Ghost War

27

A person seldom falls sick, but the bystanders are animated with a faint hope that he will die.

Emblyn Palace Resort

Contressa, Garnet Coast

Basalt

Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere

9 February 3133

“His daughter?”

“She is, depending upon his mood.” Quam had waded back through the crowd, little orange greasy stains curling down the valleys of his multiple chins. The little dog held beneath his left arm alternately licked at his face and the edge of the plate on which he had created a sagging pyramid of food. “Forgive my intrusion, I am Quam. How are you, my dear lady? Who is your friend?”

Bianca smiled indulgently. “Perhaps we can find out together. He was on the shuttle with us.”

“Oh, the shuttle. I hate it, but Snookums won’t fly, so what can I do.” He smiled, deepening the crevasses in his flesh. “Besides, the Journal need not know what I did with the cash for the fare here.”

“No, they don’t.” Bianca laid a hand on his right arm, the one holding the plate, which engendered a little growl from Snookums. “Thank you, again.”

“My pleasure, child.” Quam glanced at me. “Your name, sir?”

“Sam Donelly. I’m a special projects consultant.” I smiled. I didn’t offer Quam my hand because I figured I’d lose a finger or two, either to him or Snookums. Bianca shook my hand, enfolding it in a strong grip. “If I might ask, what did Quam mean about your father’s moods?”

Quam rolled his eyes. “Not from around here are you?”

“Be kind, Quam.” Bianca smiled softly. “My father rules the planet benignly and well, but holds certain philosophies with which I disagree. He sees The Republic’s requirement of community service in exchange for citizenship as a call for everyone to work. He finds those who fall below the poverty line to be malingerers and sociopaths who would suck us all down into a morass. He thinks they were born evil and have failed to rise above their base nature.”

Quam swallowed a mouthful that was more than I’d eaten in my last two meals combined. “This angel here, on the other hand, believes in the virtue of mankind, and has dedicated her life to helping the less fortunate. She created the Basalt Foundation, which uses private donations to fund shelters, meal programs and the like—for all people, regardless of their backgrounds. Her father thinks she is coddling criminals, though his mood lightens when her efforts are praised.”

Bianca risked a growl from Snookums by patting Quam on the shoulder. “Quam donated his fare to the foundation, and was instrumental in getting restaurants to save leftovers for delivery to the shelters.”

“One does what he can, isn’t that right, Snookums?” The man planted a kiss on the dog with lips so thick that he obscured half the dog’s head.

“It sounds as though you do very good work.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew one of the two five-thousand-stone credit chits I’d been given for my wi

Quam shifted from foot to foot as if his knickers were bunching up and the dog whimpered in sympathy.

Bianca accepted the chit with wide eyes. “Mr. Donelly, this is quite generous. I really can’t… I mean, it will help, but are you sure?”

I nodded. “Not me you should thank, but the inferior poker prowess of that man over there, those two there, the woman there and that red-headed man over there.”

She followed my finger as I pointed, then she snorted. “This is the first donation they’ve made to the Foundation. I will take it, then.”

“Good. If I win any more, I will continue to donate.”

Quam frowned. “You should really join one of the high-stakes games. More money, worse players.”

“You know this from experience?”

He shook his head, and his jowls remained shaking long after he’d stopped. “They don’t let Snookums in the room with daddy, do they. But I watch, I listen. I am a journalist, after all, even if all they value me for is my palate.”

I’d walked past the high-stakes room, and the buy-in started at twenty thousand. “Alas, they won’t let me in there either.”

Quam gave me a long look up and down. “I’ll stake you for a hundred thousand. Half of what you win goes to the Foundation.”

“And if I lose your money?”

He laughed. “My dear boy, I have little need for money. Any establishment I wish to visit on this planet will give me a meal or three, and a room, and lavish gifts on me in the hopes that I will, if not mention them favorably, at least not mention them scathingly. And there are a whole host of companies that create these dreadful packaged meals who hire me at incredible fees as a consultant, specifically so my conflict of interest will prevent me from telling people that consumption of the plastic containers in which the food arrives would impart more nutrition and more taste than the alleged foodstuffs themselves.”

Snookums, having heard that diatribe before, backed it with a chorus of growls.

“You’re most kind, then.”

A harsh voice growled, “That’s the first time that’s been said of this tub of bacon drippings.”

“Better to be the renderings of a noble animal than an ignoble beast.” Quam sniffed and turned away to the buffet table as a tall young man with blond hair and hazel eyes laid a hand on Bianca’s shoulder.

The man looked at me with pure contempt dripping from his sneer. “You are dismissed.”

The sneer I could have taken, but the high-handed attitude and complete conviction that I was something he’d easily crush under a boot heel got to me. I looked slowly at Bianca. “You would know, my lady, if there is a doctor present at this gathering.”

The question surprised her and she blinked distractedly. “I think so. Yes, of course. Why?”

“Because if he does not remove that hand from your shoulder, I will dislocate his elbow in a ma

The icy tones in my voice froze the sneer on his lips. “Do you have any idea…”

Bianca shook her head. “Bernard, Mr. Donelly is new to Basalt. Sam, this is my brother, Bernard.”

I looked him up and down and could see the resemblance. He looked different from the book illustrations, with his hair now lighter and without a beard. I said nothing.

Bernard sniffed, and didn’t do as good a job at it as Quam had. He let his eyes linger on me for a moment, then looked at his sister. “Father wishes to see you.”

“Here? Now?” She stood on her tiptoes to look at where Count Germayne was shaking hands with Emblyn, the two of them smiling as Tri-Vid cameras recorded the event for posterity. Despite the smiles, however, I could see the tension in the tight grip, and the way the smiles stopped at the corners of their mouths. In those eyes there was nothing but pure venom.

Behind the Count in the line stood two more people who bore a family resemblance to Bianca and Bernard. The man was Teyte—a little older, a little taller and a lot stronger than Bernard. The woman, Sarah, I recognized from articles about Emblyn that showed her in his company. In the pictures she had been a blonde, but now wore her hair dark brown. Her brother was still blond, but that hue came from a bottle.

Bianca smiled at me. “If you will excuse me, Sam.”

“Of course, m’lady.” I bowed my head to her, then just looked up and glared daggers at her brother.

The two of them slipped into the seething mass of people, and Quam again appeared before me, eclipsing the reunion. “There you have it, Sam, the future of Basalt. Bernard will rule after his father, and you’ve just seen him on his best behavior. I’ve heard a rumor that when the sewers backed up on the west side, Bernard and Teyte stood on a balcony of the palace and laughed so hard at the plight of the little people that they actually soiled themselves. I doubt it is true per se, but not wholly out of character for either of the racist prigs.”