“An additional one hundred thousand baseline, up to three hundred thousand.”
“I don’t recall such generosity being a Comity policy. What conditions are you omitting?”
“You will be traveling on Comity vessels, not luxurious private transports. The work will be interesting, but demanding. It could take up to two years. You will have comm links, but they will be delayed and monitored. Most important, if you take the assignment, ser Barna, you’ll have to leave within a standard day. We will need to know your decision by the end of the day.”
“And if I don’t accept?”
“We go to the second artist on the list. That’s a Pieter Bounaiev. He’s from Dneipra.”
Bounaiev was good, but not so good as I was. The man in dark gray knew that. He also knew I wouldn’t like to give such an opportunity to Bounaiev.
“You may have my decision now.”
Hillaire frowned. I could tell he thought I would decline.
“I will accept on one condition.”
“I don’t have much latitude, ser Barna.”
“At least twenty percent of the work must be mine to display as I see fit and to sell or resell freely.”
He nodded. “If you will excuse me for a moment. I will need to check with my superior.” He stood and walked out, clearly heading toward the security sedan and its shielded communications.
After the other left the conference room, Hillaire studied me. He had an air of gloom. “Must you always be difficult, Chendor?”
“Artists are. No matter how great what I am to portray may be, and no matter how well I depict it, it does me no good if it is sealed in the Comity archives. It will not do the Comity much good, either.”
“Chendor… you always press too much. You could have the Societe Generale commission if you would but submit a proposal.”
“Georges… that is begging, and I cannot beg.”
“Cannot… or will not?”
“I cannot. You know that.”
“All too well. That will be the death of you.”
Or the making—and the line between the two was thin for an artist.
We waited.
Shortly, the gray man returned. His lips held a faint smile as he closed the conference room door behind him.
He did not seat himself. “Twenty percent is acceptable, but… nothing that will reveal military or technological details. I have been assured that you will have a great deal of choice within those parameters, perhaps more than you would wish or imagine.”
There it was. Take it or leave it. Risk portraying dull images for a high fee or… I almost laughed. The images in Noveau Rochelle were already getting dull. When else would I get a chance such as this? Even before I replied, the unnamed man knew that I could not risk not having a chance at whatever it was that the Comity wanted represented accurately and artistically.
“I accept.”
“Good. I will see you an hour before noon tomorrow. You are limited to one large valise for clothing and no more than one hundred kilos for equipment.”
For the range of what I might have to depict, a hundred kilos might be pushing it, but if I eased in another ten, I bet no one would complain. I intended to take everything from old-style oils, pastels, and charcoal to lightbrushes. The canvases and the light matrices would be the heaviest, but I could always roll some canvases into my valise and limit the frames.
“Ser Hillaire will be here an hour before I arrive to set up the financial details. The monthly stipend to your wife will be coming through Bane du Nord, and the first payment will be in the designated account before you leave—as will half of the minimum commission.”
I walked them to the studio door. When I turned and headed back, I could see Aeryana coming down the ramp. “I’ve taken a commission—”
“I thought as much.” Her words were tart.
“I have to travel off-planet for it.”
“You turn down a perfectly good commission here in Noveau Rochelle, then take one that will send you off-planet? Chendor… I do not understand you.”
“A stipend of five thousand a Gallian month for you for at least a year and a deposit of fifty thousand in advance. Both will be paid tomorrow before I leave.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow? For a year?” Her voice rose. “What about me? What about Nicole?”
“Aeryana… this is an urgent commission from the Comity Diplomatic Corps. It is so important that they have pressured Georges Hillaire to accompany them. You would have me turn down Hillaire? They must have discovered something of great import—an abandoned colony or perhaps the first alien artifacts. My work will be displayed across all the worlds of the Comity. Peter Atreos would look like a fool if he opposed my work. They will beg me.”
“Chendor, those who have any taste already do.”
“This is the chance of a lifetime.”
“What will you be portraying?”
“Everything.”
“Exactly what is everything?” Aeryana’s words were measured.
“They said that they couldn’t tell me.”
“You believed them?”
“Georges Hillaire was with him. The funds are coming through Bane du Nord. Besides, who would pay fifty-five thousand credits if they did not want my art?” Even Aeryana knew that a contract disposal could be had for far less, should anyone wish to remove me.
Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.
“You said I shouldn’t turn down another good commission.”
“Chendor… I didn’t mean…” Her arms were around me. That was the best we could do.
6
Goodman/Bond
The face in the fresher mirror was still unfamiliar, long and horsy. The short hair was brown, wiry and curly enough to be unpleasantly unmanageable. I was glad for the short military cut. The skin was too dark for my taste, but not out-and-out black or even light mahogany.
After the survey, and another effort to become familiar with the new visage, I stepped from the small fresher into the single room of the pleasure girl’s studio.
I was William Gerald Bond. Before long, I would be the only William Gerald Bond.
At the faint beep, I checked the locator. It showed that the girl was on the ramp headed up to the studio. I stepped behind the old-style hinged door. The bioplastic had been resmoothed and colored so many times that faint streaks of white discolored what had been solid brown.
Waiting for them to arrive, I thought about the last month.
When I had come out of the nanite cocoon, my head felt like it had been split, frozen, and pulverized. The result? I now knew more about being a Comity armorer than I’d ever wished. I also knew how to build an Atrousan-Graviton signaler. Major Ibaio hadn’t left that to mere nanite indoc. I’d built three before he and his chief tech were satisfied—all except for a live power source. We’d used inactive ones. Wouldn’t do to set off an AG signaler in New Jerusalem. I couldn’t say I knew how it worked, only what components to use and how to put them together. I’d also had to practice repairs and diagnostics until my fingers and hands matched my mind.
“You’re tougher than Colonel Truesdale thought.” That was what Majer Ibaio had said at my last briefing.
“How many others didn’t make it?” I’d asked.
“For this position, you were the only choice.”
That meant Ibaio had planted others—or hoped to.
After all the in-depth conditioning and training, I’d still had to get to Hamilton. The first stage had been the most tedious, as a tourist going to the pleasure spa at Maewest. An identity switch, and I’d been Angus DeWeil, natural fabrics factor, on the way home to Hamilton. Now I was in Alexander, the city that had grown up around the Comity’s military orbit elevators, and I stood behind a bioplastic door, waiting for an oversexed armorer and a lightly conditioned pleasure girl.