Part 62 (1/2)

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Chapter Eight.

FedCentral, Fleet Headquarters ”And that's the last of the crew depositions?” Sa.s.sinak asked. The Tenant behind the desk nodded.

”Yes, ma'am. The Prosecutor's office said they didn't need anyone else. Apparently the defense lawyers aren't going to call any of the enlisted crew as witnesses either.”

So we've just spent weeks of this nonsense for nothing, Sa.s.sinak thought. Dragging my people up and down in ridiculous civilian shuttles, for hours of boring questioning which only repeats what we taped on the s.h.i.+p before. She didn't say any of this. Both the Chief Prosecutor's office and the defense lawyers had been furious that Lunzie, Dupaynil, and Ford were not aboard. For one thing, Kai and Varian had also failed to appear for depositions. No one knew if the fast bark sent to collect them from Ireta had found them on the planet's surface for no message had been received on either count.

She herself was sure that Ford and Lunzie would be back in time. Dupaynil? Dupaynil might or might not arrive, although she considered him more resourceful 120.

than most desk-bound Security people. If he hadn't made her so furious, she'd have enjoyed more of his company.

She would certainly have preferred him to Aygar as an a.s.sistant researcher. True, Aygar could go search the various databases without arousing suspicion. Anyone would expect him to. The Prosecutor's office had arranged a University card, a Library card, all the access he could possibly want. And he was eager enough.

But he had no practice in doing research; no background of scholars.h.i.+p. Sa.s.sinak had to explain exactly where he should look and for what. Even then he would come back empty-handed, confused, because he didn't understand how little bits of disparate knowledge could fit together to mean anything. He would spend all day looking up the genealogy of the heavyworlder mutineers, or baring after some interest of his own. Dupaynil, with all his smug suavity, would have been a relief.

She strolled back along the main shopping avenues of the city, in no hurry. She was to meet Aygar for the evening shuttle flight. She had time to wander around. A window display caught her eye, bright with the colors she favored. She admired the jeweled jacket over a royal-blue skirt that flashed turquoise in s.h.i.+fts of light. She glanced at the elegant calligraphy above the glossy black door. No wonder! ”Fleur de Paris” was only the outstanding fas.h.i.+on designer for the upper cla.s.ses. Her mouth quirked: at least she had good taste.

The door, its sensors reporting that someone stood outside it longer than the moment necessary to walk past, swung inward. A human guard, in livery, stood just inside.

”Madame wishes to enter?”

The sidewalk burned her feet even through the uniform shoes. Her head ached. She had never in her life visited a place like this. But why not? It could do no harm to look.

”Thank you,” she said, and walked in.

Inside, she found a cool oasis: soft colors, soft carpets, a recording of harp music just loud enough to cover the street's murmur. A well-dressed woman who 122.

came forward, a.s.sessing her from top to toe, and, to Sa.s.sinak's surprise, approving.

”Commander . . . Sa.s.sinak, is it not?”

”I'm surprised,” she said. The woman smiled.

”We do watch the news programs, you know. How serendipitous! Fleur will want to meet you.”

Sa.s.sinak almost let her jaw drop. She had heard a little about such places as this. The designer herself did not come out and meet everyone who came through the door.

”Won't you have a seat?” the woman went on. ”And you'll have something cool, I hope?” She led Sa.s.sinak to a padded chair next to a graceful little table on which rested a tall pitcher, its sides beaded, and a crystal gla.s.s. Sa.s.sinak eyed it doubtfully. ”Fruit juice,” the woman said. ”Although if you'd prefer another beverage?”

”No, thank you. This is fine.”

She took the gla.s.s she was offered and sipped it to cover her confusion. The woman went away, leaving her to look around. She had been in shops, in some very good shops, with elegant displays of a few pieces of jewelry or a single silk dress. But here nothing marked the room as part of a shop. It might have been the sitting room of some wealthy matron: comfortable chairs grouped around small tables, fresh flowers, soft music. She relaxed, slowly, enjoying the tart fruit juice. If they knew she was a Fleet officer, they undoubtedly knew her salary didn't stretch to original creations. But if they were willing to have her rest in their comfortable chair, she wasn't about to walk out.

”My dear!” The silver-haired woman who smiled at her might have been any elegant great-grand-mother who had kept her figure. Seventies? Eighties? Sa.s.sinak wasn't sure. ”What a delightful surprise. Mirelle told you we'd seen you on the news, didn't she? And of course we'd seen you walk by. I must confess,” this with a throaty chuckle that Sa.s.sinak could not resist, ”I've been putting one thing after another in the window to see if we could entice you.” She turned to the first woman. ”And you see, Mirelle, I was right: the jeweled jacket did it.”

Mirelle shrugged gracefully. ”And I will wager that if

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you asked her, she'd remember seeing that sea-green number.”

”Yes, I did,” said Sa.s.sinak, half-confused by their banter. ”But what...”

”Mirelle, I think perhaps a light snack.” Her voice was gentle, but still commanding. Mirelle smiled and withdrew, and the older woman smiled at Sa.s.sinak. ”My dear Sa.s.sinak, I must apologize. It's . . . it's hard to think what to say. You don't realize what you mean to people like us.”

Thoroughly confused now, Sa.s.sinak murmured something indistinct. Did famous designers daydream about flying s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps? She couldn't believe that, but what else was going on?

”I am known to the world as Fleur,” the woman said, sitting down across the table from Sa.s.sinak. ”Fleur de Paris, which is a joke, although very few know it. I cannot tell you what my name was, even now. But I can tell you that we had a friend in common. A very dear friend.”

”Yes?” Sa.s.sinak rummaged in her memory for any wealthy or socially prominent woman she might have known. An admiral, or an admiral's wife? And came up short.

”Your mentor, my dear, when you were a girl, Abe.”

She could not have been more startled if Fleur had poured a bucket of ice over her. ”Abe? You knew Abe?”

The older woman nodded. ”Yes, indeed. I knew him before he was captured, and after. Although I never met you, I would have, in time. But as it was . . .”

”I know.” The grief broke over her again, as startling in its intensity as the surprise that this woman-this old woman-had known Abe. But Abe, if he'd lived, would be old. That, too, shocked her. In her memory, he'd stayed the same, an age she gradually learned was not so old as the child had thought.

”I'm sorry to distress you, but I needed to speak to you. About Abe, about his past and mine. And about your future.”

”My future?” What could this woman possibly have to do with her future? It must have shown on her lace, because Fleur shook her head.

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”A silly old woman, you think, intruding on your life. You admire the clothes I design, but you don't need a rich woman's sycophant reminding you of Abe. Yes?”

It was uncomfortably close to what she'd been thinking. ”I'm sorry,” she said, apologizing for being obvious, if for nothing else.