The Elysium Commission (25 page)

“Blaine Donne…” Shanyta's voice was warm and husky. I had the feeling she was a samer. “How long do you think the Garda will keep letting you walk the shadows?”

I wasn't about to answer that. Besides, I didn't precisely walk them. Occasionally, I used them to assist someone.

“Myndanori said that you were a straight-straight who talked like a straight-samer and acted like a hidden samer.”

Whatever that meant. I shrugged. “We all do what we must. Sometimes, we even do what's right.”

“What is right?” Shanyta's voice was huskily direct, without the game-playing of earlier words.

“If we knew that before we acted, life would be a lot easier. And a lot messier.” The most deadly people were those who
knew
what was right. Especially for everyone else.

My words got a laugh. “I see what Myndanori meant.”

I wasn't about to pursue that. “What are your interests?”

“A polite way of asking whether I work or lounge. I work. I'm a talent coordinator for RealNet.”

“That makes for a long week. Most people believe they have more talent than they do.”

Shanyta nodded.

“You meet a few people.” I paused. “Have you ever run across Terrie McGerrie or Carey Douglass?”

“The dramaturges?” Shanyta shook her head. “I like McGerrie more than Douglass.” She offered a languid smile that was also predatory. “If what she writes is any reflection, I can see why you'd be interested.”

I couldn't help frowning. “Oh?”

“Cool and reserved on the outside, white-hot within. Straight-straight female, I'd guess, too.”

I laughed, ruefully. “I hadn't thought that. I'm trying to locate her for a client.” I was clearly missing something about Terrie McGerrie, because Shanyta was a samer and could see something I hadn't. But then, I'd always had trouble reading beyond people's reserves, despite what Myndanori had said. Fortunately, as I'd discovered in my line of work, very few people were really reserved. They only thought they were.

“Best of fortune.” With a polite smile, Shanyta slipped away.

I wandered from group to group. There were only four. No one had heard of either Stella Strong/Maureen Gonne or knew Terrie McGerrie/Carey Douglass as more than names. I got nothing new on Dyorr, either. That in itself tended to confirm my feelings.

A good two stans had passed, and I'd nursed half a glass of the Sauvignon Thierry through the whole time. There was only about one sip left. That suggested it was time to leave.

A loud voice caught my attention.

“Patrice thinks that the libertarian losswits would be happy to go through reformulation to get rid of the sisters.” That statement was delivered by a pseudo-Apollo who had apparently just arrived. I hadn't seen him before, anyway.

“They may be losswits,” replied Alorcan, a thin man, handsome in a reptilian way that proclaimed his mixed gender, “but they do have a point.”

The distaste and disgust must have shown on my face.

“You disagree, Seignior Donne?” Alorcan delivered the “seignior” in a tone close to derogatory.

“No. I believe that people can be that stupid. Especially people who haven't experienced a reformulation. They haven't seen families disrupted and parents whose reconditioning has stripped them of all memory of family or children. They haven't seen the sudden poverty and the hunger created when political instability translates into profiteering and when food costs more than the poorest can afford. They haven't seen the riots and the bodies.”

“And I suppose you have?”

“I'm a former special operative. I've seen it twice. I don't want to see it again. Especially not here.”

Alorcan edged back.

The pseudo-Apollo beamed. “Surely, you won't argue that the sisters aren't repressive.”

I laughed. Harshly. “All functional governments are repressive. By nature, government has to be repressive. It's only a question of who's repressed. If a government represses the anarchists, the criminal element, and would-be looters, we believe it's a good government. Unless we're among the repressed. If it represses the ability of people to express their verbal opinions, if it represses open economic competition and grants favors to those with ties to government, we claim it's bad government. Repression isn't the question. Whom government represses is.”

“Any repression is bad…”

I just inclined my head in dismissal and walked back to the study, where I placed the empty glass on the sideboard.

Myndanori appeared. “You do have a way of getting the last word, dear man.”

“It's only the last because I couldn't think of any more.”

“You were most eloquent, Blaine,” offered Myndanori with a cheerful laugh, tossing her head. “It's a pity you're not transgender-attracted.”

“I'm not geneticized or conditioned that way, but if I were, you'd be the first person I'd look up.”

“You're always gallant. It's too bad the straight-straight females don't appreciate it.”

“I probably don't look in the right places.” I smiled. “I apologize for my last remarks. You were kind to invite me, and I do appreciate your thoughtfulness. I especially appreciate the information.”

“Oh…you'll have Apollon and Alorcan arguing for stans. They love to argue. It will be great fun.”

She escorted me to the door and kissed me on the cheek before I left. It wasn't quite a sisterly kiss.

I stepped out into a cold damp wind. Ragged streamers of clouds obscured Bergerac. The red moon was low in the western sky, barely visible above the roofs of the houses of the Heights. Would that I could stand in the moon and call it good, sleep by night, and forget by day, but that would not be things as they are.

The drive back to the villa seemed longer than the drive out. Longer and lonelier.

After returning from Myndanori's gathering on Sabaten evening, I ended up working late because I had to develop two items for luncheon the next day with the Tozzis and Dr. Dyorr. One was my approach to the principessa, and the other was the more formal media/development plan for Dr. Dyorr's research.

Then I slept late on Domen, almost to midmorning, when I woke with a start. I hadn't realized how tired I was until I let down a bit. Just a bit. I still went through a light workout before getting cleaned up, rehearsing my approach to the principessa the whole time.

I had engaged a fully armored private limousine for the trip to the palacio of Seldara Tozzi. This seemed wise, given my less-than-optimal physical condition. The trip to her palacio was uneventful, except we did pass what looked to be a kite festival in the Parc du Roi. I'd always wondered why it wasn't the Parc de la Reine. The archives had no answers to that question, but then, names are often a sop to the masculine ego.

Unlike Odilia, the Tozzis had no guardhouse at the gates to their palacio, only a virtie guard—and ornate permasteel grillwork that could have stopped the largest ground combat vehicle ever used. My implants also registered some rather large energy concentrations. The rotunda was neomodern, with smooth limestone columns. The capitals and bases were hexagonal and unadorned.

I'd arrived a quarter hour early, and I was met by a real doorman in a navy blue uniform at least a millennium old in style, with silver piping on his sleeves and trousers.

“Seignior Donne?”

I nodded.

“Katrinka will escort you. She's waiting inside.”

“Thank you.” I stepped through a stone archway that could have accommodated a shire stallion bearing an antique knight. Twin golden oak doors opened, and I was in a modest circular entry hall. Modest for Seigniora Tozzi. It was a good fifteen meters across and rose that much into a vaulted dome of amber intelligent glass that cascaded warm sunlight down upon me and the mosaic tile floor.

With the name Katrinka, I'd pictured a tall muscular blonde. The reality was a tiny black woman with deep-set brown eyes and short silver hair, fashion-silvered, not age-silvered. “This way, Seignior Donne. Principessa Tozzi will receive you in her private study.”

The private study was just that, surprisingly, a space no more than six meters square, with bookshelves on two walls, a sitting area around a low table, and a table desk with a single comfortable chair in one corner. The carpet was a Sacrestan, patterned in deep blue and gold geometrics that made the one I'd given Krij seem exceedingly inexpensive.

Seldara Tozzi stood in front of the table desk. She wore a simple dress, but the material was anything but simple, casting not light but shadows from the fiber lines in it. Her scarf was silver, and she wore no jewelry.

“I thought you might appreciate the shadow-dress.”

“As always, you are most elegantly tasteful.” I inclined my head.

“Luncheon will be served shortly, Seignior Donne. How do you plan to proceed? I must inform you that I detest surprises.”

“So do I, Principessa. So do I. That's why I'd like to ask you a question or two before we join your great-granddaughter and her fiancé.” I managed a smile. “First, do you object to Dr. Dyorr as an individual or more to the possibility that he might be using Marie Annette?”

“He's well regarded, extremely talented, and pleasant. I have no objections to that aspect of matters.”

“Do you object to a marriage that is, shall we say, as much a partnership as a marriage, provided there is an heir who is well loved and cared for?”

“Are you telling me that he is a samer, Seignior?”

“No. In fact, after seeing him and following him and talking with a number of individuals, I'm quite convinced that he has never had a lover, much less kept one on the side.”

“Then why didn't you just say so?” Her question was not quite snapped at me.

“Because I feel there's more at stake here, Principessa. I am going to ask that you merely begin the discussion about his work. I will ask some questions. I ask that you not show any anger or emotion until after luncheon, when we will meet briefly again.” Before she could say anything else, I added, “I've already resolved the question for which you engaged me, but that isn't the question at hand. After our meeting, if you believe I have acted against your interests, I will return all fees and expenses.”

That
gave her pause. Then she laughed. “When a man bets his own money to prove his devotion to his client, I suppose I should at least reserve judgment.”

“That's all I'm asking.” For the moment. I hoped I'd read the principessa right. I could have just offered a report affirming what I'd just said, but that wouldn't have been right.

“Then we might as well join Marie Annette and the doctor in the family dining room.”

I forbore to mention that they were both doctors and walked beside her down a smaller interior hallway floored with a golden creamy polished stone.

In the center of the family dining room was a single cherry table capable of seating twelve people. One end was set for four, with Caveline silver and Iskling crystal. The china I didn't recognize, except that it could have graced any human table in the universe. Shimmering white, with a thin black rim and a silver line in the middle of the black. Standing between the table and the sideboard were the doctors.

“I believe you have met Seigniore Donne, Marie Annette,” offered Seldara. “Dr. Guillaume Richard Dyorr, Seignior Blaine Donne.”

“After reading your report, I'm most pleased to meet you,” offered Guillaume Richard.

“After hearing your presentation,” I replied, “it's good to see you in a less…official setting.”

“Shall we?” suggested the principessa.

Like the perfect gentleman he was, Guillaume Richard seated Seldara.

I made the effort with Marie Annette. She hesitated, as if almost to refuse, but then accepted the antique courtesy.

A servingman appeared instantly, and filled both water glasses and wine goblets. Clearly, the principessa had decided the wine and the meal. Then came a simple salad of mixed greens—nothing special except that every leaf in the salad was perfect and without blemish.

Seldara raised her goblet. “To a useful and productive luncheon.”

We all sipped. The wine was a primitiva grigio, I thought, and not bad, although it wouldn't have been my choice.

“I thought that Seigniore Donne offered a most insightful report on your work, Dr. Dyorr.” That was how the principessa began. “It struck me that his expertise might prove helpful in assuring that you receive the funding necessary for your work. That was one of the reasons for my inviting all of you here.”

“And what might be some of the other reasons?” inquired Marie Annette. “You always have those…”

“I'm sure you'll let me reveal those in due time,” replied the principessa. “You've always said that I've done things in my own sweet time.” A knowing and cruel smile crossed Seigniora Tozzi's lips. “Not that you've ever said that directly to my face.”

I could tell matters could get nastier, indirectly, and that was something no one needed. So I spoke up. “At a gathering of distinguished individuals as distinguished as this, there will always be secrets and reasons. I respect all those, but the point of this gathering is to present a strategy to assure a wider and deeper funding base for Dr. Dyorr's consciousness research.”

“You have such a strategy?” Marie Annette's tone was dubious, to say the least.

“Actually, I do. As you all know, I attended the presentation to the Humanitas Foundation. You all know how I found the presentation. But, in reflecting over it later, I realized that it lacked one basic element. Not in the research or in the factual accuracy,” I added. “Not from what I could tell.”

Both Marie Annette and Guillaume Richard frowned.

I let them do so while I had a bite of the salad. Several bites, in fact, before I spoke again.

“I'm going to approach this in a roundabout way. Please bear with me.” I turned to Marie Annette. “What do you think of the Masculist Forum?”

“What does this—”

“Please,” I said soothingly. “I'm not judging. I just want your opinion.”

She squared her shoulders. “I think that they make troglodytes look tolerant.”

“So do you disagree with their position on genetic manipulation of the sex and gender tendencies of an unborn child or with the way in which they express that view?”

“Both.”

“As a doctor, you look at the medical and societal impacts of such a technology, as well as the personal impacts, and you find their arbitrary and inflexible position less than tolerable?” I had another sip of the primitiva grigio.

“Exactly.”

“So…if you were faced with a couple whose genetic makeup would most likely result in a child with either cross-gendered or other sexual confusions, your view would be to take steps to preclude such confusion before the child was even born.”

“Absolutely! Most ethical physicians would.”

“Would it make a difference if the child were your child? Or the child of a relative?”

“Not at all.” Marie Annette's voice was firm.

Guillaume Richard glanced from her to me, then said, with a touch of acidity, “Would it be possible to be a bit less roundabout?” His hand moved to touch Marie Annette's forearm. He squeezed it gently but did not release it.

I nodded. “I'll get there. I promise.” I turned directly to Marie Annette. “Yet a large number of people on Devanta are passionately—and I use that word advisedly—supportive of the Masculist Forum. They clearly would rather have a child be confused, unhappy, and unsure of his or her gender and sexual identity than meddle, as they put it, with the unborn child. Why do you suppose that so many people support a position that is certainly not in the child's interest and is against what you would call good medical practice?”

The two doctors exchanged glances.

“Prejudice,” suggested Guillaume Richard. His hand remained protectively on Marie Annette's.

“Ignorance.”

“What fires that prejudice or ignorance?” I asked, quickly answering the question. “Emotion…passion if you will.” I paused for just a moment. “You are both trained to look at matters logically. Dr. Dyorr presented an extraordinarily logical argument for supporting his research on consciousness. But…the one thing it lacked was a visceral emotional appeal.”

“And you have such an appeal?” Marie Annette's voice remained critical.

“I have thought of several, but that raised another question. Why didn't the PR and media linksters at the Institute at least provide that sort of input?” I turned to Marie Annette. “I saw Daryla Rettek there at the briefing. I understand you know her, and she certainly knows of your relationship to Dr. Dyorr, and yet I would bet that she never raised the question of the need for an emotional appeal rather than just an intellectual one.”

Marie Annette froze momentarily, just momentarily, at the mention of Rettek. Seldara Tozzi caught it as well, and I thought that would be enough. I'd still have to be careful, though.

“The problem is that, no matter what we think logically and superficially, emotion lies behind all decisions.” I smiled. “It can support or hinder, inspire or inflame, but what one can never do is ignore its impact. People who have been close, often exceedingly close, can often deny their support or just refuse to offer their best judgment when their emotions are involved.” Then I turned to Dyorr. “Even for those whose achievements and work are considered inspired and fueled by purely intellectual considerations, for whom mere physical pleasures are secondary, there is an emotional fire behind that intellect, wouldn't you say?”

Guillaume Richard smiled, faintly, but not coldly. “I would have to agree, and I apologize for my earlier comment. You do, indeed, know where you are going.”

That meant the good doctor Dyorr also knew, and that might make matters easier.

Seldara Tozzi nodded, almost imperceptibly.

At that moment, the server appeared and removed the salads, replacing each plate with a larger one holding pasta prima regia, flanked by pears royeaux.

“I suggest we enjoy the meal for a moment.” After saying that, I followed my own advice.

“I wish some in my profession would follow your example,” offered Guillaume Richard, with a laugh.

“There are those like that in any field.” Seeing him one-on-one, I couldn't help liking him, and I was getting the impression that he did care for Marie Annette.

I let everyone almost finish their entrées before I returned to the ostensible subject at hand.

“The key to getting greater support for your research, Dr. Dyorr, is linking the logical presentation of medical facts and potential gains to a deep human passion.” I lifted the hard-copy bound report I had brought. “I have suggested several possibilities in this short report. One is the point that understanding consciousness will allow full restoration and maintenance of the minds of people who have suffered injuries, illnesses, or degeneration. We can look forward to remaining valued and contributing members of society so long as our bodies last. That would certainly provoke some kind of passion. Another emotional hook is the possibility of improving how we think.” I laughed. “Of course, that would really upset people like the Masculists or the True Traditional Women. But then, the lower virtues are those most esteemed by the commons, and the lowest of those is blind reverence for rationalized prejudice.”

“How would you go about implementing this strategy?” asked Marie Annette.

“Much in the same way as Dr. Dyorr already has, with the addition of the emotional keys I've laid out and the targeting of potential philanthropists whose emotional profiles are susceptible to such appeals.” I smiled. “After you've read it and considered it, I'd be happy to answer any questions, but I doubt you'll need much in the way of further consulting. Now that I've pointed out the obvious, you both are doubtless quite able to manage matters from here on in.” That was true on two levels.