In the commotion someone had turned the lights up. All the ‘Graven showed the third eyelid, sliding across from the inner corners like the last phase of twin eclipses. I had never seen it from the outside before; the effect was strangely erotic.
I sat dazed, my mind awhirl with the impressions I had picked up during the multiple telepathic exposure, while shouted words were hurled around and over me. All of these people were telepaths! What I could do, so could they, only with greater control. They were not merely sufferers with a peculiar condition, as I was; to them the ability was normal, and useful. And they all had the Evil Eye—I made the association at last—including the woman, ‘Gravina Ndoko, who raised her burqa to examine my mind with what I now guessed was telepathic vision. Like Margrave Aranyi. My Dominic-Leandro, I thought happily in the midst of the accusations.
Viceroy Zichmni had taken my telepathic activity for a deliberate attempt at subversion. He stood up, obliging everyone else in the room to stand up also. Facing the Consul he said, “This is a serious violation of diplomatic protocol. How you thought you’d get away with it, I can’t imagine.” His expression was sad, his voice steady, with none of the quaver of old age. “For now, I demand that this woman be placed under arrest. Until she has been interrogated, there can be no more discussions between us. This meeting is over.”
The Consul, Dominic, and Lady Ndoko all began speaking at once. The woman prevailed; despite her unassuming manner she possessed an indefinable authority. “My Lord,” she informed the Viceroy, out loud, so that the Terrans would hear, “it wasn’t deliberate.” People quieted down and waited for the Terrans to catch up.
Lady Ndoko spoke directly to my mind during the pause. I know you didn’t mean to spy. For some reason she was sympathetic, assuring me that at least one of the ‘Graven was on my side.
The Terrans decided the problem was related to my cube and the recording. “I assure you, Lord Zichmni,” one of them said, “it’s simply an electronic device, the same thing we all have, what we call cubes, or smart phones. You must have noticed them before, at other meetings.”
The Viceroy’s voice rose sharply with irritation. “What do you mean, ‘it’? We are taking about your agent here.” He jerked his head in my direction.
The woman continued her silent conversation with me. Have you been tested for crypta? she asked.
Surely, ‘Gravina Ndoko, that’s not necessary, Dominic broke in. She obviously has crypta. There was a beseeching quality to his request that didn’t suit his imperious personality. He wanted to prevent whatever was coming next, was unused to asking favors.
That’s why she should be tested, Margrave, Lady Ndoko answered Dominic in that same tone she had used with the Terrans, the civil manner masking the prickly intelligence. Because she has gifts—and potential talents.
I was desperately trying to follow this mental exchange, with its Eclipsian words and ideas that were new to me. Crypta. “Gifts” and “talents,” used with specific and mysterious new meanings. Lady Ndoko had been introduced, with great deference, as a sibyl. I guessed that telepathy was an established concept here. It had not just one word, but a set of words—crypta, gifts, talents, sibyl—to describe its manifestations and uses.
This epiphany awakened something in me. Years of denial, the only possible defense against so burdensome a “gift,” had produced in me a habit of avoidance and dismissal of the subject. Now I was intrigued, despite my earlier aversion. “Could I be tested?” I asked eagerly. “Would you permit it?”
My voice sounded loud in the silence that had followed the spoken explanations. The Terrans stared at me in bewilderment until a couple of them got it. I felt their incredulity turn into a sneaky kind of glee as they thought they had found in me a new kind of secret weapon.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, deciding I no longer needed to conceal my abilities. “Every Eclipsian in this room knew what I was doing before I knew it myself. This is one area we can’t dominate here.”
But not even all the ‘Graven were convinced. One said, “Why should we bring in an admitted Terran agent? Even if she does have crypta, what good is it if she’s constantly sending information back to them?”
I opened my mouth in indignation but the Viceroy forestalled me. “What good is it?” he roared. “How many Terrans have you known, Landgrave Singh, who possess genuine crypta? Whatever her motives, this is not a gift we can afford to refuse.”
The arguing among the ‘Graven intensified, pounding my overstimulated brain with too many voices and thoughts, pushing and penetrating, pulling and tugging me back and forth. Dominic’s attempts to dissuade Lady Ndoko from making her offer began to seem quite reasonable. I felt like one of the pack animals I had seen at an Eclipsian market, handled and prodded by seller and prospective buyer as they haggled.
Dominic picked up my thought, enjoying the simile, laughing in appreciation—a screeching, unpleasant sound. He strode into the center of the group, his hand moving automatically to where the hilt of his sword should be, stopping at his hip when he remembered that, in deference to Terran sensibilities, he and all the ‘Graven had left their weapons at the door. I admired the way he remained unruffled as made this inconvenient discovery. “Before we continue this discussion,” he said in a low, threatening voice, “has anyone considered asking Ms. Herzog what she prefers?” He bowed in my direction.
Most had the decency to look abashed, although the Viceroy and the Consul seemed unaffected. Everyone turned to hear my answer. I thanked my defender, bowing my head and looking down at the table, not daring to lose myself in communion. But I knew what I wanted. To Lady Ndoko I said, “I would like very much to be tested for crypta.”
My decision pleased most people, although not Dominic, or Lord Singh, who thought I was a spy. All the Terrans were delighted. They surrounded me in a claustrophobic huddle, whispering instructions and advice.
Viceroy Zichmni broke it up. He approached me, scattering the Terrans, and gave me a slight, respectful nod of the head. “Forgive my unjust allegation, my dear,” he said, already beginning to treat me as a relative, if not a friend. “I have had to balance Terran claims against Eclipsian for so long, I forget sometimes we are all human. It is kind of you to volunteer.”
I could tell his sentiments were genuine. He had grown up a telepath among telepaths, had learned early on the futility of pretense. “I’m hoping it will be useful for me, too,” I said, with equal sincerity. A chance to learn something about my gift was worth a little discomfort.
The meeting ended shortly. All discussion of trade goods was shelved, displaced by this new concern. The only question that kept us at the table was the issue of Terran monitoring. The Terrans wanted at least one of their own to observe. The Viceroy remarked that allowing one Terran into the Sanctum of ‘Graven Fortress for testing was precedent-setting enough for his lifetime. When the Terrans conceded the point in the end it was because they felt certain I would record everything for them. And if I did have any unusual powers, they would be the beneficiaries.
Dominic bowed to me again when he left with the others. He was only worried at my choice, not angry with me. I shall look forward to our next meeting, he thought to me, one corner of his wide, thin-lipped mouth lifting in a cynical smile. This time I met his eyes, gazing deeply before bending my head to acknowledge his courtesy. It was lucky I was near a chair, for I lost my equilibrium as the room revolved slowly around me, and when I reached for the table my hands could not grip, but slid off the glossy surface as if paralyzed.
CHAPTER TWO
I didn’t sleep much that night, and arose early for me, which was fortunate; the intercom buzzed while I was sipping orange juice and scanning the headlines on the holonet. When I flicked the talk button the concierge said the police were here looking for me. All I could think was that there had been a screw-up in processing that retinal scan at Immigration. Were they going to arrest me, or search my apartment for contact lenses? I hadn’t showered or dressed yet, and I was
ready to cry in exasperation.
I switched on the video display and saw Dominic. Never had I expected to be grateful for an unplanned early-morning visit. Let the police try to get through him! “Come upstairs,” I said. I remembered my nakedness in the heat, found a lightweight shift to throw on, and opened the door.
Dominic entered, sweat shining on his face and dampening his hair. He had taken my words literally and had climbed the stairs, all fifteen flights. We were still struggling with the language barrier, forgetting, in the joy of recognition, to listen for the nuances. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Escorting you to the ‘Graven Assembly,” he answered, as if it were obvious. A respectable woman, he explained with gentle tact for the naiveté he found in my mind, could not travel unaccompanied through the Eclipsian Sector of the city. The “police” were in fact a squad of Royal Guards, the elite corps of the Eclipsian military, and Dominic had appointed himself the officer in charge, unwilling to entrust this duty to someone else.
So I was to be arrested after all. “I can’t go now,” I said. “I’m not ready, and I’m supposed to go to the consulate first, to be briefed.”
“Don’t,” Dominic said. “If you come directly from the Terrans, the ‘Graven Coalition won’t trust you. You won’t have a fair test, or find out the full scope of your gift.”
“But what difference can it make?” I had seen yesterday that this crypta made espionage, even lying, close to impossible. “No matter what the Terrans may think, all any of you have to do is read my mind. It’s not pleasant, but it’s foolproof.”
“Living without skin,” Dominic said, using an appropriately painful image. “That’s not completely true. There are ways around it.” He left the thought vague, refusing to specify.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t know them, and the Terrans certainly can’t teach me anything.”
“Trust me on this, Amalie,” he said. “I am being honest with you, despite my own wishes.” He was as unhappy with the idea of my taking this test today as he had been yesterday.
It was only a few hours ago, at our first meeting, that I had felt his eruptive loathing of Terrans. I am Terran, I thought bleakly, and he will never accept me.
Dominic blinked, taken aback by my despair and the recent memory that had triggered it. In the confines of the small apartment the thoughts flew between us with the immediacy of imagination. He had already begun a process of mental evolution. His love could not reconcile itself with the fact of my Terran origin, and the stronger emotion was dominating his perceptions. To him I seemed like a displaced person—not a genuine Terran, but a changeling forced to grow up in an unsuitable world.
He smiled at my fanciful thought. You are the beautiful one the fairies take when they leave the goblin changeling in your place, he corrected my muddled analogy. “It is for your sake I’m worried,” he pursued his argument aloud. “You remember what happened yesterday.”
“Yes,” I said, recalling that frightening moment, before Dominic had stepped in, when I had been treated as merchandise, without a say in my own future. “What was that all about?”
He waited a long time before answering. Standing in front of him, tired of leaning my head so far back to see his face, I contented myself with examining his black-and-gray uniform tunic, while the reasons for his hesitation came through to me. I learned that the Eclipsian rules governing behavior between the sexes extend even to conversations, so that certain topics are considered unsuitable for men to discuss with women; also that Dominic had always upheld these distinctions of gender that pervade all levels of society. But he is a soldier, with a strong sense of duty. Knowing my innocence, and my ignorance of the situation I was determinedly rushing into, he took on the responsibility of enlightening me.
The twelve noble families were becoming infertile, he explained, through generations of inbreeding in a severely limited population. He spoke decorously, using inoffensive language, while I read his more explicit thoughts in his mind, as he tried to make clear what had happened over centuries. “We bred deliberately for the gift, for crypta. Almost all marriages were arranged, based on the strength of the gift and the specific talent. If the best match was a first cousin, even a niece or half-sister, it was acceptable as long as the children inherited the gift.” He stared anxiously down at me to see how I was absorbing this information.
I was lost in the deep, rich voice, the counterpoint between the polished phrases and the rancorous thoughts boiling inside his brain. These facts had a personal significance for him, producing an emotional turmoil he was trying to keep in check. “Yes,” I murmured almost inaudibly, not liking to interrupt, and wanting to encourage him. “Yes, I see.” But I didn’t.
“The ‘Graven are dying out, Amalie. Most of us don’t seem to care,” he muttered, addressing unseen, absent adversaries, before returning to the room, to me, with a warning. “But a few of us still honor our heritage, our past, and want to ensure our future. And all we know is the old way. A single woman of childbearing age, with your obvious gifts, and from an unrelated family, is a prize too valuable to relinquish.”
“But I’m an adult, a Terran citizen,” I said, laughing as I saw where he was heading. “No one can coerce me into an arranged marriage or force me to bear children.” The idea was hilarious to me, like a fairy tale or a fantasy show on the holonet.
“Amalie,” Dominic spoke sternly. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to tell you.” At my silent agreement he said, “We are legally adults at sixteen, men and women, and yet most of us are married off by our families by the age of twenty. Few escape it.”
“You did,” I said. We knew the intimate facts of each other’s life; as with thoughts and feelings, deceit was impossible.
“Yes, but it wasn’t as simple as all that.” His voice was bitter. “And my value in the marriage market is not so high.” I got a glimpse of his meaning, the tainted Aranyi family history, before his mind shut down, impenetrable.
“There’s no need to worry about me on that account,” I said lightly, to save him from further embarrassment. “I don’t have a family.” Relief at his automatic acceptance of me had made me silly, speaking without thinking.
Dominic frowned at my candid admission of what on Eclipsis is a tragedy, or a deep shame. “Don’t you see?” Frustration furred the edge of his crisp voice. “You want to discover your gift, to master a talent you cannot control, do you not, cherie?”
I nodded uncertainly.
“Of course you do.” Dominic had taken the answer as given. “But you are asking the ‘Graven Assembly, this group that has governed Eclipsis for centuries, that is losing the respect of its people because of dwindling numbers, failing families, incompetence and carelessness—you are asking those who do care to share with you that last real thing that allows them to retain their hold on leadership.”
“But it’s just personal with me,” I said. “I’m not interested in political power—”
Dominic let out one sharp crack of laughter, startling in the small room. His voice, his height, his large, fluid movements had all developed in more spacious settings. “Crypta is power,” he said. “It is the ‘Graven’s only real power. It is what sets us apart, above, allows us truthfully to say that we are an aristocracy, the rule of the superior.”
I sank down in a chair, defeated. “You win,” I said. “You don’t want me to learn your secrets.” Early morning, no coffee; my mind was working slowly. “Then why did you come here to escort me?”
Dominic knelt beside the chair, his face severe with worry. “No, Amalie,” he said, “you have not understood. What I want, and what you want, is not what others may want. You must look beyond your immediate personal concerns in order to protect yourself. The only way to have a true assessment of your gifts is to be tested as potential ‘Graven, not as a Terran, a spy or saboteur. But once you pass the test,” Dominic concluded ominously, “what then?”
I shrugged. “What sh
ould there be?”
“You have crypta,” Dominic said with weary patience. “You don’t need the test to prove that. But the test is essential to learn how strong your gift is, what specific talents you may have, and most important, to prove to others that you possess it.” He paused to see if I was following him. “And then? You live in the commercial world of the Terrans. Surely you see what comes next. You will be valuable, the owner of a scarce commodity. The ‘Graven will not want to lose this commodity. There will be talk of marriage for you, of breeding children—”
“Well, let them talk.” I shrugged again, although I wasn’t as nonchalant as I pretended. Dominic’s insistence was making me nervous; and for no reason, I told myself. “It’s rude, insulting, but it’s just talk.” I fell back on bravado, to hearten us both.
“Fine,” Dominic said, annoyed at my performance. “You say no to marriage, no to being a brood mare. Good.” His speech was reverting to its more direct, masculine style. “What will you do instead? Come back here to that slavery I saw you in yesterday?”
“Why not?” I asked, pleased by his word for my rather undemanding job. “Or maybe there’s Eclipsian work I could do. If I have this crypta, surely it’s useful for something.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice icy with rage, “there is the greatest use of all—the crypta cells in the signal stations.” Again I had touched on an issue that affected him too deeply for objectivity. His pupils contracted into pinholes as his third eyelids, crystalline and transparent, slid slowly over the irises, before acquiring their full shimmering silver opacity. There was not a hint of reptilian milky-white. It was a beautiful, unearthly effect; I felt its erotic power far more intensely, alone with this man and our connection, than at yesterday’s public meeting. But I knew instinctively that this particular transformation meant danger, like a poisonous animal that advertises its threat with bright color.
I held back the questions I so wanted to ask—what the “signal stations” were, what the “cells” in them consisted of—and waited for him to regain his composure. He had shut off part of his mind from me, inadvertently demonstrating one of his earlier remarks. Despite all our mental sympathy, he was keeping this information, and his angry feelings engendered by his thoughts about it, behind some kind of barrier that even our strong communion could not breach.
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