Altria walked into the office with a feeling of nerves.
It was sumptuously decorated. Marble panelling encircled the room, alternating panels were covered in golden gilt. The “bare” segments were so heavily engraved with mythological scenes they didn’t appear any less rich.
The room was used for rare meetings when clients demanded to see an agent's superiors. The room had been designed to instill the maximum of gravity and, above all else, wealth. Altria had spent less than two total hours in the room, but it had cemented itself in her memory. A circular table was surrounded by five chairs. A bar, stocked with the most expensive liquors lay opposite it. The dominant feature of the room was the desk. It was granite, grey, and had always reminded her of the centerpiece of a mausoleum.
Today, when the secretary outside admitted her to the room, her boss was pouring himself an amber-colored drink from a crystal bottle. He was tall, trim, dark-haired, and clean-shaven. The suit that he was wearing had been made by a very famous Indian tailor from silks that had been chosen by another very famous Indian merchant and blessed by a very famous Indian yogi.
He was the last scion of two of the oldest houses of Europe and his father had married into one of the wealthiest families in India. Forbes had not included him in their list of the world's wealthiest people, but only because they did not have access to the banking statements which would allow them to make that judgement. It was said that he was a master horseman, rifleman, and lover. He had never overstepped the line between employee and employer or given her any reason to doubt him.
That is, until he had advised her to suppress her feelings for Julius Paine and do her job. That was decidedly against the regulations she had learned.
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"Come in and shut the door behind you. Could I interest you in a drink?" He asked, his voice professional.
She assented; she had been trained to maintain her abilities while intoxicated, and it was encouraged that she continue to keep those skills sharp. He poured himself another snifter from the same bottle.
She usually allowed him to steer the conversation, but she seldom had something as important as she did today. There was no need to delay. "We think that my client is still on board the Creator."
He never asked her for evidence. She had wondered about it at first but over time had decided that it was his way of showing his trust. "So he pulled another stunt to get the world's attention for his campaign.” He pulled quietly from the drink, tapping the crystal glass with the index finger. “I suspect now is time to make his escape." He said those last words with a particular force that she feared she did not totally grasp.
"Sir?"
"Oh that's right, you and your team have all been watching that transmission." He turned towards the television wall. "Television, display CNN."
Instantly a blurry image of a Venturi Industries module popped on screen. The headline read "Governance First Loser Seeks Medical Supplies." A countdown clock told her that she would be in a rush to get to the VI building in time.
He looked at her appraisingly. She had gotten this look from him before, he wore it when he was wondering if he was surrounded by idiots.
First Loser-- that’s right, a person who leaves the vessel forfeits the competition. Thinking of the notable names in the competition who could verify the supplies were what they claimed, Altria’s intuition leapt. If Lauria is going to be on Earth, I have to talk to her. "Sorry, I can't finish the drink, sir. I've got to catch a chopper." She spoke.
He nodded, a sharp smile replacing the disdainful look, "Take mine, I'm coming with you."