by Caro Soles
“I won’t say anything more, if that’s the way you want it,” said Luan, his voice dark with emotion. “But I can’t help feeling this way.”
“You deserve more than a brief moment with a visiting alien.” Beny moved away and turned to look out the window at the pink-tinged mist of the Abulon morning. “Tell me about the androids,” he said, searching around for a less emotionally charged topic. “They really are quite remarkable. Are they manufactured here in the city?”
Luan waited a minute, trying to calm his breathing before answering. “I think they all come from some place in the country. It’s a large operation and it’s handled by a special department under the direct control of the First Minister. I can find out more, if you want.”
“Don’t bother. I was just curious. Thank you for bringing Dhakan. When I take him home, he’ll make me the envy of Merculian. Now I’d better get dressed. Thar-von will be expecting me in the office.” He held out his hand to the boy who took it in both his own. The dark eyes under the straight black brows were bright with unshed tears. “If there’s anything you want, just let me know. Anything!” He raised Beny’s small hand to his lips, turned it palm up, and kissed it. Twice. His lips were soft and moist against Beny’s skin. He bowed formally and left the room.
Beny took a deep breath. About to step out of his robe, he paused, and looked from the dog to the android, standing stock still where he had been all this time. A shiver ran up Beny’s spine. “Bloody damn,” he muttered. He hurried into the other room and closed the door.
FOUR
The Merculian National Dance Company arrived in a downpour of driving rain. Because of the weather, there were no official welcoming ceremonies, nothing but bows and salutes from an honor guard and some strange bouquets of brightly colored feathers, presented by children.
Beny’s heart lifted with joy to see Eulio’s small, dark-blond figure walking towards him under the moving, transparent bubble, elegant as ever in his black and silver tunic and pants. Long curls framed the fine, sensitive face, the wide-set eyes, the firm, small chin. Around his neck he wore the symbol of their relationship, a large, pearl-like love-jewel which glowed a deep purple when it touched his skin.
Triani was right behind him, holding Cham’s hand. Gravely, Eulio accepted the rainbow-hued, feathery bouquet and kissed the tiny hand of the little girl who presented it. Only then did his amazing blue eyes move to Beny’s face and stay there.
Triani’s bouquet was offered by a little boy. Passing the alien flowers to Cham, Triani scooped the child up in his arms. “Hi, sweetie. How about a kiss?”
The child screamed.
Hastily Triani set him down again. “Little bastard,” he muttered.
“Not everybody finds you irresistible,” laughed Cham.
They were all struck by the violent contrasts between the technically advanced landing facilities atop the huge, flat pyramid, and the crude, almost rustic apartments inside the building, lit by their peculiar combination of brightly burning torches and hidden-source lighting.
“You get used to it,” said Beny to Eulio philosophically. “And we brought lots of Merculian candles.”
Cham was delighted by everything. He had lost all trace of his fear. “It’s like those recreation pods at home where it’s made to look like you’re back in time,” he exclaimed happily. “And I love the dog they gave us! Do you think we can take him home?”
“Never mind him, sweetie. Let’s try out the bed.”
The newcomers were all briefed by Beny’s staff on what to expect at the formal dinner that night. Even though slightly unnerved by the charged primitive atmosphere of the dining hall, the dancers soon settled down, though they stayed in groups where they had been seated and didn’t stray far from each other. It was Triani who noticed the girl first. He watched with amusement, leaning against the stone wall, one arm around his knee. It was a long time since he had seen such subtle coquetry. She was inviting, her shiny brown eyes flitting to Cham, then away. Triani nudged him. When Cham looked around, she nodded, almost imperceptibly, then demurely dropped her eyes and picked up something on her wooden plate. As she leaned forward, her long hair fell like a curtain in front of her face.
“You want a written invitation, sweetie?” Triani murmured. “Go on. She wants you.”
Cham hesitated. He glanced at Beny, who sat nearby with Eulio beside him. “Maybe it’s not a good idea.”
Triani made a disgusted noise and pushed him to his feet. “Don’t keep the girl waiting, baby. It’s not polite in any situation. Trust me.”
Cham slipped a buzzer in his mouth and set off across the hall. As he went, a murmur seemed to follow him, rising up behind him like a small wave of sound. He glanced back at Triani, who waved him on.
The girls welcomed him with giggles and smiles, their hands going often to their mouths, their dark eyes laughing sideways at the newcomer. As they talked, they glanced repeatedly across the room, but not at Triani, who was watching them with interest.
Beny leaned across and whispered, “This doesn’t feel right. Call him back, Triani.”
“Why? We’re supposed to ‘interact with the natives’. It says so in our orientation packages.”
“I get the feeling now is not the time,” Beny murmured. “Look.”
A tall young man was making his way across the hall. He was holding the knife he had been eating with and his eyes were fixed on Cham.
Triani jumped to his feet. “What do you think—”
Beny pulled him down as the First Minister rose and covered the distance between himself and the youth with long smooth strides. He laid a steel hand on the boy’s forearm.
The girls were now quiet, their eyes downcast, sitting without moving on their finely woven colorful mats. Cham got to his feet and looked around, confused. Then he hurried back to Triani and sank to his knees beside their ever present watch dog.
Triani refilled his glass. “Looks like you’ve got competition. So, what did she say?”
“Her name’s Quana.”
“And? Did she proposition you?”
“Not exactly. She invited me to a picnic tomorrow.”
“A picnic? How quaint. Just the two of you?”
“I think so. She said to meet her at the public stables at 11.” Triani threw back his head and laughed. “Good for her! She’s more enterprising than I gave her credit for! Of course you’re going, right?”
“I couldn’t very well say no,” said Cham, flustered. Now he wished he had. But he had been confused by the girls and their oblique chatter which said one thing and hinted at something else entirely. They seemed to think there was something highly secretive about a conversation that took place in the open. Then the sudden eruption of the tall young man was upsetting. The intervention of the First Minister made it seem far more important than the casual conversation he had assumed it was. The whole situation made him very nervous.
“You’ve never been with a girl, have you?” Triani remarked, inspecting a cube of black bread smeared with some orange substance.
“Triani, it’s just a picnic.” Cham glanced across the hall but the girls ignored him. As the sugared fruit was carried from group to group, the Great Chief introduced Quetzelan, the Dream Weaver, the Teller of Tales. He was a tall man with long white hair over his shoulders. His nut-brown skin was stretched tightly over prominent cheek bones and bright, black eyes glittered from deep in his head. As he rose to speak, the crowded hall fell silent. He scooped up a handful of live coals from the fire in the center of the table and pressed it to the broad tip of his wooden staff. The Merculians gasped. Cham held his breath and clasped his own small hands together tightly, wincing in sympathy. But the regal old man showed no sign of pain. For what seemed like long minutes to the incredulous Merculians, he held the glowing coals against the wood, until a spiral of smoke began to rise from the staff. The smoke twisted and thickened, reaching out long bluish tendrils across the murky hall. Then he stretched out his hand so e
veryone could see the still glowing coal, and slowly closed his fingers around it. His fist gradually crushed the coal. As he opened his hand, sparks flew up like a stream of fireworks, causing the Merculians to burst into applause. When quiet again settled over the hall, he leaned on his carved staff and began to speak. His whole manner was in complete contrast to the lively, vivacious style of Benvolini, who had performed the night before. Surprisingly, after the opening pyrotechnics, Quetzelan stood completely motionless. No gestures. No change of facial expression. But it was his voice that was so unusual. Rich, dark, hypnotic, his voice drifted effortlessly through the smoke-filled hall. And as he spoke, it was almost as if another deeper shadow voice thrummed under every word. It was an odd, unsettling effect, like a muffled, barely discernable echo in the spell-bound room. When the old man had finished speaking, his voice faded away to silence in waves, like water lapping against the shore. Nobody moved. Only gradually did conversation start up again.
“Interesting technique,” remarked Beny.
“I prefer yours,” Eulio said, taking his hand.
“Look at them,” said Triani, glancing around at the Abulonians. “They look like they just chewed a handful of buzzers or something. It wasn’t that great!”
Cham looked around and nodded in agreement. Then he noticed Talassa-ran Zox. The Serpian was standing in the shadows, staring at Triani and the hatred in his eyes burned like acid. Cham shivered and put his arms around the dog’s neck.
* * *
Cham was having second thoughts about the picnic. For one thing, he had the feeling he might have misunderstood something about the invitation. For another, he didn’t like the looks of the neighborhood. According to the scanty information the Merculians had been provided with, it didn’t look the sort of place a well brought up Abulonian girl would come to by herself. Rough sheds and animal pens lined the narrow streets. One of the buildings opposite the stables had collapsed in on itself, its timbers charred and jagged. The animal smell of the stables hung over the place like fog. The great beasts inside were called ‘amaxes’ and they were shaggy and brown with bulging, milk-white eyes. He backed away. He was just coming to the conclusion that his pride would not suffer if he left now, when he heard someone call his name. A tall gangling youth with a very young face lounged through the open stable door. “You’d better look after my sister,” he said belligerently. “Beats me why she wants to go off with an alien, anyway. She’s inside.” He ambled off through the alley, leaving Cham to wonder why Quana couldn’t look after herself. She was bigger than he was.
He walked carefully into the gloomy stable, his dainty red boots picking through the muck, his cloud of pale hair glowing in the dimness.
“Good morning.” Quana was already mounted, perfectly at ease atop the huge snorting creature. She was wearing a many pleated, full bright yellow skirt and her long hair hung down her back.
He smiled uncertainly, handed her his shoulder bag and leapt up behind her before the thought of it could frighten him. The leap was easy enough but he was not used to the lurching feel of the animal under him. “May I hold on to you?” he asked anxiously, slipping his arms around her waist as they started with a jerk. He rested his head against her back, both arms wrapped tightly around her. She was a lot taller than he had realized. He was sure that she could feel his heart thumping against her curtain of hair. “Does everyone get around on these…beasts?”
“Most of the time. They can go really fast when they need to.” She laughed indulgently and patted his hand. The odd shyness he had noticed the night before seemed to have vanished completely, along with the giggles.
“Don’t you have any sort of air-cars for getting around in?”
“Like small ships, you mean? They say there used to be lots of them, but personal vehicles aren’t allowed any more. There are the flying transports for long distance travel, but that’s mostly for hunters or the army. Why would we need them, anyway?”
“I guess it’s a pretty small city,” he agreed.
After a while, he got used to the rolling, lurching rhythm of the animal. He raised his head and looked around. They were just coming out of the town, climbing upwards all the time along the winding trail. The breeze caught his hair and he felt suddenly happy. It was the first time in a long while that he had been alone with someone his own age, just for fun.
“Are you all right now, Cham?” Quana half turned, looking at him over her shoulder.
“It’s wonderful,” he said softly. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Don’t you have picnics where you come from?”
“Oh, yes. But it’s quite different. Triani has a beautiful house in the country with his own lake. We like to swim to the island in the middle and eat and drink as we dry off together in the sun. He tells me about last night’s performance, who came back stage to see him and the funny things that happened at the club afterwards. He has a great sense of humor, but sometimes he can be…a little cruel.” He paused, gazing over the peaceful scene around them. “He’s the best dancer anywhere, you know,” he added suddenly. “I’m very lucky to be with him.”
He didn’t tell her about the long, lonely evenings in his tiny apartment, waiting for Triani’s summons; or the wild, screaming fights when his lover turned up unexpectedly and found that Cham had gone to dinner with a school friend. That didn’t happen any more, of course. He hadn’t had dinner with anyone else for a long time, now.
“Don’t you have other friends?” she asked, as if reading his mind.
“I don’t need any,” he said.
The town was completely out of sight, now. They were surrounded by fields of pale feathery grass and nodding blue flowers. Here and there, jagged blood-red rocks poked out of the blue-green sea. The only sounds came from the tinkling bells on the colorful, braided harness of their amax. “Let’s get down here,” suggested Quana, pulling back on the reins.
Cham jumped. It was a relief to be on solid ground again. Remembering that he was supposed to look after Quana, he raised his arms and she slid into them. For a moment, neither one moved. It was an interesting feeling.
“You’re very strong, aren’t you?” she murmured, drawing away.
Cham felt the flush in his cheeks. He tossed back his hair and laughed nervously. “I’m a dancer. When your partner weighs about the same as you do, you have to be strong.”
They left the amax to graze peacefully and waded into the tall grass that was over Cham’s head. The dry, pungent smell tickled his nose and made him sneeze. Around him, small tricolored insects pursued each other with high-pitched chirping noises. Two red butterflies, their delicate wings curled up at the edges, hovered above his golden head.
Quana climbed up onto a slab of rock and took off her yellow skirt. She wore a sort of short jumpsuit underneath. The air shimmered with heat. He pulled off his boots and the lacy white shirt and stretched towards the sun, his hands clasped above his head. He leapt for the next rock, twirling effortlessly in the air for the sheer pleasure of movement. “This is wonderful!” he exclaimed, as he took a bottle of Merculian mint wine out of his shoulder bag and poured them each a glass. “To picnics,” he said.
She raised her glass and smiled. “It’s really exciting seeing people who come from so far away. We even had a holiday when you arrived.”
“I love holidays.”
“Then you’ll love the next one. It’s called the Festival of Dreams and there’s a great procession and dancing in the streets and we all get a chance to talk to the Dream Weaver.”
“Could I dance with you then?” Cham asked.
She laughed, her hand covering her mouth as she dipped her head. “Do you always do things that get you in trouble?”
“You mean like last night? But you invited me to come over, didn’t you?”
“Certainly, but I didn’t expect you to actually do it!”
“You mean it was just a game?”
“In a way.”
Cham shook
his head. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s all right. I’m glad you didn’t play the game by Abulonian rules. Just between you and me, I was hoping you wouldn’t.” She smiled, looking straight at him, this time. Then she looked away. He lay back in the grass sipping the wine and sampling the various strange delicacies Quana had brought. It was obvious she had put a lot of thought into her preparations and it didn’t matter that his palate couldn’t distinguish between them. He appreciated the thought.
“Tell me about that man last night—the one who told the story. Everyone seemed really…well, I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t see what was so unusual in the story. I mean, the character was so important he didn’t have a name? Can you explain it?”
“That was the Dream Weaver. He keeps our dreams alive, looks inside and shows us what they mean. The story last night about the Hunter who was lost is very old, but everyone tells it differently, and only some storytellers, like the Dream Weaver, or some other great leader, can make us see the images.”
“Images? What images? You mean, the words he used were so powerful you could see the scenes?”
“I mean pictures, the ones he drew in the air to illustrate his words. That’s what makes his stories so wonderful.”
“I…don’t understand. Are you talking about real pictures? Like in a hologram?”
“You mean you didn’t see anything last night?”
Cham shook his head.
“Nothing at all?” She stared at him, her lips parted.
“Nothing.” He remembered the low thrumming sound, the delayed echo underneath the old man’s words. “I heard something strange but I guess whatever it is doesn’t work for Merculian eyes. Can you all do it?”
“Oh, no. It’s a gift only leaders and dreamers have.”
“We just use holograms,” Cham said.
“Maybe one of my children will have the gift, like my grandfather. In ten years, I guess I’ll know.”