Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra Read Online Free

pedestals, each with a light shining down upon it from the ceiling as in a museum. All of the pieces were pre-Columbian Aztec. It was an impressive collection.
    At the end of the gallery another set of doors opened to reveal a young woman, dressed incongruously in a long white robe— much like the two winged men on the outer doors. Her hair was jet, like her eyes, and bound in a single braid down her back. Her skin was light bronze and porcelain smooth, her cheekbones high, her lips dark. She was easily the most beautiful woman Treet had seen in a very long time. He could not help staring.
    “Miss Yarden Talazac,” said Varro, “his executive administrator.”
    She offered Treet her hand and said demurely, “Welcome. I'm glad to know you, Mr. Treet. This way, if you please.”
    “My pleasure,” replied Treet sincerely. For the pleasure of being in this radiant creature's company, Treet was willing to forgive whatever grievances he had been nursing to this point. Even his punctured stomach did not feel so bad anymore.
    The stunning Miss Talazac conducted them into a cavernous domed room whose ceiling was dark and winking with artificial starlight like the ceiling of a planetarium. There were no windows, but at intervals around the circumference of the dome, lighted niches contained statuary.
    Before them, on a dais served by a long sloping ramp next to a very large and old-fashioned wooden chair, stood a smoking brazier on a tripod. The smoke was scented—like flowers, but delicate and airy, not oppressive. Treet felt as if his senses sharpened upon entering the room and wondered whether the incense had anything to do with that impression.
    In the oversize chair facing him sat a man whose age could not be determined. This, Treet assumed, was Chairman Neviss. Though his very ordinary features were expressionless, he appeared alert, and Treet thought something like mirth played at the edges of the full, fleshy lips—as if the Chief Officer of Cynetics was enjoying some amusing private observation.
    “Chairman, may I present Mr. Orion Treet.” It was Miss Talazac who spoke rather than Varro.
    Slowly, almost painfully, the Chairman rose and, with a condescending nod of his head, diffidently offered his hand to Treet. Treet approached the dais and accepted the handshake. The grasp was dry and cool, and Treet felt bones beneath the flesh of the palm. “I'm glad you're here, Mr. Treet. I have been looking forward to this meeting with some anticipation.”
    Treet did not know what to say, so mumbled something about being honored and privileged to find himself in such exalted company.
    “Please be seated, gentlemen.” The Chairman indicated chairs, and Treet twisted his head to see that chairs had appeared where there had been no chairs before. Varro, no doubt, had produced them. Miss Talazac, on the other hand, had disappeared.
    Treet sat down and rested his arms easily on the armrests. Now that he was here, he suddenly felt very nervous, very intense—almost excited. What was this all about? Why the intrigue? What did they want?
    Chairman Neviss looked at him dryly, and then his mouth opened in a wide grin. “Orion Treet,” he said, shaking his head, “this is indeed a pleasure.”
    “I'm honored, sir.”
    “Do you know that I have been following your writings for thirty years? From the beginning, in fact. You have a style, sir. Lucid. Astute. I like that; it shows a clear-thinking mind. Your grasp of the interconnected events of history is simply astounding. I envy you your abilities, sir—and there is not much in this world that I do envy.”
    It took Treet some moments to realize that it was indeed himself that the Chairman was talking about—he always had that reaction to praise. “Thank you, sir,” he muttered.
    “No. Thank
you,
Orion Treet. I have learned a great deal from you. I respect you as a man of keen intellect and sensitivity. Also a man to be trusted. Rare these days to find that, I'm sorry to