Integrated Information Systems…Proprietary Foundation, HQ, Cambria, Perdya, Eco-Tech Coalition…Managing Director T. Desoll…approx. 150 planetary offices in the Arm…total employees, unknown, estimated @ 400–700. Primary focus is information acquisition, process, and analysis. Secondary focus, secure interstellar transport…Total assets, estimated @ 4 b. credits [Taran Republic equiv.]…
A listing of known clients followed.
Van read through it again. He’d probably end up calling IIS, but he’d still run it by his fathers to see if he’d missed anything. Van thought about trying to make dinner, then shook his head. Instead, he donned an old singlesuit and went out and weeded the herb garden, then pruned the lemon-and-lime tree, collecting the too-fragrant fallen and rotting lemons.
By the time he had finished, and cleaned up, Dad Almaviva had returned and was already puttering in the kitchen. Van slipped in and acted as sous-chef. Before Almaviva had the chicken iscalantia on the table, Cicero arrived and settled on one of the stools to watch, commenting, “Always good to have a son who knows his place when he gets home, even if he is a commodore…He’s neat. You have to give him that, Almaviva. Would have made a great advocate…”
Van laughed and shot back. “You would have made a great critic.”
“Except he confuses pitch with timbre and everything else,” charged Almaviva.
Eventually, they ate.
Afterward, as he took a last bite of the chicken, Van glanced to the dining room sideboard and the printouts there.
Dad Cicero lifted his glass of water. “You’ve been holding back something. What is it?”
“I have.” Van stood and reclaimed the printouts from the sideboard. He handed one to each man. “I’d like your opinions. I have an idea, but I’d like to see if I’ve missed anything.”
Cicero read through his printout quickly, then read it again. The third time, he took out a stylus and jotted down some notes. Almaviva read more slowly, and just once.
Van waited.
“I take it that they’ve offered you a position,” began Cicero.
“Senior director and chief pilot of a new interstellar ship.”
The advocate’s eyebrows rose. “You’re being more cautious than when you joined the RSF. You told us after you’d done it.” He lifted the printout. “They seem reputable enough. Why are you so concerned? Or are you being diplomatic and letting us see all this before you actually do it?”
“He’s a few years older and more cautious,” suggested Almaviva. “That’s not always better. Sometimes, it’s best just to take a healthy bite out of life.”
“Ah, yes,” returned Cicero, “the healthy bite. A wonderful metaphor, you know. Except…that’s truer than Almaviva would like. The problem is that human beings are creatures of appetite, and the tools we have to conquer that appetite are all flawed. Gluttony sates one, but only momentarily, and abstinence reduces consumption, but not appetite. One of the tools most employed is logic. But the great fault of logic is that it seems so reasonable, even when it is not, and thus, unless used wisely, logic becomes the master and the individual the slave.”
“I can’t believe you, the advocate, are saying that,” Van managed.
“When my son, the hero and commodore asks for my opinion, all logic is confounded.” Cicero laughed. “Besides, there are times, believe it or not, when too much logic is wrong. Almaviva always reminds me when I take logic too far.”
“It’s not that often anymore,” added the singer. “At first…well, I’d sing some ridiculous soprano aria, like a countertenor, rather than argue. Then he’d laugh, and we’d talk it out. It works well when you can combine feeling and logic.”
“And if they conflict?” asked Van, dryly. “Can you sing or reason your way clear?”
Cicero shrugged. “You have to make a choice, and refusing to make one is also a choice.”
“Oh, it’s simple enough,” commented Almaviva. “Van, you gave your best for the RSF, and you feel that you were never appreciated fully. That was even with the decorations and the promotions. You don’t want to be disappointed again. So you’ve been talking to second-rate outfits, knowing that they can’t disappoint you because you don’t expect anything. That’s no way to approach life. We all get disappointed. That’s not the point. You have to be what you are and let the disappointments fall where they will. That’s poor Arturo’s problem. He’s never discovered what he is—only what his talents are, and he’s been letting them define him.”
Cicero nodded slowly. “People are more than the sum of their talents.”
“Is Arturo unhappy, then?”
“Let’s just say that he’s less happy than he could be. He tries too hard to fit in. I’ve warned him about where that can lead, but…”
“He knows better,” said Almaviva with a laugh. “Trying to fit in can make a man a slave to whoever’s in power, but he won’t see that. Not yet.”
“It’s hard for anyone,” mused Cicero, as if he did not want to continue with the subject of Arturo.
Van didn’t press.
Later, after his fathers went to bed, Van took out the plastic card, and used the data to send a standing wave message to IIS. He might have been making a mistake, but he was certain that remaining on Sulyn—or anywhere within the Republic—was a bigger one, and he couldn’t afford to keep looking back.
Chapter 38
Three days had passed since he’d sent off the standing wave message, and Van had heard nothing. Not that he’d expected an immediate response, not given interstellar distances, but he had finally made his decision, and he wanted to get on with it.
Vehicle in drive, the house system announced.
Van walked from the study where he’d been using Cicero’s accesses to see if he could find out more information on the interstellar information market. If he were going to join IIS, he might as well see what he could find. He stopped beside the door and looked out through the long window. An electrolorry had pulled up into the circular drive, and a tall, dark-haired man hopped out, carrying a small package in his left hand. He marched to the door of
