Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel)

by Frank Lauria

  "What kind of film are you making, Presto?" Pia asked. She gave Orient a quick smile as she spoke, almost as if she had realized Orient’s discomfort and deliberately moved attention away from him.

  "I’ll shoot it as I go," Presto said. "Take footage in Morocco and Spain and do the processing and editing in Rome."

  "Sounds like a winning combination," Pia said.

  Orient looked at Janice. She was entirely absorbed in listening to whatever Pia said. Greta, Jack, and Alice were still murmuring enthusiastically about handicrafts, but Janice didn’t seem to be aware that there were any other people tallking. She watched every gesture of Pia’s with something close to adoration.

  "Oh, hello, Doctor," Pia said.

  Orient looked over at her automatically, but Pia wasn’t speaking to him. She was greeting the other man who had been seated at her dining table.

  He was tall and stout with an expensive bearing. His suit was dark and well cut, his tie pin, cuff links, wrist bracelet, and massive ring all of hammered gold. A small yellow chain attached to the buttonhole in his wide lapel fell across the soft flannel into his breast pocket. He tried to smile, but it was an exertion for which the heavy-featured face hadn’t been trained.

  "I’m going down to the cabin to show Jack and Alice my shawls," Greta told her husband. Jack and Alice excused themselves and left with her.

  "I hope I’m not intruding," the newcomer said. His voice was hoarse and ponderous. He took one of the empty chairs reluctantly, apparently not eager for sociability.

  "Not at all, Doctor," Wallet assured him. "Do me the honor of having a bon voyage drink."

  "I’m afraid I’d be setting a poor example for these young ladies," the man said morosely. He had stopped smiling and his deeply tanned face had settled into its usual preoccupied scowl. There were thick bags under his wide eyes.

  "Now, Doctor, that’s a poor attitude to take," Pia said, signaling for the steward. "This is an occasion. We’re going across the ocean." She turned to Orient. "Owen, I think you’re the only one who hasn’t met Dr. Six."

  Orient shook the man’s hand. It was thick and strong. "Owen Orient," Doctor Six slowly repeated Pia’s introduction. "Haven’t I just read something about your work?"

  "Nothing that I know of," Orient smiled. He wondered where the man had seen his name. Doctor Six didn’t seem like the kind of person who made mistakes.

  "Perhaps your research, Owen?" Pia suggested.

  Doctor Six’s frown softened, as it often did when he looked at Pia. "Quite possible; all I read are medical reports," he said.

  Orient was uncomfortable again. If Ferrari had published the results of Project Judy, his research would become shipboard gossip. If he tried to explain telepsychology, he would end up with a dozen requests to read tea leaves.

  "You know, Presto," Pia was saying, "Doctor Six has a wild first name too. Perhaps we can get him to admit to it." Her voice was teasing and musical.

  Doctor Six smiled; Pia’s playfulness at his expense amused him. "Yes," he sipped his brandy, "my parents had the whim of naming me after their favorite painter. I was christened Alistar,” he said, taking care to emphasize the last syllable, "and for years I never thought much about it. Until this young lady," he beamed at Pia, "very tactfully made me aware of its peculiarities."

  Presto nodded uncertainly.

  "But," Doctor Six drained his glass and stood up, "I really must insist that both young ladies get their rest." He smiled at Janice, who nodded, smiled, and got to her feet unquestioningly.

  Orient found that he was vaguely annoyed that Pia also stood up and said good night without any protest. Both girls left the lounge immediately.

  Doctor Six’s scowl reasserted itself as he watched them leave. "I’m most apologetic at having to deprive you gentlemen of such charming company," he said, bowing slightly to Wallet. "A poor way to repay your hospitality, sir." He inclined his head to Presto and Orient.

  "Good night."

  Orient thought he detected the trace of an accent.

  "Well," Presto ventured after a slight pause, "I just hope they didn’t mess up my bike when they loaded it. I put a hell of a lot of work into it."

  "Don’t worry. They’re careful here," Wallet reassured him. He leaned over confidentially. "What kind of BMW do you have?"

  "An R69S, but I’ve chopped it down to make it easier to shoot film while I’m riding. Plus I can carry the extra weight of my gear without giving up too much speed."

  Lew was very interested, but Orient’s mind was on other matters. As Presto and Wallet warmed up to the subject of motorcycles, he rose, thanked Wallet, and went to his cabin.

  When he finally fell asleep, long after Presto had retired, he was still thinking about Pia.

  The gentle motion of the boat became more pronounced by morning, and by afternoon the steady rocking had grown into long, pitching rolls.

  Orient skipped breakfast and began his meditations when Presto went out to check the rigging on his machine. He had difficulty making the completion. Each time he neared the point of suspension of consciousness, his concentration collided with flashes of Pia. After awhile he gave it up and tried to read. That didn’t work either; he was too restless.

  He took a walk around the decks.

  The sun was shining through a haze, diluting the blue of the sky. The wind was cool and constant, and as the boat cut through the choppy water, it sprayed a high, green foam that blew across the lower deck.

  Orient went to the rear deck, pausing at the rail to watch the sea gulls hovering just behind the ship. They were gliding in the slipstream, their wings almost motionless as they followed the boat far out to sea. Orient wondered how they would ever be able to make it back to shore.

  He climbed to the upper deck and saw Doctor Six standing at the rail. When Six saw Orient, he bowed his head. "Good afternoon, Doctor," he said, the frown on his face becoming a sly smile. As if they shared a confidence.

  "I hope I’m not intruding into your privacy, Doctor Orient," Six said, looking out to sea. "But I remembered where I had seen your name. I have just been over the report of your work with Ferrari." He turned and looked at Orient through heavy-lidded eyes. "Brilliant coup for Ferrari of course."

  Orient felt a flick of annoyance, but he discovered that he was unconcerned with Ferrari, Project Judy, the published report, and the rest of it. The anxiety and the disillusionment all seemed far in the past. The discovery pleased him. "He deserves it," he said.

  "You both deserve congratulations," Six insisted. "Your work with the Mulnew girl was invaluable. And it will be causing quite a stir among some members of the profession."

  "Actually it was only a form of supportive therapy. Ferrari was the surgeon."

  "Nonsense." Six pulled at the brim of his soft hat and jammed his hands into the pocket of his long, fur-lined trench coat. "Your hypnopsychiatric technique cured a girl who had never walked in her life." He scowled and looked out over the water to the graying horizon.

  Orient was about to correct him when Pia and another woman came up to the deck. Orient recognized the other woman from Pia’s table.

  "Doctor Orient, may I present my wife," Six rumbled. "Raga, this is the Doctor Orient who worked with Ferrari in the Mulnew case."

  Raga Six’s face was smooth and her skin almost transparent. Her silver-blond eyebrows blended into the skin of her high, pale forehead, becoming barely visible above her yellow-streaked eyes. Long silver hair cascaded over her shoulders in gleaming contrast to the dark fur of her hooded coat. She held out a long, thin, ringless hand. Her skin was soft and very cold.

  "We’ve just been reading about your cure," she said. Her voice was husky and oddly penetrating, even through the wind gusting across the deck.

  "I was just an assistant, I’m afraid."

  Pia cocked her head and laughed. "Owen, you are famous," she teased, her straw-yellow hair blowing unheeded back in the strong wind. "You’ve helped cure the Vice President’s daughte
r. Even assistants come due for some glory." Her musical voice helped ease some of Orient’s sudden discomfort.

  "It was Doctor Ferrari’s project," Orient said firmly. "The surgery technique enabled certain nerve endings to be replaced in Kane Mulnew’s spine. I merely helped in the postoperative period."

  "And the preoperational phase," Pia smiled, shrewd and playful. "You’re just being too modest now."

  "Perhaps," Orient nodded. "But if it had been just an ordinary girl instead of Vice President’s Mulnew’s daughter, the whole operation would have been considered interesting but routine." He wondered how much the report had revealed about his work.

  "Excuse me, Orient," Doctor Six grunted brusquely, "but I think the deck’s becoming too cold for my wife. You’ll pardon us while I escort her to our cabin."

  "Thank you, Alistar," Raga said evenly. She looked at Orient, her smile faded and remote. "Perhaps you’ll tell us more this evening. I find it fascinating."

  "I shall look forward to it," Orient said.

  "Aren’t you coming, Pia?" Six asked, his voice edged with impatience.

  "In a minute," Pia smiled, looking at Orient. "It’s refreshing up here." Doctor Six frowned and turned around to help his wife down the steep stairs.

  "I like the wind," Pia said, moving closer to the rail.

  Orient moved with her. He was pleased to be alone with her.

  "Do you mind my questions, Owen?" Pia asked suddenly. She stared up at him. "A couple of times I thought I felt you becoming uncomfortable. Isn’t that strange?"

  "Not strange," Orient said. "But very unusual."

  Pia looked at the sky. "Yes," she murmured. "Rare and kind of—intimate, don’t you think?" As she spoke, Orient felt a silken blanket of sensuality caress the base of his brain.

  "I think it’s delightful," he said, his lips curving into a slight smile.

  He relaxed all thought and released a tentative vibration of pleasure.

  His mind rippled with the soft implosion of recognition as the vibration touched his consciousness.

  Pia smiled and looked into his face. "A rare delight," she said softly.

  Her eyes were burning crystals of green ice.

  "Pia." Doctor Six’s shout ripped the fabric of communication between them, sending a slight shiver through the girl.

  She looked away. "I’ll speak to you after dinner, Owen," she said. Her smile was warm but now her voice was cool and removed. She touched his arm. "Doctor Six believes in plenty of rest for his patients."

  She moved to the stairs with sure animal poise, her body supple under her tawny suede dress. When she reached the stairs, she saw that Orient was still watching her. She grinned and waved.

  As Orient waved back, he wondered what sort of illness Doctor Six was treating her for.

  After dinner, Orient went directly to the lounge, hoping to find Pia.

  It was too early. The room was empty and the bar was closed. He went back to the cabin and spent some time in casual conversation with Presto and Lew Wallet. The bearded photographer had come to the cabin to look at Presto’s equipment. Orient half-listened as the two men rattled on about specifications and light ratios, but his thoughts kept drifting to Pia.

  She already had a strong rudimentary knowledge of projecting and receiving emotions. Pia knew she could transmit emotion thoughts. The first barrier had been breached. Learning to project and receive concept images would take some work, but she was already advanced, she had some control over part of her talent. He remembered watching her at dinner. Alert, beautiful, quick to laugh, she exuded a compelling vitality that drew people to her. Orient felt a flicker of desire as he recalled the lush sensuality of her vibration when they were alone on the upper deck.

  "Ever use a Pentax in your research work?" Wallet was asking.

  "Used one with a bellows for some macrophotography," Orient answered with no particular enthusiasm.

  "Takumar lens," Presto nodded sagely.

  "Yes, a 50-millimeter F4. Nice and flexible."

  As Wallet and Presto continued to talk, Orient began to think about his film tape project. Presto probably had the right idea. Shoot as you go, then form the film as you edit. He was suddenly anxious

  to begin work again on the project.

  "You know," Presto said, "the four things I remember best are my first girl, my first camera, my first car, and my first motorcycle. You get into things like that, Owen?"

  "Once in awhile," Orient answered, smiling. Presto had touched on one of his most absorbing interests. "I had a car I was very much into."

  "What kind was that?" Wallet asked.

  "A Rolls Ghost. Very old. 1925. But I did some work on it and it ran beautifully."

  "Left-hand drive," Presto said, nodding.

  "No. This Rolls was built in a factory Rolls-Royce had in Springfield, Massachusetts. The coach was built by an American named Brewster. I did some chopping on the frame and made some adjustments on the motor."

  "Big motor?" Wallet asked, leaning over.

  "Seven liter, straight six. Modest but very efficient." Orient stood up. He wondered if he’d have a chance to be alone with Pia tonight.

  "Do you still have the car?" Presto asked..

  "No." Orient picked up his jacket. "I gave it away."

  "Gave it away?" Presto was stunned. The enormity of willingly parting with a fine piece of equipment confounded him. "What the hell for, Owen?"

  "It was too fast," Orient said as he opened the door and stepped into the passageway.

  When he entered the lounge, he saw Jack Crowe sitting alone at the bar. His wife Alice was sitting in a small circle at the other end of the room with Greta Wallet, her daughter Gale, Janice, Raga Six, and

  Pia. All of the women were in various attitudes of attention as they listened intently to something Pia was saying.

  They all burst out laughing as Orient joined Crowe at the bar.

  "Evening, Doc," Crowe said. "Let me buy you a drink."

  Orient accepted without reservation. Crowe’s use of his title meant that he’d heard about Project Judy at the dinner table. He ordered a brandy and braced for a series of questions. They never came.

  Crowe was a careful man and kept the conversation close to general topics: the price of taxless drinks, the speed of the ship, a conversation with the captain, the rising prices of handicrafts in Yugoslavia. He seemed content to drink and talk quietly.

  Orient heard what he was saying but his attention kept wandering toward the circle of women, and Pia.

  She was the center of energy in the room.

  Whether she was speaking or listening, her face radiated a superb enthusiasm. And he wasn’t the only one aware of it.

  Greta’s daughter Gale was sitting next to Pia, staring up wide-eyed at her, watching every gesture she made. The other women’s reactions were more muted, but it was apparent that they all shared Gale’s admiration for Pia’s beauty and wit.

  "She’s some girl," Crowe commented, turning his head to look at the source of Orient’s interest.

  Orient nodded and sipped his brandy.

  When Greta took Gale off to bed, Alice Crowe also left the group and joined her husband at the bar. The couple chatted with Orient for a few minutes, then went out for a walk on deck. When Orient looked up, he saw Pia waving to him.

  "Raga and I have been having a disagreement, Owen," Pia said as Orient sat down next to her. "She claims that the success of the spinal transplant was due to drugs used to combat rejection."

  "And you?"

  Pia’s smile was mischievous. "I think it was all done with the mind."

  Orient smiled and looked at his wrinkled palms. "I think Pia wins the bet."

  "Not fair, Owen," Raga laughed, "Pia seduced you to her side."

  "Easily," Orient agreed. "But no unusual drugs were given to Kane. As a matter of fact, no specific agent to bar spinal nerve rejection exists."

  "But then, how was she able to accept such delicate tissue?" Raga prote
sted. "You can’t let me lose so easily, Owen." The woman was a few years older than Pia, but time had served to temper the fragile lines of her face, giving it a serene strength. Her features were exquisite, perhaps even lovelier than Pia’s, but beside Pia’s vital charm, her beauty seemed inanimate.

  "Kane’s mind was trained before the operation to accept the surgery," Orient said. "We worked with her concentration. Her mind did help the body create its own chemicals. Doctor Ferrari performed a brilliant transplant and Kane cured herself after that."

  "Remarkable," Raga said, looking at Pia. Janice, who had been silent during the conversation, managed a sleepy smile of agreement. The girl was unusually quiet. She was attentive as always to Pia’s interests but tonight she seemed subdued and listless. Perhaps a little seasick, Orient decided.

  "Good evening," Doctor Six rumbled. "May I join you?"

  "Hello, Alistar," Raga patted the empty armchair beside her, "please do. You’ll be fascinated with what Doctor Orient is telling us."

  Six’s large bulk relaxed slowly as he sat down, but he retained his erect bearing even when seated. He signaled to the steward for a drink.

  "Please go on, Doctor," he said.

  "Owen was telling us about his therapy," Pia said. "It’s quite advanced."

  Six pursed his lips into a smile and cocked his head. When he looked at Pia, his sharply creased face softened, making him look like an unwieldy cherub. When he spoke, however, there was an edge of contention in his hoarse voice. "Yes, I saw it in the report. Some form of hypnosis, Doctor? Hypnopsychiatrics?"

  Orient shook his head. "No hypnosis. It’s a technique we devised to train the mind to repair the body."

  "Doctor Orient told us that no drugs were used in the operation," Raga said. "Nonsense," Six said, as the steward set down his brandy. "How else could you ensure acceptance of the nerve tissue Ferrari implanted?"

  "Just by training the mind to concentrate. Direct the concentration on a physical function in order to understand it. Then use the concentration to work in harmony with the function," Orient said softly, lie was beginning to feel defensive. He looked at Pia. She was curled in her armchair, watching him.