The Dark Lady

by Mike Resnick

  “But why?” I asked, still stunned. “I have served you faithfully. I have obtained your portraits. I have not betrayed you. You have everything you could possibly want. Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because I didn't get what I paid for.”

  “You did! I went to New Rhodesia and to— ”

  “I paid for your loyalty!”

  “You received it. You have been too long alone, and you see enemies everywhere, but you have none.”

  “I'll be the judge of that. And after I finish with that little bastard Venzia,” he promised, “you're going to wish you didn't have any enemies!”

  “But— ”

  “If you're still on my property in thirty seconds, I'm calling the police.”

  And so, humiliated and miserable, I returned to my barren room, more isolated than I had ever been in my life.

  Perhaps twenty times I began to write to my Pattern Mother, to explain the situation and Abercrombie's paranoid interpretation of it, but each time I got no more than two or three lines into the letter before I stopped. There was simply no way I could explain or excuse the fact of my termination. Personal dishonor would have been reprehensible enough, but I had dishonored the House, perhaps the entire race of Bjornn.

  Suicide seemed the only possible course of action, yet suicide at this moment might bring even greater dishonor upon the House of Crsthionn, since I was still officially on an exchange program with the Claiborne Galleries and I had commitments to keep. In truth, I needed the ethical guidance of my Pattern Mother, but since it was she whom I had dishonored, I could not bring myself to ask for it.

  I finally decided that I would tender my resignation when Tai Chong reopened the gallery the next morning, and the moment she accepted it I would return to my room and find the oblivion I now longed for.

  PART 2

  The Man Who Stole It All

  7.

  I went to the Claiborne galleries the next morning and asked for an audience with Tai Chong. While I was waiting to see her, I paced restlessly through the public display area, staring at the various pieces without really seeing them. After a few minutes had passed and she still had not called me into her office, I walked to the back of the gallery and sat down at my desk, glancing at the data that had accumulated in my computer file without reading it. A moment later Hector Rayburn approached me with an amused grin on his face.

  “I hear Abercrombie finally sacked you,” he said.

  “That is true, Friend Hector,” I replied.

  “Well, you stuck it out longer than any of us thought you would,” he continued. “Welcome back.”

  “I am only here to see Tai Chong.”

  “Oh? Are you going back to Bjornn?”

  “My world is Benitarus II,” I replied. “My people are the Bjornn.”

  “Same difference,” he said with a shrug. “Is that where you're going?”

  “No, Friend Hector,” I said truthfully, since the dishonored are not permitted burial within the Benitarus system.

  He seemed to lose interest in my future. “What's Abercrombie like?” he asked eagerly. “Is he as rich and crazy as they say?”

  “He is quite wealthy, Friend Hector,” I said, sneaking a brief look at Tai Chong's closed office door. “I am not competent to analyze his mental state.”

  “Did you find any paintings of that woman for him?”

  “A few,” I said.

  He stared at me. “What's the matter with you today, Leonardo? Usually you're so full of talk and questions that I can't keep up with you. Today you're acting like you've lost your best friend.”

  “I have been disgraced.”

  “How?”

  “Malcolm Abercrombie fired me for disloyalty,” I said, my color reflecting my humiliation.

  “So what?” said Rayburn. “I've been fired three times, and I'll probably be fired five more. It's an occupational hazard, that's all. When it happens, you have a drink, you get laid, and you forget about it.” He paused. “Hell, you don't even have to hunt up another job. You've still got one with Claiborne.”

  “It is not that simple, Friend Hector.”

  “It's precisely that simple, Leonardo,” he responded. “You Bjornns just don't have the right perspective.”

  “But it is our perspective,” I replied, “and it is the one with which I must live.”

  My computer interrupted to say that Tai Chong was now ready to see me.

  “Look,” said Rayburn, “after you get through with her, stop by my desk and we'll go out and hang one on. I know a little place about three blocks from here that'll serve anyone.” He smiled suddenly. “It'll be my treat.”

  “I thank you for your offer and your friendship, Friend Hector,” I said, rising to my feet, “but I must refuse it.”

  He shrugged. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

  I promised that I would do so, and then walked over to Tai Chong's door, stood in front of the sensor until it had identified me, and entered the office as the door slid into the wall.

  “Leonardo,” she said, standing up and walking over to take my hand. “I'm so sorry about this mix-up!”

  “The fault is mine, Great Lady,” I said. “I have dishonored the Claiborne Galleries and the House of Crsthionn.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, brushing aside my confession. “That bigot managed to hunt down less than thirty paintings in a quarter of a century. You found him two in a month and he had the temerity to fire you!”

  I stood motionless for a moment, trying to assimilate what she had said. At last I found my voice.

  “Am I to understand that you are not angry with me, Great Lady?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But I was fired.”

  “Without cause.”

  “It was for speaking with Reuben Venzia.”

  “Freedom of speech and freedom of association are a couple of universal rights that seem to have escaped Malcolm Abercrombie's attention,” she said contemptuously. She gestured toward her vidphone. “I was in the process of reminding him of them when you arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “You must not antagonize him on my account, Great Lady,” I said, my color reflecting my distress.

  “I did it for Claiborne,” she replied firmly. “Nobody goes around abusing my employees!”

  “That is what I wish to speak to you about.”

  “My speaking with Abercrombie?”

  “No. My position as one of your employees.”

  “Of course you're one of my employees,” she said reassuringly.

  “I am here to submit my resignation.”

  She looked surprised. “Your resignation? What are you talking about, Leonardo?”

  “I have dishonored my House.”

  “You have not.”

  “We come from different cultures, and it would be meaningless to argue the point with you, Great Lady,” I said.

  “Then don't argue it.”

  “I will not. But I must insist that you accept my resignation.”

  “Have you applied for another job” she asked sharply.

  “No, Great Lady.”

  She relaxed slightly. “What will you do if I accept your resignation? Return to your House?”

  “I will perform the ritual of suicide.”

  “You'll do what?” she demanded, her expression one of shock.

  “I will take my own life to abrogate the dishonor I have brought upon the House of Crsthionn.”

  “Just because you were fired?” she asked disbelievingly.

  “Yes.”

  “But that's insane!”

  “To a human, perhaps,” I replied calmly. “But to a Bjornn, it is both proper and expected.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “I can't permit you to kill yourself, Leonardo.”

  “It is not your decision, Great Lady.”

  “Let's discuss it calmly and rationally,” she said, flustered.

  “I mean no offense, Great Lady, but I w
ould much prefer that you accept my resignation with all due haste, as I must write my Pattern Mother and put certain of my affairs in order before performing the ritual.”

  She stared at me silently for a moment. Then an expression of dawning comprehension briefly crossed her face, and she cleared her throat and spoke.

  “You could have taken your life last night,” she said, listening carefully to her own words as if each sentence might lead her to the next. “You could have done it this morning. And yet you came to my office first, and you insist that I accept your resignation.” She paused and looked intently into my eyes. “What if I refuse to accept your resignation, Leonardo?”

  “It had never occurred to me that you might not honor my request, Great Lady.”

  She continued staring at me. “Your House signed an exchange contract with Claiborne,” she said at last. “Your House,” she repeated slowly, accentuating the word, “not you. What if I insist that you honor that commitment?”

  I sighed. “If you refuse my resignation, then I shall have to fulfill my House's obligation to you.”

  “And you won't kill yourself?”

  “I will not perform the ritual until my obligation to you is over.”

  “Then your resignation is refused,” she said decisively.

  “You are a very intelligent woman,” I said ruefully.

  “And you are a very live employee of the Claiborne Galleries,” she replied with a relieved smile. “At least for the next ten months.”

  “Nine months and twenty-three days,” I corrected her.

  “We'll discuss it further when we're both in better spirits,” she said. She exhaled deeply, as if dismissing the subject for the present. “In the meantime, you're going back to work for Malcolm Abercrombie.”

  “He will never take me back.”

  She grinned triumphantly. “He already has.”

  “But why?” I asked.

  She held up a small hologram of a painting. “Does the subject look familiar?” she asked.

  I stared at it. It was a portrait of Abercrombie's mysterious woman.

  “I recognize the model,” I replied. “But I have not seen this painting before.”

  “No one on Far London has.” She paused. “When Abercrombie contacted me yesterday to inform me that he had fired you, I of course demanded the reason. Once I found out that Venzia had approached you, it occurred to me that he wouldn't have done so unless he thought you had something— or could get something— that he needed. So I spent a few hours going through all the electronic brochures we receive each week for upcoming auctions and private sales, and I came up with this.” She indicated the hologram. “Is this what he wants?”

  “Just the information, Great Lady,” I said. “Not the painting itself. He collects information about the woman the way Abercrombie collects her portraits.”

  “I wonder why?”

  “I do not know, Great Lady.”

  She paused, as if considering Venzia's interest, then shrugged. “At any rate, this portrait is being sold by Valentine Heath, a collector we've dealt with a number of times in the past. He prefers to sell directly to us, rather than go through the bother and uncertainty of an auction.” She paused. “When you arrived, I was telling Abercrombie that we'd found another portrait of his lady, and that a condition of our obtaining it for him was his willingness to rehire you and offer written apologies to you, Claiborne, and the House of Crsthionn.”

  “He is a proud man,” I said. “Surely he did not agree to your terms.”

  “He is also an obsessed man,” she replied.

  “He agreed?”

  She smiled. “He agreed. You're back in his employ.”

  “But I don't want to go back!” I blurted out, surprising myself with my audacity.

  “Surely it's preferable to suicide.”

  “Suicide is honorable,” I said. “There is nothing honorable about working for a man who holds me in contempt and thinks me a liar.”

  “Prove to him that he's wrong.”

  “But— ”

  “Look, Leonardo,” she interrupted. “Hector teases me because I'm always campaigning for our alien brothers, and in a way he's right: I make a lot of speeches and go on a lot of marches, but I never accomplish anything tangible. Well, this is my opportunity to actually do something, and teach a very distasteful man a very distasteful lesson at the same time.” She paused and smiled at me. “And the fact that you're a Claiborne employee is going to make it all the sweeter.”

  “But couldn't someone else go to work for Mr. Abercrombie?” I asked. “Not only do we dislike one another, but my reason for being here is to learn your methodology and increase my exposure to different schools of artwork, neither of which I have done since I began working for him.”

  She shook her head. “You're the one he fired; you're the one he's got to take back. Besides, how can I give lip service to total equality and then not enforce it when I finally have the chance?” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Don't look so glum, Leonardo. I even got him to make substantial reparations to your House.”

  “You did?”

  “Absolutely. Nobody abuses my aliens.”

  “I am most grateful to you, Great Lady,” I said sincerely.

  “You can prove it by not killing yourself,” said Tai Chong.

  “I promised that I would not perform the ritual while I am in your employ,” I assured her.

  “You still plan to do it when you leave?” she asked, surprised. “Even though he's agreed to take you back?”

  “I do not know,” I answered. “I will require ethical guidance from my Pattern Mother.”

  “But surely she'll tell you not to! Your House is getting more money now than they were originally!”

  “It is the money of a guilty conscience,” I replied.

  “Nonsense!” she snapped. “It's the money of a stupid bigot who made a serious blunder and had to pay for it.”

  “I shall take your assessment under advisement,” I said noncommittally.

  “We'll talk about it again at a later date,” she promised. There was an uneasy pause. “I have a feeling that our interview is over, Leonardo.”

  “Then am I to report to Mr. Abercrombie now?”

  She shook her head. “No. As a matter of fact, I've already arranged for your passage to Charlemagne.”

  “To Charlemagne, Great Lady?”

  “I am not unaware of your feelings toward Mr. Abercrombie,” she said. “And someone has to authenticate Valentine Heath's painting.” She paused uncomfortably. “I was unable to purchase a first-class compartment for you, Leonardo. They simply will not allow you to occupy it.”

  “I take no offense, Great Lady.”

  “Well, I do,” she said. “To make amends, I've reserved the Director's Suite for you at the finest hotel on Charlemagne.”

  “Charlemagne is very near the center of the Oligarchy,” I said.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied, staring at me questioningly.

  “My field of expertise is the work of the Albion Cluster, which is at the edge of the Inner Frontier. Surely you will require someone else to authenticate the painting.”

  “According to Valentine, it's only two years old,” she replied. “Just have him introduce you to the artist and you'll have authenticated it as far as I'm concerned.”

  “But I do not know how to appraise or value it, Great Lady,” I protested.

  “It makes no difference. Whatever we pay Valentine, we'll make a profit when we resell it to Abercrombie.”

  “Then, since it is only two years old and you do not care about its value, why send anyone at all to authenticate it?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Two reasons,” she replied. “First of all, I intend to bill Abercrombie for every expense you incur on the trip— and I want you to take your time on Charlemagne. View it as a paid vacation.”

  “And the second reason?”

  “I don't know much about the woman who appears in the pai
ntings,” she continued. “But it's obvious from the extent of Abercrombie's collection that she lived and died a very long time ago— which means that the artist who painted Heath's picture must have had some source material. See if you can find out what it was. If it's a work of art maybe it will be for sale, too, and we can purchase it for Abercrombie.” She paused. “And one other thing, Leonardo.”

  “Yes, Great Lady?”

  “If Reuben Venzia contacts you again, tell him you've considered his offer and you're willing to deal with him.”

  “But that would be unethical.”

  “We have, for all practical purposes, already purchased Valentine Heath's painting. There is no possible way Venzia can get his hands on it— but if he's got information that might prove useful to us, we don't want to shut off all communication with him.”

  “And what of Malcolm Abercrombie, who fired me yesterday for precisely what you are ordering me to do this morning?” I asked, suddenly aware of the irony of the situation.

  “You leave Abercrombie to me,” she said with grim determination. She got to her feet and escorted me to the door. “Everything will work out for the best.” She placed a number of documents in my hand. “This,” she said, gesturing to one of them, “is your Employment Pass, which will give you access to all public buildings on Charlemagne. They're pretty sophisticated out there,” she added, “and I doubt that anyone will ask to see it. And this,” she said, pointing to another, “is your Class B Passport, which will allow you to travel within five hundred light-years of Charlemagne for a period of thirty days, in case the artist is on some nearby world. And since we don't have an office in that system, this is the code number for a line of credit I've established with the Charlemagne branch of the Trustees’ Bank. It's cued to your voiceprint, since your retinagram keeps confusing the security sensors. You can draw up to twenty thousand credits.” She paused. “That's just in case Abercrombie has second thoughts about honoring his commitment to you. I assume you have his account and credit numbers?”

  “Yes, Great Lady.”

  “This is a hologram of Valentine Heath, so you'll be able to recognize him at the spaceport.”

  “I should think it would be far easier for him to recognize a Bjornn disembarking from a human ship, Great Lady.”