Since the building had its decorative planetary rings every five stories, starting with the sixth story, then 215 had to be just beneath one of those rings. Ben searched the building directory and found that Lyster Innovations leased the next three floors, 216 through 218. Lyster Innovations’ public records indicated that the firm employed quality specialists and “idea generators” who would visit other companies and tell them how to do their jobs better. Ben frowned over that, dubious, but decided that descending from 216 might be the easiest way to get onto 215 unobserved.
He occupied himself for another hour researching Tendrando Arms’ local office and Lyster Innovations, then spent the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon buying things: food and bottled liquids that would not rapidly deteriorate, twenty meters of thin, pliant, strong cable, basic mechanical tools, a box of sweets, a length of red ribbon, and a large backpack. The last of the credits on the card he’d stolen went to buying himself a hot midday meal.
As the workday grew late and workers began streaming out of the Crossroutes building in anticipation of shift change, Ben entered the building, backpack on his shoulders and ribbon-wrapped box of sweets in his hands, and took the turbolift up to 216.
The doors opened into a jungle. Ben stared at healthy trees growing up out of dark, moist-looking soil, smelled the warm, heavy air of a tropical rain forest, saw a distant solar light through the trees that was a whiter hue than Almania’s sun. Somewhere in the distance, water splashed. There was no sound of industry, of harassed workers, of overtaxed terminals.
He stepped out onto the jungle floor, and the turbolift doors closed behind him. He turned to look at them and saw only a sheer rock face. It was a perfect illusion.
When he tried to examine it through the Force, he could sense very little. The trees did not resonate with life. He could detect no movement of insects through the air or underneath the soil.
He grinned toward the trees. “It’s all mechanical,” h 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-Decor, 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.”