The Best of All Possible Worlds

by Karen Lord

  Silvio was the next to be stabbed, but there was no emotion behind that one, only the actor’s facade, the leftover grimace of pain and disgust from the earlier attack. I shivered again.

  “I have to get out of here,” I muttered. I stood up and left just as the last notes of the final song were ringing out.

  Lian was the first to come to me as I paced up and down in the foyer. “What was that about? You looked like you were going to be sick. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I paced some more, biting my nails. “I don’t know what happened in there.”

  “Well, whatever it was, you’ve made Joral, Tarik, and Dllenahkh go into deep discussion.”

  I stopped, suddenly self-conscious. “Really? What are they saying?”

  “Sadiri’s not my thing, remember?” Lian remarked. “Here they are. Just ask them.”

  They looked horribly serious, more serious than even a Sadiri had any right to look. I cowered instantly, anticipating criticism. “I’m sorry—”

  “Apologies are not necessary,” said Tarik. “We wish to know more about your experience of what happened during the performance.”

  Dllenahkh looked around the foyer, now filling with people on their way out. “But not here. Let us return to our lodgings.”

  Qeturah was already asleep when we got back, but after Tarik brought Nasiha into the sitting room of our hotel, Lian frowned, shrugged, and went to get Fergus, so there was almost a full house for the meeting.

  Dllenahkh spoke immediately to Nasiha, not even waiting for her to be seated. “Your pupil did something unusual tonight.”

  Instantly intrigued, Nasiha settled herself in a chair and said, “Oh?”

  “She was able to obtain strong readings of an actor’s emotions during the performance,” Dllenahkh stated.

  Nasiha looked disappointed. “Oh. She is capable on occasion of almost Ntshune sensitivity in reading people’s emotions, but so far she has not been consistent in displaying this ability. It is nothing to be concerned about.”

  “That was not what was unusual.”

  I straightened in surprise.

  “During the time she was detecting his emotions, our hands touched. I found myself in that instant able to read, albeit faintly, the thoughts of the actor—not his emotions, his thoughts. I found this sufficiently intriguing that I attempted, with permission, a unidirectional link with Delarua’s mind. I found myself reading not her thoughts but the actor’s, and with even greater clarity.”

  Nasiha frowned. “Some Cygnians are capable of noncontact telepathy; however, it usually requires a strong level of projection from both parties. Moreover, we have already noted that Delarua’s telepathic abilities are almost nil.”

  “There is more,” Tarik said, giving Dllenahkh a significant look.

  Dllenahkh returned the look steadily as he spoke to Nasiha. “I consider that the actor’s thoughts clearly indicated an intent to commit murder.”

  “The actor was playing the part of a jealous husband,” Tarik pointed out. It sounded as if he had appointed himself devil’s advocate.

  “What is your opinion on this, Delarua?” Nasiha asked me.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t hear any thoughts. I didn’t know that’s what Dllenahkh was doing. I thought he was picking up the emotions, same as I was. It wasn’t acting, I can tell you that. When he took up the knife—” I shuddered again, feeling sick.

  “It might be prudent to advise the authorities,” said Dllenahkh.

  “Advise them of what precisely?” asked Tarik mildly.

  This was going nowhere. “Look, Nasiha, why don’t you just come see for yourself?” I blurted out. “Sit next to me, put me in some kind of parallel link or whatever it is you need to do.”

  “I would be interested in attending if only to determine what your mind is doing,” she mused.

  “Wait a minute,” Fergus objected suddenly. “Shouldn’t you clear this with the Commissioner?”

  “Of course we will, Fergus,” Lian said. “But they’re not kidding about this. It could be something serious, and it can’t hurt to be sure.”

  I was glad Lian had been there to see our reaction and was therefore on our side, because when we informed Qeturah the following morning, she wasn’t convinced. “I can’t stop you from going if you think it’s really necessary,” she said, “but it seems a waste of time to me.”

  “You could come with us,” I suggested. “The more objective witnesses, the better.”

  “I’m not that fond of neo-opera,” she said wryly, “and I don’t see why I should have to suffer. You can call me if anything happens.”

  Lian stayed with her, but she let us take Fergus. Tarik stated that he would prefer not to sit through the entire thing again, and when he admitted that, Joral was happy to volunteer to stay behind as well. I didn’t mind. I was well contented with the troops I’d been given. They did at least come to see us off in the hotel lobby that evening.

  “Nice dress,” said Lian, all raised eyebrows. “And the kohl’s made a reappearance too, I see.”

  “Nasiha insisted that we get front-row seats. A little more effort is required,” I said, primly adjusting the knee-length hem of my sapphire-blue dress. “Ha! See?”

  The others were also dressed for the occasion. I’m not a clothes horse, but I can appreciate when someone finds a style that works for them. Nasiha was stunning in a severe, high-waisted, long-sleeved burgundy dress that came to her ankles. Dllenahkh and Fergus had only to blend in and chose to do so with the traditional black: Dllenahkh very dashing in a high-collared shirt under a hip-length tunic with matching trousers and Fergus in a similar shirt, but with a short jacket that, to be honest, showed off the close fit of his trousers rather nicely.

  I had no idea what to expect when we took our seats in the theater, Nasiha on my left, Dllenahkh on my right, Fergus next to Dllenahkh. Nasiha must have sensed my trepidation, for she said to me, “Delarua, all that is required is for you to relax. We will do whatever else is needed.”

  I inhaled deeply, nodded, and began the calming exercises she had taught me, closing my eyes for better focus. I felt when she touched her palm briefly to my face and when Dllenahkh did the same. Then she murmured, “Your mind senses us dimly. How curious. I assume Dllenahkh is the elephant, which means I am the cat.”

  I chuckled to myself. “I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, that’s how I picture you.”

  She was silent for a while longer. “This is most strange. Dllenahkh, was yesterday the first time that you linked your mind to Delarua’s? There are connections between your minds that suggest a deeper level of bonding than could be achieved by a single one-way link.”

  “Shh,” said Dllenahkh, sounding a bit stifled. “The orchestra is starting.”

  I was very relieved that he spoke, for my usual reaction to any mention of our time with the adepts was an uncontrollable clenching of the jaw.

  The production remained free of incident till intermission time and beyond. As the ending of the second act drew near, I sat forward slightly, eager to catch a glimpse of something to prove we weren’t crazy. But Canio was passionately acting, nothing more. Nedda was giving an uneven but enthusiastic performance. I began to scan the other characters: Silvio, Taddeo, random people in the chorus. Nothing seemed unusual except that Taddeo’s acting was a bit flat compared with the day before. I frowned, wondering if I should feel disappointed or relieved that nothing was going to happen.

  “It is the knife,” Nasiha whispered suddenly.

  “It is,” Dllenahkh confirmed.

  For a moment I was baffled, and then understanding coalesced into a horrific image. “The knife!” I yelled. “Don’t use it! It’s real!”

  I started to move. I didn’t expect anyone to take my yelling seriously. This was a touring production; they were probably too accustomed to shouts of “Look behind you!” whether they were called for or not. Canio was a professional, all right. He didn’t even blink at
the interruption as he came down from the tiny stage onstage to confront Nedda in his manufactured fury. He pulled back his arm, blade at the ready, and drove it at her abdomen.

  But Nedda knew. Somehow, between my shout and (who knows) some telepathic or empathic sense of her own, she did not stand to take the blade full on, as she had done the night before. She turned her body, but too late to avoid a slash that tore costume and skin and drenched all in blood. She stumbled, fell to her knees, then collapsed completely.

  Thoroughly fooled, the real audience gasped and applauded in appreciation for the unexpected twist of high-quality special effects. The stage audience, on the other hand, reacted very badly, well aware that things were not going as rehearsed.

  A mad, high scream sounded over the general uproar. “Finish it! Finish it!” Snatching the knife from the distraught Canio’s immobile hand, Taddeo lunged for Nedda where she lay gashed, bleeding, but not yet seriously harmed.

  It was enough time for me to scramble up the central stage steps and throw myself at him. Don’t ask me how this happened. I am no superwoman, and I would never have done that sort of nonsense in a million years, but I blame the empathic connection. My adrenaline was as high as his, and I was terrified that someone was going to die in front of me. I must have surprised Nasiha and Dllenahkh, because they moved belatedly and had to contend with the bedlam of the “audience” pouring down the stage steps and jumping into the orchestra pit.

  I realized my folly when he turned the knife on me. I twisted frantically and felt the blade tug my dress as the fabric was pierced and sliced from belly to shoulder. The point of the knife went mercifully up the space between my breasts and just missed my carotid artery. Then he disappeared in a crunching thud, Dllenahkh and Fergus side tackling him with such force that I swore one or two of his bones must have broken somewhere.

  “Ow,” I said weakly, and sat down suddenly on the stage, trying to hold the top of my dress together.

  “Are you injured, Delarua?” Nasiha asked, crouching down beside me.

  “No. Well, yes, but not by the blade. I think I pulled a muscle ducking that knife.” Even as I spoke, I was looking around her to see what Nedda’s fate had been. She was sitting up, surrounded by help. Someone had already brought out a medkit to begin treating her wound.

  “I shall call the Commissioner,” said Nasiha, looking around in faint distaste at all the confusion. “It will help if a high-ranking official corroborates our … unique evidence.”

  She was right. If it hadn’t been for Qeturah, we might have ended up detained for questioning, but her presence plus Sadiri gravitas meant that Nasiha and I were interviewed very courteously by a constable in one of the dressing rooms while I tried to patch the bodice of my dress with strips of gaffer tape. When the constable was finished, she informed us that the rest of the team were waiting for us in the green room and we were free to go.

  “Won’t you tell us what really happened?” I begged her.

  “Can’t give out the details of the case before trial, ma’am,” she said laconically. Then she looked at my pleading eyes and relented with a shrug, “Let’s just say that a ménage à trois can get really messy when it implodes. Give me a straightforward one-on-one any day, but city folk like to get creative—no offense to you, ma’am.”

  “None taken,” I said. “I’m homestead born and bred myself. I just work in the city sometimes.”

  Smiling at that, she thanked us and left, taking her handheld with the record of our interviews.

  I stood up and shifted my shoulders uncertainly, looking in the brightly lit mirror at my pathetic repair attempt. “Do you think this’ll hold, Nasiha? Or am I asking for trouble?”

  “Excuse me?”

  The shy words were accompanied by a soft knock. The girl with the glow, Nedda, the star herself, was at the door, peering in anxiously at me and Nasiha. She had changed her clothes and was carrying a garment bag over her shoulder. Apart from a slight shadowing under her eyes, she looked very much alive.

  “You’re okay!” I said gleefully. “You really are okay!”

  She broke into the biggest grin. “They tell me I have you to thank for that.” She put her hand to her mouth, seemingly horrified. “Oh, your dress! Your pretty dress!”

  Some women are like that about clothes. Skin heals, but a really good dress is irreplaceable. “I wasn’t even scratched,” I told her.

  “But you can’t go out like that!” She cleared the counter of cosmetics with a sweep of her arm and flung the garment bag down. I watched as she unsealed it, impressed at the drama with which she invested every move, then began to stammer and demur when I understood her intentions.

  “Nonsense,” she insisted. “Here. I had it cleaned just yesterday.”

  It rivaled the head turner of the previous night. Dark gold, extremely short, and with creative, decorative ventilating slits in the bodice, it would have caused an entire colony of Sadiri to stumble.

  “Oh, I can’t wear this!” I exclaimed. “You … you’ve got the legs for it. I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do,” she chided. “Try it on.”

  I stammered some more. Her face fell. “You’re right. Maybe if I wore dresses like that more often,” she said, nodding at Nasiha’s austere look, “I wouldn’t have so many problems.”

  “No, don’t say that!” I cried in dismay. “Why would you say that? Don’t make this your fault.”

  “It is certainly not your fault,” said Nasiha. “You are not even sufficiently Zhinuvian to impose any mental influence.”

  Nedda looked suddenly happy. “You can tell? Oh, that’s such a relief! One Zhinuvian great-grandparent, and I get smacked with the glimmer skin and the shiny hair and stupid attitudes from men and women. Funny thing, genetics. Actually, I’m mostly Ntshune; can you believe it?”

  “I can,” I said cheerfully. “Dark eyes, wildly curly hair, sunny disposition …”

  We grinned at each other. I started to strip. There was no way I was going to make this nice girl feel bad by refusing her help.

  “Oh, it does fit! Just a bit longer on me, but that’s … ooooh, hey, you’ve got antigrav boosters in here! Niiice!” I threw caution, and my bra, to the wind, the former metaphorically, the latter literally.

  “It’s perfect,” she proclaimed. “Keep it. Something to remember me by.” She sealed her bag again and waved to us as she headed for the door. “Thanks again! Bye!”

  I laughed happily. “Test her, Nasiha. I’ll bet she projects significantly on the frenzy scale.”

  “Hmm,” said Nasiha. “She is indeed very beautiful and extremely vivacious. I hope you meant what you said to her.”

  “What?”

  “That this is not her fault.”

  There was a small silence. “Wow, you’re taking lessons from Qeturah now?” I said, but without rancor. “Okay, I get it. Barring the unethical use of Zhinuvian-strength mesmeric influence, I am not responsible for any foolishness that a man might care to perpetrate on my behalf.”

  “Good. Now let us rejoin the others. Or rather,” and here she looked at me with eyes that narrowed ever so slightly with amusement, “I will go and arrange transportation while you rejoin the others and tell them to meet me outside. I think it will be kinder for Tarik if I am not present when you walk in wearing that dress.”

  Self-consciousness returned in a rush, but before I could reconsider, Nasiha had already departed with the shreds of my dress and my bra. I pulled myself together and went into the green room, walking with my head down as if guilty of some immense social crime. When I finally dared to glance up briefly, I almost wished I hadn’t, because it only made me want to giggle. Joral’s eyes were suddenly trained on the ceiling, Tarik’s were fixed unseeingly on the ground, and Fergus’s mouth was open as he stared at me. Dllenahkh … I didn’t have time to notice what he was doing.

  “My dress was ruined,” I said defensively to the floor.

  “Of course,” said Qeturah smoothly, “and
how kind of them to provide you with something to wear home.”

  Behind her, Lian exploded into a fit of snorts and chuckles.

  “If anyone would like to lend me a coat,” I said, my tone dignified and affronted.

  “The night is quite warm,” said Dllenahkh innocently. “Are you sure that a coat will be required?”

  I’d had enough. I raised my chin and walked up to him, pausing at thirty centimeters, which, for a Sadiri, is well within the personal space boundary. Everyone fell silent; smiles faltered and faded.

  “You tell me,” I challenged him through gritted teeth.

  He bowed his head as if in apology, but that wasn’t all. Unfastening the front of his tunic, he shrugged it off his shoulders and draped it carefully around me.

  “Thank you,” I told him, teeth ungritted.

  Lian heaved a huge sigh. “I’m not fat and I can’t sing, but, ladies and gentlemen, can we please go now? La commedia è finita.”

  Zero hour plus one year five months four days

  He fell asleep that night smiling at the memory of Delarua, adorably horrified at discovering her capacity for seductiveness but refusing to retreat nonetheless. Such thoughts should have led to better dreams, but the recent drama had awakened other, darker memories that would not be denied.

  The nightmares were lying in wait for him.

  He was sitting on a ridge looking down at a familiar place, a place where he had once lived: smooth, cool residential domes in pale clusters like bunched fruit on a vine; branching, twining roadways connecting all together; a gray-green land under blue sky. It was not where he had lived last, but it was where he had lived longest, and the events that led to his leaving had been his first experience of how suddenly and utterly an ordinary life can shatter.