The Elysium Commission (26 page)

Later, after tea and café, and after the doctors had departed, Seldara and I walked back to her private study.

Once the door was closed, she turned to me. She actually smiled.

“Marie Annette…I never would have guessed.”

“You suspected,” I pointed out. “That's why you came up with the samer idea for him.”

“He's…what would you call him?”

“The slang term is straight-neuter.”

She nodded slowly. “You're very effective, Seignior Donne. You wanted me to find out in a situation where I couldn't react immediately, didn't you?”

“I did. It's clear Marie Annette respects you, and she does want her own child. She wouldn't have proposed to Dr. Dyorr if she didn't. She had to have been the one who did.”

“It turns everything around, doesn't it?”

“It does.” After a moment, I added, “It's likely you'll have an heir or heiress, and he or she will be brilliant.”

“You could be very dangerous,” she said. “Not everyone wants or will accept what may be best for them.”

“That's true,” I admitted, “but that's also part of what I have to look for. Sometimes, I just have to provide what people ask for, knowing that it isn't what they really want or need.”

She understood. She nodded.

As I rode back to my villa, the one I felt the most sympathy for was Dyorr.

The rest of Domen, as well as Senen morning, were spent researching Legaar Eloi—indirectly, and after I recovered from the surprise of finding that Seldara Tozzi had transferred ten thousand credits to my account. She'd also sent a text message of exactly one line.

Her reaction was another reason why I'd found it unwise to “concentrate” on a single case. Sometimes, those that seemed minor were anything but that to those concerned. And sometimes, if infrequently, they paid better than the “important” cases.

Eventually—a half stan or so of marveling later—I got back to going through each and every outfit with which Eloi Enterprises had technology-sharing arrangements. All of them were in high-technology applications. Not military. At least, not directly. The reports on several suggested that they had some unique equipment. I bet it had military applications.

I certainly couldn't have been the only one looking into the matter. Clearly, the charter amendment being fought by EsClox was merely the tail of the comet. And if Eloi's silent partners were the Frankans, that and the technology-sharing agreements suggested he was using Classic Research as a front for repackaging technology and conveying it to them. I should have drawn that conclusion earlier, but who would have expected a sordid entertainment corpentity to have been funneling off high-level technology to rival systems?

On Senen afternoon, I girded myself up and did some research on Anshoots and Reed. The information was widespread and thin. Basically, A&R appeared to be just what Skip Barca had said—a design house that supplied graphics for any form of media from old-fashioned print to full-depth entertainment holo. They catered primarily to the fundie market and to media directors at smaller enterprises with fundie connections. They were located northeast of the Heights in a smaller commercial district that bordered the west end of the River Crescent. It wouldn't be hard to get there on Lunen.

Twenty years before, Fillype Anshoots had just been another freelance designer, trying to supply a range of graphics and design products cheaper than the next designer. He'd linked up with Rafel Reed. Reed had been a youth missionary for some obscure sect—one of the Saint offshoots. Anshoots and Reed discovered that they were indeed religious men who wanted to market to other like-minded small corpentities. It did seem more than slightly coincidental that they had both joined the largest fundie congregation in Thurene. Before long, A&R was the designated supplier to the Congregation of Infinite Mercy. Who was I to argue with success? Both were straights—how could they be otherwise? Still, to their credit, in more ways than one, each had married once and remained married to that woman. Besides a myriad of other seemingly irrelevant supporting details, there was little else on either Anshoots or Reed.

After that, I went to the Civic Codex and did a quick study on section three, and particularly subsection gamma. I was winding up that on Senen evening, and deciding exactly what to say to Fillype Anshoots, when Max announced,
Incoming from Siendra.

Accept.

Siendra was sitting behind a narrow table desk. It wasn't a virtie simulacrum. She had circles under her eyes. For the first time since I'd been introduced to her, she wasn't wearing anything green or cream or earth-toned. She wore a dark gray singlesuit, just loose enough not to be form-fitting. “Blaine, I'm sorry to have been so late in getting back to you. I was tied up until just a while ago. I'm glad that we could help a little.”

“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 slightly 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.

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 Fillype 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 slightly 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 café 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 overmuscular 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 recently. 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 unclipped the display comm slowly and raised it, turning 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 bothered 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 outlet 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 my niece…”

“Without him…”

“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.”

She looked at me for a long time. Then she sighed. “I knew you'd get into trouble with that.”

So had I. But I'd felt I'd had to do
something.

“I found out two more things about Maureen Gonne,” I went on. “Did Siendra tell you about her?”