The Elysium Commission

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The unsuitable man was Guillaume Richard Dyorr. He was a doctor at L'Institut Multitechnique with a specialization in consciousness plasticity. He had a town house in the Heights and a retreat at Lac de Nord in the Nordmonts ...

  Seignior Donne, your hour-ten appointment is approaching. Max had reserved ten hour on Marten morning for a Seigniora Elisabetta Reynarda. She had refused to state her business, only that she needed to meet with me personally. With no clients at that time, high expenses, and a dwindling free credit balance, I had accepted.

  "Yes, Max, I know." I saved the data on the Tozzi commission and stood. Then I stretched.

  My office/study/library is on the north side of the villa's entry foyer. My dwelling doesn't really qualify for villa status. That's another issue. The city sisters let me keep the status in return for earlier service. They're more than the city sisters, but the term dated back to the first colonists. Devantans are traditionalists. That might be why Devanta never had to suffer an Assembly reformulation.

  The system fed me the image of the woman crossing die entry foyer to the door of my office and study, guided by the holo versions of me animated by Max. I moved from behind the table desk and waited.

  Seigniora Reynarda stepped into the study. She was neither tall nor short, a touch less than 180 centimeters. Her hair was a natural stormy blond, and her skin was the pale gold of mixed ancestry. Her eyes were large and black and dominated a face with a straight neat nose, a wide mouth, and lips too thin to be called rosebud. She wore a single-suit of deep gray, with a short black jacket and black boots. The attire suited her.

  "Seignior Donne." She stopped less than a yard from where I stood.

  "Seigniora Reynarda, I believe." There was something about her—or not about her.

  "That will do." The seigniora surveyed the study. Her deep black eyes moved from point to point, as if my office were an artifact to be cataloged. She did not attempt flash-code communication. Since she did not, I was not about to. Besides, the study was secure, even against vibrosonic taps and coherency analysis.

  The north and east walls are mainly glass—intelligent glass—set between the square golden stone columns. There are two sets of French doors on the north wall. They open onto the columned north verandah. It's anything but large, a mere ten meters by five. Except for the double cherry doors from the entry foyer, the inside south wall is all bookshelves. So is the west inside wall. I like the feel of books. I've actually read many of them—as books. Some aristos read them through the datastacks and display the bound originals as trophies. Me, what I peruse and study through the netsystems is for work. What I read off the shelves is for pleasure.

  The furnishings are simple. All the links and perceptual-electronics are behind the bookcases. What's left are a circular conference table for four, with stylized captain's chairs, a broad table desk, with my chair behind it, and one comfortable green reading chair in the northwest corner.

  "I'd heard you were tastefully ... modest, Seignior Donne. It appears as though the reports were accurate." The black eyes focused on me. They reminded me of the feral cats that frequented the darker fringes of the Pare du Roi.

  I was percepto-linked to my system, trying to run traces and comparisons, but they all came up blank. Who she was remained a mystery, as did much on Devanta... and on most of the Worlds of the Assembly. "I've always believed in modesty, both personally and financially. What can I do for you?"

  "You have an impeccable reputation."

  That statement meant trouble. I waited.

  "I have a commission for you."

  I gestured toward the conference table.

  "No thank you. I won't be here that long. Are you interested in a commission?"

  "Is it the kind I'd wish to take?"

  She smiled. The expression was pleasant and meant to hold a hint of sensuality. It didn't. Again, I didn't understand why not. She had all the equipment, and she didn't come across as a samer.

  "I understand you prefer a challenge and ample remuneration," she said after a long pause. "I'm prepared to offer both."

  "I don't take commissions that involve breaking the Codex." Not since I'd been regened and retired from the Assembly's IS SpecOps.

  "Unless you are far less resourceful than your reputation suggests, you will not need to worry about trivialities such as the Codex."

  "You know I must ask your name and identity."

  She flashed a coded ID bloc, but no words with the bloc. The systems verified that it was a "real" identity.

  Theoretically, if I did something against the Codex, her ID could be revealed if a justicer determined that she had been in fact instrumental in aiding or abetting an offense. That is, if the coded bloc happened to be accurate and not merely well enough designed to deceive my systems. My systems are better than any but those of IS or internal Garda security.

  "Are you satisfied?"

  "Enough."

  "I would like you to discover and ascertain in evidentiary terms the exact relationship between Eloi Enterprises, Judeon Maraniss, and Elysium."

  The first name was dangerous, the second puzzling. The third? I'd never heard of Elysium—except in classes in antiquity years before when I'd been at the Institute. That wasn't what the lady meant—assuming she was either a lady or female in other than bodily form.

  "The remuneration?"

  "A flat retainer of five thousand credits for this appointment and the first ten stans of work. After that, we meet again and see if further investigation is necessary, possible, or required."

  "How do I reach you?"

  "You don't. I'll contact Max."

  I'd never used that name outside the villa. I smiled. "You are very persuasive. I will accept—for the first ten stans."

  "I thought you would." Another coded link flashed from her to the systems.

  The backlink verified I had five thousand credits I hadn't had a few moments before. My accounts were far healthier man they had been two stans earlier.

  "I look forward to your first report." She gave a polite but perfunctory nod, then turned and walked out of the study.

  I watched her closely until the door closed. The systems tracked her until she left the courtyard in a gray groundcar. It was an unmarked and armored limousine.

  Who was Seigniora Elisabetta Reynarda? The mind behind the body was either very wealthy or very powerful. Probably both. Whether she were even a woman was another question. On Devanta, as on most worlds, the protocol, the appearance, and the legalities of identity didn't always match. Appearance often matched neither protocol nor legality. She was an advocate, or someone familiar with terms of law, and she was playing for high stakes. Anyone who referred to the Codex as a triviality and meant it had to be. Yet she had not used verbal flashcode, and that suggested that the body was not hers. Or that the code usage might reveal more of her origin and background.

  And there was something else...

  I almost laughed. No pheromones. Even samer women, who had little interest in men, often used pheromones beyond the natural to provide an edge. Practicing samers had different pheromones, but they were there. Seigniora Reynarda had not had any. Yet the body had been physically real. The most likely explanation was a recently decanted clone with a cydroid shunt. That raised other questions, principally urgency.

  I dropped back into the datastacks. My first scan search was for quick specifics on Eloi Enterprises. The name was familiar to anyone around the entertainment sector of Devanta. Legaar Eloi was "Seignior Entertainment." He'd also been informally linked to more than fifteen erasures or vanishments, not that there was any proof.

  The datastacks had littie more on him personally. That included the public stacks and the privates to which I'd wrangled access over the years. Eloi Enterprises specialized in explicit entertainment and gratification provided through every possible format and medium developed over the prehistorical, historical, and posthistorical span of humanity. Seigniora Reynarda could have easily been one of thos
e mediums. She was striking enough. Formally, Eloi Enterprises was wholly owned by Legaar and Simeon Eloi, with worth and assets unknown, but estimated in excess of a billion creds. I skipped over the details of exactly how they provided for their clientele. I might need to investigate that in greater depth. I hoped not.

  Judeon Maraniss was next. I'd heard the name but hadn't been able to place it. He was a specialist in population dynamics and had his own consulting operation somewhere in Thurene, physical location confidential.

  The numbers of references to Elysium were staggering. I had no idea how many hotels, resorts, consulting firms, and unrelated operations had decided that the ancient classical name was their codebloc to success. On the other hand, there were no links between Elysium and either Maraniss or Eloi Enterprises. I hadn't expected there would be, but it's better to eliminate the obvious when you can.

  There was no Elisabetta Reynarda. That didn't surprise me. In fact, I would have been surprised if she had been listed anywhere. There were no current Reynardas anywhere in Thurene or anywhere else on Devanta. The name wasn't proscribed, but it had been abandoned after Marshal Reynardo's execution two centuries earlier. Even the es­capades of the Fox a century later had not revived the sur­name except as a whispered epithet, when no other hero would light a lamp.

  I still had to wonder on whom the Seigniora Reynarda body and persona had been modeled. There was something there. That had been intended. The fun of attempting to beat Cartiff and the ladies Selemez at their own profession would have to wait. I needed to set up a more targeted data approach and then talk to some people. In person.

  I also needed to finish reading the material on Marie Annette Tozzi and Dr. Guillaume Richard Dyorr and set up the initial scan searches on them.

  4

  The degree of emptiness in life is proportional to the density of the observer.

  As with all those who possessed wealth, there was little information on Marie Annette Tozzi. The initial search did come up with a bit more on Guillaume Richard Dyorr. He'd been born in Bretcote, to a fishing family. He'd excelled in racquets and parlayed that expertise into an admission to L'Ecole de Merite. From there he'd gained a full scholarship to L'Universite de Vannes and then another to the Medical College at Vergennes, on the far east coast. He'd graduated second in his class. The honors, research, fellowships piled up. From what I could tell, he'd had no female liaisons of a lasting nature. All of his mentors had been male. Suggestive, but for from conclusive. If anyone would know, it would be Myndanori, when I could reach her.

  The Reynarda commission would take even more work, and I'd need to talk to Odilia. Technically, I could have vir-tied her. I didn't. Virtual visits were not de rigueur in her circle. So, immediately after the seigniora left, I arranged an appointment with Odilia for Miercen. Then I called the groundcar service and ordered the small special limousine. Anything less, and I wouldn't have gotten through the gates of the Palacio Ottewyn.

  I decided to let matters stew in my subconscious for a bit.

  News scan. I prioritized the items, starting with non-Assembly news, then began to ran through the items.

  "Technarcheologists representing the University of Muriami reported the discovery of the remnants of an alien spacecraft... in an undisclosed location in the Drift region ... the craft is estimated to be a billion years old. Because of extensive damage that presumably immobilized the vehicle and the debris that accreted around it, the technology used to propel it is unknown, but the design of the craft is similar to that of existing human jumpships... and contains fossilized remains ... no other data have yet been released..."

  Every decade or so, someone found some technological artifact that they claimed was of alien origin and represented high science. So far none had. Most were common devices with common purposes from peoples who had come and gone.

  "Ahrham Khan, Shiite League legate to the Assembly, informed Premier Ferraro that the League would take whatever steps might be necessary to restrain Frankan expansionism in the Sack area of the Trailing Arm. He repeated that statement in a public statement delivered before the Califya Stellar Traders ..."

  I snorted. Everyone anywhere close to the Frankan Confederation declared that they would take such steps. So far as I knew, only SpecOps had ever done anything. Most of that had been hushed up, and kept hushed up.

  "The art exchange between the Columbian Federation and Chung Kuo has been canceled. No reasons have been given..."

  Skip. I didn't need to know about art exchanges.

  "The Republic of Zion has launched another colony ship that will incorporate both jump-generators and suspend systems with the most advanced AI guidance systems.

  With a target of the 'meadows' section of the Greater Magellanic Cloud, the LDSS John Lee will undertake the longest missionary flight ever attempted..."

  Skip to Devanta news. Saint missionary efforts were worse than art exchanges.

  "The Gallian Sector Four Fleet continued deep-space maneuvers last week, and encountered armed scouts of an unidentified force. One of the scout ships was destroyed. The other escaped... Sources close to the sector command of the Assembly Defense Ministry reported that the scouts' profiles matched those of either Frankan or Ar-genti vessels."

  I would have thought that deep-space military scouts were more likely to be Argenti, since the Frankans had backed off after the lower Trailing Arm disaster. Both had targeted the Gallian sisterhood in past centuries. They had felt it was the weakest subsector of the Assembly of Worlds. They'd been repulsed, defeated, and annihilated in successive campaigns. I'd had something to do with the last. Those outcomes had not changed their opinion. Not for long. Sweet reason insisted that worlds ruled by women were better targets.

  "Soror Prima Juliana signed an amendment to the Gallian systems charter yesterday that would require mandatory licensing of defense-related technologies to the system or planetary authorities. Full royalties would be paid, but the owner of such technologies would not have the right to prohibit their use. In addition, the government would have the right to prohibit sales of such technology to governments deemed hostile..."

  That worried me far more than fleets prowling around the Gallian systems. Any time a government had to compel commonsense measures of those who provided weapons systems, it suggested that short-term greed had won over long-term survival. But then, history was filled with societies that had collapsed because of excessive greed in its various manifestations.

  Because of my musings over technology-leasing, I hadn't been paying that much attention to the other news and missed the lead of the next report.

  "... outbreaks of spontaneous crime and violence continued to drop in Thurene and other urbanized areas ... population dynamicists note that the decline in such offenses merely mirrors the decrease in the numbers of those members of society most likely to commit such crimes... no explanation for such a population decline. Sister Quinta refused to comment on the report that disappearances are at an all-time high in lower-income quadrants, particularly in Thurene and in Vannes ...

  "The Sorores Civitas are little more than a feminist tyranny." That was the latest pronouncement of Josiah Brigham at the annual meeting of the Masculist Forum in Testaverde yesterday. Members of the Forum pledged support to develop a political alternative to the current Devantan government, one more aligned with the best in human tradition..."

  I snorted. The Masculists and their female counterpart— the True Traditional Women—wanted to roll back political, economic, medical, and social developments thousands of years in the name of tradition. They didn't like equality for the sexes or a medical technology that could transform women into men in every aspect or men into women, even to removing the differences in the Adam's apple, and they certainly didn't like women running the planetary govern­ment.

  Krij will be here shortly, Max reminded me. With her partner.

  Thank you. I cut off the news feeds.

  I could feel myself tightening inside. When my s
ister visited, I still felt that way. Was it that she was a decade older and had always exhibited superiority, regardless of how matters had changed since we had been children? Had it been the sudden and untimely death of our parents while I'd been in the service that had forced her into that role? Or was it me? I'd tossed those questions over in my mind for years, never satisfied with the results. As always, I pushed them back into the shadows of my mind.

  Siendra wasn't Krij's partner in the samer sense. They were business partners. Krij had been married to an advocate—once—and I had a niece I saw occasionally. Krij and Siendra were regulatory compliance auditors—not for the Assembly of Worlds or for the planetary government of Devanta, but for wealthy individuals and small corpentities. Those were the people who had the most to lose from fail­ure to comply with the myriad of energy, environmental, accounting, taxation, and employment regulations.

  Should I start on the Reynarda commission? Or the Tozzi one?

  I decided against either. Krij was always punctual. She was due at the villa in less than ten minutes. Instead, I checked on messages. There weren't many. There never were.

  Antonio diVeau's smooth face projected into the air before the desk. "Blaine ... are you interested in a cataract river ride in Novem? I've got space for two ..."

  I'd turn that down. Tony was the type that professed profound love and devotion to his wife and daughters, then left them for every exotic adventure he could find. He tried to use those adventures to gain clients for his bank—I pre­sumed. We'd never been close, but I didn't like to alienate anyone for no reason. Not when they might someday need my services. If I'd been his wife—or her brother—I'd have vanished him long ago. But I wasn't, and he'd married wealth and the kind of woman who'd vanish herself rather than disappoint him. Besides, I wasn't looking for more excitement. I had enough professionally. Paying for it in my personal life was insane.