Human religions are based upon the twin assumptions that physical corporeality is a weakness and that an intelligent noncorporeal deity would provide superior guidance. Both assumptions are wrong.
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?”
“She mentioned that she might be an agent.”
“First, it’s likely that she is also Astrid Forte. Second, the admin type had no advance notice. The same day Gonne left was the day the termination went in. How likely is that for someone doing an outstanding job?”
“Rather unlikely. It’s all theory, though.”
Krij didn’t have to tell me that. I knew it all too well.
“What are you going to do?”
“Stay out of the shadows for a while. Try to find another angle on the Elysium business. Keep working. What else can I do?”
“Try not to dig any deeper holes.”
I laughed.
After Krij broke off, I tried searching the civil directory for names that might be covers for Maureen or Astrid.
Incoming from Andres Hevaness.
I didn’t know an Andres Hevaness. Accept.
The holo image was a saturnine figure, with a large head, almost triangular, with golden eyes and tight-curled short dark hair. His skin was bronze. His shoulders were twice as broad as mine. I thought there might be two golden horns on each side of his skull. There was no holo background. That suggested he was linking from someplace other than home or work.
“Seignior Donne?” The voice was so low it almost created subsonics.
“The same. What can I do for you?”
“Apollon Renzies said you solved problems.”
Apollon Renzies? The Apollon who had been at Myndanori’s? “It depends on the problem.”
“I can tell you. Do I have to come to you?”
“No. If you’re comfortable with it, we can start by vidlink.”
“It’s like this. I’ve had this conapt for years. It’s in Creteor, you know, just below the back of the Heights. Ten years ago, well, Escamillo, he was…anyway, we partnered. It didn’t last. He always wanted to fight first. He left a good five years ago. Then, this week, he starts vidlinking claiming that half the conapt is his because we were partnered. Besides the job at the Minoan Palace, it’s all I really got.”
“What kind of partnering?” I asked.
“Just as partners. I figured we could go full later if it worked out. It didn’t. Now…he’s claiming I owe him.”
“If you didn’t register as full-union samers, but only as partners, then the conapt isn’t subject to community property.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I’m not an advocate. I can’t do legal work. And this isn’t something that ought to be muscled. But I can tell you whom to contact, what to tell him, and how much you should pay. He can file for damages for you if this Escamillo doesn’t stop bothering you.”
In the end, I referred Hevaness to Jay Smith, with detailed instructions. I declined any payment.