The Elysium Commission (11 page)

“…trying to combine security and speed in getting where she wanted to go? Did she ever say what she might want to do before she left?”

“No. She was more private than most. She gave the minimum notice necessary to avoid maroonlight.”

“She didn't want anyone to know where she was going or call attention to it.”

“I couldn't help you there if I wanted to, Seignior Donne. All she left was a one-way comm drop, and it was an Assembly-wide access code that had a one-year expiration—just enough to meet the minimums.”

“Did she ever talk about family?”

“All she said—that I know of—was that her father was dead and that her mother lived in a small town outside Vannes, Degaulle, I think…”

Max…search Vannes and the area around Degaulle for possible matches to Stella Strong, the Fort or Forte surname, possibly…

Only possible match is Charlyse Forte…deceased 1349
C.D
., noted mysticist and scholar. No known spouse. daughter Astrid…born 1315
C.D.

That
might
be a lead. I couldn't help but wonder if Charlyse's death a year or so earlier had something to do with everything. “Did she ever mention her mother's name?”

My question brought another frown.

I waited.

“I don't think she did. She did say once that her mother believed in the unbelievable.” She gave me the polite closing smile. “I'm sorry I can't help you further. Good day.”

After she broke the vidlink, I studied the TFA image. In it, Maureen was more slender. Her hair was a coppery blond that brought out the vivid green of her eyes. Her skin held a hint of bronze, and her nose was slightly smaller. Except for the eyes, the impression was far different. Then I noted the caption—Maureen M. Gonne, senior information expediter, with Gregory Coole, Media Director. The date was 1349, probably just before she left TFA.

Max…search for variations of Maureen Maud Gonne…and link to information specialties. Do the same for Astrid Forte…

That might get me more.

Next came Angelique deGritz—the purported contact at the bank. No one could make up a name like that. Not for a trust officer.

I didn't use Nancy's contact link. Rather, I made a direct inquiry to the First Commerce Bank's trust section. “Angelique deGritz.”

The switch to the talking head was instantaneous—a statuesque redhead with flashing green eyes. Her figure was anything but sylphlike. “Greetings. Please state your interest plainly and clearly so that I can look into it and get back to you. Thank you.” The voice was melodic but in the way a muted trumpet was.

Somehow, I didn't connect the ancient images of angels with this Angelique.

I broke the vidlink and searched for Angelique deGritz. All the systems confirmed that there was an Angelique deGritz employed by the First Commerce Bank. There were more than enough of the trivial details to confirm that identity

I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Then I tried a return link for Dr. Ruckless. I actually got him.

He had a narrow oval face and deep-set eyes under dark brown hair, straight and cut moderately short. “I believe you contacted me, Seignior Donne. What can I do for you?”

“I'm looking for information, and unbiased opinions, Doctor. I'm going to have to evaluate a presentation on consciousness research next week.”

“That's not my expertise.” His voice was mild.

“Not directly, but you're considered an expert trauma surgeon. According to the numbers I've run, close to twenty percent of all severe trauma cases have some impact on consciousness.”

Ruckless blinked. Then he offered a slow smile. “I'll give you points for reading at least some of my work. Exactly why do you want my views?”

“As I said, I'm being asked to evaluate a proposal on consciousness research. The proposal requests significant research funds. Or so I've been led to believe. Every credit that goes to one form of research doesn't go to another. I have to recommend whether this is a good proposal. Any considered medical expertise is always useful.”

“I think I know about the proposal you're mentioning. That's all I know.”

“I see. What is your considered view about this kind of research?”

Ruckless shrugged. “All well-designed medical research is useful. If the proposal is by the leading consciousness expert, it will feature a well-designed program of research. Until the research is conducted, evaluated, and the protocols, procedures, and results are peer-reviewed, the value cannot be determined.”

“What about the comparative value of this field as compared to others?”

“That has been a matter of controversy for centuries. The exact nature of consciousness still eludes medical science. There are a number of theories, but none have been conclusively proved or disproved.”

“You seem to be suggesting that such research remains…highly theoretical.”

“I'm suggesting nothing. I've given you the facts.”

“Do you think that what research gets greater funding is as much a function of the fund-raising ability of the researcher as the validity of the research itself?”

Ruckless laughed. There was the slightest edge to his laughter. “That's always been true. There's no reason to suggest that will change.” He shrugged again. “Sometimes, those with that gift are also great scientists. Certainly, some solid work has been done here on consciousness studies.” He smiled. “I'm afraid that's really all I can say. As I mentioned earlier, it's not my field.”

“Thank you. You've been helpful.”

His image vanished.

I took a deep breath. If I'd read Ruckless right, he wasn't that happy with Dyorr's proposal, but he respected him. He wasn't about to undercut him.

I decided not to press Elsen, not until after the end-days. I had more than enough to handle. Besides the new clients, I still had to figure out how to deal with Tony diVeau and Sephaniah. I also had to see what their connections to Legaar Eloi might be. Beyond that I needed to find out if there was even a theoretical way I could have been moved from one point on the planet's surface to another.

Once it got dark, the next step was to use the nightflitter. With the kind of technology
someone
had used on me, I needed to scout out Legaar's estate…carefully.

Obtaining the nightflitter had been difficult. Having it was half luxury, half necessity. No one hired out flitters without their own pilots as part of the hire, and no one hired out combat nightflitters. Mine was one templated for the ill-fated Christos Republic by Thurenan Arms. TA had done all the design work and templating for thirty comparatively low-tech flitters that no one wanted. I'd bid just enough for one so that they could recover some costs, and get a write-off that they wouldn't have if they hadn't actually nanofactured at least one. They'd accepted my bid, and I'd had to borrow five million creds, mostly from financiers Krij knew. It took me five years to pay off the flitter and the improvements. The Civitas Sorores had been less than pleased, and months had passed before I'd obtained all the permits—with the stipulation that no offensive weapons systems were to be installed. I hadn't, but the shield systems were very innovative. Except for fam rides and learning the systems, I'd only used it a few times, but I'd gotten it on the basis that, if I ever needed it, I wouldn't have time to get it.

Besides, I liked having it.

I went to my quarters in the villa and donned the boots and gray flight suit. The flight suit met all my requirements. Besides providing the interface with the nightflitter, it could handle temperature extremes, gee forces, and would provide visual camouflage should I have to set down somewhere.

Then I took the concealed circular staircase from the office study down two levels to the small hangar. The lights were red there. The reflections off the nightflitter cast shifting patterns on the gray walls and overhead.

The nightflitter was just under twenty meters in length and three in width at its narrowest, six at the widest point of the lifting body. Especially at night or in dim light, looking at the curved black surface planes twisted your eyes. Doing it twisted mine, anyway. The engines were nanojets and burned the same restructured hydrocarbons that all high-performance atmospheric craft did. The one drawback of all flitters was that, like ancient sharks, they couldn't remain motionless for long, because power was generated by a boosted by-bleed from the engines before the exhaust vector stage.

There weren't that many piloted atmospheric military craft, not when most of them could be handled by commlinks—without the weight and vulnerability of a pilot. But a piloted craft had one advantage. It was self-contained with the most adaptable guidance system available. No one could fry the commlinks or locate the craft through links or guidance systems. The stealth configuration and selective absorption/reradiation properties of the airframe made it effectively invisible, particularly at night, except to the highest-level military systems.

I installed Lemmy's device in the remote-link section. It checked, and I hoped it would continue to work. Then I climbed into the cockpit, put on the lightweight helmet, secured the links between the flitter and flight suit, and suit and helmet. I lowered the visor and went through the checklist—manual, but projected on the visor. All systems were go. Including the self-destruct system. I hating having it, but there might well be times when losing six million credits of nightflitter was preferable to having it inspected or confiscated by unfriendly souls.

Light-off one.

One on-line.

With one generator up, the flitter came to full life.

Hangar doors open
. With that command all the lights went out.

I taxied up the ramp and out through the doors into the courtyard. Once the tail was clear, I sent the command to close the hangar doors. Next came the unavoidable part. I clicked into ACS, requesting a departure vector at low altitude. Over Thurene, even private air traffic was controlled. If I went stealth all the way, I probably could have avoided detection. That would have been illegal, and if Javerr and the Garda ever found out, they would have caused trouble and petitioned for a reformatting of my thought processes.

I inputted Carcassonne as my intermediate destination with a late return to Thurene. In less than a minute, I had a departure vector.

Shadow-one, lifting off on departure vector.

Cleared to ACS boundary on departure vector two eight one, immediate climb to one thousand AGL.

Accept-affirm.
One thousand meters was higher than I preferred, but the city sisters disliked extremely low-flying craft, especially those on modified manual, even with a transponder.

Light-off two.

With both engines online, I fed all power to the diverters. The nightflitter eased skyward vertically, burning power like credits spent on the South Bank until I dropped the nose slightly and began to transition to forward flight, turning to the northwest in a gentle bank. I leveled out on my departure vector, at exactly 1,001 AGL.

Below me, the city spread out like light-jewels sprinkled on black velvet. The Nouvelle Seine shimmered like a shiny black ribbon, and Bergerac lay just above the western horizon, almost baleful in its redness. I concentrated on the scanner reads, but the air was mostly clear. A long-haul scrammer was setting down at Esthavre.

Once clear of Thurene ACS, I went manual, blanked the transponder, and activated the stealth active features. Then I banked into a snap turn that left me on a heading of 015. I didn't want to go there, but those hills were the closest.

After twenty minutes, I dropped to 500 AGL and slid around the Piedmont Hills and into the Somme Valley, following the river back eastward. The ACS tracking system had doubtless alerted the satellite scan and accessed their feeds what I'd done when I'd gone stealth. That wouldn't help. Nothing short of IS or Assembly SpecOps tech would have even had a chance of detecting me. And my acts weren't illegal. Just out of the ordinary.

The lights along the Somme were spread apart, like the stars on the fringe, and the hillside vineyards and the forests above were dark.

I checked course line and plot, called both up for a visual check. Fifteen minutes to the southwest corner of Eloi's Time's End estate. I couldn't help but wonder whose time.

Satellite scan detected and neutralized.

I smiled at that. If Officer Javerr wanted to check satellite feeds, he'd find nothing there.

The nightflitter and I slipped through the shadows of darkness.

ETA in five.

I checked the plot. Right on course.

Bandits on intercept!

Intercept? How? I'd tested the nightflitter against the best WDF alert systems, and they'd never detected me. I pushed that thought away and checked the vectors.

Three combat flitters with the low profile of RPs were definitely screaming toward me. I'd worry about the detection later.

I checked the terrain profile, then ran a quick calculation. The three had moved into a reverse V—an enveloping maneuver, designed to force me down into the terrain. That was fine with me. I dived for the deck and activated full restraints.

The lead flitter followed but stayed above me. They wouldn't use missiles or cannon. Not at first. They'd be programmed to force an “accident.” That would mean using nanoshields or something to force “controlled flight into terrain,” as the old, old phrase went. I leveled out at less than a hundred meters above the ground. Above the treetops, really.

As the lead RPF accelerated toward my tail, I deployed the air brakes—nanetic extensions of my shields—then waited just enough that the RPF overlapped my shields, before I dropped the brakes and accelerated up.

I slammed into the trailing edge of the RPF's shields. The RPF automatically shrank its shields to avoid being destabilized. That allowed me to get on top and behind. My shields were stronger, and my engines more powerful. In instants, the first RPF pinwheeled downward. The stabilization systems operated well enough that it hit flat, making an oval depression in the pine forest. Before long, flames would be flashing skyward.

Still playing prey, I turned southeast, toward a low ridgeline.

Instants before I should have crashed into the trees at the crest, I angle-banked right, then flipped back left behind the ridge before accelerating almost out of the trees at the flanking flitter. My course looked like a collision course, and that would have been fine with the operator/system controlling the RPF. Except…at the last instant, as programmed and executed by my systems—even my reflexes aren't that fast—the nightflitter angled left and extended shields.

The impact unbalanced the RPF enough that it slewed and lost lift. Losing lift at a hundred meters AGL at that velocity is usually cause for an impact resulting in maximum structural damage to the airframe. That occurred with a satisfactory shock wave.

The third RPF immediately turned and tried to accelerate back toward Time's End.

That didn't work either, because the nightflitter was faster.

I just gained enough altitude to use my shields to pancake it into another stand of trees.

With the three flitters out of the way, I banked the nightflitter and dropped to less than a hundred meters AGL and swept along the southern perimeter of the estate. The readings from the remote links indicated that Lemmy's gadget was detecting something, but there were also massive energy sources on the estate. They read like they were dreadnought emanations, or even almost miniature black hole generators.

As soon as I had what I needed, I banked back south and screamed toward Thurene. There was no point in seeing what other defenses Time's End had. Not yet. Not when every muscle in my body was sore from the gee forces I'd pulled and when my head was throbbing as if being pounded by a heavy rubber mallet.

I left behind three fires burning in the pines. They'd be traced to Eloi's flitters, and that meant he'd have to pay for containing the fires and/or explain what he was doing with three military-class RPFs. At least, I hoped he would. That wasn't something I was counting on, though.

As I headed back to Thurene and the villa, I had to consider four factors. First, I'd been detected—and I'd been detected from a goodly distance. Second, the detector had confirmed that Legaar was using equipment that infringed on Lemmy's patents. Third, there was a massive energy-generation facility on the estate. Fourth, from detection to the RP attack flitters, high-level military equipment was being used. I'd have bet it wasn't from Devantan or Assembly sources, either.

The results from the energy detectors supported the fact that the research center was no shell. Hidden somewhere on Legaar's estate was a facility producing enough energy to power half of Thurene. Energy generation of that magnitude didn't take place unless someone was using it.

Another thing struck me. Why had it been so easy for me to take down the RPFs when they'd been able to detect me so early? Their maneuvering suggested human operators rather than instant AIs, and that didn't seem to make sense. The other problem was that, if Legaar or his henchmen could remove me from a limo…why not from a nightflitter?

It did make some sense for Legaar to locate whatever he had going with Classic Research at Time's End. If you're going to break the law, do it where no one can prove it. What bothered me about the setup was something else. Legaar Eloi had more than enough credits to pay royalty fees—even exorbitant ones. Why hadn't he? From what I'd discovered so far, he wasn't given to willful lawbreaking. In fact, all the filings and records suggested that he'd gone to great length to keep everything legitimate.

All of that suggested I'd gotten involved in far more than I'd ever anticipated.

As I approached the ACS boundary, I de-stealthed the nightflitter and climbed back to 1000 meters AGL. Then I requested an inbound vector.

Interrogative origin?

Thurene. Completion round-trip flight. No landings. Plan on file.

The system might hiccup inconsistencies to real controllers, but what could anyone say? I had done a round-trip. I was returning docilely to the fold.

As I settled the flitter back down into the courtyard, I vowed I wasn't about to go anywhere on Domen. Not when I was going to need most of Domen to recover from the stress I'd put on my body and system.