Jayne Castle - After Glow

In spite of her determination to project oodles of cool, professional competence, Lydia caught her breath at the glorious scene outside the windows. Last night's fog had burned off early this morning and the green quartz towers of the alien city sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight.

She had always wondered if the ancient Harmonic architects had been trained in art and poetry in addition to structural mechanics and design. The buildings they had left behind aboveground had an airy, ethereal quality that never failed to fascinate her. The soaring spires, arched roofs, colonnaded balconies, and sweeping walkways dazzled the eye and summoned forth a deep sense of wonder.

"I know just how you feel," Gannon Hepscott said from somewhere behind her. He sounded amused. "Every morning when I walk into this office I go straight to the windows and spend a few minutes looking at the ruins. And every day I ask myself the same question."

She smiled in understanding. "Why did they leave?"

"We'll probably never know the answer."

"No, but I doubt that we'll ever stop asking the question." She turned around and smiled at the man standing next to the large, semicircular desk. "Keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

Gannon Hepscott chuckled. "Yes, it does."

This was the first time she had met him in person. Until now she had dealt only with members of his staff.

Hepscott appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was tall, with long-fingered hands and a slender, graceful build that did wonders for the beautifully tailored suit he wore. His features were sharp, almost ascetic.

She had been warned, albeit respectfully, that Hepscott affected a rather eccentric style. Now she comprehended why he had acquired that reputation. He was a study in pales.

His eyes were a very light shade of gray. He had striking platinum hair that she knew could not possibly be natural. Even more arresting was the fact that he wore it shoulder-length and tied back at his nape. It was a look favored by a lot of macho, khaki-and-leather-wearing ghost-hunters but not by CEOs and presidents of corporations. Yet Hepscott managed to pull it off brilliantly. On him the style was at once very masculine and very elegant.

His suit and shirt were white on white. His accessories were silver.

"Please, have a seat, Miss Smith. Thank you for making the time available this morning."

"My pleasure." She took one of the pair of black leather chairs he indicated and set her portfolio case on the plush gray carpet. "I'm looking forward to hearing more about your plans."

"As my architect and designers no doubt told you, I intend to call the project the Underground Experience." He picked up a sheaf of papers and lowered himself onto the black sofa directly across from her. "My goal is to create the most exciting casino resort to be found in any of the city-states. I plan to locate it near the South Wall." He paused, mouth tilting slightly at one corner. "For the atmosphere."

"I see."

"It's taken me five years to acquire the adjoining properties required for the resort but I've finally put together a parcel large enough to suit my purposes."

"Your staff said that you wanted to create a theme based on the underground ruins."

"Yes." He spread some drawings out on the table. "What I want is a dazzling, fantasy version of a trip through the catacombs. From the moment a guest walks into the lobby of my resort, I want him to be surrounded by genuine relics and artifacts, not reproductions."

"That's where I come in, I take it?"

Gannon smiled and sat back against the sofa. "Yes, Miss Smith, that is precisely where you come in. I want the settings to be as authentic as possible. You'll have a generous budget. I want you to use it to acquire only museum-quality antiquities. Attend the auctions. Contact your connections on Ruin Row. Get the word out to the private collectors. Do whatever it takes. I want only the best pieces. My design team will incorporate them into the decor."

"It sounds like a very exciting project," she said.

"I'm not one to micromanage." Gannon rose to his feet. "I hire qualified people and I let them do their job. However, this project is very important to me and I will expect to be kept informed. I'd like weekly status reports in person. Will that work with your schedule?"

She realized that he was terminating the meeting already. "No problem, Mr. Hepscott."

"Please. Call me Gannon." He studied her with a warm, considering expression. "Something tells me that you and I are going to make a great team, Lydia."

Forty minutes later she leaped out of the cab in front of Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors, paid the driver, and rushed through the entrance. The meeting with Gannon Hepscott had gone smoothly and swiftly enough, but the cab had encountered a rush-hour traffic jam on the way back downtown and as a result she was twenty minutes late for work. She hoped that her boss was not yet aware of that fact.

The elderly man behind the ticket booth waved to her. "Morning, Lydia."

"Morning, Bob. Is Shrimp here yet?"

"Nope, you're in the clear."

"Great. Thanks." Relieved, she slowed down to catch her breath.

Thirty years ago, Shrimpton's had started out as a third-rate museum featuring low-end alien relics. The establishment had gone rapidly downhill from that point. By the time Lydia had put in an application for a position on the staff seven months ago, it was considered more of a carnival fun house than a legitimate museum. No respectable antiquities expert took it seriously. Certainly no one with her credentials would have even considered working in the place under normal circumstances.

But she had not had a lot of career options after the university had let her go. Her professional reputation had been in shreds.

Shrimpton had given her a job when she had needed one desperately and she would be forever indebted to him. Although she was trying to build a new career as a private antiquities consultant she had vowed to give her employer his money's worth. She would work through lunch to make up the twenty minutes, she promised herself.

She walked quickly along a long exhibit hall that was dramatically shadowed and lit with glowing green fluo-rez lamps designed to provide the eerie, creepy atmosphere that was the hallmark of Shrimpton's.

In spite of its low reputation, the museum had acquired, under her direction, some rather nice relics including several wonderful carved urns and a matching pair of green quartz columns.

Her greatest acquisition, however, one that had forced the more upscale antiquities community to sit up and take notice, was a little vessel of pure, worked dreamstone. It occupied a place of honor at the end of the main gallery and was protected by a state-of-the art security system that had been donated by Mercer and Tamara Wyatt. The placard next to the beautiful little object read, Unguent Jar. Dreamstone. A gift of Mr. Chester Brady .

Unfortunately, the gift had been posthumous because Chester, a shady ruin rat who had made a career working the illegal side of the antiquities trade, had run afoul of an illicit excavation operation. He had been murdered, his body dumped into a sarcophagus here at Shrimpton's.

Lydia had been escorting Emmett on a tour of the Tomb Wing when they had discovered the body. She knew that she would never again be able to walk past the display of not-quite-human shaped coffins without thinking of Chester.

She opened a door and walked into the small suite of museum offices. There was no light showing through the opaque glass panel of Shrimpton's door. Bob had been right, the boss had not yet arrived. Shrimpton had probably stopped for a box of doughnuts.

The door to the office of Shrimpton's secretary and all-around general assistant, Melanie Toft, stood wide. Lydia put her head around the corner.