Unfinished Business

Chapter Twenty-Five

“More wine, Inspector?” Dr. Romano asked, graciously. Simon held out his glass – the vintage, if not excellent, was far superior to what he had been drinking. While wine wasn’t one of Simon’s particular upper-class fetishes, he did enjoy it, when properly arrayed with a meal. And when faced by such a poor excuse for a meal as this, it seemed doubly fulfilling. The Administrator had apologized profusely for the poor fare – barely a cut above what he had eaten daily on Serenity – and offered the wine in recompense. After meeting the incoherent sot who was “captain” of this ship, Simon needed the fortification the wine brought. It had been a five-minute interview that had given Simon every reason to have the Captain committed to a mental institution for treatment, so out of touch with reality was the old man. “I have them bring it in labeled as ‘medical supplies’. And I don’t skimp on the vintage. It almost makes up for the utter lack of cuisine in the Black.”

“This is from Ariel?” he asked, whirling the ruby liquid in his glass to see its legs.

“Yes, I have a cousin who has a small vineyard in New Tuscany. He’s an Internist, and spends his weekends tending his vines and working in the clinic he established near a blackout zone. The soil is perfect, just the right touch of magnesium, sunlight, and dirt cheap labor . . . and he gives me a family discount.”

“How fortunate for you,” Simon agreed.

“Yes, Dr. Romano is the fair-headed child of the universe,” one of the other scientists said from the far end of the table. There was more than a trace of bitterness in the man’s voice, the tone of a man doomed to a career as an underling. He wasn’t the only unhappy face among the scientific staff at the reception.

Simon had rarely seen such a sad, wrung-out group of researchers as these. Their clothes were shoddy and worn, of course, as was everything on the Suri Madron. But so were their spirits. Their demeanor ranged from outright fearfulness of his