The Dark Lady

Kobrynski. He gave the head a fond pat. “Especially this one. He was gnawing away on my left foot when I finally killed him.”
    “Is that how you lost your arm, too?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “That was about fifteen years ago, in a skydiving accident.” He flexed his artificial left arm. “No great loss. This one works better than my real one.” He paused. “Anyone care for a drink?”
    “Yes, thanks,” said Heath.
    Kobrynski reached into a cabinet, withdrew a bottle of Altairian rum, and tossed it to Heath. “How about you?” he asked me.
    “I do not partake of stimulants,” I replied. “But I thank you for the offer.”
    “Suit yourself,” he said, sitting down on the edge of an unmade bed and motioning us to seat ourselves on a pair of metal stools. “Okay. Start asking your questions. I think I'm as interested in them as you are in the answers.”
    “Are you alone here?” asked Heath.
    “Is that a question, or the prelude to a robbery?” asked Kobrynski in a tone that boded ill for any potential burglar.
    “It is a question of the utmost importance,” I said.
    “I'm alone.”
    “There's no woman with you?” persisted Heath.
    Kobrynski waved his real arm in a sweeping gesture that encompassed most of the planet. “Do you see one?” He paused. “What's all this about a woman? Venzia asked me the same damned thing.”
    “We are seeking a certain woman,” I said. “I have reason to believe that she will appear here before too much longer.”
    “On Solitaire?” he said with a sardonic laugh. “What could possibly make a woman come out to a hot, ugly, lifeless world like this?”
    “ You could, Mr. Kobrynski,” I replied.
    He looked surprised. “Me?”
    “That is correct.”
    “Maybe you didn't get a good look at me in the sunlight,” he said. “I haven't exactly got the kind of face that would make a woman follow me around the galaxy.”
    “ This woman will,” I said.
    “Keep talking,” said Kobrynski, his face alive with interest.
    I turned to Heath. “May I be permitted to conduct the interview, Friend Valentine?”
    Heath smiled. “You took it over a couple of minutes ago.”
    “I apologize for my poor manners,” I said.
    “There's no need to,” said Heath. “After all, you're the expert.”
    “Thank you,” I said, turning back to our host. “Mr. Kobrynski, two years ago you were the underbidder on a painting that was sold on Beta Santori V.”
    “How did you know that?”
    “It is a matter of public record,” I replied. “Do you recall the painting?”
    “Of course I do. It was the only piece of art I ever tried to buy, and some rich bastard from Near London or Old London wound up with it.”
    “Far London,” I corrected him.
    “Do you know him?” asked Kobrynski. “He never showed up at the auction himself; he had an agent do his bidding for him.”
    “His name is Malcolm Abercrombie,” I replied. “He was my employer until quite recently.”
    “He must be loaded.”
    “He is quite wealthy,” I agreed. “May I ask what it was about that particular painting that interested you? I have seen it, and in all candor, it is not a very well-executed portrait.”
    “Are you here to ask me about paintings or about some woman you're looking for?”
    “Both,” I replied. “Would you please answer my question? I assure you that it is quite important.”
    Kobrynski shrugged. “I didn't give a damn about how good a painting it was,” he said. “I told you: I don't collect artwork.”
    “But you tried to purchase that painting,” I continued. “Why?”
    “Because of the subject matter.”
    “The woman who was depicted?”
    He nodded. “That's right.”
    “Have you ever seen her?” I asked.
    “Almost every night for close to twenty years,” replied Kobrynski.
    “That's impossible!” interjected Heath.
    “I'd be very careful who I called a liar, Mr. Heath,” said Kobrynski ominously.
    “Have you ever been to Acheron?” asked Heath.
    “I've never even heard of it.”
    “I know for a fact that she was on Acheron for at least a month,” said Heath. “How could she possibly have been with you at the same time?”
    “I didn't say I'd met her,” answered Kobrynski. “I said I've seen her.” He tapped his head. “In here.”
    “I don't understand you, Mr. Kobrynski,” said Heath.
    “She keeps appearing to me in my dreams,” replied Kobrynski. “I used to think that I had invented her. Then I saw the painting.” He