and women, but the men wore earrings, and the women did not. The women wore colored sashes, and the men wore dark belts.
One absence nagged Gerswin for most of his walk. Just before he entered the Place Treholme, he identified it. No street vendors of any sort. None! Nowhere had he traveled, except in systems like Nova Balkya, which was an out-and-out police state, and New Salem, with its religious fanaticism, had been without some street sales. Likewise, the streets and avenues were bare of comm stations or public comm consoles.
Gerswin nodded to himself. The pattern was becoming clearer, much clearer. Both absences fit in with the total lack of cash. Byzania was strictly a credit/debit economy. All transfers of credits went straight from your account to someone else’s. All were doubtless monitored by the government. The principal formality at the entry shuttle port had been to open a Byzanian universal account for one MacGregor Corson.
Even the so-called free services of the society, such as console access to the public library facilities, required a universal account card. With such tight social control, Gerswin couldn’t yet figure out why the military even needed such a high profile in government.
Raymond Simones, Land Agent Extraordinaire, had his offices on the third level of the four-level Place Treholme, which was more like an indoor garden surrounded by balconied offices than a place for transacting business.
“MacGregor Corson,” he announced.
“Ser Simones is expecting you. He will be with you in a moment. Would you like a seat?”
Gerswin took the seat, only to stand abruptly with the bounding and enthusiastic approach of Simones.
“Ser Corson, I am honored. So honored.”
He bowed quickly, twice, as he pronounced his honor.
“If you would care to join me in a liftea…”
“A small cup…”
The taller palms of the indoor courtyard leaned nearly into the conference room, although sonic shields kept both leaves and sounds out on the one side, while the closed and old-fashioned door presumably kept the staff excluded on the other.
“This liftea…straight from New Colora,” offered Simones as he poured from a steaming carafe into two crystal demitasses.
“To your health and our mutually profitable business.”
Simones lifted his demitasse.
“To your health,” responded Gerswin, following suit, but taking only a small sip of the dark beverage.
“You are an agent of something called RERTA, Limited, you said. RERTA, Limited, has no real records. Obviously you are merely a front for someone or some group searching for a large tract o
f land, someone who does not want their identity known.”
“Why would you say that?” asked Gerswin.
Simones shrugged his shoulders. “Is it not obvious? You have access to great credit; you are looking at a planet developed enough to have the necessary amenities, but one underdeveloped enough to have large amounts of land available for purchase. Further, you arrive in a nonmilitary ship with screens of a class available only to the Court or the very wealthy, and you arrive alone. That means you are trusted, but expendable, that you have access to money, but that there is enormous power and wealth behind you. Alone, who would care? But you are not alone, merely an advance agent.”
Gerswin laughed, not quite a bark, but not quite gently.
“I never claimed to be more than an agent.”
“Ah, but what one claims is not always what is. In your case, however, the props are too expensive, too real, to be anything else but the truth. The real question is not just what you want, but why you and your patron wants it.
“Do you want farmland to provide an estate for the junior branch of a wealthy family? Or do you want a more isolated and scenic retreat for other purposes? Or perhaps a tract which offers both?”
Simones took another sip of the liftea and looked at the built-in console screen at his left elbow, as if to suggest that he was ready to begin in earnest if Gerswin were.
“My mission is rather delicate…”
“I can certainly understand that.”
“…and my latitude is broad within certain parameters. While RERTA is more interested in as pleasant a site as possible, and one which is somewhat off the beaten track, economics, especially these days, would indicate that it is prudent for any local site to be capable of being self-supporting, should the need arise.”
Gerswin frowned as if to convey that he did not want to say much more, and waited for a reaction.
“That is a rather broad description, and without some general boundaries might be hard to narrow.” Simones’ bright blue eyes clouded, and he brushed a stray lock of blue-black hair off his tanned forehead.
“The optimal size,” offered Gerswin, “would be ten thousand squares.”
“Ten thousand square kilometers?”
“Depending on location, resources, transportation, and whether the property is virgin or improved.”
“I see.”
What Gerswin could see was that Simones wanted to ask price ranges, but didn’t know the client well enough to broach the issue.
“While price is a consideration, it is not the sole consideration. RERTA is always better served if the price is as reasonable as possible for the value involved.”
“Reasonable is a term open to a wide interpretation, Ser Corson, and one about which there could be wide disagreements.”
“That is true. We need a better frame of reference. While I could access the information myself, perhaps you could give me the average price per kilosquare for prime agricultural lands, for forest lands, and for wilderness.”
“Ah…averages. So deceiving, especially when the transactions are large. Do you realize, Ser Corson, that the average synde bean estate on Conuna runs about fifty thousand squares?”
“I understand. Have any changed hands recently?”
“Last year, I believe, the Harundsa estate was sold to General Fernadsa. The registered transfer was in the neighborhood of 250 million credits.”
“How many squares?”
“Sixty-three thousand.”
“Assuming the registered price was the sole consideration, that means a minimum of four thousand credits per square, or given the underlying considerations of that transfer, more likely five thousand credits per square.”
“That was a bargain sale.”
Gerswin got the point. He didn’t know whether the General Fernadsa who bought the property was the prime minister or merely related, but the sale had not been an entirely free-market transaction.
Simones was also testing Gerswin on Gerswin’s client. A foundation might find Byzania not entirely to its liking, while certain Imperial families could well end up playing the local games better than the locals.
“RERTA might well be interested in obtaining property where future bargains could be had,” Gerswin countered.
“One cannot predict bargains,” answered Simones. “They happen, and they do not.”
“True, and that is why one must be fully informed on the market and the players.”
“Ah…yes. So many players, and some so well connected, particularly in the land business.” Simones shrugged, then frowned. “I might offer you some advice, strictly an observation, you understand.”
Gerswin nodded.
“You will doubtless interview other agents, and some will appeal to you, and some will not, but, should you deal with a noble lady, be most careful.”
“I was not aware of an Imperial family here.”
“Local noblesse, Ser Corson. Fallen nobility of a sort. The name is Cerdezo, and the lady can be most charming. Most charming. You might find her socially entertaining, and quite brilliant.”
Gerswin nodded again. “I appreciate your…observation.”
“Now…in regard to your search…let me check certain aspects of the situation, and I will get back to you.” Simones rose to his feet.
Gerswin rose also, and half bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, and I hope to hear from you before too long.”
“Doubtless you will, Ser Corson.”
A tacit agreement had been struck. Simones had gotten some idea of what game Gerswin was playing and warned him that the locals played hard. Gerswin had accepted the information and indicated that he was still interested. Simones had concluded by saying that he would see what was really available, or might be, at what real price.
The one thing that bothered Gerswin was the out-of-character reference to Sher Cerdezo. Was Simones tied into security? Did he know that Gerswin had contacted Cerdezo and Associates? Why was Gerswin being warned off? Because the lady was sharp and dangerous, or because security wanted to keep off-worlders away?
Gerswin did not frown as he kept his face pleasant and bowed again before turning to go.
Outside the Place Treholme, the slender man in the brown tunic was waiting as Gerswin hopped an electric trolley for his 1430 meeting with Sher Cerdezo.
VI
The flitter circled the holding west of the thin and glittering green river that split the neatly and mechanically cultivated synde bean fields.
The few buildings, obviously used for storage and machine repair, stood at the top of a gentle rise, scarcely more than thirty meters higher than the gentle rolling hills covered with the rust brown of the synde beans about to be harvested.
Gerswin, in the right front seat of the four-seat flitter, could see from the indentations in the hilltop that other structures had been removed.
“This was the original estate house of the Gwavara’s, but when the grandfather of the present colonel married Vylere’s daughter and consolidated the holdings of both families, the estate house was moved to Vylerven. That’s about one hundred kays east,” added Constanza Cerdezo, who sat directly behind Gerswin, providing a running commentary.
The silver-haired land agent reminded Gerswin more of a dowager aunt than the sharp-dealing professional the other two agents had warned him to steer clear of.
“Why is this available?”
“It is considered too remote, and the production levels have fallen considerably in the last four or five years. Neglected shamefully.”
“Not much scenery here,” groused Gerswin.
“That is true, but as I indicated earlier, were you to indicate a firm interest in this land, and your client’s desire to maintain and improve it, the Ministry of Forests and Agriculture Development would look most favorably upon your application to purchase, say, twenty thousand squares of the adjoining forest reserve. With the stipulation that your client retain all but a small fraction in forest, of course. Still, two percent
of twenty thousand squares is four hundred squares, and that would be adequate for any estate house, landing field, roads, and local produce gardens.”
“And the normal fee for consideration?”
“I would suggest something in the range of five thousand credits, with a deposit of one million credits on the forest reserve application.”
Gerswin didn’t bother to ask if the deposit were refundable. Whatever she said, in practice, no deposit for special consideration would ever be returned.
“Could we swing over and see the forest reserve lands you’re talking about? I’ve seen maps and holos, but there is no substitute for seeing the actual parcels.”
“Forest reserves are protected from overflights,” the pilot stated baldly.
“How can I recommend RERTA buy something I have not seen?”
“You could rent a landcruiser,” suggested the pilot.
“That would take days,” complained Gerswin. “And I still would not have the sweep, the overview necessary.”
“I sympathize, Ser Corson, but the regulations are regulations.”
“Regulations are regulations, I know, but isn’t there some exception, some variance, for special circumstances?”
“Ah, an exception permit,” offered the pilot. Then his voice fell. “But you must apply in advance.”
Gerswin shrugged and turned to Constanza Cerdezo. “Have you any suggestions?”
“Ser Corson, must you overfly the whole parcel, or merely see it from the air?”
“Perhaps if I could see at least part of it from the air, I could decide whether more flights were necessary, and then I could decide whether to apply for an exception permit.”
Constanza addressed the pilot. “Michel, can you fly the demarche line?”
“Ah, yes, Sher Cerdezo. If I inadvertently stray…the fine is five hundred credits.”
Gerswin picked up the hint. “Michel, I can understand your concerns about such delicate piloting. Should you inadvertently stray onto the wrong side of the line, I will be responsible for the monetary fine. If you are successful, as I know you will be, and you are not fined, the five hundred credits that would go to the government will be your bonus.”
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