The Dark Lady

I was addressing a personal consideration, “I have waited years for the opportunity to see a Morita sculpture.”
    “Whatever you say,” she replied with a shrug. “But I'm still going to complain about the guards.”
    “It was my fault, Great Lady.”
    “I very much doubt it. By the way,” she added as we entered the building, “I thought you were going to start calling me by my given name.”
    “I will make a renewed effort to remember, Great Lady,” I said.
    “I notice you don't have any trouble with Mr. Rayburn's name.”
    “He is not a Great Lady,” I explained.
    She chuckled dryly. “Someday, Leonardo, I must pay a visit to your world, with all its Great Ladies and not-so-great gentlemen.”
    Then we were in the main gallery, a large circular room with off-white ceramic walls and a faceted dome composed of bronzed solar glass, and the last of my discomfort vanished as I felt the warmth and closeness of the crowd. There were perhaps four hundred beings there, all brightly and elegantly clad, all but a handful of them human. Among the other races I discerned a Lodinite, three Ramorians, two Mollutei, a trio of feathered beings from the Quinellus Cluster, and off in a corner, proud and aloof, his gray, leathery arms folded across his narrow chest, was a Canphorite, whose glowing crystal medals proclaimed that he was a survivor of two armed uprisings against the human Oligarchy.
    Tai Chong, still holding my hand, began escorting me through the room, introducing me to various friends and associates of hers (whom I addressed gravely in the Dialect of Courtly Diplomacy, the imposed vagueness of which seemed to amuse them). Then Hector Rayburn, looking very dapper in his sleek, shining evening clothes, walked over and greeted us.
    “I see you found him, Madame Chong,” he said.
    “Those bastards out front have created an Aliens Only entrance,” she said, her anger returning.
    Rayburn nodded his head. “I've heard they've been giving aliens a hard time all evening.”
    “It was only a minor misunderstanding, Friend Hector,” I said.
    “It was a major breach of manners,” said Tai Chong.
    “Well, there doesn't seem to have been any permanent harm done,” said Rayburn easily. He ignored Tai Chong's outraged glance. “Leonardo, can I borrow a few minutes of your time?”
    “Certainly, Friend Hector.” I turned to Tai Chong. “If it is acceptable to you, Great Lady?”
    “The Albion Cluster artwork?” she asked Rayburn.
    “Yes,” he replied.
    She smiled at me. “Well, that's what you're here for. I'll meet you again after you've finished.”
    Rayburn led me out of the main gallery and down a narrow tiled corridor.
    “She's going to be hell to live with for the next couple of days,” he remarked.
    “I beg your pardon, Friend Hector?”
    “Madame Chong,” he explained. “Her and her damned causes. You know those guards were just a couple of dumb clods who didn't mean any harm, and I know it, but you'll never convince her of it.” He paused. “I wish she'd defend her human employees with the same vigor.” Suddenly he seemed uncomfortable. “Meaning no offense, of course.”
    “I know you meant no offense,” I replied carefully.
    “She thinks she can change human nature overnight, and it just can't be done,” he continued. “One of these days she's going to jump in and defend the wrong damned alien or schizoid killer or whatever she's defending that week, and then she's going to find herself in big trouble.”
    Before I could think of a diplomatic answer, we came to a small rectangular gallery that was filled with perhaps fifty paintings and holograms. There were nudes, portraits, landscapes, seascapes, spacescapes, still lifes, even some nonrepresentational pieces that had been created by a computer equipped with a Durham/Liebermann perception module.
    Rayburn waited until I had briefly examined the collection, then turned to me.
    “I've got a client who's interested in investing in a couple of pieces from the Albion Cluster,” he said. “And since that's your field of expertise, I thought you'd be willing to let me pick your mind.”
    “I will be happy to help you in any way I can, Friend Hector,” I answered. “How much money is she prepared to spend?”
    “She's a he,” he said. “And he'll go up to a quarter of a million credits. I've marked a couple of the likelier pieces in my catalog, but I'd like your input.” He paused uneasily. “Also, authentication was