by Jayne Castle
"I know, Dillon."
"I want to prove to my folks that I'm as smart and savvy as Jackson was. I guess I want to prove to myself that I'm as good as he was."
"Listen to me, Dillon," Lucas said. "You don't have to prove a damn thing to anyone. Live your own life, not your brother's."
"You don't understand." Dillon surged to his feet and stalked toward the door. "No one understands."
Founders Square was the oldest neighborhood of New Seattle. The twelve-block district near the waterfront marked the location of the colonists' first permanent settlement.
None of the buildings in the area actually dated from the first years of colonization because the original structures had all been built of Earth-based materials. They had quickly disintegrated along with virtually everything else that had been made on Earth.
The stranded settlers had rebuilt using native materials. Many of those buildings still stood, as grim and determined looking in their way as the people who had built them. These sturdy, stalwart structures were not what anyone could call striking architectural statements, but they were important. They represented the beginning of history on St. Helens.
Lucas had a hunch that the founders would have been shocked to the core of their sturdy, upright souls if they could have foreseen what would become of the neighborhood.
Founders Square was now home to the city's most popular nightclubs and casinos. After dark an aura of decadent glamour enveloped the old district. The garish lights of the main strip were bright enough to make visitors ignore the warren of grubby alleys and narrow side streets that angled away from the main thoroughfare.
The flashy casinos promised high-stakes gambling and exotic entertainment. Smaller clubs offered dancing, syn-sex shows, and cheap green wine.
It took Lucas some time to find a parking space. He finally managed to squeeze the Icer into a tiny slot on a skinny side street two blocks off the main strip. A small, blinking sign advertising a grungy syn-sex club glowed coldly above the entrance to a very dark, very narrow lane.
A man would have to be desperate for sex to risk going down that dark alley, Lucas thought.
He glanced at Amaryllis as he deactivated the Icer's engine. She was eyeing the flashing syn-sex sign with distaste. She looked as thoroughly disapproving as any founder.
"So, do you come down here often?" Lucas asked neutrally.
Amaryllis started nervously. "No. I told you, I've never been in the square after dark."
"Are you ready to explain to me why we're celebrating our first date here?"
"I'll explain it on the way to the SynCity Club." She opened the door and got out.
Lucas looked at his watch as he climbed out of the car. He had picked up Amaryllis less than twenty minutes ago. They hadn't been together a full half hour yet, and already his mood was starting to deteriorate.
So why was he here, Lucas wondered. But as soon as he took Amaryllis's elbow he had his answer. Just touching her caused every muscle in his body to tighten with sexual anticipation. He could tolerate five hells' worth of irritation for the sake of this sensation even if he did end the evening under a cold shower.
With Amaryllis's arm tucked into his own, Lucas started toward the bright lights of the strip two blocks away.
"I know I've been acting very mysteriously, Lucas, but there's a reason."
"I'm listening." Lucas kept an eye on the yawning mouth of an alley that was crammed with darkness. It was a reflex on his part, the result of having grown up on the edge of a jungle. The predators that hunted in the city walked on two feet instead of the four, six, or eight appendages common to much of the wildlife of the Western Islands, but they were just as dangerous.
Amaryllis shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. "I got a strange call Friday afternoon as I was leaving work. I spent the weekend thinking about what to do next."
Lucas absently tracked two shadowy figures who hovered in a darkened doorway. "How strange was this phone call?"
"The person on the other end of the line would not identify himself. I was told that if I wanted to know the truth about Professor Landreth, I should talk to a woman who works at the SynCity Club."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Lucas came to an abrupt halt and spun her around to face him. "What's Landreth got to do with our date?"
"Calm down, Lucas. There's no need to get emotional."
"I'm not emotional, I'm pissed off. There's a difference. What do you think you're doing?"
"The caller said that someone named Vivien who worked at the SynCity Club could give me information."
"About Landreth?"
"Yes."
"That's crazy."
Amaryllis lifted her chin. "That's why I'm here tonight, Lucas. I want to talk to her. I told you it was business. If you'd rather not accompany me, I'll understand."
Lucas gripped the lapels of her coat. "I don't believe this. Don't tell me that our little security job the other night at the museum gave you visions of becoming an amateur detective?"
"I admired and respected Professor Landreth more than anyone else on the faculty at the university."
"So what?"
"Questions have been raised, Lucas. I feel that, in honor of his memory, I must pursue the answers. You, of all people, must know what if feels like to need answers."
"What questions have been raised?" Lucas asked very carefully.
"Well, first, there is the matter of a Landreth-trained prism engaging in unethical focusing."
".Not that nonsense again. What's it got to do with this?"
"Don't you see? One thing leads to another. The more I wondered why a properly trained prism would get involved in unethical activities, the more I began to ask other questions."
"Such as?"
"Such as, what if Professor Landreth knew about the prism's unethical behavior? What if someone didn't want him to know?"
"Five hells," Lucas muttered. "I think I see where this is going."
"And then I got that phone call implying that there was a mystery connected to Professor Landreth. Lucas, if there is even the slightest possibility that his death was not an accident, I'm going to insist upon a full investigation."
"Fine. Go to the police and tell them that some anonymous caller told you that a syn-sex stripper may have information about Landreth. Let the cops take it from there."
"The case is closed as far as the police are concerned. You know as well as I do that they're hardly likely to reopen an accident investigation just because I got an anonymous phone call."
The light was poor on the side street, but Lucas had no difficulty seeing the determination in Amaryllis's face. It alarmed him as nothing else had done in a long, long time. "Amaryllis, listen to me, this is not a good idea."
"I just want to talk to Vivien to see if she really knows anything, that's all. You don't have to stick around if you'd rather not get involved."
"You're not listening, Miss Lark. I'd rather you didn't get involved."
"I thought you would have some empathy for my feelings."
"Because I know what it feels like to want answers? Amaryllis, bear in mind that I didn't particularly like the ones I got."
Her soft mouth firmed in a small but significant gesture that Lucas was beginning to recognize. Amaryllis had dug in her heels.
"I'm committed to this," she said austerely. "Look, I told you that I was coming down here on business tonight. If you would prefer to spend the evening somewhere else—"
"Anywhere else."
"Then feel free to get back in your car and go home."
"Do you really think I'm going to leave you all by yourself down here?"
Something in his voice must have gotten through to her because Amaryllis's expression turned wary. "Probably not."
"Probably not is right." Lucas released her lapels, seized her arm, and started toward the bright lights that marked the strip. "Let's go."
She quickened her pace to keep up with him. "I appreciat
e this, Lucas. I didn't want to come down here alone, but I hope you don't feel that I used you. You did volunteer."
"Yeah, sure. There's just one thing, Amaryllis."
"Yes?"
"When this is over, you owe me a real date. I intend to collect."
When the club door opened, the sensual, driving rhythms of heavy ice rock spilled over Amaryllis in a wave. Drunken laughter and the din of voices pitched above the level of the music created a wall of noise. Flashes of arcing light zipped back and forth through the shadows creating just enough illumination to reveal the club's customers seated at small, round tables.
Amaryllis came to a halt just inside the door and gazed around in dismay. "We'll never find a place to sit."
"What?" Lucas asked.
She cupped a hand to her mouth. "I said, we'll never find a table."
"We should be so lucky. Come on, unfortunately I think I see one over there near the wall."
Amaryllis slanted him a sidelong glance as he guided her through the darkened club. Lucas was not in a good mood. It had been a mistake to bring him with her, she thought. On the other hand, she was very glad he was here.
A waiter materialized out of the darkness the moment Amaryllis sat down.
"What'll it be?" he asked in a bored voice. "Two-drink minimum."
Amaryllis looked up at the young man who was standing impatiently in front of her. He was very handsome, very blond, and for an instant she feared that he was very naked. Then she noticed the tiny, tautly stretched leather thong that barely covered the critical regions of his anatomy. Actually, it was difficult not to notice the garment. It was at roughly eye level.
In an effort to conceal her shock, she hastily averted her eyes and gazed fixedly at Lucas. "Wine." The word came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. "I'll have a glass of wine, please."
"Green, white, or blue?" The waiter demanded.
"Green, please," she said quickly, opting for the weakest of the three.
The waiter glanced at Lucas. "And you, sir?"
"What kind of beer do you have on tap?"
"Jungle Fever, Twin Moons, and Five Hells."
"Five Hells."
"Got it. Be right back."
Amaryllis could not resist another glance at the waiter as he wheeled and disappeared into the crowd. She was curious, in spite of herself, to see where he stashed the small notepad he used to jot down drink orders. There did not appear to be any pockets in the leather thong that she could see.
Lucas leaned across the table. "Not quite what you expected?"
"I didn't know what to expect." Blushing furiously, Amaryllis jerked her attention away from the waiter's muscular flanks. "I've got to figure out a way to talk to this Vivien person."
Lucas shrugged. "Ask our server when he gets back."
"Good idea."
A drum roll silenced the music and the crowd. On stage the arcing jelly-lights began to pulse in rapidly shifting patterns between floor and ceiling. A murmur of anticipation rose from the onlookers.
A man dressed in formal evening wear stepped out from behind the heavy blue and gold curtains. He had a microphone in his hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen." The announcer paused to make certain he had the full attention of the crowd. "Welcome to SynCity, where your most erotic dreams come true. Tonight's performance is about to begin. For those of you who have never experienced synergistically augmented sexual entertainment, allow me to present the two people who will thrill you tonight. York and Yolanda."
The crowd roared its approval as the outer layer of the curtain rose. A man and a woman stood revealed in the flashing lights. Both wore skintight garments fashioned of a glittering, silvery material. Their hair had been dyed a matching shade of silver white. Long, silver gloves covered their hands and arms.
The music swelled as York and Yolanda bowed to the audience. It took the announcer several minutes to regain the attention of the crowd. When he had it, he gave a leering smile and winked broadly.
"York is a class-eight talent, ladies and gentlemen. He is a syn-sex generator. One of those rare individuals gifted with the ability to pick up strong sexual sensations, heighten those sensations, and project them toward those of you who are lucky enough to be sitting in our audience tonight. Yolanda is the powerful prism who will assist him. Let's hear it again for York and Yolanda."
The crowd broke into eager applause. Shouts of encouragement went up around the room. Amaryllis frowned at Lucas.
"There is no such thing as a ... a syn-sex generator," she hissed across the table. "And even if there were, he couldn't possibly project the sensations of sexual activity to a room full of people."
Lucas glanced around. "Tell that to this crowd. The first rule of good theater is that the audience wants to believe. And this crowd definitely wants to believe."
The announcer raised his hand for silence and got it. "Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to enjoy a truly unique sexual experience. You are about to discover new levels of erotic stimulation. I give you Vivien of the Veils."
The inner curtain rose. A woman appeared in the spotlight. She was shrouded from neck to toe in flowing purple. Her head was bowed. Purple hair cascaded down her back to her waist. Massive purple crystals sparkled on her wrists and decorated the gold circlet that bound her hair.
Amaryllis stared. "Do you think that's the Vivien we came to meet?"
"Wouldn't be surprised. Probably not a lot of Viviens around here. At least not a lot who wear veils."
The music fell into a low, throbbing beat. York and Yolanda took up positions at the edge of the stage. They clasped hands and closed their eyes as if in intense concentration.
The thonged waiter returned just as Vivien lifted her head and began a series of sultry, sinuous movements. Amaryllis picked up her glass and sipped cautiously at the weak green wine. She watched, first in amazement and then with increasing embarrassment, as the dancer's veils shimmered and swirled. Glimpses of Vivien's buttocks and breasts created a ripple of excitement in the audience.
"Reminds me of that dress you wore to the museum reception," Lucas murmured.
Amaryllis was outraged. "That's not true. My dress was perfectly decent."
"Whatever you say."
The men in the crowd hooted and applauded as the first of Vivien's veils fell away. The women in the audience cheered a moment later when a man emerged from the shadows and strode onto the stage. He wore a pair of thigh-high leather boots and a thong that was even smaller than the waiter's.
The male dancer reached out to snatch one of Vivien's veils. It came free, baring the dancer's breasts, which were supported by a purple harness that emphasized purple rouged nipples. Amaryllis decided that she and Vivien did not shop at the same semiannual underwear and foundation sales.
Vivien circled her partner in a series of unmistakably erotic movements. The man responded with strong pelvic thrusts, which Amaryllis knew could not have been good for his lower back.
The music quickly grew more intense. The beat became relentless. At the edge of the stage, York and Yolanda were bathed in a sheen of sweat.
The male dancer lowered himself onto a purple velvet rug. Vivien, now almost completely nude, straddled his hips.
Embarrassed, Amaryllis turned her attention to the audience. The heavy breathing in the immediate vicinity was quite audible. A few people began to pant and moan. A shrieking cry of ecstasy emanated from a dark corner of the room. A man's husky groan sounded from a neighboring table.
On stage, York and Yolanda strained mightily as Vivien and her companion ground away at each other.
"I don't believe this for one minute." Amaryllis glowered at Lucas. "It's all an act."
Lucas smiled. "Want to prove that York and Yolanda aren't doing a damn thing except sweating up there on the stage?"
Amaryllis understood immediately. "You want to link? Here? Now?"
"I'm a detector, remember? If York is using any talent, I'll pick it up."
Amaryllis's cheeks burned at the memory of the sensual sensations that had flooded through her the last time she and Lucas had linked.
"I don't think that's such a good idea." She almost winced at the prim tone in her voice. "I'm supposed to be here on business."
Lucas grinned. "You're scared."
"That's not true."
"Don't worry, you're a professional, remember? You can handle it."
He was goading her. Amaryllis knew it but she couldn't seem to rise above it.
"All right," she muttered. "But just for a moment."
Lucas's eyes gleamed in the darkness. He reached across the table and took her hand.
The link happened quickly. A few seconds of seeking, the brief sensation of vulnerability, and then Amaryllis went to work. The prism took shape on the psychic plane.
"You know, professionally speaking, Miss Lark, you're good," Lucas drawled softly. "Very good."
Talent pulsed through the prism.
The noise of the music and the crowd faded. To her dismay, Amaryllis became acutely aware of the warmth in her lower body. She had been doing a reasonably good job of suppressing her reaction to Lucas all evening, but something about the link loosened those inner controls. His fingers tightened around hers.
"I'm not picking up anything from York," Lucas whispered. "The guy's a complete fake."
"I knew it." Amaryllis hastily broke the link. The prism winked out of existence.
A woman's shriek sliced through the dark room. A man gave a muffled groan. The couple sitting at the neighboring table began to kiss passionately.
"Want to leave?" Lucas asked gently.
"I have to talk to Vivien."
"We can wait outside until the performance is over and then go to her dressing room."
Amaryllis felt absurdly grateful for the suggestion. "Excellent idea." She leaped to her feet.
Lucas put down his unfinished beer, stood, threw some money down, and took her hand. He forged a path through the maze of tiny tables. The cries and moans of people who appeared to be in the throes of sexual climax rose and fell.
"I can't believe that all these people have actually convinced themselves that they're being sexually stimulated by York and Yolanda." Amaryllis said. "This is nothing more than self-induced mass hysteria."