Gridan Revidu sat in the darkened catalog creche talking to a ghost.
She stood about seven and a half feet tall, on the short side for a Hekayti - even a female, and she wore her gray hair long, flowing past her shoulders. The small bony protrusions jutting from the mottled blue-green skin covering her skull had been decorated with gold rings and glittering gemstones.
"Ensora," the old Konterbeid said. "You look as ravishing as ever."
The woman chuckled. "Spare me the pleasantries, Gridan. You are a terrible person. You always have been. I never liked you, and you always knew it."
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I suspect that you never liked me because we shared so much in common. Cold. Calculating. Ruthless. Do stop me when I strike a false chord with you."
"Yet my husband considered you his closest friend for all those years," Ensora replied.
"And he accepted you for a mate," Gridan said, smirking. "I suppose this just goes to prove that Aldur Bokren is a masochist at heart, doesn't it?"
The woman's holographic image flickered. She frowned at the brief disconnect. Then her expression eased. "Afternoon generator switchover. Right on schedule." In life, Ensora Bokren had been one of the few Hekayti female to win a place among the male-dominated castes of their culture. She had shown equal aptitude for the Toveil and Konterbeid castes, but ultimately chose to focus on her bureaucratic skills. It was during her early years in the Konterbeid that she met Aldur and determined that he would make a suitable mate for her. Not too ambitious, but unwilling to accept simple mediocrity. She put her hands on her hips. "I reviewed Aldur's catalog upload, as you asked." Although Starko had erased the record from the Toveil computer storage system, it was no great secret that deletion in such cases - by a mid-level operative, for example - meant the record was no longer accessible by anyone at that rank or below. However, it could be accessed by someone of higher rank. It could certainly be viewed by Ensora Bokren, the only woman to ever have served on the High Moot of Glasne. "It's not there, Gridan. I told you: Our people did a thorough job."
"Not there," Gridan frowned. "But..."
Ensora laughed wickedly. "Oh, Gridan, you should have come to me long before putting this chaotic mess of a plan in motion. At the very least, I could have persuaded Aldur to come in for cataloging just to ease your mind about it. Now look at what you've done. How many people have you gotten killed in the past few days trying to tie up one silly loose end that wasn't even a problem - and was bound to fizzle out on its own? I know you've always been such a believer in elaborate intrigues. On that much, at least, we could not be more different. I like to keep matters as simple as possible. Complications are messy, Gridan. A plan's viability loses its leverage, starts coming unhinged, the moment you introduce complications. If you wanted Aldur Bokren dead, you would have been better served leaving him to freeze to death in the old mansion. If you had to be absolutely sure, well, you could have run over him with your car. Or shot him yourself. He wanted to die. He wanted it to be over. He told me as much as I lay dying. His betrayal of our son consumed his spirit. And, while it pains me to admit this, I believe he also felt horrible guilt for what I had erased from his memories. He didn't know what it was, what churned inside him, but it did. Now, though, Gridan...I saw the footage of him at the depository. You've rekindled the old fire in Aldur Bokren. He very much wants to survive. That makes him incredibly dangerous to anyone who might pose a threat to that desire."
Gridan rubbed his palm on his forehead, grimacing. "I cannot undo this. Plans are in motion. The story is out there. The public believes that Aldur Bokren and Dira Urtigo are enemies of the state. And Rojt Omara holds a blood vendetta against them now for the death of his friend Starko. He will stop at nothing to see them killed."
"I very much doubt that he will successfully kill Aldur Bokren," Ensora said without emotion. "Not now. You would do well to sleep with one eye open from now on, I should think."
"Would it make a difference if I tried changing the situation?" Gridan asked. "What if I could persuade the Grand Moot to recall Rojt? What if I could give them another scapegoat and exonerate Aldur and Dira Urtigo?"
Ensora's eyebrows arched. Her head tilted slightly to the left. "Knowing what I do about this soldier, recalling him would only make him furious with you. Perhaps murderously so. You could try to undo what you have done, but it would only succeed in making more people want to kill you. That doesn't seem like a number you want to see increasing." A grin spread across her face. "Gridan, you're squirming. I haven't seen you this uneasy in many years. It pleases me."
The old Hekayti politician stood, preparing to leave the interaction creche. "Always good talking with you, Ensora. You never fail to enlighten." He bowed, hands pressed palm to palm, in deference to the dead. "Until next we meet."
"Oh, I do hope there IS a next meeting," Ensora said, before fading from view.
The bitch always did like getting the last word. Gridan turned, waved a hand over a sensor eye, and then stepped through the opening door into the corridor of the Konterbeid house in the northeastern district of Glasne. Shafts of light poured through the tall stained glass windows that lined the great arched hallway with marble floors and colorful tapestries dangling from intricate wrought iron posts.
A librarian at the C-shaped desk near the interaction creche pod smiled politely at Gridan and asked, "Is there anyone else you'd like loaded up for a conversation, sir?"
"No," Gridan replied. "Thank you, but you may reset that creche and allow others to use it. I am done for now." He started walking down the corridor toward the main doors leading to the street outside. Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked past the old hag's mocking tone to find the wisdom in her words. Gridan decided in the end that he would put off worrying about becoming a target for Aldur's revenge for at least a little bit longer. The matter might be quite academic once Rojt caught up to the fugitives.