The Dark Lady

wish I could help you, Leonardo,” she said sympathetically, “but the fact of the matter is that I simply cannot send you to our Saltmarsh branch.”
    “Is it because of the problems on Charlemagne?” I asked.
    “No,” she replied. “You have been completely exonerated of all wrongdoing.” She paused. “But your contract is with the Far London branch of the Claiborne Galleries. The Saltmarsh branch has no authority to employ you.”
    “Cannot an exception be made?” I asked. “This may be a matter of vital importance.”
    She shook her head. “I'm afraid not, Leonardo. If you had the means of getting there, I could conceivably grant you a brief leave of absence— but I must justify all my actions to my superiors, and I can't justify transferring you to Saltmarsh merely for your personal convenience.”
    “I understand, Great Lady,” I said unhappily, my hue reflecting my disappointment. “I am sorry to have bothered you.”
    “It was no bother, Leonardo,” she said soothingly. “I'm just sorry that I couldn't be of more help to you.”
    I left her office, returned to my desk, sat perfectly still, and analyzed my conversation with Tai Chong. There was a time when I would have accepted it verbatim, but my continued association with Men had taught me to question every statement and every motive— and as I questioned her statements and motives, I began to realize that, far from wishing to stop Valentine Heath from robbing Malcolm Abercrombie, Tai Chong actually wanted him to succeed. That was why she wished to speak to him: to tell him which paintings she could place without any embarrassing questions being asked. And that was why she had refused to transfer me to Saltmarsh: to eliminate any possibility of my meeting the Dark Lady again unless I helped Heath.
    Or could I be mistaken? I knew that Tai Chong was not unwilling to deal in art of questionable ownership, but could such an intelligent and compassionate woman truly be willing to stand by and allow one of her clients to be robbed? And even if that were true, would she actually try to manipulate events to guarantee the success of the robbery?
    I did not know, but experience had taught me that if a human being acted from one of two possible motives, the more selfish motive was probably valid. With a sigh, I instructed my computer to erase the letter I had been writing her.
    I worked until lunchtime and then, instead of going to my usual restaurant, I walked to the most affluent section of the city and came at last to the Far London Towers.
    I received a number of hostile stares as I walked through the lobby, but no one tried to stop me as I summoned an elevator and entered it. I did not know the number of the Presidential Suite, but I reasoned that it had to be on the top floor, and so I directed the elevator to take me there.
    I emerged into an opulent corridor, filled with exquisite sculptures from all across the galaxy, and finally came to a large hand-carved door of Doradusian hardwood.
    “Who's there?” demanded Heath's voice as the security system informed him of my presence.
    “It is Leonardo,” I answered.
    An instant later the door slid silently into the wall, and I entered a lavishly furnished room. Heath got up from a form-fitting chair and walked across the plush carpeting.
    “You look even worse than you did this morning,” he commented. “Come in and sit down.”
    “Thank you,” I said, walking over to a sofa that hovered a few inches above the floor.
    “Are you all right?” he asked solicitously. “Your color keeps darkening.”
    “It is the Hue of Shame.”
    “Oh?”
    I nodded. “I have come to tell you what you want to know,” I said.

PART 4

    The Man Who Got It All

19.
    My craving for feed was greater than it had ever been in my life.
    Gradually, as consciousness returned to me, I remembered that I was inside the Deepsleep chamber, I opened my eyes, winced as the light struck them, winced again from the pain of movement, and lay perfectly motionless as I silently counted to three hundred. Then, stiff but no longer in agony, I sat up, clumsily swung my legs over the side of the module, and carefully stood up.
    Heath was sitting on the edge of the other module, his usually well-groomed hair wild and unkempt, a disoriented expression on his face. He flexed his arms tentatively, then lowered his feet gently to the floor.
    “Good morning, Leonardo,” he said, noticing me for the first time.
    “How are you