The Elysium Commission
Page 1
The
Elysium
Commission
L.E. Modesitt Jr.
Praise for the Elysium Commission
"The Elysium Commission is a complex science-fiction detective tale starring a fascinating individual. The story line is action-packed.... A fun futuristic mystery."
—Midwest Book Review
"Modesitt delivers a more action oriented and less philosophically based novel than some of his other works. Readers can enjoy The Elysium Commission on many levels."
—SFRevu
"A far-future tale of intrigue and mystery featuring a tough but admirable sleuth."
—Library Journal
"With a well-realized world, an original plot twist, and a cliff-hanger ending—space opera by a first-class librettist"
—Booklist
Praise for the Eternity Artefact
A Locus Year's Best 2005 Novel
"This is hard science and really hardball politics described by somebody who knows them from the inside out. A powerful novel on a sweeping, mysterious stage."
—David Drake, author of The Way to Glory
"Captivating far-future tale of life in space, from the author of Flash ... Modesitt's prose is lively, and there's enough sense of wonder here to satisfy even the most jaded.... A must-read for Modesitt fans, as well as those of Jack McDevitt and Arthur C. Clarke."
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
"An intriguing vehicle for exploring interstellar fundamentalism."
—Entertainment Weekly
"A glorious space opera set in a distant future when humans spread to the stars and splintered into a number of subsidiary civilizations. ... Very enjoyable, lots of sense of wonder, and I even liked the characters."
—Science Fiction Chronicle
"This stand-alone novel addresses relevant political and economic issues within the framework of rip-roaring space adventure.... A must-read for fans of interstellar fiction."
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
"Superior science-fiction adventure writing."
—Science Fiction Weekly
"L. E. Modesitt is one of those special authors who brings a great deal to his work: a love of words, an understanding of people and cultures, and an interest in great stories and ideas. It shows in every line of his tale. I read The Eternity Artifact with pleasure, and felt well rewarded even beyond the last page."
—David Farland
Praise for FLASH
A Kirkus Selection for Best Sci-Fi of 2004
A VOYA selection for Best SF/Fantasy & Horror of 2004
"Flash is a classic thriller.... Modesitt makes deVrai's daily routines interesting through his meticulous narrative, and when deVrai steps out of his routine there is plenty of action."
—The Denver Post
"Good solid speculation over how the future might undergo tectonic paradigm shifts. Modesitt supports his vision with deep political, economic, and cultural knowledge and speculation, producing a world that actually makes its own kind of sense.... His people are genuine inhabitants of this world, not transplanted twentieth-century souls.... In short, he performs the core task of the kind of pure science fiction that often seems in danger of disappearing from the shelves.... You'll find yourself propelled into a robust adventure."
—Science Fiction Weekly
"Another political yarn set in the future world of Mode-sitt's superior Archform: Beauty (2002). Modesitt's abundant novelistic virtues—great characters and plotting, impressive attention to detail—aside: this is smart, aware, provocative, and engrossing on several political, economic, and professional levels."
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
Books by L.E. Modesitt Jr.
The Corean Chronicles
Legacies
Alector's Choice
Darknesses
Cadmian's Choice
Scepters
Sourer's Choice
The Saga of Recluce
The Magic of Recluce
The Chaos Balance
The Towers of the Sunset
The White Order
The Magic Engineer
Colors of Chaos
The Order War
Magi 'i of Cyador
The Death of Chaos
Wellspring of Chaos
Scion of Cyador
Ordermaster
Fall of Angels
Natural Ordermage
Mage-Guard of Hamor*
The Spellsong Cycle
The Soprano Sorceress
Darksong Rising
The Spellsong War
The Shadow Sorceress
Shadowsinger
The Ecolitan Matter
Empire & Ecolitan (comprising The Ecolitan Operation and The Ecologic Secession)
Ecolitan Prime (comprising The Ecologic Envoy and The Ecolitan Enigma)
The Forever Hero
Dawn for a Distant Earth
The Silent Warrior
In Endless Twilight)
Timegods' World (comprising The Timegod and Timediver's Dawn)
The Ghost Books
Of Tangible Ghosts
Ghost of the White Nights
The Ghost of the Revelator
Ghost of the Colombia (comprising Of Tangible Ghosts and The Ghost of the Revelator)
The Hammer of Darkness
The Octagonal Raven
The Green Progression
Archform: Beauty
The Parafaith War
The Ethos Effect
Adiamante
Flash
Gravity Dreams
The Eternity Artifact
The Elysium Commission
Viewpoints Critical*
*Forthcoming
In Memoriam
Walter S. Rosenberry III
Content
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Epilogue
1
All cities have their shadows, as do all souls.
Under the stars of the Arm, murmurs drifted up from the promenade overlooking the Nouvelle Seine. The red tinge of the full second moon—Bergerac—lent a smokiness to the night. Voltaire had already set. The gray stone walk that bordered Les Jardins des Sorores was a favorite for poor lovers, those young and not so young. The sweet scent of honey lilies filled the late-evening air. It gave the South Bank a grace it lacked in the light of day.
At night, in my grays, I often stroll the streets of Thurene in the shadows. Call it a habit. Call it repentance. Call it penance. Call it what you will. Being who I am, I find it necessary.
Some might call it slumming, but the South Bank isn't that low, not unless you're Princesse Odilia. Or one of the Sorores. Or an aristo of commerce.
I didn't lurk in the shadows of the hedges and topiary. That wasn't necessary. In my grays, few could see me unless they con
centrated, and those enjoying the promenade were not inclined to look beyond their companions. They felt they did not need to look elsewhere. The Garda's hidden monitors made certain that no malefactor escaped. That did not deter all malefaction, not where the perfume of hearts and jealousy mingled.
Beneath a yew trimmed into a fieur-de-coueur—not that most would notice—two lovers embraced. They clung so tightiy that even I could not tell sex or attributes.
With a smile, I stepped through the stone gates that marked the east end of the gardens and followed Oisin Lane. Ahead were the bistros and the patisseries that remained open into the early morning.
The first bistro was Kemala's. The scent of true garlic enshrouded it. I passed by. My business lay not in the bistros, but beyond. Two women stood outside Memnos. They held hands and studied the posted bill of fare. They appeared young. All women in Thurene—even the poorest—were young in body. The healthy ones, that is.
The Lane was safe enough. Memnos might not be. It is on the South Bank, and the Garda only monitors the public areas of Thurene. All the South Bank bistros serve nanite-adjusted wine. The process makes decent plonk, but plonk without character.
Voices, more than murmurs, issued from the side lane ahead and to my left. They were not the sounds of lovers. I edged into the darker area against the closer wall. There I paused in the shadows, listening.
"... I can't, Jaered ... I just can't." In the cool breeze of early autumn, the woman shivered. It was not because of the chill.
"He doesn't care for you the way I do." The man put his hands on her shoulders. They were squared-off, nondescript hands. They belonged neither to a crafter nor an aristo.
"He doesn't excite me, but he cares deeply ... and ..."
"I do care!"
I could sense the explosiveness within him. Civility was a breaker unequal to matching his green rage.
So I coughed and stepped forward. I was still in the shadows.
He turned. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to focus. They widened, and he lunged at me. I slipped aside and let him stumble into the solidity of the brick wall in the comparative darkness. Comparative only. The streets of Thurene are never fully dark, and the scanners of the Garda are everywhere.
"You!" He turned and lifted a poignard. "Shadows cannot save you." He charged me.
I disarmed him and cut his feet from under him with a side kick. While he struggled to rise, I snapped the blade of his dagger with my bootheel. "Despite legend, poignards carry no special virtue."
When I stepped away, the woman had vanished.
I slipped down the lane toward Benedict's, leaving him cursing. I heard a Garda flitter humming toward him. They might find me. They might not, but I had not permanently harmed him, and that wasn't worth their trouble.
Not this time.
2
Proud City of Eternal Light, Our hold against the endless night . . .
The Aurelian Way was crowded, as always, in late evening on Sabaten, crowded being a relative term, because, on any of the Worlds of the Assembly, unlike Elysium, the scattered handfuls of individuals strolling down the stone paths Banking the Fountains of Fascination would scarcely have been considered a crowd, but more likely a relief. Yet all of them were happy to be on Elysium. How could it have been otherwise?
Lifting the crystal goblet that caught the illumination from the sparkle-lights floating around the balcony, I smiled across the pale green linen of the balcony table at Mag-dalena, conveying effortlessly an interest intellectual, but not without some sensuality.
She met my gaze with eyes as black and deep as night. "Brains or beauty this evening, Judeon?"
"Anything of depth requires both, and it's been a shallow week."
"You dislike shallowness, and you always have. That is delightfully predictable about you." Her words caressed the soft air, and her smile was both beguiling and gende, as it should have been, for we were in Elysium. Like those below us on the Aurelian Way, she was far better off than she could have been on Devanta, and for that she was grateful, and that also was how it had to be, for was not Elysium the city of light and beauty?
She sipped from her goblet.
Below us, the couples strolled the Aurelian Way, enjoying the perfumed air of yet another Sabaten evening in the city that I, from the intricate image in my mind, had forged in man's materials, in white stone and without death birds on enamel.
In time, I stood and took her hand, gloved, as always, in black velvet, as she rose from the table like that ancient pagan goddess had from the shell upon the foam, when men had but dreamed of Elysium, unable to create such a city, unable to ensure that those who inhabited it appreciated it and worshipped it.
3
All choice is based on illusion.
Incoming from Seldara Tozzi. Max alerted me to the vidlink.
I was mind deep in the datastacks, trying to integrate Western Ocean anchovy patterns, Antarctic currents, solar fluctuations, and a dozen other variables. My hope was to find a predictive regression pattern that would allow me to anticipate probable seasonal arbitrage variances employed by the energy brokers at places like Caitiff and Selemez Sisters. It wouldn't be highly profitable, but it would add to my credit balance. That would be useful, because matters had been slow in my normal line of work. More than slow.
It would also be personally satisfying. Satisfying is always good.
It was also a distraction from the hangover of the nightmares.
Seignior Donne... Max reminded me.
I straightened in the chair behind the table desk and smiled politely. Accept.
The holo image appeared in front of the table desk. The very fair-skinned Seldara Tozzi had the excessively fine features of an older woman. Modern medicine kept complexion and skin and body healthy, but a certain fineness still appeared with age. She wore a jacket and trousers of a slivery gray with brownish tones, and a cream blouse. Her hair was jet-black, as were her eyebrows.
Max, quick profile on Seldara Tozzi.
"Seignior Donne? Real or simulacrum?"
"Real, and real-time." I pulsed a vid-ID.
"Thank you. I have a modest commission for you."
At the moment, any commission would be better than modest. Over the years, I'd found that business was either nonexistent or everyone wanted something immediately. But you have to take clients when they arrive because that's when they need you. They don't pay when you need the credits, but when they need the work. Those times seldom coincide. "I'm available. I'll need some details to determine whether it's something I can do."
"It's very simple. It's also rather embarrassing and disgusting. Not for me. For the family."
I nodded. I wasn't about to comment on what other people thought embarrassing or disgusting. I was also skimming through the profile Max had pulled and displayed on the recessed screen on the table desk.
Seldara Tozzi was one of the grande dames of Thurene. One of those whose names never appeared, except as a patron of all the arts. Her wealth was estimated at well over a billion credits, and she had three homes. She was a widow, with three children and four grandchildren and eight greatgrandchildren. She lived in a palacio almost as grand as Principessa Odilia's—virtually next door to Odilia, as such matters went.
"I have a great-granddaughter," began the seigniora. "I have several, but one of them is considering marrying a most unsuitable man. He is exceedingly handsome, well educated, well-bred, and intelligent. He is also without a definable moral code and represents himself as normal—what I believe is called straight-straight—when I have been led to believe he is keeping another man. I have no problems with his personal habits or sexual orientation. I have great difficulties with his misrepresentation of his orientation to my granddaughter."
"I assume you wish ironclad documentary evidence of his character and deception, preferably in his own words."
"I would wish his complete vanishment, but that would be most unsuitable and would certainly reflect negati
vely upon us both in these times. Your suggested alternative will have to suffice, unless you can persuade him to depart Devanta and reject my granddaughter in a fashion that will illustrate his true lack of character."
I laughed, sympathetically. "I can't promise anything without details and looking into the matter first."
"I would not expect otherwise. Despite your... shall we say shadowy ... reputation, you are known as honest and trustworthy. I propose an initial retainer of two thousand credits for your assessment. That is yours, even if you believe you cannot assist me, but I would like a written report explaining why not. If you agree to proceed after the assessment, I will provide another five thousand credits as an initial fee. Beyond the first ten stans, you will document your time, and I will pay you at the rate of five hundred credits a stan. If you are successful in a graceful resolution, I will provide a significant sum in gratitude."
I inclined my head. "Those terms are most acceptable, with one addition. If I cannot resolve the matter in less than a hundred billable stans, I will not charge more than the initial retainer plus twenty stans."
"You're that confident, Seignior Donne."
"No, Principessa Tozzi, I'm that proud."
She laughed. "The credits and the information are on the way. So is a contact code. Good day, Seignior Donne."
"Good day."
Max, check incoming and credit transfers.
Data is ready for you. Incoming has accepted seven thousand credits. Max the scheduler and villa intelligence served as my alter ego. To me, Max's full name is Maximus Tem-pus, but officially, he's Time/Events/Systems Maximizer, Mod VIII, version two. With a number of custom adjustments unknown to the Civitas Sorores. Quite a number.
Interrogative seven thousand? From Seigniora Tozzi?
Seven thousand from the Tozzi palacio account.
I laughed. The principessa clearly didn't want me to refuse the commission.
I called up the data and began to read.
The great-granddaughter was Marie Annette Tozzi. Unsurprisingly, according to the images that accompanied the data, she was a dark-haired beauty, but of the severe type. Whether that beauty had been inherited naturally, genetically enhanced, or medically improved'—or all three—wasn't a matter for conjecture. With the Tozzi wealth, only the relative contributions of each component were in doubt. She was young, in her late twenties, and pursuing a medical doctorate at L'Institut Multitechnique. She lived in a villa with her mother on the grounds of her grandmother's palacio.