The Elysium Commission (13 page)

By the time midmorning on Senen arrived, I'd tried several more times to reach Lemmy. I got the same response. Since I'd never known his physical locale, I couldn't go around to investigate, either. I worried, though.

I had also spent well into the evening on Domen trying to dig up more on the mysterious Stella Strong/Maureen Gonne and on Theresa McGerrie. I'd found little enough more on either, except several old-style text mysteries published under the name of Terrence McGerrie, one of which was entitled
Coeur Rouge.
I'd even paid for copies of the books and then scanned them. The bio was short.

There was no picture.

I read the novel—scan-quick. It seemed to be rather dark and obscure, requiring illumination and something more to bind it together. Then, that just might have been my view. I tend to like works—operas, dramas, books—where there's a bit more than a mere shred of hope at the end. As for its subject…so far as I could determine, it was about a man trapped in the intricacies of his work as an advocate for the Civitas Sorores. When he recognized this and that he had done nothing of real value in his life, he looked around and saw that his nephew was about to do the same. He took all his savings and sent the nephew on a grand tour of the Gallian sector, hoping to open the eyes of the younger man. Yet the young man returned, politely thanked his uncle, and became an advocate in the same specialty as his uncle.

Depressing. It was meant to be, but I wasn't about to read another one. The others had the same author bio. I couldn't help but wonder if Terrence had switched genders to become Terry, and if D'Azouza had been his lover before the switch. For a samer to transex certainly wasn't unheard of. For some it made sense because they weren't really samers, but physio-psychically the “wrong” sex. For the others, such a switch merely compounded their difficulties.

I put in a vidlink to the Authors' Centrality, but on an end-day, I got what I expected, a talking head that only referred me to the same bio I'd already read. I'd have to get back to the Centrality when I had a chance to reach real people.

Both commissions bothered me, if for different reasons. Each involved elaborate game-playing, and there was more behind each game.

Why had “Nancy” tasked me to find Stella/Maureen without a report back to her? There were more than a few possibilities. She could be worried that, if she attempted to find Stella, adverse consequences might befall her. She might feel guilty but simply be so well-off she didn't want to bother tracking down Stella. She might somehow be setting me up. Or setting up Stella. Or she might not have the ability and resources to track down Stella. The last one was the simplest and most logical. I doubted it was the right one. No matter what they say, few people do the simple and logical.

Donacyr D'Azouza's commission was even more improbable. Just find a woman and make sure that she was all right? If D'Azouza didn't happen to be a sex-change-jilted lover, then the situation sounded like McGerrie wasn't all right, not in the slightest. I'd end up entangled in a web I wouldn't have wanted to be in. Yet both clients had paid well in advance. That didn't fit, either. Not unless a great deal more was at stake than I'd been told.

That was all too often the case.

But what?

I put in another two hours on Senen morning trying even more off-beat searches. I found nothing.

Then I began searches on Antonio diVeau and the woman called Sephaniah. I didn't even know her last name. With Odilia's references to her translations, especially the musty Wolfe
Lictor
work, I discovered that she was Sephaniah Dylan-Zimmer. She was also a classics professor at Surmalle Université, just northeast of Thurene. I used the university link and got a virtie image. It was hers—or that of the Sephaniah who had accosted me at the opera. Unlike her state of near undress of that evening, the virtie image showed her attired in gray jacket and trousers far more decorous than she had worn at the opera. Before the talking head even delivered a spiel, I cut off the image. That could come later. I now knew where to find her.

I'd known that Tony diVeau was the vice director of entertainment and leisure lending at Banque de L'Ouest from a previous commission. He'd occasionally linked, once to offer me a line of credit at the bank. I'd declined, but politely. Krij's contact at Trapeze Zaphir—Rennos Zaphiropoulos—had been far too good to me to leave for a glad-hander like Tony. Besides, I trusted the old Greek. I did even more now that it appeared that Tony was even more closely linked to the “entertainment” industry. I ran a search on Antonio diVeau…and on Banque de L'Ouest. I didn't finish reading it all by the time I needed to leave for Krij's, but I was more than ready to leave all my pending commissions behind, if temporarily.

I took my own groundcar. It was armored and shielded, but not armed. I couldn't have afforded the indemnity coverages—nor to do without them. Cuarta Calle was nearly without traffic, and even Le Boulevard had only a scattering of vehicles. I began to run into bicycles once I neared the Narrows. They'd made a comeback among the nature exercise types who lived there. I wouldn't have been totally surprised to learn that Krij had bought one.

She didn't have a villa, but a comparatively narrow town house in the older section of Thurene on the hill to the west of the Narrows. All the dwellings there dated back three centuries or more. Their walls did, anyway. The interiors had been changed often.

Krij lived just a block down from the historical Doherty Torcastle on VanGelder Way, more of a lane or an alley. It was so narrow that it could only take a single groundcar—one-way only. There was barely enough space to squeeze the groundcar into the single space before her old-style garage. I couldn't even open the door fully and had to ease out and along the side of the vehicle to the street-level landing. The steps up to the main level were brick that had been coated with some sort of permatex that matched both the color and texture of the original finish. Except it wouldn't wear out.

The sunlight flickered as I started up the steps, dimming slightly. The solar screens had adjusted again.

Krij met me at the door. She wore a scoop-necked blouse of green velvet that matched her eyes—and black trousers and boots. A gold chain around her neck held a gold pendant with a large pear-shaped emerald—synth, of course, but striking.

She gave me a smile and warm hug, one that I returned.

“I asked a few others here. I hope you don't mind.”

“How many eligible women?”

She smiled, not quite in a superior fashion. “I knew you'd ask that. They're all eligible, but they're with someone else.” There was a hint of mischief in both her smile and her eyes. “Andrea won't be here, either. She's with her father.”

Krij had always been like that with me. Behind the professional demeanor was a quietly playful sense of humor.

“Besides,” she went on, “you value your freedom too much. As the old saying goes, ‘The most ordinary cause of a single life is liberty.'” She led me from the foyer to the archway into the parlor. A selection of natural wines was set on the sideboard. I could hear voices from the library-study beyond.

“You're cruel, sister dear.”

“Accuracy often is.” She laughed, far from cruelly.

“At least, let us agree to a short armistice with truth.” Before she could say more, I asked, “Do you know what the connection might be between Judeon Maraniss and Legaar Eloi?”

Krij shook her head. “I don't know of one.” She smiled wryly. “That could be because I've never heard of Maraniss until you mentioned him. I do know that I wouldn't want to deal with either Eloi. Legaar's worse than Simeon, but there's little to choose between the two of them.”

“What about the Elysium Project?”

“What's that?”

“I don't know. I think it's a project of Legaar's. He's using Classic Research to fund and develop it. It's taken a lot of creds and even more power.” Those were guesses on my part.

“They have a lot of credits.”

“Gotten in ways I can't say I admire.”

“You don't admire many in Thurene, Blaine.” She grinned. “What other contracts are you pursuing where I might be of more help?”

“The rumor of sordidity and fortune hunting involving a well-known physician and two separate cases of missing people. One's an heiress named Stella Strong or Maureen Gonne or who knows what else. The other's name I don't even know, not for real. He or she used the pseudonym McGerrie years ago. The client's convinced she's a she, but I'm wondering if she used to be he.”

“Gonne? As in Maud Gonne—the old Earth mythical heroine?”

“The same.”

“I don't think I can help with either missing soul. What about the sordid business?” Krij steered me toward the sideboard.

“Seldara Tozzi fears that a Dr. Guillaume Richard Dyorr is not what he seems and is after her daughter's inheritance.”

“Seems like a perfect match. They're both doctors, both respected, both friendly, and neither shows much passion beyond medicine.”

“How do you know so much?”

“We have the research account for the Medical College of the Institute,” Krij replied dryly.

“Do you have all the important accounts in Thurene?”

“We have a few—just the ones that require some technical understanding for the accounts to make sense.”

“What about Dyorr?”

“He's brilliant, and from what we see, as honest as the sun isn't. I don't know more than that. I've never met him, just audited his accounts. They're meticulous.”

“And Tozzi?”

“She's a former korfball star who's as bright as she was athletic. All the beauty credits and genes can provide, and the same drive as her great-grandmother. Pleasant and cool. I've met her twice. I'd want her as a surgeon, but not as a friend.”

“Any reason why?”

“Nothing I could put a finger on. Siendra has better judgment about people than I do, and she agrees. Marie Annette would never do anything illegal, though, or anything close to it. Not with that family and background.” Krij pointed. “I think you ought to try the primitiva grigio.”

That was one of her ways of closing a subject. I just poured a quarter of a goblet. The parlor was spare, with a sideboard on the north wall and a settee flanked by wooden armchairs on the south. Between them, over the sarcenan wood floor, lay the amber-and-green woolen rug Krij had inherited from our mother.

“If you'll excuse me for a bit…I need to check in the kitchen.”

“You're doing it natural and yourself?”

“You didn't expect otherwise, did you?”

I laughed. I hadn't been thinking. “Go.” I turned and crossed the parlor, stopping just inside the library, far warmer with the wooden shelves and the books that ran from floor to ceiling. The carpet was a Sacrestan, with soft reds and golden browns in circular geometric patterns. I'd given it to Krij because she'd liked it.

The first person I saw was Siendra. She barely glanced at me, engaged as she was in talking to a tall and overmuscled type who had clearly gotten himself biosculpted into young god format. Siendra looked the same as always, wearing a warm tan jacket and cream shirt above darker khaki trousers. As usual, she appeared competent and quietly feminine.

The other couple I didn't recognize. One was petite and slender. At least, she had a figure. Her companion was another woman, wearing brilliant flowing red that failed to conceal that she was voluptuously endowed. Both turned to me.

Krij reappeared, carrying a small tray. “Blaine, I'd like you to meet Deiphne and Galyanna.” She turned to them. “This is my younger brother Blaine.”

“Seignior Donne,” murmured the petite Deiphne.

Galyanna nodded pleasantly. “It's good to put a face to the name, especially such a respected name.”

“Krij has the respected name. If mine's respected, it's only because of her.”

Krij raised her eyebrows but extended the tray. “Have a stuffed mushroom. They're fresh hijatis.”

I took two, all that I could manage with one hand. Krij carried the tray to Siendra and her escort.

“You're the one who takes on the strange commissions, aren't you?” Galyanna's voice was as ripe as her figure but with a hint of huskiness.

“The strange ones pay the bills,” I said, after finishing off the first hijati. The cheese filling was better than the fungal exterior. “What are your interests?”

“We're dynamic re-creators,” offered Deiphne. “We specialize in early interstellar.”

“Particularly the Saint and Fundie exoduses,” added Galyanna. “And their attempt to find or create their own paradises…”

I had to wonder about that. How could any culture create a paradise when the only paradises were those we had lost? I smiled and let them talk about the period and their work in supplying authenticity to Net-REAL. I wasn't sure it was realism.

After a time, I decided Siendra's pseudoyoung god couldn't be any less interesting. I waited until they asked if I want to join them in refilling their goblets. “I'm still doing fine.”

They turned toward the parlor. I eased toward the other couple.

Siendra inclined her head, politely, but neither warmly nor coolly. “Blaine, I'd like you to meet Markus. He teaches at the Lyceum.”

“What subjects?” I didn't really care, but thought I should ask.

“Economics. My specialty is postindustrial and early-info-age transactional transformations.” Markus beamed broadly, a smile too wide to belong to someone as young as the body he wore signified.