Prologue (Damahir POV)

“I find the picture portrays clearly that its artist is taking a stand against the consumer society. Don’t you think?” The older gentleman in a suit, that probably cost the same as an average families’ car, pointed to the abstract painting on the wall.

"Oh, yes, indeed," I replied, smiling charmingly as I followed the gesture of the man in front of me. "He couldn’t have chosen a more profound statement." Yes - a clearer statement of how idiotic humanity was. No matter how much I tried, the only way I could interpret this painting was a violation of art.

I would bet that the supposed artist had simply dumped several cups of paint over the painting from different angles. Add a few splashes of paint with a used brush on top, and you’d find yourself an idiot with too much money who was happy to brag to someone about his supposed insight into the painting. I could do that too, but I wouldn't claim that they were works of art.

"I must say, you really do have a flair for aesthetics, Mr. Walton." I laughed mirthfully, ignoring the inner urge to rinse my mouth out after this blatant lie. At least, this kind of man had a very predictable ego that always craved the approval and compliments of others. That's why it was easy for me to interact with them, even if it represented the unlovable part of our mission on Earth for me. 

Among the humans, I was known as 'Damien Pierce', an alias necessary to move unobtrusively in their midst. Occasionally, however, I imagined how they would react if I simply dropped my camouflage in their presence, and they faced the predator that kept its claws hidden. It helped distract me from how much faster I could have ended the awkward conversation if I just twisted that head hard enough....

"Well, that's because I only ever move in the best circles and have long been a connoisseur of the art, Mr. Pierce. I'm sure you'll develop a similar eye for subtlety over time," Mr. Walton asserted as arrogance dripped from his every pore.

Let's hope not. If that was the kind of eye for detail I was going to gain here, I suppose I could possess better taste without sight. Still, I pretended to be benevolent and charming, as the situation demanded. After all, what didn't one do for the job? Even if you had to talk to many idiots about how utterly brilliant they were, you had to bear it with dignity. Mr. Walton was just a small fish in this huge pond of people. But even small fish wanted to be fed, so they wouldn’t notice the hook irrevocably piercing into their gums.

"Thank you so much for the compliment. Coming from a successful businessman like you, I guess it bodes gloriously for my future," I returned with a grin.

"Oh, of course, of course. You know how keen I am to help the next generation," he assured me. Indeed. I was well aware of how eager he was to help the youth shed their clothes. Especially if they were pretty, young ladies who wanted to earn extra money for their studies. We had done extensive research on many of the people we had to use. Knowing where your counterpart was vulnerable was one of the first rules a Sotarineo learned.

"Then I guess I'm lucky that you keep freeing so much time for me. Now I have something meaningful to tell about this painting to impress the ladies," I replied with a wink. As expected, it elicited a laugh from my counterpart.

"Speaking of the fairer sex, Mr. Pierce. I think I should excuse myself. There's a red fox back there waiting to make my acquaintance. See you soon, we should definitely talk more often," the man said goodbye.

"You're very welcome. Until next time, Mr. Walton," I returned, forcing myself to maintain the smile that this scum did not deserve.

As soon as he disappeared to make a new contact, I took the opportunity to get away from the abstract representations. Why did one even bother to look at these works? It would be something else if the paintings here were more interesting. Or at least some nude paintings would be among the exhibits. But like this? That's what I got for not completing my outstanding tasks on time. Lyras could be a real slave driver, even to his own friends when he put his mind to it. He couldn't take a joke on this mission. Not even when I was conducting field studies in the middle of Washington's prestigious nightclubs.

Next time, I resolved, I wouldn't leave anything that Lyras could use as an excuse to dispatch me to such a cultural hole again. Why on earth had I not compiled the reports on the activities of the other security companies? As long-winded and dry as they would have been, this was much more exhausting.

I suppressed a sigh and roamed the various aisles of the exhibition, keeping an eye out for more business partners to converse with. There was a whole list of important people I needed to connect with today. All of them may not have been possible, but if I couldn't at least give Lyras several names after he dispatched me here, the next undignified event would follow.

Not to mention that many of these people might actually be relevant to how we proceed. On my agenda today was the CEO of a weapons company with whom we wanted to enter into negotiations, the son of a senator who might make a suitable target for future blackmail, and the head of the research department of a well-known pharmaceutical company. There were others who would make a handy extra in the priority, but today, of all days, luck seemed to have slipped through my claws. Where on earth were the ladies and gentlemen hiding? At such a large event, it should be impossible for me not to track down at least one of them.

The entire gala was a charity event for the important people in Washington, D.C. - and those who thought they were important people. A wide variety of works by various artists had been gathered as donations. Wasn't there even an auction of some scheduled for the good cause? I vaguely remembered having read something like that. Even though I couldn't understand how anyone would want to spend money on this at all. Especially not with the questionable selection that was presented.

Although most of the art was abstract, there were at least a few outliers.

I passed still lives and landscape paintings, while I glanced at the buffet. Various delicacies of different price ranges were neatly lined up for the top of the society to enjoy. The large open hall, which faced the aisles with the various paintings, offered enough space for many people. The guests had been invited in corresponding numbers, but at least the press had been banished outside. Except for a few photographers from an exclusive newspaper and a well-known TV station, who were allowed to report officially, it was not allowed to photograph or record at the event. All other representatives of the media had to settle for taking pictures of the entrance area. The upper class of society loved the secrecy surrounding their oh-so-glorious works of art. As well as their privacy. Deep conversations could develop at celebrations like these. Especially when alcohol had loosened tongues in the later hours.

It was especially easy for my senses to prick up my ears in different directions. My fine hearing could understand much more than that of the assembled people. Without having to strain, I could listen to several conversations at once and search for relevant information.

Unfortunately, they were not the only sensory impressions that reached me. The same was true for the smells, which could become a real nuisance with many people in a room. Numerous perfumes and notes of sweat combined with each other to create an almost unbearable stench.

What would I have given to be able to selectively turn individual senses on and off? In my homeworld Kiga'rasur I could have fallen back on it, but on Jon'tarien, the earth, it was not granted to me. The risk of attracting unwanted attention was too great.

Fortunately, there was the option to enjoy the fresh night air when the stimuli threatened to overwhelm me at this event. A large balcony was available, which could be reached directly from the hall. Possibly many an important conversation would be held there, away from the rest of the pack. So far, however, I saw no one who offered himself as a new dialog partner.

"Damien?" One of the servers held out a tray of assorted champagne glasses to me. "Can I interest you in another drink before you have to waste your time again?" Apparently, someone still remembered how little I liked the abstract arts. Yet, it had merely been an innocuous flirting hook at the last event where I had sought a more enjoyable pursuit.

I grinned, reached for the champagne glass, and winked at the young man as I placed it emphatically slowly to my own lips. "You know, you could get me excited about plenty of other things, Matt. But I'm afraid today, I'm here to work." The pleasant smell the beau gave off caught in my nose, made me block out the other notes for a moment. How I would have loved to give in to this temptation, where it lured me so promptly. But I had to concentrate on the essentials.

"A pity." The waiter laughed and winked back. "Maybe I'll catch you at closing time?"

"Yeah, maybe," I murmured in reply. I would much rather have been chatting with handsome Matt or one of his hard-working colleagues. It was unfortunate that I wasn't here for pleasure. If it weren't for an important task, I would have made it a point to have an entertaining interruption. With a last glance, which was not directed at Matt's back but wandered deeper over the body I knew, I continued my search.

What I found, however, was neither a new conversation partner nor another acquaintance with tingling attraction.

"You've got to be kidding me." My eyes fell on another painting that stood out from other pieces I had seen this evening. This wasn’t just because it was one of the rare paintings by an artist who was the talk of Washington, D.C. Nor was it because, in contrast to all the abstract ridiculousness, it showed actual content.

The canvas in front of me depicted two babies being placed by two men on crystals, which began to turn black upon contact with the two children. The color gradient was clearly visible, as were the dynamics of the gems. They were arranged in a semicircle to each other, which seemed to continue outside the perspective of the picture. In addition, it appeared as if someone had struck a basin in parts of those crystal formations in which the children had been placed. Those crystal steps, which showed the two babies, worked thereby like a mirror image, since they stood on exactly opposite sides of the semicircle. The two men stood with their backs to the observer. Their contours certainly did not coincidentally turn out the way they were depicted in this picture. Anyone who knew them would have been able to identify them at a glance. It was not possible that this event was to be seen here in a work painted by human hand.

Was I imagining it? No. The details were too clear for it to be a mere coincidence. Whatever this painting meant to us, I couldn't pursue that on my own.

I reached for my cell phone, stepped away from the exhibit, and made my way to the balcony of the event to find as quiet a place as possible to make my phone call. I had to inform the others about that.