Everything that had happened to him seemed almost surreal, and he wasn’t quite sure why, except that he didn’t think it was just his own personal reaction, or that it was the result of his injuries. Whether he’d ever discover what really had happened at the Keltyr embassy was also another question. And what had happened to the Collyns and the Fergus were also unanswered questions. He wanted answers, needed answers; but needing to know and being able to discover that knowledge were two separate issues.
He looked at the late spring snow once more, then shivered involuntarily.
Chapter 27
Just before noon on threeday, for at least the tenth time in the previous hour, Van looked out the window of the sitting room in his embassy quarters. Snow—wet fat flakes—had continued to fall intermittently. If he hadn’t been following his exercise program rigorously, he probably would have been even more restless, with so little to do.
Van looked up from the holo projection of the complete RSF report on the Independence Day incident. He’d had to insist that Maine make it available to him, suggesting that, despite his current status without diplomatic clearances, it would be viewed as less than proper for a hero of the Taran Republic not to be able to read the report of his own actions. Maine had concurred, reluctantly, but with the limitation that Van could only read it on the embassy netsystem and could not print out any hard copy.
For all his efforts, the RSF report shed no more illumination on the event. There were more facts—such as the discovery of an abandoned cloning facility in a warehouse in the commercial district of Valborg and records of materials and common biologicals going to the business front there—Valborg Biologicals. But, according to the RSF investigators and the materials cited from the Valborg constabulary, none of the tracks went anywhere. The company had been set up five years earlier by a Dartigan Dumas, a citizen of Keshmar, and the bonding had been in Galactic Arm securities. Officials of Galactic Arm indicated that the funds had come from a Keshmaran Commercial Credit clearinghouse, and without traveling half the Arm to Keshmara there was no way to trace the originator.
Even then, Van suspected there would be no trace. The operation had been conducted in a way that indicated vast resources—governmental resources—but that had been a foregone conclusion. Of course, the report made no mention of either the Collyns or the Fergus.
Incoming from Integrated Information Systems, the netsystem announced.
The name was familiar, but Van couldn’t place it. He debated, then said, “Accept.”
The image on the screen was that of a man who appeared, at least in comparison to the spartan furniture behind him, tall and broad-shouldered. His short-cut, almost military-styled hair was blond, with faint streaks of silver. His eyes might once have been bright blue, but now bore the washed-out faded intensity of a deep-space pilot, probably a former Revenant military pilot, Van judged.
The tall man smiled politely and spoke. “Commodore, I’m Trystin Desoll with IIS.”
“IIS? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”
“Integrated Information Systems. We’re a foundation out of Cambria—on Perdya.”
Van nodded. Now he remembered—they had an office in the Coalition Consulate because they’d run into problems leasing space in Valborg, but that was about all he knew, except that Cambria was the capital of the Eco-Tech Coalition. He frowned. The man didn’t look like an Eco-Tech.
Desoll laughed, warmly and with understanding. “I know. I don’t look like I’m Eco-Tech. It’s a family curse. I look like a Revenant, but I can assure you that I come from a long-standing Eco-Tech heritage.”
“I’m not much in the mood to buy whatever you’re selling,” Van said politely.
“I’m not selling. I’m looking to buy, and I’d very much like to talk to you in person. I’d be happy to stop by your quarters or meet you anywhere you might wish.”
“I’m leaving Scandya on sixday.”
“I’ll make time for you whenever it’s convenient,” Desoll replied.
Van smiled wryly. In a way, anytime was convenient, and he might as well get it over with. Besides, what did he have to lose besides time? He already was finding that he had more than he wanted of that. “In an hour—at your office. You’re still in the Coalition consulate?”
There was the slightest flicker of surprise on Desoll’s face, followed by a smile. “We are. Thirteen-fifteen?”
“I’ll be there.” Van broke the link. He wondered about the Eco-Tech’s smile. The man had almost seemed pleased. He also wondered why he’d agreed to meet Desoll. Curiosity? Or a dawning recognition that he was going to have to do something else with his life? The idea of an idle retirement, even a comfortable one, was totally unacceptable to Van. He’d never been able to sit and do nothing, or busy himself with meaningless hobbies.
Van linked into the embassy netsystem to request a driver and a car, and was immediately assured that one would be waiting for him at twelve-forty.
Then he reread the RSF report, but he didn’t find much new. The only other new bit of information that he found wasn’t in the report itself, but buried in the notes at the rear. That was the observation that the Revenant ambassador, Jared Dane, had been recalled to Orum, where he’d been elevated to the Quorum, whatever that was. What it also meant was that Dane had not been disgraced or reprimanded, but apparently rewarded.
At twelve-thirty, Van donned his winter dress coat over his winter greens and walked down to the embassy’s front portals. As promised, the groundcar was waiting. Van didn’t know the embassy driver—Stefan had also
