The Dark Lady

never my strong point. I'd especially like to know if you think the Primrose is authentic.” Suddenly his self-assurance seemed to return to him. “I'll make the final decision, and I'll take full responsibility for it. But I'd like your input, just the same.”
    “If I am to be of any use to you, Friend Hector, I must respectfully request that I be permitted to examine the artwork more closely.”
    He seemed relieved. “Certainly. I'll be back in a few minutes.” He walked to the doorway. “I want to sample some of that Denebian wine before it's all gone.” He paused as he saw my color darken. “You don't mind, do you? I mean, there's nothing I could do here but stand around and watch you.”
    “No, Friend Hector,” I lied. “I do not mind.”
    “Good. I knew all this stuff Madame Chong was spouting about Bjornns not wanting to be alone was just her imagination.” He stepped out into the corridor, then stuck his head back in. “You won't forget to check the Primrose?”
    “I will not forget, Friend Hector,” I said.
    “Fine. I'll see you in a little while.”
    Then he was gone, and I forced myself to concentrate on the artwork rather than my isolation, and gradually the feeling of nakedness retreated behind my total absorption with the work at hand.
    Most of the two-dimensional paintings were between six and ten centuries old, though there was one (and not a very good one, at that) which seemed to date back almost three thousand years. The majority of the holograms, especially those composed in static/stace — electrostatic patterns frozen in stasis— were no more than a century old, though, again, there was one that seemed to date back almost five millennia, back to the days when the race of Man was first expanding into the galaxy.
    All but two of the pieces were undeniably created by human hands, and I felt there was a chance that one of the other two was also. Only two of the artists were of truly major stature— Jablonski, who had lived a thousand years ago on Kabalka V, and Primrose, who had achieved a certain notoriety on Barios IV before his work fell into disrepute— but all of the pieces fell into clearly defined and easily identified schools of the Albion Cluster.
    I examined the Primrose, a minor work by a no-longer-major artist, determined that the canvas was from Barios IV and that the signature was not a forgery, and went on to the rest of the collection.
    One painting in particular captured my attention. It was a portrait of a woman, and while it lacked the technique of the Jablonski, it nonetheless held my interest. Her features were exquisitely chiseled, and there seemed to be an air of loneliness about her, a sense of a deep longing for the unattainable. There was nothing in the title to identify her— indeed, it was simply called “Portrait"— but she must have been a very important lady, for I had seen her likeness twice before, once in a hologram from Binder X, and again in a painting from Patagonia IV.
    I walked over to the Jablonski and two of the more exotic static/stace holograms and tried to concentrate on them, but something kept pulling me back to the portrait, and finally I returned to it and began studying the brush strokes, the subtle nuances of light and shading, the slightly off-center positioning of the model.
    The artist's name was Kilcullen, which meant nothing to me. A rapid analysis of the texture of the canvas, the chemical composition of the paint, and the style of the near-calligraphic signature in the upper left-hand corner led me to place the painting's age at 542 years, and its point of origin as one of the human colonies in the Bortai system.
    Suddenly I sensed a feeling of warmth and relief, and instantly knew that I was no longer alone in the room.
    “Welcome back, Friend Hector,” I said, turning to him.
    “Well,” he said, sipping from an elegant crystal wine goblet, “is the Primrose authentic?”
    “Yes, Friend Hector,” I replied. “But it is not one of his better paintings. It may bring 250,000 credits because of his reputation, but it is my judgment that its value will not increase appreciably in the years to come.”
    “You're sure?”
    “I am sure.”
    He sighed. “That's a pity. I have a feeling the Jablonski will cost too much.”
    “I concur, Friend Hector. It will bring half a million credits at least, and quite possibly 600,000.”
    “Well, then,” said Rayburn, “have you any suggestions?”
    “I very much like this