The One-Eyed Man

by Modesitt,, L. E. Jr.

  “Would it? What if Spek carried instructions from Bachman under seal?”

  “I still don’t see why they’d do that.”

  “Cash flow drain. It may be time-discounted, but the RDAEX facility here can’t be producing much that’s profitable, and they’re funding a good share of all Rikova’s infrastructure. They’re likely under pressure to reduce that drain.”

  “What about another multi taking over RDAEX?” Aloris glanced down the arcade, then back to Raasn. “Or the local facility?”

  “That’s highly unlikely. RDAEX has no real competitors.”

  “That might make it a good target. Can you find out what connection this Spek and a special assistant might have to Verano?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Raasn laughed quietly. “Verano may be useful in other ways, as well.”

  “Officially … or unofficially?”

  “He’s already been useful officially, don’t you think? By his very appearance, he’s reinforced the position of the Survey Service. Unofficially … we’ll have to see, but one out of two isn’t bad these days.” Raasn lifted the goblet and took a sip.

  “What about Morghan and Melarez?”

  “Let them worry about Verano and the Ministry of Environment in Smithsen for a while. That will keep them looking in the wrong places.”

  “Melarez has her own agenda. Ministry headquarters seventy-three years away doesn’t worry her. She’ll just use that as a wedge. She wants Zeglar’s position, and Morghan would support her. So would Dulac, just to get Melarez off the Council staff.”

  Raasn frowned.

  “Makes you think, doesn’t it?” said Aloris. “Do you really want someone who’s that sharp as executive director? Melarez would make Venessa look like a scared tunnel rat.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about that. Melarez had one of her flunkies accompanying a structural inspector the other day. They went through all the Survey spaces, from the vehicle bays to the guest quarters, even the storerooms.”

  “Taps … or worse?”

  He shook his head. “I had everything swept.”

  “If they were inert … not activated…”

  “We’re pretty secure, but I upped the security surveillance.”

  Aloris took a small swallow, then glanced in the direction of Invireo before speaking. “Will Steenden and Willisen oppose Morghan if she pushes Melarez?”

  “We’ll have to find a way, won’t we?”

  She nodded. “They’re men. They have their weaknesses. Haaran should be here shortly. You can talk that over with him. He’s often good at that sort of thing.”

  “So is Amarios.”

  “In some circumstances.”

  They both smiled.

  30

  On fiveday, once more I had to rise early in order to check out one of the Survey vans and be on my way, because Syntex was close to two hundred kays south and east of Passova. I pulled up the ramp and out into the purple morning at just past seven. It seemed brighter to me than on other mornings, but that might just have been because I was feeling more and more confined in the tunnel cities and installations of Stittara. I also wondered about the rationale behind the subterranean way of life. Since I’d arrived, there had only been one storm anywhere near Passova and, powerful as it had been, it seemed to me that at least some buildings could have been constructed on the surface able to withstand such forces.

  As before, there was little traffic on the permacrete strip of highway, but that made sense, given the low population and a reliance on templating for creating most objects used by individuals and synth and tank food technologies. Power was the key, and Stittara had a low enough population that fusactors could handle those requirements.

  A little less than two stans later, I entered the down ramp for Syntex. After parking the van, I got out and removed my equipment case, then walked to the pressure door that accessed the underground vehicle bay serving visitors. I did note several other vehicles parked there in spaces clearly designated as for visitors. A wiry woman in a maroon singlesuit with black trim waited for me. I would have known her as a security type even without the stunner at her black equipment belt and the lightning patch on her upper sleeves.

  “Dr. Verano?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please follow me.”

  As we passed through the pressure doors, I noted the security screening probes, the only ones I’d seen—except at RDAEX. That didn’t mean I hadn’t been screened, only that I hadn’t been aware of it. Once we were past the pressure doors, we entered a tunnel unlike any of the others I’d seen—effectively a circular bore with the bottom filled to create a flat surface, and wider than the oval-topped and narrower tunnels in Passova. The tunnel shape and size and the sense of age suggested that the Syntex facility was likely far older than any other that I’d entered so far. RDAEX might have been close to that old, but because it had been essentially rebuilt, I couldn’t have said for certain.

  The old tunnel ended in a domed chamber, from which three other and newer-looking tunnels radiated at right angles to each other. In the center of the chamber was a large console, behind which sat another security guard. My escort led me down the right corridor, past five or six doors, then stopped outside the next on the right side.

  “You’re expected.”

  “Thank you.” I opened the door and stepped inside, into an anteroom with three consoles, although only one was occupied. The older man behind it glanced up. “Assistant Director Tharon will be with you in a minute, Doctor.”

  “Thank you.”

  Since there was nowhere to sit, except behind one of the consoles, I stood. I didn’t mind that, not after driving almost two standard hours. I didn’t wait long, no more than two or three minutes before the door at the back of the anteroom opened.

  A small man stepped out, the top of his head barely to my shoulder. He was wiry, with muddy brown eyes that seemed almost sleepy, especially in contrast to his swift and jerky movements as he stepped forward. “Bryse Tharon. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  His voice was gravelly, and he sounded anything but pleased.

  “I appreciate the time,” I replied.

  “Do come in.”

  I did, closing the door behind me. His office was about half the size of the space I had at the Survey Service, and was cramped with a large console, two chairs, and a wall bank of screens, all of them blanked at the moment.

  Tharon gestured to the chairs and seated himself behind the console, then began to speak even before I lowered my case and sat down. “I know all this isn’t your doing,” Tharon went on, “but it’s a damned nuisance. We do report after report. We meet all the standards. We hear nothing. Then those SoMod idiots on Bachman send someone so they can claim oversight. What oversight is there, except here, when it takes centuries to exchange communications?” He looked directly at me. “Does what you do even matter?”

  I looked straight back at him. “It matters to me.”

  “Good! Ought to matter to someone. What do you need?”

  “Access to all measuring points, especially effluents…” I went on with specifics because it was clear that he was the sort who wanted detail, delivered quickly and concisely.

  When I finished, he nodded. “Good. No shillyshallying. No vague and open commitments to search everything in sight.”

  “Unless my measurements reveal something significantly different from what you’ve submitted to the Survey.”

  “You won’t mind if I match your measurements, Doctor?” asked Tharon.

  “Not in the slightest … provided we agree on comparative calibration before we begin.”

  “I would have suggested that if you hadn’t.”

  After that, my investigation and measurements went smoothly, although Syntex was such a sprawling facility that it took until four that afternoon to make about half as many observations as it had in the same time at RDAEX. My legs were aching by the time we returned to what I thought of as the main rotunda, w
here I set down my equipment case.

  “Are you satisfied, Doctor?”

  “We’ll see when I have the chance to analyze the data.” I paused. “Since I’m here, is Aimee Vanslo available?” That was still a guess, but I’d waited until I was ready to leave, just in case I’d guessed wrong.

  Tharon frowned. “I don’t see what…”

  “Personal acquaintance. I’d appreciate it if you’d let her know I’m here.” I smiled politely.

  He walked away, presumably to make an inquiry with his personal link without my overhearing.

  I waited, glad that at least my guess had been halfway correct.

  When he walked back down the ancient tunnel, he couldn’t quite conceal his surprise. “She’s in a meeting, but she’ll be free in a quarter stan if you wouldn’t mind waiting.”

  “I’d be happy to wait.”

  “She said you would.”

  “She knows me too well,” I replied. Let him stew over that, given Aimee’s preferences.

  “I’ll take you to her office. Her assistant will be expecting you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned and headed down the center tunnel. We walked almost half a kay before we turned into another corridor on the left and through another set of open pressure doors. Tharon stopped before recessed double doors on the right and gestured.

  “Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome, Doctor.”

  I opened the right-hand door and stepped into another anteroom, closing the door behind me as I studied the space. The floor was tiled in large alternating gray and green tiles, while the walls were a slightly grayed off-white faux plaster. The staff assistant was a woman with the thin face and slightly drawn look that suggested anagathics were about to lose their ability to keep her appearance from showing definite age.

  She smiled, more than politely and less than effusively. “Executive Director Vanslo will be here in about ten minutes. If you would care to take a seat…”

  “I would, thank you. I think I’ve walked a good share of the tunnels today.” I took the chair on the end of the three placed against the side wall. That gave me the best view of her. “I take it you’ve been with Syntex for a while.”

  “A few years.”

  I just nodded, understanding the meaning behind the polite response, and sat back to wait for Aimee.

  Something like seven minutes after I’d seated myself, the door through which I’d entered opened, and Aimee stepped through. I immediately stood.

  “Paulo … it’s good to see you. Do come in.” The smile that went with the words was certainly genuine, or she was an accomplished actress … and both were probably true, although her dark eyes smiled as well as her face. She wore a deep green singlesuit, the only touch to fashion being a light green and gray scarf.

  “Thank you.” I returned the smile and followed her past the staff assistant through another door into an office of comparatively modest dimensions. I did close the door behind me.

  What struck me immediately was the pair of wide screens at each end of the space, one behind her console, and the other on the wall she faced while sitting at the console. Each screen was a good two meters wide and one and a half high. Both displayed what appeared to be real-time views of Stittara. Rather than seat myself in one of the green upholstered synthwood chairs before the console—where she remained standing—I gestured to the screen on the wall she faced. “Recently installed, I presume.”

  “You usually don’t presume,” she replied with another smile. “But … yes.”

  “You like the view … and the screens are … useful.”

  “They are.” She paused. “We could sit.”

  I grinned. “Yes, we could, but I’m attempting to be courteous.”

  “I’ll accept that. Now sit down, Paulo.”

  There was just the slightest edge of command in her voice. Rather than be difficult, I sat first, and she followed suit.

  “I wondered how long it would take for you to come calling.”

  “You knew I’d figure it out, sooner or later, didn’t you?”

  “I thought you would. You’re the type that worries through everything to the end.”

  “You figured that out from a few conversations?”

  “And from observing you talk with others.”

  “All that management expertise.”

  “You’re here. What do you want?”

  “You’ve already supplied much of that. I was just curious to see if you were who I thought you might be. And, of course, to ask whether pending research will change Syntex’s environmental profile.”

  “Research always does, one way or another.”

  “Can you tell me what you hope to discover?”

  “Better anagathics.” She smiled. “Now … my question. Am I who you thought I was?”

  “I don’t know, except that it’s apparent you’re part of the family that owns and operates Syntex and other organizations under the VLE imprimatur.”

  “Do you have any other requests?”

  “Is it possible to visit the forerunner site?”

  “For curiosity … or is it related to your assignment?”

  “I couldn’t prove it, but I have to wonder if there are any indications of a similar ecology at that time.”

  “You could tell?”

  “That depends on what’s left there.”

  She frowned, if but for a moment, then nodded. “Next threeday I’m scheduled to see the site. Be here at seven hundred and you can come with me. Clearance for you won’t be a problem since you’re already cleared by your assignment with Systems Survey Service.”

  “You checked that as well?”

  “The things you don’t check are the ones that get you in trouble. That’s something…” She shook her head.

  I knew that was no slip, but wondered why. “That you’re here to fix.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just give me advance notice if you intend to set the Survey Service on Syntex,” she said dryly, adding, after the briefest pause, “I know you can’t and wouldn’t do that, but that’s the way I feel.”

  “Antiquities Commission on your back?”

  “Among others.”

  I nodded, although I did have an idea … of sorts.

  “You have a most thoughtful expression, Paulo.”

  “That’s because I’m thinking.” I kept my tone light. “By the way, is the lady who called herself Constantia Dewers your mother?”

  For an instant Aimee stiffened. Then she laughed. “Yes. How did you guess?”

  “Intuition … and the fact that the only way you could avoid her for three weeks was to travel standard class. I assume she is the principal shareholder in VLE and the trip was taken as much to prevent family infighting that might likely occur in the event of her death.”

  “Do you have another mission here?” Her voice was definitely colder.

  “Hardly … those were guesses based on the only rationale I could come up with that made sense … and your earlier comments about your children. Oh … and on my own daughter’s reactions to certain things.”

  Aimee offered another pause, as well as a look as if her attention happened to be elsewhere, which I suspected it was.

  “Do the scanners show I’m telling the truth … or not obviously lying?”

  She focused on me. “Who are you?”

  “I’m exactly who I say I am. Paulo Verano, ecologist, doctorate from Reagan University, former head of Verano Associates, financially disadvantaged by a vindictive former spouse, here to determine the need for continued, increased, or decreased Survey Service activity in dealing with the ecological situation here on Stittara.”

  At that moment everything went black.

  31

  Questions swirled through my brain, even as my body went from hot to chill and back to fevered. Strange questions … some that I’d answered time and time again
over my life.

  When did you get your undergraduate degree?

  Who was your thesis advisor, and on what subject was your thesis?

  Who was Exton Land, and why is he important?

  Who was your advocate in the dissolution proceedings?

  Where were you born?

  The questions seemed endless, except they ended, and then I began to shiver.

  When my eyes opened, I was still sitting in Aimee Vanslo’s office, except she was seated in the chair across from me, and a female medtech in the traditional pale green was watching the portable console in her lap. My head throbbed, and I could feel prickling spots on my forehead and elsewhere on my scalp and neck.

  Aimee extended a mug of something. “It’s tea, fortified slightly.”

  “With what?” I meant my tone to be skeptically ironic, but the words just came out hoarsely.

  “Various things to ease your headache and reaction to truscope.”

  “You truscoped me?” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice.

  “It was necessary. I apologize. I’ll even offer a significant consulting fee for the inconvenience.” She looked to the medtech. “How is he?”

  “He’s fine, except for a headache.”

  “Can you remove the monitors and leave us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I was a bit surprised that Aimee allowed such an anachronistic address, but said nothing while the medtech removed the tabs from my head and neck, slid the console into an equipment bag, and then slipped out of the office. I slowly swallowed some tea and waited for the door to close.

  “You have a much bigger problem than mere corporate succession,” I finally offered, then took another sip of the tea to soothe my throat.

  “When you’re dealing with one of the largest family owned and controlled multis in the entire Arm, nothing dealing with succession is ‘mere’ or minor.”

  “I take it that you struck up conversations with every single person on Persephonya who might have been an assassin or the equivalent?”

  “Your phrase ‘or the equivalent’ suggests you’re more than you are. So does your physical condition.”