The Elysium Commission (22 page)

“How is your arm?”

“It's in a nanocast, with limited pain blocks. I can't really use my fingers.” Not without a fair amount of discomfort, I'd discovered. I didn't want to talk about me. That could have been because Siendra seemed concerned. “What do you have?”

“I've talked this over with Krij. We have some information, but you can't disclose it to anyone.” Unlike Krij, Siendra didn't press about the arm and flitter. Krij would have grilled me. She still would, when she found out.

“I won't.” If Krij said not to disclose, she meant it. So did Siendra, I was certain.

“There are solid indications that the initial capitalization that backed Legaar Eloi came from Frankan sources.”

Frankan sources? Why did the really lousy things in my life always seem to go back to the Frankans? “Why would they do that? How did you discover that?”

“I didn't. Krij did. She analyzed sector and system funds flows and applied some advanced probability analysis. A justiciary won't accept it as evidence, but she's never been wrong before.”

“But…why?”

“It's a tactic for affecting a society's priorities. Various forms of vice generate large credit flows. Once they're large enough, they take on a life of their own. Social analysis shows that, over time, they turn a society inward. They make it more self-indulgent, more isolationist, less likely to attack or expand, or even to defend marginal territory or commercial activity that doesn't seem to bear on the society's immediate needs. Those needs veer toward present self-gratification.” She paused. “That's my analysis. It won't stand up before a justiciary, either, but the probabilities compute that way and track with history and current trends.”

“So our boy Legaar is tied up with the Frankans, and they're using him to soften us up. Those of us in the Gallian sector, anyway.”

“It's cheaper than war.”

“It's just another form,” I countered. “And Legaar figures that he's been successful enough that it's time to shift most of his ops elsewhere, doubtless with more Frankan funds.” Even as I said it, that didn't feel right, but I couldn't have explained why.

“That's the most likely possibility.”

“You don't think so, either, but you don't have a better answer.”

Her response was a shrug, followed after a moment by a sheepish smile.

“We'll have to think about that,” I said.

She nodded.

“Before you break, Siendra…could I ask what you have on two other names? Vola Paulsky and Relian Cru?”

Her eyes glazed slightly, but her face was still alive. For all that, I was relieved when she smiled, if faintly. “There's not much. I'll send you the dossier on Paulsky.” Her lips tightened. “You can't tell anyone the next, either.”

“I won't.”

“Relian Cru was junior engineering officer aboard the
Lafayette
. It's—it was—an older corvette. It was suffered an undetermined accident last month. Neither the crew nor the vessel survived. Relatives have been notified of the deaths, but not of the circumstances.”

I didn't like that, either.

“More bad news?”

“Disturbing,” I admitted. “He was one of the possible heirs in the inheritance commission I've been working on.”

“That's unfortunate. Poor fellow.”

“They called him ‘Lucky,'” I added, thinking that the luck of Relian Cru had indeed run out.

“Not this time.”

“No.” I frowned. “The timing is suspicious, though.”

“You're hardly suggesting that someone destroyed an Assembly warship for an inheritance, are you?” Siendra's tone was not-quite-bantering.

“No. But I have to wonder if someone got very interested when they learned one of the possible beneficiaries was dead.”

“There has to be more than that,” she pointed out. “Otherwise, they'd just wait and collect in the course of events.”

Siendra was right about that, but what else could there be?

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.”

After her image vanished, I studied what she'd sent. Her dossier on Vola Paulsky was almost the same as mine, except hers listed Paulsky's employer—the Carcassonne Performing Arts Society. That answered which performing arts society. From the link, I'd have bet Vola was the only paid employee.

I leaned back in the chair, very carefully, and closed my eyes, thinking. Sometimes, it helped.

Relian Cru…dead. Vola Paulsky and Stella/Maureen/Astrid(?) the remaining heirs of Clinton Jefferson Wayles. What exactly had Angelique deGritz said about heirs—those that weren't able to inherit? Legally ineligible? She'd said there were definitions in the Codex.

Max…bring up the sections of the Codex dealing with heirs and inheritances, especially the parts that indicate who isn't eligible to inherit.

Text appeared on the recessed screen in the table desk, but before I could even read one line, Max interrupted me.

Incoming. A Scipio Barca.

The name alone suggested a man at war with himself. Still…
Accept.

The holo showed a man—or an alter-projection—who appeared angular and taller than I was. His face wore an apologetic expression, slightly haggard, in the way that was unlikely to have been reformulated to Barca's advantage.

“Seignior Donne, I'm Skip Barca. Bill Smith suggested that I might be able to retain your services.”

If he used a contraction of his name, properly it should have been “Sip.” I could see why he hadn't. “It's possible. Why did he refer you to me?”

“I'm a logo designer. I'm freelance now, but I was with A&R—that's really Anshoots and Reed—I was with them for almost twenty years. They've pretty much got the corner on the fundie market, the faith and pray crew, if you know what I mean. Now I don't know how much you know about the business, but successful logos generate royalty payments, and my agreement entitled me to a small share of the payments for life. That was whether I stayed with A&R or not. Most logos only last a few years, and you don't get the royalties unless they use the logo longer than the standard design life. That's two years…”

Already, I was learning more about logos than I'd ever wanted to know.

“Almost ten years ago, I did the logo for FM Pubs—that's Fairmeadow Maharishi Publications, very big in the transgalactic meditation field. They're still using it, my logo, I mean, but for the past three years, I haven't gotten a demi-cred. I went to Bill. That's because my cousin's husband knew him. He said that I had a good case but that it would cost me more in fees than I could recover. He thought you might be able to negotiate something.” His big dumb blue eyes were almost pleading. “Oh…I'm sending his referral and my contract and closure agreements with A&R.”

The text from Jay was simple enough.

I checked the agreement and noted the authentication. I ran the codes through Max, and got back an affirmative. It was on register with the Civitas Sorores.

In short, Jay was suggesting a very legal shakedown. I liked it. I didn't know much about A&R, but I'd never liked the faith and power boys and girls. I even liked Skip for leaving them.

“Will you take the commission? I can't offer much.”

“How about a third of the back royalties, and none of those from here forward?”

“A third?” His voice quavered.

“You'd lose credits if you went through the justiciary. This way you keep two-thirds of whatever I recover for you, and nothing from here on. And you don't have to come up with any credits up front.”

Once he thought about it, he finally agreed.

After he broke the link, I checked on the physical location of A&R. I also looked at FM Pubs catalogue. That was clear enough. The logo design was credited to A&R. FM wasn't about to grant credit and not pay. That would have the sisters all over them. That meant that Anshoots was screwing the help and former help and pocketing the credits. I just loved how so many of the ostensibly faithful types did that. They weren't any different from anyone else; they just liked to think so.

Incoming from Krij.

Accept.
What did she want? Or did she have more information.

Her green eyes lasered in on me, even from a holo projection. “Blaine.” Her voice held the big-sister tone. “You broke your arm, and you didn't even think to tell me?”

“I told Siendra. I knew she'd tell you. What could you do?”

“What could I do?” That was an accusation, not a question. I couldn't have provided an answer she'd accept. I didn't try.

“We're coming over for dinner. You need company, and we need to talk.”

“We?”

“You're stubborn enough that I need reinforcements. I'm bringing Siendra. We'll be there at five hour. Don't go anywhere.”

“Where would I go? And how?”

“Sometimes, you're too resourceful, brother dear.”

That hadn't been true lately, and if I'd been any less resourceful, I'd have probably been broke—or dead.

“Till five.” She was gone.

As if I didn't have enough to worry about, now Krij would be nagging me.

Part of my thoughts suggested it would be a very good idea to enlist her aid and Siendra's to an even greater extent than I had so far. I wasn't doing all that well by myself.

I didn't like admitting it.

So I went back to the text about heirs and inheritances. There was more than a little there, and reading through it took time, more time than I wanted to spend.

I also needed to set up an appointment with A&R.

Before Krij and Siendra arrived, I had managed to set up an appointment for Lunen morning with Fillype Anshoots of A&R. I hated to wait over both Sabaten and the end-days, but Anshoots was supposedly in Vannes until Senen.

I checked vid-messages. One was from Myndanori, reminding me that she was expecting me on Sabaten evening—with or without a companion—and that she had some information for me that she preferred not to leave on the system. With what had happened over the last few days, I'd almost forgotten about the gathering. I certainly wouldn't be bringing a companion.

I immediately vidlinked back, but got no response, except for her talking head. I left a quick message.

After running through the rest of the messages, I'd also waded through the legalese defining classes of bequest beneficiaries and heirs. The Codex language on beneficiaries was anything but simple. What it meant wasn't that complicated—if I understood terms of law stated by the words. In effect, the first class of beneficiaries consisted of spouses and blood-heirs of the first level, siblings or offspring. The second class consisted of legal-heirs, those related to the bequester through legal action, such as adoption, legal partnership of some sort, and samer civil unions. The third class could have been loosely defined as remainder heirs of various types, such as more distant relatives, lien holders.

The wording defining ineligible heirs was even more precisely convoluted. Deceased heirs were ineligible, as were their offspring, unless the bequest specifically noted otherwise. Anyone involved in the felonious death of the bequester was also ineligible. Then there were the conditional and categorical levels of ineligibility. No planetary or continental-level individual could receive a bequest except from a blood parent, offspring, or spouse. The same limits applied to their offspring during the period in which they served. No justicer could rule on any bequest involving any heir who was related to the justicer by blood or law. And last, curiously, were two prohibitions. No bequest could be settled on any of the Civitas Sorores, or certain designees of the Sorores, while they served in that capacity, even to a blood-heir. Nor could a lien holder, even one related by blood, receive a bequest until the lien was discharged. No bequest could discharge a lien owed to the bequester's estate.

I wasn't quite certain I understood the rationale for the last conditions, but the language was clear enough. Did any of it apply to Stella/Maureen, who might also be Astrid? At that point, I didn't know.

In the midst of all that, I got another vidlink.

Incoming from Seldara Tozzi.

Accept.

This time she was in silver trimmed with black. She immediately began. “Luncheon is set for one hour on Domen. I do trust that you will be able to resolve matters satisfactorily at that time.”

So did I. “I can only promise the beginning of that resolution, Principessa.”

“I would appreciate a solid beginning, Seignior Donne.”

“We aim to please.” I bowed slightly.

“Good. Until Domen.” She broke the vidlink.

Now I was in even more trouble. Yet…commissions like Seldara Tozzi's were what ensured the future. In my business, I could never tell, not for certain, what might end up being more important—and equally important—lucrative.

The next stan I spent on listening to sections of the dramas attributed to Terrie McGerrie, Carey Douglass, and Marley Louis. One aspect of her writing did stand out. Whoever she was, her language was always elegant in a subdued and balanced fashion. There was also something else about it…

Krij and Siendra have arrived
, Max announced.

I was glad to get up and leave the study. I crossed the entry foyer. I made it to the front doors just before they reached the top of the steps.

Each carried a small sack as they stepped into the foyer.

“How's the arm?” Krij asked. She also flashcoded me the moment Siendra turned.
You have a lot to explain.

“About the same as a few stans back.” I didn't bother with a flashcode reply.

“You're going to tell me the details.”

Beside her, Siendra smiled. She definitely understood that I wouldn't be all that happy explaining to my big sister.

“Siendra will cook. I'll help, as necessary. You will watch and explain how you got into this particular mess,” Krij announced.

I didn't have to wonder why Siendra was there. One of the open secrets Krij and I shared was that while she was an excellent cook, she generally disliked cooking, especially on a day-to-day basis. She occasionally cooked for events like the brunch the week before, but only because she hated paying for cooks or caterers who were less accomplished than she was. But then, she was even more of a perfectionist in business.

Krij led the way to the kitchen. There she stopped and gestured at the double commercial stoves, the kind that had been in use in the best restaurants for centuries. Mine had only been there for fifty-odd years. They'd be just as solid and effective in another fifty. “He's got enough here to support a culinary staff of ten, and he's never used it, Siendra. Two burners on one of the stoves. That's all he's ever used.”

“You're exaggerating,” I protested.

“Oh…and the small oven. I forgot.” Krij laughed.

“Would you ladies like some wine? I can offer—”

“The Rothschild sauvignon blanc for me,” Krij completed the sentence.

I looked to Siendra, who had unloaded both sacks and neatly laid out the contents on the leftmost prep table. “Siendra?”

“A merlot, thank you.” She had turned on the left oven before moving back to the prep table.

I opened a bottle of the 1347 Aubenade and poured Siendra's glass before I dug out the Rothschild for Krij.

Siendra was already slicing something—ginger anise, I thought—into thin strips by the time I settled onto a corner stool with my own goblet of merlot. I would have started with white, but since I'd opened the Aubenade, I decided to try it. I'd never cared for the slight edge to the Rothschild vintages, and opening a third bottle seemed…wasteful.

Siendra was deboning three Chymalk game hens. Her fingers were deft.

“You were good with weapons training, weren't you?”

“Blaine…” Krij mock-complained. “She's not one of your targets.”

“That was an observation.”

“I held my own.” Siendra didn't looked up from the wooden expanse of the prep table.

“How did you break your arm?” Krij asked. “I'd like a few more details than offhand remarks about losing a six-million-credit aircraft and breaking your radius, and, by the way, the Elois were probably involved. You're sure the arm will be all right?”

“There was nothing crushed. The med-systems say it will heal fine, and before too long. Two weeks is the prognosis. If I were still SpecOps, it would be one, but that medtech is beyond my modest means.” I took refuge behind my glass of merlot and watched Siendra finish deboning the game hens.

“And the flitter?”

“I'm sorry about that. The indemnity will only cover a third. It may be a while before I can replace it.”

“Blaine…” Krij's voice bore an edge of exasperation. I'd heard it often growing up.

“It's simple,” I began.

“It never is when you say it is.”

“It's not simple, then. I'm trying to find a link between Legaar Eloi, Judeon Maraniss, and something called Elysium. You know that. The client has already paid ten thousand credits. I've confirmed that Classic Research has a facility on Legaar's estate. There's a dedicated fusactor power plant there. A large power plant. I've also confirmed that Maraniss is there, and that he's been working long stans. There's also some very high-end equipment there that's infringing on Lemmy Jerome's patents. Jerome found that out, and a good chunk of his dwelling got destroyed. He was in it. Jerome hired me to help find that out. He hadn't paid me.”

“You had two different clients on the same commission?”

“I didn't know it was the same commission at the beginning. Anyway, I'd done some emissions surveillance a week or so back. I used the nightflitter. That confirmed that lots of power was being used. I got chased by three military RPFs, but they all had malfunctions and crashed on RT lands. After that, I got nothing. So I went out to do passive surveillance from a hilltop on RT lands.”

“That's trespassing,” Krij pointed out. “A minor matter for you, but not necessarily for RT—or the sisters.”

I didn't mention the trespassing conviction for swimming in the reservoir. “Until Legaar sent a four-operative commando team after me I wasn't doing any harm to anyone. Or the RT lands. The commandos didn't even ask questions. They just opened up.”

“And?”

“I made it to the trees and waited until they got close enough before I triggered the flitter's self-destruct.”

“You couldn't have found a less wasteful alternative?”

“I don't do cost analysis well when I'm under attack.” Before she could get in another question, I went on. “I was only using passive surveillance. No emissions except for a few seconds when I came from behind the hill and set down. It was dark. I was on full-stealth. I shut down and waited more than a whole stan. I was a good klick from his perimeter.”

“That kind of response seems excessive.”

“It's all excessive. Lemmy was tracking patent infringement. The royalties that he would have collected wouldn't have been noticed with Legaar's credit flow. Legaar wouldn't even have had to explain the use.”

“What is the use?”

“I don't know, except that the patent has to do with improving energy effectiveness for jumpship generators, something to do with measuring the deformation of space in certain circumstances. It allows greater precision for jumpship transit choices. Legaar might have a jumpship at Time's End.”

Siendra frowned. “There's no point in that. They're deep-space vessels. Operate a jumpship generator in-system, especially in a gravity well…it wouldn't work.”

I paused. “It might also have applications for limited on-planet instant travel. That might prove a commercial success, and Legaar might have wanted to remove Lemmy from the profit stream.”

“I don't see how it could work,” added Siendra. “Have they found a way around the gravity well problems?”

“I don't know. I can't help thinking that there's another possibility. Using the power of a Hawking system.”

Siendra looked straight at me. “Do you think he wants to do that?”

“I've been keeping track of both Maraniss and Eloi. They're both still here on Devanta. Legaar is still fighting the Sorores on the EsClox planetary defense leasing rule. I can't see him risking something that could threaten him personally. Or destroying the planet while he's on it. That's assuming that he and Maraniss could even get a Hawking system up and operating at full power before the space service or Special Ops shut it down.”

Siendra nodded. “It would take days even for Legaar Eloi to get from planetside to far enough out-system where he wouldn't be in danger.” After a pause, she went on. “I checked on Maraniss's background. He's got a grounding in some advanced and esoteric physics. It doesn't look like he knows enough to be an expert, but he might be using someone else's work.”

“That might be why he went to Legaar,” suggested Krij. “He stole the application and needs someone who won't ask questions.”

“I—we still don't know what it is and whether it's even connected with whatever Elysium is.”

“What else could it be?” That was Krij.

“I have that feeling,” I admitted. “But I don't have anything that could really qualify as proof. Just a lot of suggestive events. Legaar has always relied on circumventing the law. Now, he's actually breaking it to keep whatever's happening at Time's End secret. He's funding a research facility when there's nothing in Eloi Enterprises that needs that kind of research. I can't help but wonder if he's onto some sort of commercial use of Lemmy's patents. It's something that wouldn't be obvious to anyone but Lemmy, and it represents potentially millions, if not billions, of credits. Otherwise, none of what happened makes sense.”

“So they kill Lemmy to make sure no one discovers the link,” said Krij.

“What about the commando team?” asked Siendra. “Was there anything about them? Anything about their weapons, their transport, even their uniforms?” She began to chop parsley and other herbs. Somehow, everything stayed in neat little piles.

“They didn't wear uniforms, not with insignia or emblems.” I stopped. At the time, something about what the four had worn had nagged at me. “They were wearing what amounted to Frankan camos without insignia. I couldn't place what it was then, only that there was something.”

“Either being attacked or breaking an arm does tend to concentrate one away from clothing.” Siendra's words were direct, but not cutting. I had the feeling warmth lay underneath them.

“So we have Legaar Eloi originally bankrolled by the Frankans and being supported by a Frankan commando team,” Krij said.

“With Eloi Enterprises' most valuable personnel all assigned to other systems.” Siendra was creaming cheese in a bowl and folding in the herbs.

“Legaar's acting as if something terrible is going to happen here. But he and Maraniss are still planetside. That suggests something more like an invasion,” Krij mused.

“No.”

“It won't work.”

Siendra and I had spoken almost simultaneously. Krij looked at me. I looked to Siendra. She was filling each of the deboned hens with the herb-and-cheese mixture. Then she used cooking nanosinew to seal each hen and truss each into a cylinder. Each went into the same baking dish, and Siendra slid the dish into the oven. “I'll have to make the glaze before long. If you'd slice the beans, Krij, at an angle?”