The Elysium Commission

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "You helped more than that. I understand about the delay. Krij had said you two were working on a client project."

  For the faintest moment, Siendra said nothing. Hadn't she been working with Krij?

  "No... we finished that late on Sabaten. This was a pro­fessional commitment remaining from before Krij and I be­gan to work together. It's a long-term contract that requires expertise from me periodically until the end of next year." She offered a wry smile. It didn't conceal her tiredness. "Neither glamorous nor especially remunerative, but, like many things, it seemed a good idea at the time."

  I laughed. That I did understand all too well. "I think I understand that even better. I hope I do. I did appreciate the dinner. No matter what the so-called nanite experts say, real cuisine prepared by real people beats formulated food any­time. Especially at times like last Vieren."

  "Thank you." She paused. "I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten manners."

  There were stress lines running from her eyes, and her eyes were slightiy bloodshot. What had she been doing?

  "I would never have thought that. I'd like to talk, but you look ready to collapse. I wouldn't want to be the cause of overstressing my sister's partner."

  "Nor would I want you to be charged with that, but it's my time right now." She smiled.

  I liked the expression. "Then ... you tell me when it's time to break off."

  "You know that I would."

  I couldn't help chuckling. "You're a dangerous woman."

  "Mostly a tired one. Did you ever find your heiress? Or any traces?"

  "No. Not really, but I think I know why I haven't had much success..." I went on to explain about the TFA scandal and the possible links to Legaar Eloi. I also watched the system indicators. The links were supposedly secure. Then, even Legaar would know I could prove nothing, and all I was telling Siendra was that I'd been unsuccessful. "... so if I were Maureen Gonne, unless I happened to have gotten very powerful and very wealthy, I'm not sure an inheritance would be worth the exposure."

  Siendra nodded. "I can see that. But... most people are neither that restrained nor that perceptive."

  "Not with millions of credits at stake. That's true. But she certainly vanished, and people don't do that without a reason."

  "Could she be dead?"

  "Not if she's also Astrid Forte—that's the registered le­gal identity..."

  "The one I checked for you." Siendra moistened her lips. "I wonder who she really is."

  "She can't be famous."

  "No." Siendra frowned. "I wonder. She might be an oper­ative for the sisters."

  "Planetary intelligence types have registered identities?"

  "There's a classification where the sisters can grant a registered identity for the needs of the planet."

  "That would explain a lot." More than that, but explana­tion or not, I still had no proof. It was just another fact that might support an all-too-theoretical construct.

  "How is your arm?"

  "Better. The medcenter diagnostics report that I heal quickly. I can move my fingers without feeling it all over. I'll have full mobility and some strength in a few more days. Not full strength or healing, though."

  "Good." She tried to stifle a yawn ... and failed.

  "You look like you need some sleep."

  "I suppose so. But tomorrow will come too soon as it is."

  "No rest for you wicked regulatory compliance auditors."

  "Neither rest nor respite." Her laugh was shaky.

  "No credits without grief and stress," I added.

  "I should go." She smiled. "Thank you for linking."

  "Thank you."

  For a moment, after the holo projection vanished, I just sat behind the table desk. She'd vidlinked, but she'd thanked me. She'd meant it as more than an empty formality. I wasn't sure why, but I was happy that she had.

  Then I forced myself into a more upright position. I was tired, but before I collapsed, I needed to conduct a quick review of my pending projects.

  From the latest information available, Max calculated that Legaar Eloi was on Devanta. Most probably at his penthouse on top of Pier One in Thurene. The secondary hearing on the planetary charter amendment to require technology licens­ing to the government had been recessed until Jueven. I had nothing more than what Myndanori had led me to on Mau­reen Gonne and what Siendra had suggested. I had nothing at all new on Terrie McGerrie. I'd see Fillype Anshoots in less than half a day. At least Seldara Tozzi had seemed pleased.

  With that, I headed for bed. I knew I shouldn't be at­tempting anything else until I got some sleep.

  37

  Human religions are based upon the twin assumptions that physical corporeality is a weakness and that an intelligent noncorporeal deity would provide superior guidance. Both assumptions are wrong.

  At breakfast on Lunen morning, I was feeling more alert. Alert enough that I realized one thing that had escaped me the night before. What Siendra had been wearing the night before had been a shipsuit—or the equivalent. Was she still a reserve officer? Was that the commitment? She couldn't have been off-planet. She could have been doing sim training. I didn't know whether there was a space service reserve unit on Thurene, but no one was about to make that very public. Every system did have a reserve quota for the Assembly. Even Special Ops did. The SpecOps reserves trained either at the Vannes center or the one by the reservoir north of Thurene. Medically retired types weren't eligible for re­serve status. I'd been glad about that.

  The more I learned about Siendra, the more I realized how little I knew about her. She'd just always been Krij's business partner.

  I was getting ready to leave for my appointment with Fillype Anshoots when Max linked.

  Incoming from Seigniora Reynarda.

  Accept.

  She was entirely in black. I was certain the entire image was virtie, not that it mattered.

  "I believe you will find it to your advantage for us to meet tomorrow, Seignior Donne."

  "My advantage?"

  "I should have said, 'less to your disadvantage.' I will see you at eleven hour at your villa." With that, she was gone.

  If that had not been a veiled threat, I'd never received one. Just what I needed before heading off to meet with Fil-lype Anshoots.

  Max, schedule Seigniora Elisabetta Reynarda for eleven hour tomorrow.

  Scheduled, ser.

  I checked to make sure I had my list and a secure link for what came after my appointment with Fillype Anshoots, then made my way down to the garage.

  Getting to the public carpark close to A&R wasn't diffi­cult. Time-consuming and comparatively expensive, be­cause the streets there were older and narrower, and congested. Parking rates were higher. By law, they had to be. They had to reflect scarcity. Even so, I stepped through the second-floor archway of the Evangelical Association Co-op building at one minute before ten.

  A timid-looking woman peered at me from the reception console. She was real, not virtie. The small space behind her was filled with racks. The racks held everything from print manuals and publications to dataflats. Some items dis­played pop-up holos. Others were fronted with glossy print holograms meant to convey depth. They didn't. Most bore the cross or the crescent. I'd have bet he was also a member of the Masculist Forum.

  "Blaine Donne to see Fillype Anshoots."

  "Oh, yes, ser. Elder Anshoots will see you momentarily."

  There was no space between her console and the racks. There was little enough behind the racks and the rows of doored cubicles against the wall. I didn't see anywhere to sit.

  The door of the center cubicle opened, and a dark-haired man walked out through one of the openings in the racks.

  "Seignior Donne." His voice was deep and warm. It didn't quite rumble. His eyes were a pale blue, his hair a black so deep that it shimmered. His smile was open and welcoming. He was a shade taller than I was. "Please come in."

  I followed him into his cubicle. The table desk was narrow
and bare. The console on the left side was small.

  Anshoots settled into a worn chair suitable for a recep­tionist or a designer. "How might I help you? Your message was a bit unclear."

  "I'm here representing Scipio Barca."

  "I was under the impression that a Jay William Smith was his advocate." The warmth in his voice cooled but only a touch.

  "Oh, Jay is. I'm in the regulatory business. We work to­gether when it appears that a justiciary proceeding is likely to prove excessively burdensome and not in the interest of the parties."

  Anshoots raised his eyebrows. "I don't see that there is any need for third parties here, Seignior Donne."

  "Exactly. There's absolutely no need for advocates and their fees. As I understand the situation, a designer who was employed here for close to twenty years developed a logo for one of your clients. Fairmeadow Maharishi Publica­tions, I believe. The agreement which I've confirmed as reg­istered and authenticated names one Scipio Barca as the designer and A&R as the royalty recipient and disburser. I can't see how there can be any dispute about that."

  "Oh, not in the slightest."

  "Then I'm curious as to why you haven't paid him for the past three years."

  "There must be some misunderstanding, Seignior Donne. Scipio Barca was one of our most valued designers. I would never have given him less than his due."

  "I'm glad to hear that, Elder Anshoots. I'm certain that if you look into your accounting records, you'll find that there's been some oversight. I'm certain it's not your fault, but I know how these things can happen. Did I mention that I work with Albryt and Donne, the regulatory compliance auditing corpentity? They'd prefer not to institute a section three gamma complaint. Of course, they'd have no reason to if Skip Barca receives his back royalties of three thousand two hundred and twenty-one credits. Say within the next week. And by the tenth of the month thereafter."

  Elder Anshoots's smile was strained. "We only want to do what's right."

  "I know that, but sometimes the devil's in the details."

  "You're Blaine Donne ..." He offered a puzzled look.

  I stood. "That's right. I'm the reasonable one in the fam­ily. My sister Krijillian is the managing director of Albryt and Donne."

  "Ah... I see."

  "Thank you very much, Elder Anshoots. I appreciate your taking care of this. I'd certainly hate to see it splashed all over the trade media that you'd been slapped with a three gamma civil charge."

  "Please convey to Skip that I deeply regret the inconve­nience."

  "I will, and once he receives his royalties, I'm sure he'll understand that it was all an unfortunate clerical error." I in­clined my head slightiy before I left.

  I walked back down the ramp and along Templeton to­ward the garage. Those relatively few minutes with Elder Anshoots had left me feeling like screaming a cry of literate despair. Except I was no poetic hero, and I certainly had no regalia that would have proclaimed me. Where was the mythic hound of heaven when we needed him? Except that hound was chasing to offer mercy, and mercy was in short supply among fundies, no matter what they claimed. Unless it was mercy for them. But that was just human nature.

  I didn't like what I had to do next. Soliciting people in public places—even just for information—was technically illegal but not always prosecuted. If Javerr found out about it and wanted to make trouble, I could be back before the Garda. But I was running out of time and options.

  I reclaimed my groundcar and drove southwest, paying yet another exorbitant fee at the carpark serving the lower end of the boutique area. In the cloudy grayness of a late midmorning, I stationed myself at a table by the cafe stop not that far from the ramps and lifts of Fashion Place, using my links with Max to compare the faces I saw with those on my target list. I had taken the precaution of loading several images of Maureen, including the one from TFA, into the personal display comm clipped to my belt.

  A half stan before noon, I located my first target, an over-muscular man in black skintights, wearing a long jacket and designer shorts—brilliant blue. I made it almost to his shoul­der before he turned.

  "You're Gaston Gueran, aren't you? I'm Blaine Donne. I'm a finder's man, and I was hoping you could help me."

  "What sort of racket—"

  "No racket. I've been hired to find a woman named Mau­reen Gonne. She was a media linker at TFA until two years ago. There's no record of her after she left TFA."

  "So?" Gaston had the kind of sneer I would have liked to remove. Permanently.

  "I get paid if I find her. She gets paid, too. I imagine she'd be grateful."

  "It sounds like a racket to me."

  "If you don't believe me, go to the First Commerce Bank and ask about the bequest of Clinton Jefferson Wayles."

  That actually turned the sneer into mere sullenness.

  "I was hoping that you might know any little thing about her that might help me locate her."

  "Straight-straight who hated men. Acted better than any­one else but good at charming the media linksters. Heard she came from a little place near Vannes." He frowned. "Gaullis ... no, Degaulle, I think it was ..."

  That was all I got from Gaston.

  All in all, I managed to talk to five TFA employees with­out learning more.

  The sixth was Gretylia D'uryso. She was the admin coor­dinator for TFA in-house media.

  "You're the shadow knight, aren't you? You're built like him. You move the same way."

  "I do?" I hadn't been aware of anything like that. I shrugged apologetically. "Some people have said that. I'm just here trying to get some information so that I can locate someone who has an inheritance coming."

  "That wouldn't be me."

  "Maureen Gonne. She was a media linkster."

  "She came from somewhere near Vannes, did her graduate work there, I think." Gretylia gave the smallest of shrugs. "She must have been good. No one ever complained, and at TFA everyone complains."

  "Did she ever say where she was going?"

  "I didn't even know she was leaving. One day she was gone. Like that. I put through the termination and contract work. No one ever said anything." With a smile she turned away. "That's all I know."

  I could sense the Garda patroller before I even turned away from Gretylia.

  It was Javerr.

  I just stood and waited.

  "You're getting very popular, Seignior Donne. I had a re­port that you might be out here soliciting. I hope that's not the case." His smile was even nastier than usual.

  "Patroller Javerr, like you, I'm merely attempting to do my job. I have a commission to find a missing heiress. She worked in this area, and I've been asking people if they've seen her recendy. I'm not asking for personal information. I'm not asking for credits, and I'm not asking for business."

  He nodded slowly. "Just for the record, and so that I can tell the captain, who is this supposed heiress?"

  I undipped the display comm slowly and raised it, min­ing it so that Javerr would be able to see the small projec­tion. I called up the TFA image. "Her name is Maureen Gonne. She worked around here."

  Javerr actually studied the image for a moment. "Don't know her. Not the face, anyway. I don't suppose you would part with the name of your client?"

  "Officer, you know I can't do that."

  "You'd have to prove you have a client if I brought you in. You're really close to the edge on soliciting, Seignior Donne."

  I offered a sigh. I know, Officer. I haven't had much luck with standard methodologies."

  "Knock it off, Donne. Stick to what you're supposed to."

  "I will." I offered a crooked smile. "You can't blame me for trying."

  "Go."

  I departed.

  Javerr's relatively cooperative attitude bothered me more than if he'd dragged me into Garda headquarters. Here was a Garda patroller who'd been trying to find anything to tag me with, hitting me with a light verbal slap on the wrist.

  The business about the shadow knight bo
thered me as well. I knew some people understood my nocturnal roamings, but how and why would a junior admin type at TFA know?

  The first thing I did when I got back to my study in the villa was check on that.

  Max, interrogative netsys shows on me or the shadow knight.

  What order?

  Order? There were more than one or two? Chronological, past to present. Project here.

  I watched for almost half a stan.

  Every major Thurene news outiet had done a brief fea­ture on the so-called shadow knight, either on the morning spread, the midday, or the early afternoon. So had some of the niche nets, including the male samer net—with the im­plied suggestion I might be one of them.

  The cuts were brief, but there were plenty of vid-shots. Some were old. The most recent was along the South Bank where I'd kept the would-be lover from assaulting the woman who told him no. The later events in Deo Patre and the River Crescent hadn't been captured by the Garda mon­itors. For such small favors of fate I was grateful.

  The commentary was similar.

  'The shadow knight. Is he real or just an urban myth? Never-before-revealed monitor vids show that he is very real. Some say they know who he is. They won't tell. Others don't know and don't care."

  "He saved ray niece ..."

  "Wimouthim..."

  "Garda can't stop crimes. They can only catch people afterward. Sometimes that's too late."

  "The shadow knight... an urban myth who's made Thurene a better place ... at least for most of us."

  I was sweating by the time it was all over.

  Were the media clips why Javerr had been easy on me?

  I didn't think so.

  But who had pushed it? Why?

  It had to have been the Civitas Sorores. While all of the views of my actions had come from the Garda public monitors, no one on the Garda would have wanted to make public the limitations of public surveillance in preventing violence. Not even Shannon.

  Incoming from Krij.

  Accept.

  "Blaine! How could you?" Her black hair was actually disheveled.

  "The vid-clips? I didn't. I didn't even find out until a few minutes ago. It's either the sisters, or someone has breached their security."