XXIV
THE TALL MAN, bearded and bent and wearing a faded brown greatcoat, hobbled from the library’s public section, pausing frequently on the staircase. His breath puffed around him irregularly in the chill early morning air.
As he reached the top step, resting against the railing to catch his breath again, a younger man emerged, black-haired, with the collar of an advocate’s tunic peering above and out of a quilted winter jacket that was unfastened.
The advocate who was not an advocate looked up, ignoring both the old man and the middle-aged redheaded woman coming down, took the middle of the staircase, and bounded up the steps to street level two at a time. The steam of his breath was as enthusiastic as his pace. In his right hand he carried an envelope the size of a thin folder of standard paper.
The older man limped in the same general direction as the pseudo-advocate, somehow not quite losing sight of the young man as both made their way uphill, away from Government Square and toward the outworld commercial section.
By the time the white-haired man had crossed Carson Boulevard, the morning sunlight had lifted the frost from the still-green grass everywhere its rays had struck. Those few who walked in the early Tenday sunlight no longer saw their breath, and the frost only lingered in the shadows.
By the time the tall man had crossed Korasalov Road, he had unbuttoned the top button of the greatcoat and watched the younger man enter a low two-story building. His limp increased as he plodded after the other, mumbling through his beard, loudly enough for a passing runner to veer away with a look of annoyance.
In time he approached the locked door of the building, where he fumbled at the lock momentarily, staggered against the door-frame, as if for support, before stumbling, then tumbling inside as the heavy carved door swung open. A second runner, observing the scene, just shook his head and concentrated on keeping his pace.
Down the dimly lit interior hallway limped the oldster, stopping at last by the door he sought, where he listened quietly for a time.
Thump…thump…
The gaunt man rapped on the door, the sound of his knuckles muffled by the heaviness of the wood and of the metal beneath it. “Marissa! Open up! I know you’re here…” He ignored the brass plate on the door’s center panel.
CentraCast Business Publications
Harmony Information Center
…thump…thump…thump…
“Marissa…you let your father in.” His voice cracked, not quite in hysteria. “I know you’re in there.”
The other doorways on the short hallway remained closed. All were news-related businesses, not surprisingly, since the two-story building was the Business and News Center. Nor was the lack of response surprising, not on Tenday, when most Accord businesses were shut down.
…thump…thump…thump…
“Marissa! Open this door!”
He paused and took a deep breath, waiting as if to regain his strength. After a time, he leaned toward the door.
Thump…thump…thump…
“Marissa, you listen to your father…”
The hallway remained silent.
Thump…thump…thump…
“Marissa…worthless girl…just like your mother…open this door…”
As he leaned back, the door opened full. The black-haired young man stood in the doorway, a stunner leveled at the disheveled oldster.
“You…you’re not Marissa. What have you done with her?”
“There is no Marissa here. You’re disturbing everyone. Please leave or I’ll call the—”
Thrum.
The young man toppled forward, without even a surprised look on his face, only to be caught by the ancient’s too-well-muscled arms.
Clunk. The stunner echoed dully on the scuffed wooden planks.
The tall man stepped inside the office, scanned the front room. Two consoles with battered but matching chairs, a short, squarish green upholstered love seat, two wooden armchairs, and a table, around which the armchairs and the love seat were clustered, constituted the furniture. A single curtained window joined the rear wall and the right wall, providing the room’s only light. In the middle of the left wall a door opened into an even dimmer room.
In the front room one console was turned on, a pale green square.
As he completed his near-instantaneous survey, the man in the greatcoat lowered the unconscious man. He recovered the stunner and closed the door.
With quick motions, he set the young man in a wooden armchair, the type favored by all Ecolitans, and balanced him in place, letting the arms dangle. The folder lay on top of an envelope on the operational console. The older man in the greatcoat noted its presence as he polished the fingerprints off the stunner with a cloth retrieved from an inside pocket of the worn coat. With the thin transparent gloves on his own hands, he had no worry about leaving his own prints. He levered the setting up to the maximum level before placing it in the limp hand of the unconscious man in the chair.
With quick steps he moved into the small equipment room that lay through the open door in the left wall. Two locked cube cases sat against the back wall, and several cases of fax equipment were stacked carelessly around. All but one were covered with dust.
A muffled click caught his ear, and he slipped from the equipment room back into the front room, standing behind the wooden chair facing the closed door.
After waiting about the length of time it would have taken someone to walk from the side building door to the CentraCast door, he lifted his own stunner.
Click.
Thrum.
Crummmppp.
A dark-haired woman slumped through the door and onto the unscuffed planks inside the office. A large envelope slipped from her hands and skidded across the wood until it rested against the throw rug on which the low table sat.
He dragged the woman inside. After extracting the key from the door, he closed it with a click and set her in the chair opposite the unconscious young man. He slipped the key, on its plain steel ring, into her right jacket pocket and struggled with the closures on the jacket, opening them all, but leaving the jacket on her.
His gloved hands deftly opened her belt pouch, subtracting one or two items and replacing them with several others. His nose wrinkled at the scent of melloran that enveloped her as he continued his search-and-replace efforts.
In time he shifted his attention to the younger man, adding several items to his person.
Then he replaced the contents of the envelope carried by the woman with another set of documents, and placed the envelope on the table in front of her. In turn, he lifted the several sheets of copied public records from the envelope by the still-humming console and replaced them with other copied public records.
Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room again. His eyes moved to the stunner lying in the lap of the unconscious man, and he bent down and checked the charge indicator. It would be sufficient.
Retrieving his own stunner, he set the charge as low as possible and aimed the weapon at the woman’s head from a meter away.
Thrum…thrum…thrum…thrum…
Her body twitched after each shot, and by the last shot her face was slack, her chest barely moving.
The tall man took the slack hand of the unconscious man, the hand holding the stunner. He positioned the man so that he held the stunner against his own temple.
TTHHHHRRRUMMMM…
Clank. The body twitched once. The stunner struck the floor, where the tall man left it on his way out of the office.
XXV
(ANS) HARMONY {14 SEPTEM 3646} Local authorities are still investigating a mysterious suicide/attempted murder which took place in the CentraCast offices over the enddays. Local sources indicate the dead man was a junior Ecolitan attached to the Institute for Ecologic Studies, but his name has not been released. The woman, a Senior Fellow at the Institute whose name has also been withheld, suffered severe brain damage from a stunner bolt. The man apparently then turned the stunner on
himself.
Items found on the two and in the office indicated that the woman had attempted to break off a love affair. Well-placed sources indicate that the two had often been seen together.
Other sources indicated that the woman had just returned from a temporary assignment on the Parundian Peninsula. Such assignments are frequently used as a disciplinary tool. Further comment could not be obtained from the Institute, since the official who assigned the wounded Ecolitan died several months ago in an equally unusual flash fire in a training vehicle.
Diagrams of the same type of training vehicle were found in a folder at the CentraCast office, but local authorities refused to speculate on any connections between the two incidents.
XXVI
JIMJOY SET THE second basket beside the table, checking again to see that the green linen cloth would remain in place against the light breeze from the east. With the chill of the wind came the scent of fallen leaves.
On the table were two large crystal goblets rimmed in thin bands of gold and green, two smaller goblets with the same pattern, two sets of gold-plated dinner utensils, two green linen napkins, two butter plates, two salad plates, and two luncheon plates. All the plates were of pale green china with a single golden rim. An armless chair sat behind each setting.
In the unopened basket were the various courses he had arranged for the luncheon, as well as the small bottle of Sparsa and the thermos of ice water.
He stood and surveyed the lookout. The stained wooden railings, smoothed to the finish of glass, still guarded the drop-off. Behind him, the saplar forest covered the crest of the hill from which Quayle Point projected.
With a wry smile, he recalled the first time he had climbed the hill, right through the forest. The sap secretions had ruined that set of greens. Then, like now, there hadn’t been the small buckets attached to the trees, since the Institute tapped the sap only during the spring. Even upwind from the trees, he could occasionally smell their mintresin odor.
He and Thelina had watched the sunrise, and she hadn’t spoken to him then, either, even though they had walked back to the Institute together.
From where he had placed the table, the center of the Institute was visible, although the outlying training areas were not. Nor were the underground facilities. Even now he doubted that he knew of more than half the hidden emplacements—if that. The Institute was like an old Terran onion, pungent and with layer hidden behind layer.
The sun warmed his back, even as the wind from the east cooled his chest. He wore only a set of heavy formal greens. Still, the breeze was nothing more than a fall zephyr to a man born and raised on White Mountain, although those years had been two lifetimes ago.
A shadow made its way up from the Institute and across the forest as, overhead, a scattered handful of puffy white clouds swam toward the west, along the southern mountains to his right.
After a glance at the flat strip on his wrist, he reached down and pulled the thermos from the provisions basket. The dark organic-based plastic felt smooth against his fingers. 1314 Harmony Standard Time. Even though he pursed his lips, his hands were sure in filling the two large goblets three-quarters full with the spring water.
There was always the possibility she wouldn’t come. He hadn’t asked for an RSVP, probably a grievous breach of etiquette in itself. 1315 Harmony Standard Time. With a frown, he stared at the Institute, wondering…hoping.
Crunnchhhh…The footstep on the path was so faint, almost fainter than the susurrus of the wind, that he almost missed the sound.
Stepping away from the table, he waited.
Like him, Thelina wore formal greens. Her short silver hair glittered in the sunlight as she walked from the path and across the grass. Her eyes widened slightly at the formal setting of the table.
“You did mean formal, didn’t you?”
He bowed at the waist, slightly. “The setting is formal, the locale informal, and the repast, alas, probably not up to either, or to the guest.”
She inclined her head. “The speech is also rather formal.”
“It’s been suggested that one should know someone, their likes and dislikes, before attempting informality.” He stepped forward and gestured, pulling out the chair for her.
“I think I’d better help with this.” Thelina helped guide the chair she was taking into place. “Chairs don’t slide on grass very well.”
“I’ll talk to the plant biology department about improving that characteristic.” He reached for the basket. “Please pardon some informality. Do you like Sparsa?”
She nodded, her eyes traveling toward the lookout, and to the Institute beyond and below.
Thwupppp…Jimjoy uncorked the green-tinted bottle, then eased the sparkling wine into the smaller goblet before Thelina. He filled his own goblet and sat down across from her.
“If I might ask,” she began, “where did you get such a coordinated setting?”
“In Harmony. Thought I might have some use for it in the future. At least I could dine in style. The setting would make up for my cooking.”
“You do cook?”
“I’m from White Mountain. That’s a long time back, but how could I be male and not cook? Certainly I’m not up to my father’s standards, but…” Jimjoy shrugged, and waited for Thelina to taste the Sparsa.
She caught the flick of his eyes from her face to her goblet. Her hand reached for the goblet and lifted it, holding the crystal for a long instant before carrying it to her lips for a small sip.
Jimjoy followed her sample, although his was a short swallow, rather than just a sip.
“Grand Sparsa in crystal. Perhaps the second time in my life.”
“You like it?” he asked, wishing as he did so that he hadn’t.
Her lips quirked. “How could I not? What did this set you back?”
He smiled faintly. “If I told you, would you enjoy it more or less? Please enjoy it.” He took a second, smaller sip, letting the taste linger.
“Are you—”
“No.” He cut off her question, knowing where it might be leading. “I only asked you for luncheon, and I selected the lookout as a place to enjoy the best I could provide. That’s all.”
Her smile was part annoyance, part amusement. “Do you always answer questions before they’re asked?”
“Usually not. I apologize. You wanted to ask…?”
“I’ll phrase it a bit more delicately. Aren’t you concerned I might not fully appreciate what could be considered more than a little ostentatious?”
“That is a possibility. I had hoped that you would wait until after the luncheon to make a final judgment.”
She took another sip of the Sparsa as the breeze fluttered her silver hair. “That’s a fair request.”
He eased his chair back, careful to avoid snagging the legs on the grass, stood, and bent to open the basket again. From the insulated plastic came the two rolls and the butter. From the bowl, after he unsealed it, came the salad. With the tongs, he deftly laid each piece of mixed greenery on the salad plates. From another small container came the nut garnish. Then he removed the clinging seal from a small pitcher, again of the same gold-rimmed green china, and placed the pitcher in the middle of the table.
Without another word, he replaced the basket and reseated himself, retrieving the linen napkin from the grass next to his chair, where it had been carried by a brief gust.
He nodded. Thelina nibbled at the warm roll, leaving the butter untouched. Then she set the remaining half roll back on its plate, picked up her fork, put it down, and reached for the pitcher. She raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, nothing special. Call it a house dressing. As close to my father’s as I could make it.”
Thelina poured a thin line of the amber, spice-tinged liquid over the greenery. She extended the pitcher to Jimjoy.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you,” she answered. Her tone was gentle. She waited until he had added the dressing to his salad before lifting her fork. “
Very good.”
He acknowledged the compliment with a nod and a soft “Thank you,” and followed her lead in addressing the greenery. The first taste told him that, this time, he hadn’t overdone the lemon, and the dressing had just the touch of tang he had wanted.
After another measured mouthful, he set down his fork along the edge of the salad plate, watching Thelina finish her salad, enjoying the relish with which she ate.
Another shadow from the fluffy overhead clouds crossed the table, and the wind ruffled the green linen.
“A little chilly when you lose the sun.”
“It does make a difference,” he agreed.
“You look…comfortable. Are you wearing just your greens?”
A touch of a smile crossed his face. “Just my greens. I’d hoped it would be a little warmer—the way the long-range forecast had predicted.”
“You’re not cold?”
“No. Are you?” His voice carried a touch of concern.
“No. But I took certain precautions, like thermals.” She smiled. “Would this really be considered a warm day on White Mountain?”
“Not a summer day, but certainly a pleasant fall day. What about where you’re from?”
She tilted her head. “Call it a crisp fall day or a warm winter day.”
He stood and returned to the basket, pulling forth two insulated, self-heating containers. From the first he eased the contents onto Thelina’s plate—thin white slices of meat, covered with a golden sauce containing dark morsels; split green beans sprinkled with a mist of nutmeats; and a circlet of black rice. He repeated the process with his own plate, replaced the empty containers in the basket, and reseated himself.
Although the cloud had passed and the fall sunlight bathed the table, thin wisps of vapor still rose from the plates.
“If I could, I would have managed hot plates, but that just wasn’t practical.”
Her eyebrows rose again as she picked up her dinner fork. “You actually cooked this yourself?”
Empire & Ecolitan Page 43