Chapter 48
Van walked to the wide sitting room window of his penthouse quarters and looked northward across Cambria—a city of greenery, of trees, of spacious parks, and of low buildings. At six floors, the IIS building was not the tallest in or around the city, but there were few above ten stories, with the exception of the single tower just to the west of the shuttle terminal.
A mug of café in his hand, Van slowly walked back and forth, absently taking in the news, looking out but not really seeing the city.
…Technology Party elected Alan Fujimari…Fujimari campaigned on the issue of ethic community…advocated turning the planet of Mara over to those who cannot accept the founding ideals of Eco-Technology…
…Constituent Assembly has approved a measure requiring that all large out-system funds transfers by non-Coalition organizations or individuals be accompanied by verification of identity and be available for public inspection on the planetary net…in reaction to the Revenant funding of the attempted assassination of the Scandyan premier…
…all Revenant missionaries in Coalition…presence provided for under the so-called Treaty of the Prophet…have been recalled by the Revelator of the Revealed…
Was that a threat of sorts by the Revenants? Van didn’t know enough about that culture to be sure. He was just glad that, from what the IIS research staff had been able to tell him, the RSF had backed off on actually landing the domestic peacekeeping team on Sulyn, and that the Taran government had reaffirmed Sulyn’s local rights. The downside to that was that there had been protests in New Oisin about special treatment for Sulyn. One way or another, no one seemed happy.
Van checked the time. It was only seven-fifteen, and he wasn’t supposed to meet Desoll—Trystin—until nine hundred. He really didn’t want to pace around the office, and by the time he’d been briefed on all the codes, met a few key people, then had dinner the night before, and gotten settled in the quarters, Van hadn’t seen much of Cambria.
He nodded, deciding to take a walk before he went to his office. He could stand to stretch his legs and get a feel for things. He washed out the café mug in the sink of the small kitchen, then headed out through the small foyer and to the upper lobby serving the four penthouse quarters.
He saw no one in the lift, nor in the main lobby. Outside, he headed eastward, away from the IIS structure and the park. Less than a hundred yards from the building, he walked past a group of youngsters, wearing school uniforms and headed the other way, shepherded by two teachers, both male, and both a good head shorter than Van.
While none of the students looked at him directly, he could still hear several comments.
“…tall…outlander…Argenti maybe…”
“…least he’s not a Rev…”
Van walked almost a klick, past well-tended houses, set in clusters with garden settings around them, before he began to circle back westward. Before long, he reached the northern edge of the IIS park. There, he sat down on a curved wooden bench in the cool morning sunlight, taking in the peacefulness of the well-landscaped park. Dad Almaviva would have liked it, he decided, with the bushes in proportion and in harmony with the winding stone walks, the low grass, and the low flowers.
A young mother passed, holding the hand of a boy who couldn’t have been more than four.
“…Tajo…don’t stare…it’s not polite…”
“…he has funny eyes…”
Funny eyes? Because they weren’t slightly slanted? Van shook his head slightly.
He stood and headed back to the IIS building. Once there, he made his way up to his office, where he looked blankly at the console. He knew there was all too much he didn’t know, but he wasn’t even sure where to begin.
“Hello, there. You must be Van.”
Van turned. The dark-haired and sharp-featured woman who stood in the doorway looked to be close to Van’s age, but Van had always found it hard to guess ages, particularly women’s, because there were so few visual clues. People didn’t lose hair and gain massive wrinkles until close to ends of their lives, and skin tone stayed good.
“I’m Nynca Desoll.”
“The commander of the Salya, and another senior director. Trystin…” Van almost stumbled over the director’s first name, so little had he used it. “He told me a little about you. Very little.”
“Actually, I’m not a senior director. I’m not suited for that. I’m director of long-term planning. What else did he say?”
“He said you were a relation of his. That’s all he said. I hope you can explain.”
“Not very well. It’s complicated,” Nynca said. “Too complicated to explain, but when I want to get him riled a bit, I call him ‘Gramps.’” She laughed. “It gets him every time.”
Van respected her desire for him not to pry. Nynca could have been the daughter of a child Desoll had not known about—or worse—and Van had no desire to get into that sort of inquiry. “He doesn’t look that old.”
“He is older than he looks, but don’t let that fool you.”
“I won’t. I’ve seen him in action.”
“That’s right. He mentioned that you ran into a little trouble off Behai.”
“He handled it with very little fuss or difficulty,” Van said.
“He usually does.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “He has for a long time.”
“What do you do as director of planning?”
She smiled. “Everything, but two things primarily. I look for commercial opportunities, and I design implementation strategies.”
“Nynca!” Desoll stood in the open doorway of Van’s office. “When did you get in?”
“Last night. Late shuttle. I got your message.”
Desoll looked to Van. “Have you been trying to weasel information from Nynca?”
“She’s as open and forthright as you are,” Van replied. “She’s told me no lies, and not deceived me, but I haven’t learned much. You’ve taught her
