The Dark Lady

the galaxy over a span of more than seven millennia, and she seems to have been rendered only by members of the race of Man.” I paused. “I have access to the paintings and holograms in the collection of Malcolm Abercrombie. Can you now go through your library to see if her likeness occurs in any artwork that is not a part of that collection?”
    “Yes.”
    “And,” I continued, “if you should find her likeness elsewhere, can you supply me with a hard copy of it?”
    “Yes... Checking.”
    The machine went dark again, and remained dark for so long that I finally became aware of my isolation from the other patrons and began walking around the library, drawing warmth and comfort from the proximity of the other beings there. When five minutes had passed I reentered my cubicle, and waited another ninety seconds until the computer came back to life.
    “I have found seven sources which may be representations of the same woman,” it announced. “They will appear on the holographic screen just to your left whenever you are ready.”
    “Excellent,” I said, suddenly very excited. “Please begin.”
    A female face with high cheekbones and narrow eyes suddenly appeared on the screen.
    “This is a statue of Proserpine, the Roman Queen of the Underworld,” said the computer. “It was created in 86 A.D. by Lucius Piranus.”
    I studied the image. There were similarities in bone structure, and her hair may well have been black (though it was impossible to tell from the sculpture), but the eyes were too small, and she was smiling, whereas the woman I sought seemed consumed by a secret sadness.
    “No,” I said, disappointed. “This is not the same woman. Please continue.”
    Another face appeared on the screen, and this time it was the woman I sought, beyond any question.
    “This is a silkscreen print of Kama-Mara, a dual spirit of erotic desire and death who is said to have tempted Buddha during his meditations. The artist is unknown; the date of the print is estimated at 707 A.D.”
    “It is her,” I said. “But if she is an Indian spirit, why are her features not Indian?”
    “I have insufficient data to answer your question,” said the computer. “Shall I continue?”
    “Please.”
    Another image appeared, so real that I could almost touch the sadness that emanated from it. It was her again.
    “This is a painting of Mictecaciuatl, the Lady of the Place of the Dead in Mexican mythology. Artist unknown, painting rendered in 1744 A.D.”
    “Please continue,” I said, my enthusiasm returning.
    Her face appeared again, this time in a hologram.
    “This is an untitled hologram, created by Wilson Devers, a big-game hunter on Greenveldt, in 718 G.E.”
    There followed three more paintings from Earth, Spica II, and Northpoint, each of them an exact replication of Abercrombie's mysterious woman.
    “There are no other portraits of her in your library banks?” I asked when the last of them vanished from the screen.
    “There are no other accurate portraits of her,” replied the computer. “If she was rendered so poorly as to be unrecognizable, or was the subject of a nonrepresentational painting, I would be unable to identify her.”
    “I see,” I said. “Can you now give me a brief biographical sketch of the artists?”
    “Including Lucius Piranus?”
    “No,” I replied. “Let us temporarily remove his statue from consideration.”
    “Two of the artists are unknown,” began the computer. “Wilson Devers, born in 678 G.E. on Charlemagne, relocated to Greenveldt in 701 G.E., received his hunting license in 702 G.E., remained a professional hunter until his death in 723 G.E.”
    “Did he ever serve in the military?” I asked.
    “No.”
    “How did he die?”
    “He was killed by an errant sonic blast from a client's weapon. Shall I continue?”
    “Please.”
    “Barien Smythe, born in 3328 G.E. on Sirius V, relocated to Spica II in 3334 G.E... .” The computer paused briefly. “His profession is listed as spaceship designer, but there is enough data for me to conclude that he was actually employed by a rival cartel and engaged in industrial espionage. He died in 3355 G.E. as a result of an explosion that demolished an entire factory complex.”
    “And the other two?” I asked.
    “Milton Mugabe, born on Earth in 1804 G.E. He became an aquaculturalist specializing in the breeding and harvesting of sharks, large carnivorous fish of Earth's oceans, and was killed by a shark attack in 1861 G.E.