Mark Tiedemann - Chimera

"Sure."

"Why are you involving yourself in this?"

Derec straightened, trying to compose an explanation of the link and why Thales required it due to the distances involved and the complexity of the job, but stopped, comprehending the question a moment later.

"You mean with this investigation?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I could ask you the same." Hofton waited and Derec nodded. "I love this," he said, waving at Thales. "Working with positronics. Working, period. I hate inactivity."

"You could do calisthenics in that case."

Derec laughed briefly. "I'm doing this because I can, because it might give me a chance to do something I want to do. Because the chance to get my hands on the tools to do some serious work is worth the risk."

"You'd like to rebuild your robot, Bogard."

"Of course I would, but it's more than that."

"There are several good reasons for you to refuse."

"I know. I'm not going to think about them." Derec looked at Hofton. "You?"

"You mentioned inactivity. Do you have any idea how dull diplomatic work can be?" He smiled wryly. "Seriously, though, I have been with perhaps a dozen senior diplomats. The work was interesting-more so in the beginning, before the desensitizing produced by overfamiliarity and intimate contempt-but rarely challenging. Even so, had my various superiors been in the least worth the bother, I would never have complained, much less transferred. I never thought I'd find myself working for someone like Ambassador Burgess. It was very difficult when I was forced to leave her service last year. I admit, I'd begun to take her for granted. But I just finished several months with a man named Cotish Valgas, who is a deputy overseer in Furnishing and Accoutrements. Yes, there is such a department-I was shocked myself. Suffice it to say that I'll never take Ms. Burgess for granted again."

"She's special, isn't she?"

Hofton nodded slowly, his eyes bright and sharp. "She is that, sir."

"So why is she doing this?"

"Because she's been ordered to."

Derec shook his head. "No, no. You've known her for all this time. Is that the Ariel you know?"

Hofton frowned. "She's more disciplined, I think, than you give her credit. " He blinked and folded his arms. "But, no, not really. She could easily refuse. She's been expecting a recall to Aurora anyway."

"So?"

"I think she wants a chance to get even. "

"With who?"

"All of them, sir. All of them." He glanced at his watch. "We have an hour before the shuttle leaves. Will you be done?"

Derec checked the monitors. "Five more minutes."

Hofton cleared his throat, and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Um…I spoke perhaps too openly, Mr. Avery-"

"She'll never hear about it from me." Hofton looked mildly relieved. "Under one condition."

"Sir?"

"Call me Derec."

"I'll do my best, sir."

Three people were waiting in his office when Coren returned. Two of them wore the look of professional security-well-dressed but practical, no clothing that would bind and impede a wide range of movement-while the third looked very administrative. Coren recognized none of them other than by type. He resisted the immediate urge to run; right now he did not have time for further complications.

"Mr. Lanra," the administrative type said. "I'm Del Socras. I work for Mr. Myler Towne of Imbitek. Forgive the intrusion, but I was instructed to convey Mr. Towne's regards and extend his invitation to lunch. "

Coren glanced at the security, both of whom had risen to their feet upon his entrance. "I really am rather busy, Mr. Socras. "

"Mr. Towne realizes this. It will be a brief lunch."

Coren considered his options: run, call the police, or comply. From the look of the pair of security types, it was even odds that he could get away. Dragging in the police might complicate things to the point that his investigation of Nyom's death would have to be postponed or abandoned. It always seemed to be the petty things that interrupted one's plans.

That was the problem, though. If it were petty; why would Towne be so insistent? Reluctantly, he concluded that his only viable option was to go along and find out.

"Very well. Shall I meet him somewhere?"

"We have a car, Mr. Lanra."

"Of course you do." Coren made himself smile. "Shall we, then?"

"One moment, sir," one of the security said and pulled out a palm monitor that looked remarkably like Coren's own. He walked around Coren twice, then reached into Coren's pocket and removed his hemisphere. He handed it to Towne.

"I don't think you'll need this, Mr. Lanra," Towne said, setting it on the Desk. "Our security is very good."

"I'm sure it is," Coren said tightly.

Socras led the way out of the building and across the avenue to the garage.

The drive lasted fifteen minutes, during which time Socras made a few attempts at polite conversation which Coren ignored. To his credit, Coren thought, he took the hint and lapsed into a polite silence.

The windows were all darkened. When they stopped, he had no idea where exactly he was.

He was shocked to see a garden.

Outside? No-he saw delicate ribbing overhead, supporting a high vaulting ceiling. Relieved, he surveyed the rest of the chamber. A garden, yes, and an expensive one.

A large dead patch off to the left, an area that looked as if some withering blight had eaten the life out of the very air around it, spoiled the placid beauty around him. Even the pavement and wall nearby were blackened.

A touch on his elbow prompted him to move forward.

Myler Towne sat behind a small table covered with dishes. He dwarfed his chair and made the people around him appear small. He looked up as Coren stopped.

"Mr. Lanra, " he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I'm pleased you accepted my invitation. "

"Is that what it was?"

"Of course. It's illegal to coerce people."

"Of course it is. What can I do for you, Mr. Towne?"

"Come to work for me."

Coren held back a laugh.

Towne looked at him, scooped a mound of mashed potato onto his fork, and smiled.

"Neither of us," he said, "has time for banter. I have some questions before you answer me. You saw the damage when you came in?"

"Yes…"

"I used to take my lunch there."

Coren glanced back at the dead patch. "You mean that was an attack?"

"Did you engineer it?"

Coren started. "Excuse me?"

Towne smiled briefly. "I didn't think so. Have you ever worked for Imbitek?"

"I think you'd know."

"Possibly. I don't have all my predecessor's records." Towne waited, ate another bite of potato, then pushed the plate away a thumb's width. "Did you?"

"No."

"You were involved in that imbroglio last year that put Mr. Mikels in prison, weren't you?"

"No."

Myler Towne glanced around at his people. "I was misinformed? I was under the impression that you met with the Auroran liaison from the Calvin Institute. Was that on some other matter? I ask, you see, for a number of reasons, not all of which may be immediately connected-"

"My employer was under suspicion for the events that put your employer in prison, Mr. Towne. I was doing my job, seeing to his security. I was not, however, involved in any of it."

"Hmm. Indeed. Then why have you been twice to the Auroran embassy in the last two days?"

"Your first message to call came before either of those meetings, so I assume your reasons had nothing to do with that. Have they changed?"

"When I hire someone I want to know about them."

"You aren't hiring me."

Towne gave a mock frown of disbelief. "You 're turning my offer down?"

"I am."

"But you haven't even heard it."

Coren sighed. "Must I?"

Myler Towne stood. He was an enormous man, easily head and shoulders taller than Coren, and not, as Coren first suspected, run to fat. For his size, he had a trim waistline, which implied that the shoulders filling his smock were solid and powerful.