He stopped at their table. “Cyr Vesant?”
The silver-haired woman extended her hand and they shook, Empire-style etiquette for business dealings. “I see my description was no problem.”
“That, and the fact you’re the only people in the room.”
She laughed, a belly laugh. “Sit with us, youngster. There aren’t many on this ship who can get a total for two plus two, in any base. It’s been a damned long trip from Baret One.”
She spoke perfect Empire Standard, but to Tal’s ear there was something about the way she put her grammar together, and a slight accenting of certain words, that suggested she was a long way from home. Empire Standard left a lot of room for variation … where had he heard that style before? Vakrist?
He took a chair. “I doubt that you had an enjoyable time while you were on Baret One either. You must be glad to be returning.”
“Oh, I’m not taking ship here for Baret Two. Nor do I return to the place of terminal boredom we just left. I’m from out-sector, youngster; I’m waiting for the sector-gate.”
“I see.” Gate travel was wildly expensive; Tal had had to take that route before he met Adrian, but it had meant major conniving.
“Not that I’ve told the ship’s steward yet. I figure to wait till the last minute, then walk out—so much easier to deal with Republic paperwork that way.”
He said, “Forgive me for attending to business, Cyr Vesant—”
“Ah, an efficient youngster! He listens to his elders maunder on, but brings the conversation back to its goals. Bravo. You know, I was quite surprised when my companion here told me that someone was asking the sorts of questions you were asking. You’re not a Baret native, are you?”
“Not precisely.”
“Did you know that the Three Cities have come to Baret System? You must have heard something of it, my friend. Three enormous ripe peaches, hanging low on the branch beside this very station. Such excitement when they appeared! Such accents when they speak, I’m told. And it’s fascinating, is it not, to imagine so many people traveling so far, without ever passing through a gate?”
“I suppose.”
“Not that you care! You make it plain in your voice. Well, no doubt you’re right; since gate travel is so much more efficient, why should we pay attention to a backwater of ancient culture, regardless of how it chooses to stroll the universe? Your own accent is quite good, cyr.”
“Thank you. May I ask—”
“Still, one cannot help but wonder about a people who follow an unholy mixture of Old Earth myth and alien missionary teaching. Considering the Curosa went on their pretty way centuries ago, our Three Cities friends might be pardoned for cultivating new concerns. As you yourself have, evidently.”
“Cyr, your message—”
“But it is time we got down to business,” she said. “You asked about Belleraphon.”
Tal blinked. “Yes.”
“I’ve not met this Belleraphon, mind you, but I have heard of him. I cannot tell you where he is; but I can tell you where he was.” She paused.
Tal lifted the perfectly legal traveling pack he had brought with him from the Diamond, and opened it on the table to reveal stacks of genetically imprinted NetBank notes. “Actual living paper,” he said. “It’s so much more transportable than account credit.”
Cyr Vesant’s eyes widened. Her companion showed no reaction. Cyr Vesant’s hand reached toward the notes in a movement that seemed involuntary. Tal closed the pack. Her eyes went to his face. “My young friend,” she whispered, “where did you come by all this money?”
Tal was silent.
Cyr Vesant continued to stare, and he saw a frown form on her face. “My friend … how old are you?”
He made no answer.
She leaned back in her chair. “Well, well.” She turned to her companion. “An interesting acquaintance we’ve made, don’t you think?”
The red-haired woman did not reply. Cyr Vesant addressed Tal. “I have a proposition for you, my friend who may not be so young.” Her eyes shifted back and forth between him and the red-haired woman. “It’s a cold, lonely universe. Allow me to remedy this for you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Tal said.
“Tell me,” said Cyr Vesant, lounging back farther and crossing her legs, “have you ever heard of the Graykey?”
“I’ve heard what the Imperial Encyclopedia has to say about them. Will that do? Is this to be a history lesson, cyr?”
“Bear with me, please. Yes, the great Encyclopedia— had I several lifetimes to live, I would begin reading it. You must pardon me, therefore, for not knowing how much you may have gleaned from that venerable source. No doubt you’ve heard that they were great fighters and scholars, that they knew secrets of weaponry, of arms, of combat—some say of magic, if you will forgive my romance. That each Graykey lived by his ‘contract,’ sworn to serve one master while that contract was in force. Perhaps you even know that it was fashionable, a few hundred years ago, for every man and woman of importance to have their own Graykey.”
“Forgive me, but does this bear on our business today?”
“It does, and you will do me the honor of being silent, my most dangerous friend.”
Tal sat back, biting his lips.
“Now. The Encyclopedia, being a respectable source, no doubt told you how the Graykey were turned against three hundred and ten years ago. That they were blamed for the assassinations and the proscribed weapons that leveled systems in four different wars. That they were hunted down and killed.”
Tal nodded with a minimum of patience. She knew he needed her; this was just the sort of human he hated
