The Elysium Commission

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  With a smile, I went back to work, this time setting up a modified routine to compare biographies among those reg­istered in the Artists' Centrality, plus those listed in the various works. Then I set it running while I studied the results from my earlier work that morning.

  Unlike the dramaturge search, those for the Elois and Stella Strong were less successful. The results told me noth­ing I hadn't already known. There was absolutely nothing else on Astrid Forte, either. Obviously, Siendra and Krij had access to sources I didn't.

  Over the past weeks, I'd learned a great deal about Eloi Enterprises and its Classic subsidiaries. The problem was that I had no idea what was relevant. I'd learned some about

  Terrie McGerrie/Carey Douglass/Marley Louis, mainly that she was clearly a most talented—and reclusive—writer and that she lived somewhere in Thurene. And, on the other hand, I'd learned virtually nothing about either Stella Strong/Maureen Gonne/Astrid Forte. Nor had I discovered anything close to what Seldara Tozzi was seeking. Incoming from Odilia Ottewyn.

  Accept. Why was she vidlinking? She said she detested virtie-comm.

  Odilia remained slim, dark-haired, and seemingly vir­ginal. She wore a velvet jacket shaded to the cranberry with a cream blouse. "Blaine, I just read your charming note. You were so sweet to handwrite it."

  She'd never mentioned that the day before. I didn't push. "I could do no less after such a warm and wonderful eve­ning at the opera, Princesse."

  "I would have responded in kind, dear man, but I'm rather pressed for time. We're leaving on L'Etoile in the morning."

  "You mean I won't have another chance to accompany you to the opera this season?" That would have been un­likely, but I had to say something.

  "I fear not, Blaine. Amelia insists she must go to the ball—the midwinter ball on Firenza. When one's daughter's future might be determined by her presence at such festivi­ties, what can a mother do?"

  I'd never heard Odilia mention her daughter, or any child. "That sounds like a long visit to Firenza. I hope that you en­joy every moment of it." I smiled. "Or that Amelia does."

  "I'm most certain that she will, dear Blaine. I do wish that you could be there on Firenza when all the fireworks go off. The midwinter festivals there do so much to lift one's spirits. At times, even the most shadowy of individuals needs to get away and bask in the light."

  Fireworks? I set the system to do a quick search of Firenza and its winter holidays, with a query on fireworks. "I fear you have me, Princesse. I bow to your kindness, and to your warmth." I did bow and smile.

  "We'll be in the Palacio di Soleil, should you choose to grace us with your presence."

  "Thank you."

  With a smile, her image vanished. I swallowed and read over the console display set into the desk surface.

  Firenza did have midwinter holidays. There were three of them, each a week apart. They were lavish, social, and extravagant, especially for those with wealth, who took turns as acting as the duke—or duchess—of merriment. There were incredible light shows. Fireworks were banned.

  Odilia had to have known that. She was warning me that fireworks were about to go off around me. And that she wasn't about to remain on Devanta. She'd linked one day after I'd told her that the Sephaniah at the opera was a fraud. Was that also a factor?

  Incoming from Siendra Albryt.

  For a moment I hesitated before recognizing her sur­name. Krij had introduced her once, and from then on, she'd just been Siendra. Accept.

  As usual, she wore an earth-toned jacket. This one was somewhere between tan and khaki, but with its collar and lapels trimmed in a thin green piping. That touch of green combined with the soft shimmering cream blouse somehow made the hazel of her eyes more vivid.

  "Blaine, Krij and I undertook some information surveil­lance. You may be onto something. Eloi Enterprises has been transferring credits off Devanta for almost a year. They've also sold most of their real estate and are leasing it back from the new owners. It's been very gradual."

  "Are they in financial trouble?" That didn't seem likely, but I'd learned a long time back that corpentities could be more than slightly deceptive as they approached financial collapse.

  "We don't think so. It looks more like they're tired of deal­ing with the sisters and are trying to ease out. If anyone knew they wanted to relocate most of their operations, people would bargain for better deals. They've also set up full-scale escort and entertainment services in Abssennya, Frydrich, and Neuiravia."

  "That's not a sign of financial weakness."

  "Neither of weakness nor of indecision."

  "Why now?" I couldn't help musing.

  'Their relations with the Civitas Sorores have been get­ting worse. The sisters have brought four civil complaints and motions against Eloi Enterprises in the last year. In three cases, the Sector Judiciary upheld the System Judi­ciary against the Elois. The fourth is pending."

  "What about the Assembly revisions in the definitions of repressive governments? Would that be a factor?"

  Siendra paused, tilting her head slightly. "Generally, re­pressive governments are harder on operations such as the Elois'. A less repressive government would benefit them."

  "Only after the reformulation," I pointed out. "Values of real estate could decline in the interim as well."

  "The sisters aren't anywhere as repressive as most gov­ernments the Assembly has determined worthy of reformu­lation."

  I shrugged. "It was just a thought."

  "I'll ask Krij. She may know something."

  "Thank you."

  "Oh... on those non-Eloi names. The banker secured subsidiary financing for his employer from Classic Finance. It likely saved Banque de L'Ouest from an unfriendly takeover. That confirms your belief in his position. We've filed a denial of his credit notice against you, and demanded documentation, but there's been no response yet. The other is just what she seems, but she's been doing research on Old Earth for at least the past four months. Very noted scholar. One of her daughters is employed by Classic Media. That's all we could find out that we didn't discuss earlier.

  "Now ... about the Tozzis and Dr. Dyorr. There's a lot there, but nothing in the slightest out of the ordinary, except for one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "There's absolutely no information on any romantic or other personal attachments for either Dr. Tozzi or Dr. Dyorr. Krij had mentioned you were interested in that aspect for him, but I thought it might be worth checking on her as well." I nodded. "I appreciate that."

  "Cecilia vonKuhrs comes from an old, old, Old Earth family, but she's a most effective foundation administrator." Siendra smiled. "She has what one might call a catholic taste in men, but she's always used it to her advantage."

  "With women, too?"

  "I couldn't say from the record, but given some of her known liaisons, I'd doubt it. There's nothing at all except the bare basics on Darlya Rettek."

  "Thank you. Is there anything else I should know?"

  "At the moment, I can't think of anything."

  "Send an invoice for whatever I owe you."

  "Krij said to tell you that the information value is more than worth our time."

  It must have been. Krij had never hesitated to invoice me, if at discounted rates. "Thank you... and her."

  Once Siendra broke the link, I sat back behind the table desk, thinking. I didn't get far.

  Incoming from Myndanori.

  Accept.

  "Blaine, dear man. To what did I owe your link?" She was wearing a soft purple blouse and an off-black vest. The com­bination of that sort should have clashed with her hair and complexion. It didn't.

  "I'm still working on various commissions. You remem­ber Dr. Dyorr?"

  "My mind isn't that scattered. Your client has this impres­sion that Dyorr's some sort of hidden samer. If he is, he's so hidden that he'll never find himself, let alone another samer." Her laugh was light and cruel.

  'That's probably true, but it raises anoth
er question. Could you ask around about a semihidden samer named Marie Annette..."

  "Last name? Or is this Dr. Tozzi? Blaine, you have a devious mind."

  "I'd appreciate it if you ask around only using the first names. If I'm wrong, I get some protection. So does she. Besides, I'm not sure what name she might be using, if she is. Fairly tall woman—"

  "Black-haired with gray eyes, severely beautiful, if a touch muscular," Myndanori finished. "If she's been around, some­one will know."

  "Also ... I'm interested in what you might know about a Daryla Rettek. She's the science media linkster at the In­stitute."

  "I should know her..."

  "Petite blonde... pretty, not beautiful, but still good-looking."

  "I'll have to think about that. You'll owe me for these."

  "I always do."

  She laughed—and broke the vidlink.

  I hoped Myndanori could come up with something. If she couldn't, then I'd have to consider other alternatives. What those might be, I had no idea.

  For the moment, I was far more worried about what was happening with Maraniss and the Elois. Odilia had almost never vidlinked with me, but she'd gone out of her way to let me know she was leaving Devanta for at least half a year for a system scarcely that close to Devanta, and that her de­parture hadn't been planned for that long. It might not even have been planned the day before. She as much as told me that fireworks, or something was going to happen on De­vanta. Her indirection suggested that she was also certain that either my system or hers had been compromised. She was leaving Devanta as quickly as possible. She was wor­ried, if not frightened, and that was a side of Odilia I'd never seen.

  On top of that, the Elois were liquidating assets and trans­ferring funds out-system and had been for at least a year. Legaar had the equivalent of a jumpship generator at Time's End, and Lemmy had been killed when someone had dis­covered he had traced the use of that set of patents to Time's

  End. Legaar also had the equivalent of military-level RPFs guarding his estate.

  More than one thing still didn't make sense. Why had Sephaniah snooped me in a way that was bound to be dis­covered? So that I would tell Odilia? So that Odilia got a message indirectly? But Odilia claimed she scarcely knew Sephaniah.

  Either way, that suggested someone besides Legaar.

  The other thing was my near-instant transport from the limo. That suggested a tool with incredible possibilities ... yet all that I'd seen was a section of a wall dropped and...

  Of course! Whatever the device or technology was, it was complex and had limits. The wall had been dropped to stop the limo. That suggested the device wasn't that good at handling moving targets. The fact that I hadn't been moved or killed while sleeping suggested that it was limited by de­fense screens as well. For now, at least. Technology always got better.

  The week before I'd been intrigued and mildly con­cerned. I was more than that now. Much more.

  27

  Nil patterns have their sources—and their consequences.

  I tried to go to bed early on Mercien evening. I didn't sleep. Not immediately. Half-formed thoughts swirled through my mind, and most dealt with the Elois, except for a phrase Siendra had said. Even half-asleep, I recalled it exacdy: "Neither of weakness nor of indecision." Why that phrase?

  I drifted into an uneasy sleep, with those words reverber­ating somewhere.

  Three hour and a quarter.

  I shuddered awake. I hated getting up when it was dark, es­pecially when it was going to be dark for another three stans. A quick hot shower helped, as did a mug of SpecOps Sustain. It was legitimate to buy it, but who would want to, the way it tasted? It was good for jumpshifting a sluggish metabolism. Mine was, at least when jolted out of settied routines. I put on the gray flight suit last, along with the flight boots.

  Before I headed down to the nightflitter, I ran a quick news scan, sifting through the stories.

  "... Frankan foreign secretary Chartrand denied reports that two Gallian media commentators had been summarily detained for attempting to reveal interstellar military deployment patterns..."

  "... demographic sociologists at the L'Institut Multi-technique revealed an algorithmic population distribution optimizing methodology with multiple uses for civic master patterners..."

  Just what we all needed—another mathematical model that treated individuals as discrete volitionless lumps, as if one model or one size applied equally to all.

  "... a team of atmospheric scientists from L'Univer-site de Vannes reported yesterday that they had succeeded in mapping previously undetected magnetic field anomalies over the midhemispheric latitudes ... particularly strong in areas to the north of the Somme ..."

  Was that the result of whatever the Elois and Maraniss were doing at the Classic Research center at Time's End? Was what they were doing linked to Odilia's decision to flee? Or was I just jumping to unwarranted conclusions?

  Either way, I'd had enough. I cut off the news feed.

  I couldn't just flee to Firenza on suspicion. Jumpship passages to places like that cost as much as a good dwelling in the area where Krij lived. Even what I could get for my villa would only have paid for a handful of passages.

  After making a last check of the systems integrated into my gray flight suit, I walked along the inside corridor from the villa's kitchen back to my study. From there, I took the circular staircase hidden behind the bookcase down to the lower level. I went to the hidden locker that held all the gear I'd kept saying for years that I wouldn't use. I'd thought about calling it my inner sanctum, but it was really a lower sanctum, and that didn't roll off the tongue. It just sounded vaguely vulgar.

  I selected the enhanced opticals, the vibrodetects, and two dayration paks. No weapons. Not for this mission. Not this time. Then I crossed the red-lit hangar to the nightflitter, squinting for a moment as the shifting light patterns from the craft's curved angularities tried to twist my eyes away from its twenty-meter length.

  After storing equipment and rations in the small locker beneath the pilot's couch, I eased up and into the cockpit Once I had my helmet on, I checked all the links, then lowered the visor and ran through the checklist.

  Light-off one. One online.

  Number one generator brought all the flitter systems on­line.

  Once the hangar doors irised open and the lights went out, I taxied the flitter up the ramp and out the courtyard. This time, I requested a departure vector from ACS to Vannes via Carcassonne.

  Suggest routing through Lyons via Carcassonne.

  Accept.

  Cleared to lift off.

  Shadow-one, lifting off on departure vector.

  Cleared to ACS boundary on departure vector two six three, immediate climb to one thousand AGL.

  Accept-affirm. I lit off the second engine, then fed all power to the diverters. The nightflitter rose vertically until I was clear of structures, particularly my villa, when I nosed down slightly and transitioned into forward flight, I turned just south of due west to hold my vector, climbing and lev­eling out at my cleared departure altitude.

  This time I waited until I was well clear of the ACS boundary before I went stealth, banking into a descending turn and steadying on 020, angling back to the western end of the Piedmont Hills. The lights of the various towns and villages to the north of Thurene were dimmer. A thin ground fog was forming. It often did in late fall and early winter.

  Within minutes I was nearing the west end of the Somme Valley. There the ground fog was thicker. I stayed just above it even after I turned north toward Time's End.

  At that moment, for an instant, the detector system flared. Whatever it had been had passed over or by me. I ran the signal back. It had come from above, either from a superstrat recon or a satellite, but it hadn't lingered long enough for a lock. More of a random sweep. Those were always possible.

  Even so, I angled west for the next several minutes, then dropped even lower, almost hugging the treetops. Once I left
the lower ground near the river, the fog thinned. Another twenty klicks, and I swung back northeast, keeping just above the treetops and using the terrain to shield me from the surveillance sensors at Classic Research until the very end.

  Then I slipped the flitter around the east side of the tallest hill on the Rothschild Thierry lands—several klicks north of a light I thought might be an RT field station—and eased down into a cleared area on the north side. Most of my emissions would have been masked by the nightflitter's stealth capabilities, and even Special Ops would have had a hard time locating me from minimal emissions for such a short period.

  Even so, I was cautious. I shut down one engine immedi­ately. While I waited, I used a burst-bounce relay to amend my flight plan, canceling the last legs and claiming that I'd set down in Villedumont. That way, no one would be asking why I hadn't shown up in Vannes.

  After ten minutes, I shut down both engines, damped all emissions, and used the fuel cell to power the single passive detector that monitored all freqs and energy sources. For the next two hours all I had to do was watch the detector. That, and think.

  Bergerac's smoky red light lent a surrealistic sheen to the curved angularity of the exterior surfaces of the nightflitter. Voltaire was but a crescent in the western sky and would set before dawn.

  I took a deep breath and concentrated on the detector.

  I still wondered what my subconscious was trying to tell me with the perseverating repetition of the phrase Siendra had used. "Neither of weakness nor of indecision." All she'd meant was that the Elois hadn't been operating out of weakness or indecision. I knew that. What else was there in the words?

  I pushed the question away. I'd wrestled enough with the phrase. My subconscious had brought it up, and my subcon­scious was either going to resolve it or forget it.

  28

  Those souls who fill the city's halls pay more than gold to guard its walls.