by C. J. Ryan
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Opatnu said at last.
“My pleasure,” Gloria said.
“Mine too,” he said, breaking into a grin. His teeth were so white that it almost hurt to look at them.
Gloria started to reach for him, almost reflexively, but managed to divert her motion in another direction, and wound up standing up again, even though she had just sat down.
“Uh…can I get you something to drink…Eli?”
“No thank you…Gloria. I’m fine.”
“Yes, I can see that. I mean, uh, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the work you’ve done in Sector 19.”
“I have a full squad of creative publicists at work night and day,” he explained. “Oddly enough, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about you.”
“I’m the shy, retiring type,” Gloria said. “And may I ask, what brings you here today?”
“I think you know,” Opatnu said.
Gloria nodded, then sat down next to him again.
“You’ve started an investigation in my Sector,” he said. “I hoped you could give me an explanation.”
“Perhaps,” Gloria said. “But first, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me how you heard about the investigation.”
“Oh,” he said vaguely, “I have my sources.”
“I’m sure you do,” Gloria agreed. “And I’d like to know who those sources are. An OSI investigation is supposed to be secret, at least at this point in the process. Sector Administration has not yet been officially notified.”
“I understand that, Gloria,” Opatnu said. “However, I’m sure you must understand that I can’t reveal my sources. Let’s just say that I keep an ear to the ground.”
“I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you…Eli,” Gloria said, meaning every word. “But I’m very concerned about this lapse in OSI security. By any chance, did you hear something about this from anyone in Quadrant?”
Opatnu shrugged. “If I did—and I’m not confirming or denying anything—I certainly wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you. Let it go, Gloria. Pursuing this isn’t going to get either one of us anything.”
“It’s not something I can ignore, Eli. If someone from this office—or elsewhere in Dexta—is leaking restricted information, I need to know about it. I cannot have OSI operations compromised, or my people endangered, by lax security and loose lips.”
“I seriously doubt that anyone is being endangered,” Opatnu said. He sat up a little straighter on the couch and his gaze was no longer as open and friendly as it had been. Neither was Gloria’s.
“I have a team on Staghorn,” she said. “If someone has already sent word of their mission via messenger or courier, it’s possible that they could be in some jeopardy. This is not simply some bureaucratic turf battle, Eli. I need to know how you found out about the investigation.”
“I can’t help you,” Opatnu said. He got to his feet and she got to hers.
“Then I can’t help you, either. You’ll be informed about the investigation in due course, through proper channels. And if you or any of your people in Sector get in the way, the OSI will come down on you so hard, you’ll wonder what hit you.”
Opatnu nodded. “All right,” he said, “if that’s the way you want to play it.” He took a step toward the door, then pivoted sharply, grabbed Gloria by her shoulders, pulled her to him, and gave her a long, smoldering kiss that she found herself returning with full intensity. It was at least a minute before they broke.
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Gloria told him.
“I know,” he said, and left.
But it did.
THE COLONY ON NEW CAMBRIDGE, 362 LIGHT-YEARS from Earth, was founded in the year 2367 by a party of young emigrants who had recently graduated from Harvard and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Wishing to make it clear that the Cambridge they were honoring was the one in New, rather than Old, England, they assigned the major settlements on the planet’s two continents place names that came from the ancient American city they had left. Thus, on the west coast of the western continent stood the great city of Brattle, complemented on the east coast of the eastern continent by the metropolis of Kendall. Between the two lay the planet’s greatest city, Central. It was situated on the east coast of the western continent, facing the Dardanelles-like, thirty-mile-wide strait that separated the two landmasses.
In the eight-and-a-half centuries since the colony’s founding, the population of New Cambridge had swollen to over 10 billion, and it had become the most important and prosperous world in all of Quadrant 4. Indeed, in the entire Empire, only Earth and two or three other planets could rival it. Pug Ellison’s ancestors had been among the founders, and his family had done its part in promoting the colony’s growth. They had profited accordingly, as Petra fully realized for the first time when the limo skimmer brought them to the gates of the Ellison Compound north of Central, high on a shelf of the cliff overlooking the straits.
“Your front yard is bigger than Weehawken,” Petra noted.
“Yes, but we don’t have a backyard at all, thanks to the cliff face.”
“No backyard? Driver, take me back to the port! I’ll be damned if I’m going to stay with some lowlife no-account who doesn’t even have a backyard.”
“Would it help if I told you that I have a bed that’s also bigger than Weehawken?”
“Suitable for team sports, no doubt?”
“I prefer one-on-one, myself. But if you’d like, we could call in the staff and choose up sides.”
“Hmm,” Petra hummed. “We’ll save that for later, I think…in case I get bored in this cheap dump of yours. Spirit, Pug, just how rich are you, anyhow?”
“So rich,” he said, “that numbers really have no meaning. Seriously, I couldn’t tell you the family’s net worth within the nearest trillion crowns.”
They debarked from the limo at a side entrance to the immense edifice that Pug called home. The building reminded Petra of an ancient European cathedral. It appeared to have been hacked out of the same rocks as the cliff face that soared behind it, looming a thousand feet above in the crisp, blue sky. She had never seen a house with flying buttresses.
The inside was cavernous and as intimidating as the exterior. The entrance anteroom—Petra thought of it as a mudroom—was larger than the apartment she had grown up in. Pug led her onward through columned corridors and nameless rooms hung with vast, ornate tapestries. Their footsteps echoed on the polished marble floor.
“Where are the gargoyles?” Petra wondered. “There ought to be gargoyles.”
“You mean my parents?” Pug asked with a smirk. “Right this way, I think.”
Sure enough, the next room they entered contained an immense hearth with a blazing fire, complex chandeliers hanging from a high, vaulted ceiling, plush furniture of mahogany and gold satin, and sitting on it, Pug’s parents. They got to their feet and greeted their son with smiles that seemed cool but genuine. Pug didn’t quite hug his mother, but gave her an affectionate kiss on her cheek, then turned to his father and shook hands as if closing a business agreement.
“Mother, Father,” he said, “you’re both looking well. It’s wonderful to see you again.”
“It’s been more than a year, dear,” his mother said. “Far too long. And who is this delightful creature?”
“This,” Pug said proudly, “is Petra.”
Petra stepped forward and extended her hand to Mrs. Ellison, who offered her own in return. It was cool and limp. Mr. Ellison’s grip was strong and confident, and he gazed at Petra with evident appreciation. Pug’s parents, she knew, were both in their eighties but, thanks to antigerontologicals, looked half that. His mother was slim and fair-haired, with frosty blue eyes and an arctic smile. His father had the same friendly, open face as his son, but with a hint of gray in his hair and crinkly, skeptical eyes.
“So pleased to meet you at last, dear,”
said Mrs. Ellison. “Palmer has mentioned you, of course, but it’s so difficult to truly know someone based on sketchy descriptions.”
“But accurate, it would seem,” added Mr. Ellison. “I recall words such as ‘beautiful’ and ‘wonderful’ and ‘charming.’ ”
Petra found herself on the verge of a blush. She had dressed for this grand meeting in a modest but slightly saucy blue dress, with a neckline deep enough to have attracted Mr. Ellison’s attention. This was the first time she had ever really gone through this particular ritual—Meeting Your Man’s Family—and she wasn’t entirely sure how to approach the event. The fact that it was taking place in a room the size of a Transit station complicated matters; what should have been an intimate gathering seemed more like a state occasion. She felt like an ambassador presenting her credentials to some lofty monarchs.
“It’s wonderful to meet you both,” Petra said, smiling. She looked around her. “Nice little place you have here.”
“It serves,” Mr. Ellison said modestly. “But any home can always stand to be brightened by the presence of a beautiful and charming young woman.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Ellison. She took Petra by the hand and led her to a divan. “Now, dear, sit down and tell us all about yourself.”
“I WAS BORN IN NEW JERSEY, AND I’VE WORKED for Dexta two-and-a-half years.” Petra slapped herself in the forehead and flopped over backward onto the bed-the-size-of-Weehawken. “Spirit! I sounded like I was applying for a job. I sounded like an idiot!”
“Most everyone does when they first meet my parents,” Pug said. “Ordinary people tend to get tongue-tied in the presence of overblown opulence. But you’ll get over it.”
“Will they? I mean, first impressions are supposed to be important, aren’t they? By now, your parents have probably concluded that their son is infatuated with some brainless peasant girl.”
Pug smiled. “They’d have thought that no matter what you said. Relax, they’ll get over it and so will you. They’re just people, Petra.”
“Yes,” Petra protested, “but I can tell that they were expecting…more, somehow. I mean, you told them I was beautiful. Gloria’s beautiful! I’m just…cute. Cute and little.”
“You look beautiful to me,” Pug said, staring at her naked body. “And as for your size, I think we fit just fine.” Pug crawled on top of her and started to demonstrate, but Petra twisted over and tried to crawl away from him.
“Race you to the other side,” she challenged.
Pug grabbed her leg and held her in place. “Too dangerous,” he said. “You might get lost under the sheets. Even worse, you might run into some of my old girlfriends under there.”
That got Petra’s attention. She reached back and grabbed Pug by the nose. “Old girlfriends?” she demanded. “You told me they were all dead, or in convents.”
“Well, they are, with one or two exceptions…oww!”
“And what about those exceptions, huh?”
“Well,” Pug said, trying to extract his nose from Petra’s grip, “you might meet some of them at the party next week. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. I mean, you can see how big this bed is…yowww!”
“That’s a Qatsima grip Gloria taught me. Would you like to see some more?”
“Not just now, thank you.” Pug managed to free himself.
Petra stretched out on her back and stared upward, trying to make out the details of some preposterous mural on the ceiling. Pug lay next to her and amused himself by playing with her small, round breasts. He toyed with her nipples until they were fully erect, then leaned over and kissed them. Petra squirmed for a bit, then sighed contentedly.
“Are those billygoats or satyrs up there?”
“What kind of parents would put satyrs on their son’s ceiling? They’re goats, and those are cows, and pigs, and chickens…the Ellisons started out here as farmers, you see. That section of the mural commemorates our agricultural roots. Over there, you can see the industrial era, and off in that corner you see commerce, science, and philanthropy.”
“And what kind of parents would put the family history on their son’s ceiling?” Petra wondered.
Pug shrugged. “Ambitious ones?”
“How do they feel about their only son being at Dexta?”
“They aren’t thrilled about it,” Pug conceded.
Petra propped herself up on one elbow and looked into Pug’s face. “And how do they feel about your being my assistant?”
“That,” Pug said with a rueful nod, “does bother them a bit. Understand, it’s not simply that you outrank me. It’s that anyone outranks me. They think I ought to have Mingus’s job. Well, in a year or two, anyway.”
“Can’t have it,” Petra told him. “That job’s reserved for Gloria. And when she gets it, I’ll be her gatekeeper…which will make me the most powerful woman in the Empire!”
“Be sure to mention that to my parents. That would impress them.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” She put her arms around his neck and pulled him on top of her. “Now, about those old girlfriends. Did any of them ever do this?”
“Is that some kind of Qatsima move?” Pug managed to grunt.
“Nope. That’s a Petra move.”
“Better yet,” Pug gasped.
GLORIA MARCHED THROUGH THE OUTER OFFICE of Quadrant 4 Administrator Cornell DuBray and into his inner sanctum, feeling a mixture of resentment and trepidation. He had summoned her and she had come, but she still had no clear idea of how she would handle the situation. Her indecision was even reflected in her clothing—a relatively modest dark miniskirt, and a light blue, nearly transparent blouse which she had finally decided to leave unbuttoned to the waist. She was determined not to be intimidated by DuBray; on the other hand, Eric Manko intimidated the hell out of her.
She found DuBray waiting for her in his inner office, flanked by the three other Quadrant Administrators. They were standing next to one another, like a firing squad. Gloria stared at them in silence for several moments. No one offered her a chair.
One of them, Manton Grigsby from Quadrant 2, Gloria already knew slightly from her days in Sector 8. He was a small, dapper, efficient man, and had held his present position for just six years, which made him the junior Quad Admin. Next to him, on DuBray’s left, stood Mustafa Algeciras, a swarthy, somewhat portly man from a colony world in Quadrant 3. He was the highest-ranking nonterrestrial in Dexta, making him highly visible and politically indispensable.
Standing to DuBray’s right was Elsinore Chandra, a woman Gloria had admired from afar for years. She had been the Quadrant 1 Administrator for nearly as long as Gloria had been alive, and was a certified Dexta legend. Chandra was over a hundred now, but still looked slinky and seductive, with a long woven braid of dark hair thrown casually over her left shoulder and descending nearly to the floor. Her features were sharp and distinct, with large brown eyes that appraised Gloria with professional interest. Chandra had been the Gloria VanDeen of her day, Dexta’s most prominent Tiger of the mid-thirty-second century. Whenever Gloria found herself wondering if it was really possible to succeed as a Dexta Tiger, she would think of Chandra and know that it was.
“Thank you for coming,” DuBray said with a perfunctory but oily smile. “Mr. Grigsby, Mr. Algeciras, and Ms. Chandra and I thought it might be useful for you to meet with us and get a few things straight. We probably should have done this sooner, but we wanted to see how you and your Office of Strategic Intervention performed. Frankly, some of us didn’t expect you—or it—to last very long.”
“I’m still here,” Gloria said. She nodded toward Grigsby. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Grigsby.”
“And you, Ms. VanDeen,” Grigsby said, smiling a little. Gloria stepped toward him and shook his hand.
Then she offered her hand to Algeciras, who took it in both of his own hands, kissed it, and looked into her eyes. “A pleasure to meet you at last, Ms. VanDeen. I look forward to getting to know you much better, b
ut for now, it seems we must tend to business.” He released her hand as if letting a captive bird fly away.
She didn’t bother to greet DuBray, but turned to Chandra and offered her a warm smile as they clasped hands. “Ms. Chandra,” she said, “it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve been an admirer of yours for a long time.”
“And I have taken note of you, as well, Ms. VanDeen. You play the game rather nicely, I think. You are off to an excellent start at Dexta. But it would be a shame to see such a promising career derailed.”
“Derailed?”
“It’s not really your fault,” Chandra said. “I blame Norman Mingus entirely. I told that old goat what a monumentally bad idea this Office of Strategic Intervention of his was. But he hasn’t listened to me since I kicked him out of my bedroom, twenty years ago. I gather that you aren’t fucking him, though, are you? Is that your choice, or his?”
“I don’t think that’s really any of your business,” Gloria replied.
“No,” Chandra said, “I suppose it’s not. No more than it’s any of my business that Cornell sicced his pet psychopath on you for not putting out.” She gave DuBray a not-very-friendly glance.
“I seem to recall a time,” DuBray said, smirking at Chandra, “when you had a virtual platoon of handsome young Hammers at your disposal, Elsie.”
“Maybe I did,” Chandra sniffed, “but at least I never had to have anyone beaten up to get him to go to bed with me.” She looked back at Gloria. “I admire your grit, Ms. VanDeen, if not your good sense. You must realize that if you intend to remain in Dexta, the day will eventually come when you find yourself having sex with Cornell DuBray. It’s not really as awful as you might imagine. I lived through it, dear, and so will you.”
“Thank you, Elsie, for that ringing endorsement. But leaving personal matters to one side for the moment, the purpose of this meeting, Ms. VanDeen, is to acquaint you with some realities. The four of us are presenting what you might call a United Front against the Office of Strategic Intervention, and we wanted you—and Norman—to understand that we mean business.”
