Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 04_ Exile - Aaron Allston [63]
He grinned toward the trees. “It’s all mechanical,” he told himself.
“So it is.” The voice, male, came from only a few meters ahead. “Follow the path, please.”
The path, the ground and leaves underfoot convincingly soft and resilient, led forward, then curved right, revealing a clearing that should have been visible from the turbolift but was not. The right half of the clearing was dominated by a stone-lined pool, seemingly natural, into which water from an adjacent waterfall splashed. Next to it was a desk apparently made of black stone. As it came into view, the man who sat behind it, young and pale-skinned, lowered his lizard-skin boots from the desktop and sat forward in a more normal pose. His jumpsuit, though apparently cloth, had the same color and texture as his boots. “Welcome to Lyster Innovations,” he said. “Can I help you?”
“What is all this?” Ben asked, gesturing around.
“Corporate culture.” The man offered Ben a big, practiced smile to go with his big, practiced words. “One of the things we do is show companies how to establish and maintain their own cultural identities through environmental design. Here in our receiving area, the floor, walls, and decorative pillars are made of or coated with our patented chameleon cover material, which allows the ultimate in decorative versatility. With just a few words, I can establish a new tone, a new work environment. For instance—Décor, Purity.”
He’d hardly finished the second word when a change rippled through the chamber. Trees straightened, becoming vertical, absolutely symmetrical, their branches folding up into their sides. The floor flattened into a perfect plane and Ben, balancing, could feel it harden under his feet.
Most objects faded to white smoothness, the trees becoming featureless and gleaming. Even the man’s clothes transformed from their green scale texture to pure white. His desk became silver, and the rim of stones around the pool became a silvery seating bench.
Now Ben could see the true dimensions of the room—for a reception area, it was large, about twenty meters by twenty, but it no longer seemed to stretch forever in every direction. Silvery panels on the walls—doors, he supposed—showed him where the boundaries were.
The man was watching him closely, and Ben did not need to tap into the Force to feel that he wanted Ben to be impressed. He lives for praise, Ben thought. And Jacen says that when you give people what they want, they can be more cooperative.
“Wow,” Ben said. “I mean, wow.”
“Wow indeed.” The man smiled, apparently satisfied. “So, are you looking for someone in particular?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ben pretended to consult his datapad. “I have something for, um, Gilthor Breen.”
“I’m Gilthor Breen.”
I know that, Ben thought. Your face and your name are on the company’s public page. And a whole long list of your likes and dislikes. “Then this is for you.” He put the beribboned box on the desk top.
Gilthor looked closely at Ben, then subjected the box to the same scrutiny. He pulled the ribbon end to untie the bow, then opened the box and gave a brief, uncertain smile when he saw the variety of sweets within. “Uh, is there a note?”
Ben checked his datapad again. “No note. She just left a short message. ‘Two days.’”
“‘Two days.’ She. Who’s she? What’s her name?”
Ben shrugged. “She didn’t leave one. But she was very short, with long black hair and black eyes. And cute, really cute.” This was a description of Aliniaca Verr, a young holodrama actress currently in vogue. She was from the world of Balmorra, like Gilthor himself, and she was his favorite actress, three facts that Ben had found on Gilthor’s personal page. Ben wasn’t going to try to persuade Gilthor that his admirer was Verr herself; it just seemed reasonable that if Gilthor admired Verr, he’d also be interested in a woman who looked like her.
Apparently he’d guessed correctly. Gilthor practically began to vibrate in his chair. “Two days,