Mark Tiedemann - Chimera

Ariel frowned. "Are you suggesting that I help Mr. Lanra?"

"The Terrans are very concerned with their baley problem. A growing fraction of them seem to be heading for Nova Levis. The place has acquired a certain status since the embargo, a faux romantic patina making it seem more attractive than other…less notorious colonies. It may be also that Nova Levis has the facilities for trans-shipping them to other colonies more efficiently than trying to get direct routes from here. That's one of the suggestions I've heard. "

"You sound dubious. "

"Most baleys get to where they want to go without a terrible amount of trouble-there are plenty of freelance pilots with ships for hire to take them. And, frankly, I'm not convinced Terran authorities really want to stop them. But Nova Levis is different. It requires blockade runners. This is a problem on an order of magnitude higher than simple illegal emigration. "

"You think Solaria is involved in getting them past the blockade."

"It's one of those certainties one can't prove without creating an incident. It might be possible to prove it from this end with less incident."

"And you've been asked-unofficially-by Earth to see if you can do something about it."

Setaris almost smiled. "You know, you're very sharp, Ariel. I've always admired that about you…even when you're suffering the effects of alcohol poisoning. Imagine what you can do with a clear head and a purpose."

The sarcasm sank through Ariel like a wave of muggy heat. Ariel felt herself start to bristle, but checked it before she said something impolitic.

"I'm not entirely clear how rendering assistance to Mr. Lanra would help us with any of this," she said instead.

Setaris frowned. "Now you're being obtuse. Nyom Looms and Coren Lanra had a relationship once. We don't know why it ended or if it did. In either case, it seems logical that if she's running baleys then her father-or someone in her father's organization-is helping her."

Ariel laughed briefly. "Coren Lanra doesn't strike me as the type. "

"Perhaps not. But the connection exists nonetheless."

Ariel nodded slowly, understanding exactly what Setaris was asking her to do. In a way, it made perfect sense-Ariel was the most expendable member of the Auroran mission.

"Can I expect any kind of extra consideration should things work out well?" she asked.

"Ariel, you know extra consideration is always on the table for good work."

But what constitutes "good" work? Politically convenient or thorough?

"I'll want Hofton reassigned to me," Ariel said.

"I think you need an aide in any case. It doesn't look good to be all alone in your department."

Ariel stood. "What level of access do I have?"

Setaris looked genuinely surprised. "I don't believe your clearance was ever rescinded, Ariel."

"I would like confirmation of that. "

Setaris regarded her for a long time before nodding.

"By this afternoon, if it's not too much trouble," Ariel said then, turning.

"Don't you feel sometimes that you've been on Earth too long, Ariel? That certain of their less admirable qualities have transferred?"

"I like to believe that it goes both ways, Ambassador." She made herself present a pleasant, innocuous, naive smile, though she did not expect Setaris to be fooled. "If you'll excuse me, I have to make some calls."

Ariel expected Setaris to call her back and retract everything, but she made it to the door without hearing her voice. She wondered then what kind of confirmation she would actually get when she returned to her own office and checked.

Her heart hammered as she reached the main corridor. Her head still hurt, but for the time being she did not really mind. Halfway back to her office she came to another conclusion and entered a general clerical station to call Hofton. An hour later, he joined her in the embassy restaurant at a table beside a bank of windows that overlooked an open air park on the roof of the building. False dawn gave everything a shimmery, vague appearance. Beautiful, she thought, and pitied the agoraphobic Terrans who could not enjoy such a simple, open view.

"I understand," Hofton said as he sat down, "that I'm working for you again."

"When did you receive notice?"

"Around midnight. I didn't bother going to bed. I gather you know something about this?"

Ariel chuckled. "She told you before she called me. That's interesting." Ariel gazed out the window for a time. The trees swayed in a breeze. Somewhere to the east lay the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere northwest was the spaceport. It would be pleasant, she thought, to live on a world where you didn't have to make a special trip just to see open sky and trees…

Hofton waited patiently. At some point during Ariel's reverie he had ordered an iced drink.

"Sorry," she said, turning back to him. "To answer your question: yes, I know something about it. Not enough, of course, but it seems we're being given a chance to redeem ourselves. "

"At what cost?"

Ariel shrugged. The question was rhetorical-Hofton understood the machinery of politics better than she. "Ambassador Setaris would like us to render assistance to Mr. Lanra."

Hofton frowned contemplatively. "I suppose," he said, "we have no choice. "

Ariel flashed a sarcastic smile. "Oh, sure. We have a choice."

Hofton looked skeptical, then raised his glass in mock toast. "Here's to damnation, then. Who do we have to kill?"

Coren kept a private office in an old quarter of D.C., far from the corporate warrens of DyNan. He had not used it in nearly eight months. When Looms had asked him to find Nyom, he hired the best cleaner he knew to find any and all eyes and ears. Only a few had turned up, and those had long since been severed at the receiving end. Coren set up a screen to let him know if any new ones turned up, and moved in.

The neighborhood was undergoing one of its period downturns in popularity. Not a year earlier, it was impossible to find available space here, but now even his own building was nearly empty. He had leased the space before accepting the position with DyNan, right before it had become really popular, thinking that he would go into private practice after leaving Special Service. He had never used it for business other than DyNan's, though, and sometimes thought about breaking the lease and letting it go. He was glad now that he had kept it.

He walked through the small reception area and into the main office. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the pole by the door.

"Good afternoon," his Desk said. "Please verify identity."

Coren sat down and placed his palm against the ID scan on the desktop. He felt a moment's warmth as the machine explored his hand, body temperature, blood chemistry, and pattern of bone growth.

"Welcome, Mr. Lanra," the Desk said. "You have three messages. "

"List," Coren said.

"One from Sipha Palen, one from Rega Looms, and one from Myler Towne."

"Who is Myler Towne?"

"Director ProTem of Imbitek Incorporated."

Coren drummed his fingers tentatively on the edge of the desk. "Play Rega Looms', please."

The flatscreen remained retracted-no video, typical of Rega. A crisp tenor voice snapped out of the air.

"Coren, I'm in Dukane District, code appended. I would appreciate an update on that detail I asked you to look into at your earliest convenience. I'll be here till tomorrow, then I'm going to-" He paused. "Going to Delfi. I'll forward the code when we get there."

Coren checked the time chop. Most likely right now Rega Looms' entourage was packing him up to leave Dukane. It would not be a good time to interrupt, especially with bad news. Besides, Coren thought, it would be best to tell Rega in person. He did not want to; for anyone else a comm dialogue would be sufficient. But not Rega.