“If anyone asks for me I’ve gone to report to Duke Edmund,” Herzer said as he headed for the double doors at the front of the building.

“Yes, sir,” the charge of quarters replied. He was reading something and didn’t look up.

Herzer paused and turned on one heel. “That’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to write down, Private,” he growled.

“Yes, sir,” the private replied in a much more focused voice. He opened his ledger and reached for the quill standing in an ink bottle.

Herzer nodded at him, then turned and walked out the door.

* * *

“Come,” Sheida said at the door chime.

Her aide Harry Chambers came in, followed by a tall, thin, dark-haired man. He could have been anything from thirty to two hundred. He had an expression of slightly distracted amiability on his face as he nodded at the council member.

“Joel Travante,” Sheida breathed. “Welcome. Most welcome, sir. Sit, please. Harry, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Harry said, stepping out and cycling the door shut.

As the door shut the man in the float chair changed subtly. Whereas he had been smiling, the smile dropped from his face to be replaced by a blank, hard mask, and his languid pose, while not shifting a millimeter, dropped away. He went from seeming to be a nice, simple, professional to something that looked more like a drawn sword.

“How are you?” Sheida asked, nodding at him, hard. “Where have you been?”

“In the Asur Islands, ma’am,” the inspector said, sitting forward and nodding back. He had a deep, baritone voice and his eyes were blue and cold.

Prior to the Fall, the world had had little crime. With nearly infinite wealth, personal protection fields and the availability of semilegal means to fulfill even the darkest fantasies, there was very little opportunity or need to cause it.