Authors: Jr. L. E. Modesitt
24 Quintus 3646
Demetris
Dear Blaine:
Just received your latest. Arrived here at home rather than station catch. Too bad we can't receive torps, but they'd never know where to send them.
Sorry to hear about you and Sandy, but keep the stars, keep the stars. Wish I could say more, but what is there? Helen and I both care, wish you the best.
Some ways, I wish I hadn't heard the latest rumors. Now there's another oneâabout the courier that disappeared, a year ago, I guess. Was it the
D'Armetier?
Anyway, torp tissues said it showed up on a T-form planet where no one expected it and with a cargo of bodiesâand no one can account for the missing time. That sort of thing doesn't play well with the crews. Any way I can refute it?
Then there's the continual battle against obsolescence. With old zipless cracking around the frames every other jump, the thought of being chased by something twice as big and twice as fast, with even better jump accuracy and exit speed, doesn't exactly improve my outlook. Talked about it with Helen, and she's asked me to consider putting in my papers after this tour.
Can you do anything? Sure, the FC isn't
the
answer. But
Halley
's older than half my crew. It's still the latest we've got. Any hope of new development, like the CX concept? Understand you've put it out for costing and tech evaluation. That true?
New exec arrived. QuerratâFrancie Querrat's cousin, graduated six years behind me. Seems as sharp as Francieâmiss her, and that's another one I hold against Tinhornâand he'll work out. No-nonsense, but the crew respects him from the start.
Not much else new. Cindi's growing like a sunplume, and Jock's learning differentials. Demetris is nice enough, but it's not home. Miss the winters. Once a Sierran, always a Sierran, I guess.
Mort
T
HE WOMAN IN
the faded blue trousers and gray sweater turned over the cream-colored oblong as she closed the door behind her.
“Thelina Andruz, S.F.I.” was written in old-fashioned black ink on the envelope. The envelope itself was lightly sealed. How long the envelope had been there she did not know, although the heavy paper was still crisp, and there had been a light rain the night before. The ink was unmarred.
Her lips pursed, and in the dimmer light of the wood-paneled foyer she squinted at the precise handwriting, almost a bold and thick-lined calligraphy.
Cocking her head to the side, ignoring some blond wisps of uncombed hair that framed her face, she grinned. Then she cleared her throat softly. Finally she called upstairs. “Thelina. You have an invitation.”
Silence.
“It's impeccably correct,” she called again.
“I have a what?” Wearing a heavy terry-cloth robe and a towel over her hair, turban fashion, Thelina stood at the top of the stairs.
“I'd say it was an invitation of some sortâ¦very formalâ¦linen paper and black inkâlike something that the Councilâ”
“Oh, Meryl, just open it.”
“I couldn't do that. It's sealed and addressed to you. Personally.”
“Is this a joke?”
Meryl turned the envelope over, holding it up so the calligraphy faced Thelina. “It doesn't appear to be.”
“All right.” With a sigh, the taller woman made her way down the stairs, quickly yet precisely.
“Here you are, honored lady.” Meryl grinned.
“You know.”
“I know nothing, but I'm a pretty good guesser.”
“So?”
“Let's see.”
Thelina shook her head, then flicked the flap of the envelope open with a short and well-trimmed thumbnail. “A second envelopeâ¦very formal indeed.”
“How is it addressed? Just âThelina,' right?”
“You know.” Thelina glared at her housemate. “Is this some sort of game?”
“No. But it figures.”
“You aren't saying.”
“I might be wrong.”
“Never mind.” The taller Ecolitan eased open the inner envelope, scanning the heavy linen card she held by the lower right corner. She read it once, then again.
Watching her friend, Meryl began to grin even more widely.
“Thisâ¦heâ¦this is impossible!”
“The good Professor Whaler?”
“You've seen his handwriting before?”
“No. How else could he address your charges? You claimed he knew nothing about the real you. You really asked for a formal courtship. He took you at your word.”
“I never said⦔
“Not in words.”
“You're impossibleâ¦you're both impossible⦔
Meryl held out her hand for the card.
Thelina handed it over brusquely. “
You
go.”
“No. You go.”
“I despise him.” Thelina tucked the inside envelope against the outside one, then placed the card under both flaps.
Meryl arched her left eyebrow, holding Thelina's eyes.
“What should I wear?”
After grinning again, Meryl shrugged. “Something suitable and casually formal, in keeping with the tone of the invitation.”
Shaking her head slowly, Thelina handed the two envelopes and the card to Meryl. “Men.”
“Agreed.” Meryl read the card, with the letters written so precisely that they almost appeared typeset.
The honor of your presence is requested at an outdoor luncheon for two at 1315 H.S.T. on the fourteenth of Septem at the lookout on Quayle Point. Refreshments will be providedâ¦suitable attire is suggestedâ¦.
James Joyson Whaler II,
S.F.I.
The sandy-haired Ecolitan laid the card and envelopes on the small foyer table and followed her friend upstairs. Suitable attire, indeed, would be necessary. Especially if it looked like snow. But an outdoor luncheon?
T
HE TALL MAN
, bearded and bent and wearing a faded brown greatcoat, hobbled from the library's public section, pausing frequently on the staircase. His breath puffed around him irregularly in the chill early morning air.
As he reached the top step, resting against the railing to catch his breath again, a younger man emerged, black-haired, with the collar of an advocate's tunic peering above and out of a quilted winter jacket that was unfastened.
The advocate who was not an advocate looked up, ignoring both the old man and the middle-aged redheaded woman coming down, took the middle of the staircase, and bounded up the steps to street level two at a time. The steam of his breath was as enthusiastic as his pace. In his right hand he carried an envelope the size of a thin folder of standard paper.
The older man limped in the same general direction as the pseudo-advocate, somehow not quite losing sight of the young man as both made their way uphill, away from Government Square and toward the outworld commercial section.
By the time the white-haired man had crossed Carson Boulevard, the morning sunlight had lifted the frost from the still-green grass everywhere its rays had struck. Those few who walked in the early Tenday sunlight no longer saw their breath, and the frost only lingered in the shadows.
By the time the tall man had crossed Korasalov Road, he had unbuttoned the top button of the greatcoat and watched the younger man enter a low two-story building. His limp increased as he plodded after the other, mumbling through his beard, loudly enough for a passing runner to veer away with a look of annoyance.
In time he approached the locked door of the building, where he fumbled at the lock momentarily, staggered against the door-frame, as if for support, before stumbling, then tumbling inside as the heavy carved door swung open. A second runner, observing the scene, just shook his head and concentrated on keeping his pace.
Down the dimly lit interior hallway limped the oldster, stopping at last by the door he sought, where he listened quietly for a time.
Thumpâ¦thump
â¦
The gaunt man rapped on the door, the sound of his knuckles muffled by the heaviness of the wood and of the metal beneath it. “Marissa! Open up! I know you're here⦔ He ignored the brass plate on the door's center panel.
Â
CentraCast Business Publications
Harmony Information Center
Â
â¦thumpâ¦thumpâ¦thump
â¦
“Marissaâ¦you let your father in.” His voice cracked, not quite in hysteria. “I know you're in there.”
The other doorways on the short hallway remained closed. All were news-related businesses, not surprisingly, since the two-story building was the Business and News Center. Nor was the lack of response surprising, not on Tenday, when most Accord businesses were shut down.
â¦thumpâ¦thumpâ¦thump
â¦
“Marissa! Open this door!”
He paused and took a deep breath, waiting as if to regain his strength. After a time, he leaned toward the door.
Thumpâ¦thumpâ¦thump
â¦
“Marissa, you listen to your father⦔
The hallway remained silent.
Thumpâ¦thumpâ¦thump
â¦
“Marissaâ¦worthless girlâ¦just like your motherâ¦open this door⦔
As he leaned back, the door opened full. The black-haired young man stood in the doorway, a stunner leveled at the disheveled oldster.
“Youâ¦you're not Marissa. What have you done with her?”
“There is no Marissa here. You're disturbing everyone. Please leave or I'll call theâ”
Thrum
.
The young man toppled forward, without even a surprised look on his face, only to be caught by the ancient's too-well-muscled arms.
Clunk
. The stunner echoed dully on the scuffed wooden planks.
The tall man stepped inside the office, scanned the front room. Two consoles with battered but matching chairs, a short, squarish green upholstered love seat, two wooden armchairs, and a table, around which the armchairs and the love seat were clustered, constituted the furniture. A single curtained window joined the rear wall and the right wall, providing the room's only light. In the middle of the left wall a door opened into an even dimmer room.
In the front room one console was turned on, a pale green square.
As he completed his near-instantaneous survey, the man in the greatcoat lowered the unconscious man. He recovered the stunner and closed the door.
With quick motions, he set the young man in a wooden armchair, the type favored by all Ecolitans, and balanced him in place, letting the arms dangle. The folder lay on top of an envelope on the operational console. The older man in the greatcoat noted its presence as he polished the fingerprints off the stunner with a cloth retrieved from an inside pocket of the worn coat. With the thin transparent gloves on his own hands, he had no worry about leaving his own prints. He levered the setting up to the maximum level before placing it in the limp hand of the unconscious man in the chair.
With quick steps he moved into the small equipment room that lay through the open door in the left wall. Two locked cube cases sat against the back wall, and several cases of fax equipment were stacked carelessly around. All but one were covered with dust.
A muffled
click
caught his ear, and he slipped from the equipment room back into the front room, standing behind the wooden chair facing the closed door.
After waiting about the length of time it would have taken someone to walk from the side building door to the CentraCast door, he lifted his own stunner.
Click
.
Thrum
.
Crummmppp
.
A dark-haired woman slumped through the door and onto the unscuffed planks inside the office. A large envelope slipped from her hands and skidded across the wood until it rested against the throw rug on which the low table sat.
He dragged the woman inside. After extracting the key from the door, he closed it with a
click
and set her in the chair opposite the unconscious young man. He slipped the key, on its plain steel ring, into her right jacket pocket and struggled with the closures on the jacket, opening them all, but leaving the jacket on her.
His gloved hands deftly opened her belt pouch, subtracting one or two items and replacing them with several others. His nose wrinkled at the scent of melloran that enveloped her as he continued his search-and-replace efforts.
In time he shifted his attention to the younger man, adding several items to his person.
Then he replaced the contents of the envelope carried by the woman with another set of documents, and placed the envelope on the table in front of her. In turn, he lifted the several sheets of copied public records from the envelope by the still-humming console and replaced them with other copied public records.
Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room again. His eyes moved to the stunner lying in the lap of the unconscious man, and he bent down and checked the charge indicator. It would be sufficient.
Retrieving his own stunner, he set the charge as low as possible and aimed the weapon at the woman's head from a meter away.
Thrumâ¦thrumâ¦thrumâ¦thrum
â¦
Her body twitched after each shot, and by the last shot her face was slack, her chest barely moving.
The tall man took the slack hand of the unconscious man, the hand holding the stunner. He positioned the man so that he held the stunner against his own temple.
TTHHHHRRRUMMMM
â¦
Clank
. The body twitched once. The stunner struck the floor, where the tall man left it on his way out of the office.
(ANS) H
ARMONY
{14 S
EPTEM
3646} Local authorities are still investigating a mysterious suicide/attempted murder which took place in the CentraCast offices over the enddays. Local sources indicate the dead man was a junior Ecolitan attached to the Institute for Ecologic Studies, but his name has not been released. The woman, a Senior Fellow at the Institute whose name has also been withheld, suffered severe brain damage from a stunner bolt. The man apparently then turned the stunner on himself.
Items found on the two and in the office indicated that the woman had attempted to break off a love affair. Well-placed sources indicate that the two had often been seen together.
Other sources indicated that the woman had just returned from a temporary assignment on the Parundian Peninsula. Such assignments are frequently used as a disciplinary tool. Further comment could not be obtained from the Institute, since the official who assigned the wounded Ecolitan died several months ago in an equally unusual flash fire in a training vehicle.
Diagrams of the same type of training vehicle were found in a folder at the CentraCast office, but local authorities refused to speculate on any connections between the two incidents.