Lyr frowned again, but said nothing.

"Any other questions?"

"I'm sure I have dozens. I just can't think of them." Her leg twitched involuntarily and threw her off balance.

His hand touched her shoulder as if to keep her from pitching sideways.

"Thank you."

"Any last questions?"

"No." Her lips were dry, and she licked them once, then again. "I'm probably wrong, but I just don't think I could stay here, not unless I have some better idea of who and what you are, what you look like."

"All right. Will you consider staying, then?"

"I'll consider it."

His hand squeezed her shoulder gently, and he stepped around the swivel and stood before her, next to the screen.

She looked up.

The familiar hawk-yellow eyes caught her attention first, that and the hint of darkness behind them, a darkness that hinted at a man far older than the one who faced her. She studied his face, the sharpish nose, the unlined and smooth skin, thin lips, and the short and blond curly hair cut military-style. He had neither beard nor mustache.

While his chin was not pointed, it narrowed in a way that almost gave him an elfin look, had it not been for the penetrating power of his eyes and the strength of his nose.

Once more, she tried to focus on his body, but the black of the formfitting singlesuit he wore kept pushing her eyes away from his form and toward the floor or his face.

He noted her confusion. "It's a full-fade combat suit."

"You aren't. . ."

"No. Just something useful."

She licked her lips again. His face, even with the hawk-eyes, looked familiar, but she could not say why. She had never met him, outside of the interview years ago, that and the scattered screen contacts. That she knew; yet he seemed familiar.

"No horns. No black cloud." He smiled.

"No recognition, either," she countered.

"Didn't say you'd recognize me. Said the ability to recognize me might be dangerous."

Lyr cocked her head to one side. For all the clipped sentences, the shortened words, his speech pattern had a touch of a lilt, an odd tone that she had never heard before. She wondered why she had not picked it up earlier, even though there was no doubt now that he was the man who had interviewed her. The unique hawk-eyes were enough to confirm that. Perhaps the screen speakers did not reproduce the lilt, underlying his speech as it did.

"Shall we dive for the event horizon?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows in inquiry, but said nothing.

"Who are you?"

He shrugged. "If you insist . . . MacGregor Gerswin, at your service."

"I don't recognize the name, either."

"Never said I was famous. Glad to know I'm not." He took a step to the side. "How are your legs?"

Lyr tried to lift her right foot, could feel the effort, but the leg did not move. "Better, but I still can't move them."

"Shouldn't be too long." He spread his hands. "Now that you've unmasked me . . . what next?"

"I don't know."

"Still want to quit?"

"Common sense screams that I should, but I wouldn't want to force anyone else to go through one of your employee searches, Ser Gerswin."

"What can I say?"

"Don't. Just be thankful I'm as crazy as you are. But," and her voice hardened, "don't sneak in again and change the files without at least warning me that you might be in the area. And fax me directly without that damned hood and mask."

He laughed. "I'll do both, unless I can't reach you. Promise me you'll look before pulling your stunner."

"I promise."

A frown crossed his face. "I should have left some time ago."

"Another woman. I knew it."

He shook his head. "Duty, so to speak. I have . . . other obligations. I will stay in touch. How is your leg?"

"The feeling's back."

"Good." He nodded, bent, and picked up a small case from beside the base of the console, a case she had never seen, for all the time it had apparently lain there.

With a salute, he turned and was gone.

So quickly had he departed that Lyr shook her head to make sure he had indeed gone. What else had she missed? Besides everything?

MacGregor Gerswin? Was he in any of the lists?

She bent over the console, nearly losing her balance again as her legs twitched. Feeling had returned to both, along with the faint sensation of needles jabbing at her skin.

"Might as well search while you wait," she said softly to herself. She did not trust her legs to bear her weight yet.

No MacGregor Gerswin appeared in any of the New Augustan Imperial Government directories, not even an M. Gerswin.

Imperial Service? Which one?

She tried the Marine Directory.

Nothing.

Aeorspace Defense?

Nothing.

Retirees?

No such listing.

Interstellar Survey Service?

"Individual names and assignments are not available for security reasons. An alphabetical listing of names is available with rank and communications locator code. Do you wish to continue search?"

She tapped in "Yes."

"Gerswin, MacGregor Corson, Senior Commander, 455 NC 466/OS."

That was all.

Lyr shook her head tiredly, conscious of the fatigue in her legs as the stunner wore off. It had been a long day before the evening's events.

"Just a senior commander. Not even a commodore?

"But he never claimed anything," she answered her own question.

She tapped the screen and erased the inquiries. She'd have the time. Cursing and damning herself for a fool, she knew she would have the time.

XXIII.

What forecast the fall of the Empire?

Was it the increasing development and resource requirements of the associated systems, pushing inevitably as they did for use of those resources for more local needs? Was it merely a turning away from the Imperialist nature of the Empire? Was it a repudiation of the growing corruption manifested in New Augusta?

Was it the development of the totally impartial Galactic Communications Network by the fanatically honest Ydrisians, whose peaceful intentions were never doubted and with whose fairness the biases of the Empire contrasted so unfavorably?.

Was it the growing awareness of social change, manifested Empire-wide in such movements as the Ateys, the Droblocs, the Aghomers? Or was the Empire merely one of those accidents of history that lasted so long as it did because it took fifteen centuries for its peoples to discover that it had really never lived?

The Last Great Empire Ptior Petral, IV New Avalon, 5467 N.E.C.

XXIV.

LYR D'MERYON STEPPED out of the electrocab and into the warmlights of the entry tunnel.

To her right was a towering figure-a doorman-whose weight and bulk might have qualified him for the Imperial Marines' Front Force.

She hesitated, then began a series of quick steps toward the portal, where she presented the card that Commander Gerswin had left for her. Was he the trustee or the commander to her?

She didn't know, but apparently the invitation was his apology. At least she hoped that was all it was.

The portal accepted the card, but did not return it as it opened for her.

Inside, the lighting was brighter, though fractionally, and the tiles were replaced with carpeting. She looked again as her eyes took in the decor. The foyer where she stood was about the same size as her private office and was floored in dark wood, over which laid an individual carpet with a central design, in turn bordered by a more geometrical design, both woven in a harmonious blend of blue and maroons.

"Administrator D'Meryon?"

The voice came from a short, gray-haired man who stood by the tall wooden table flanking the exit from the foyer into the next room.

"Yes?"

"Your patron has arrived already and is expecting you. If you would follow me?"

Lyr inclined her head in assent and followed the man through the archway into a dining area, dimly lit, with the tables arranged in a circular pattern, each in its own paneled recess to create a sense of full privacy without closeness.

The dark and heavy carpeting, the wood paneling, and the crisp white linen all gave the impressions of a time from history, of a place removed from the here and now.

Commander Gerswin, in a formal gray tunic and trousers that resembled a uniform, stood as she neared.

She almost smiled, more in embarrassment than in pleasure, as his eyes came to rest on her. She wondered if he saw through people the way he seemed to when he looked at them.

"Lyr. Pleasure to see you."

"I appreciate your asking me, Commander." Her tone was as cool as she could politely make it.

He nodded in response, but said nothing until she was seated in the comfortable armchair opposite him at the square table.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Squierre and flame."

Lyr did not see the waiter until the commander looked up over her head and repeated the order.

"Straight fizz," he added.

She surveyed the room as well as she could from her chair without turning around, and waited.

He waited.

And the waiter returned with both drinks, set them down in the appropriate places, and departed without saying a word.