The Light That Never Was by Jr. Lloyd Biggle

malicious intent. Rage was beneath her dignity, but no Wargen would properly ignore such an insult. She summoned Telka and sweetly apologized for arriving before the food was cooked, and then she remained for the entire rev—she was the last to leave—and periodically during the evening she asked if her chowder was ready to eat yet, and when it was brought to her she scrutinized it elaborately and pretended that the govon were still alive. Telka, reduced to tears, fled her own rev long before it was over, and the countess had ignored her invitations ever since.
    “Perhaps between the two of us—is she by chance serving govon?” Wargen asked.
    Lilya patted his arm. “She wouldn’t dare!”
    A food bar rolled past. Wargen sniffed deeply and remembered that he hadn’t eaten since morning. He found an unoccupied chair at the center of the room, signaled, and a moment later was savoring Ronony’s famous spun salad. Passersby ignored him—the right to eat undisturbed in the midst of a rev was a foundation stone of Donovian etiquette—and in his concentration on the food he did not at first hear Eritha guardedly calling to him. She stood a short distance away with her back turned.
    “He came to Donov Metro,” she said disgustedly, when she finally caught his attention, “for the aesthetic pleasure of viewing beautiful women such as I.”
    Wargen waited until the next passersby had moved on. “It might be interesting to know whom he talks with while he views those beautiful women,” he said softly.
    “If you were polite, you’d say, ‘such as you.’ ”
    A short time later he saw her join a group of women on the balcony, where she had a sweeping view of the entire room—as did Ronony Gynth on her private balcony opposite, but Wargen did not look in that direction.
    He satisfied his hunger and resumed his circuit of the room, greeting friends and listening, listening…
    “I’d hoped to have a few words with the guest of honor. Why is he hiding?”
    “To avoid having to answer questions. Why else? Those poor animals—”
    “I don’t know. Here on Donov we can’t really appreciate their point of view. I mean, what can you do with an animal that talks back and demands equal rights?”
    “Isn’t that the Count Wargen?”
    Wargen turned, smiled, moved on.
    An old university friend captured him for introductions and demanded, “Still on that humdrum government job?”
    “Still on it.”
    “Well, the offer’s still open. Any time you want a position that’s both interesting and profitable—”
    “But I don’t need the money,” Wargen smiled. “I come from a long line of bandits who accumulated vast fortunes at the expense of the public on several worlds, so I feel that I owe something in return.”
    “You’re giving your time in return for the public money your ancestors misappropriated?”
    “Not exactly. On this world, anyway, I’m merely trying to make it difficult for anyone else’s ancestors to misappropriate public money.”
    His friend considered that with a frown. “I say—that’s not really sporting, is it?”
    Amidst the ensuing laughter someone proposed a toast to Count Wargen, which he acknowledged gravely before excusing himself. He had seen Jaward Jorno in close conversation with a member of the World Quorum. He passed by without seeming to notice them, but Jorno noticed him and fell silent as he approached. Ronony’s steward was diplomatically moving the guests toward the terrace. “The finest lumeno player in the galaxy,” he chanted. “Never before seen on Donov. Take your places, please. The finest lumeno player—”
    A huge lumeno console was in position, the virtuoso waiting patiently, and as Wargen stepped onto the terrace for a closer look at the instrument, the warming up exercises began. The virtuoso rippled his fingers over the keyboards, and color patterns surged back and forth across the dark valley below.
    Lilya Vaan moved to Wargen’s side. “It’s