The Abulon Dance

by Caro Soles

  Beny nodded, his head on Thar-von’s chest. He was listening to the peculiar double thumps of the Serpian’s heart and wondered if there was any Abulonian woman in particular whom his friend found attractive. He knew better than to ask, however. He could sense that Thar-von’s unusual excursion into the personal was at an end, for now.

  “What do you think of the Chief, Von?”

  “The Am Quarr is a ruthless man. He does not trust us, but I think he is acting in good faith, as he understands it.”

  “I guess so. What about the First Minister?”

  “The difference between the two, as I see it, is that the First Minister thinks he has a sense of humor,” Thar-von remarked dryly.

  Beny smiled. “Maybe we just don’t understand Abulonian jokes.” He paused. “Sort of like Merculians with Serpian proverbs,” he added.

  “‘The beasts do not change their shape when the light seeps out of the forest’,” Thar-von said, his voice dropping into the sing-song pattern he used when quoting.

  “Exactly,” Beny said, with a smile. “You just proved my point.”

  SEVEN

  “Let’s hit the high spots, baby, if there are any in this wilderness.” Triani flung his arm over Cham’s shoulders. Together they strolled around to the back of the flat-topped pyramid-shaped complex where they lived and stopped to look around. The narrow walkways that led off in several directions were damp from a recent shower. In the shadow of a clump of spiky bushes, a small boy was watching them.

  “Which way do we go?” asked Cham, looking down first one lane and then another as they twisted out of sight among the jumble of wooden buildings.

  “You want some action?” The boy had sidled up to them and was looking up at Triani with hopeful, dark eyes.

  “You got it, kid. Just lead the way.”

  The boy turned to his left and started confidently down the cobbled walkway. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder, shading his eyes in the bright sunlight to make sure they were following. His narrow brown face looked older than the rest of him. “On the way, baby, pretend I’m blind and make me see what you see.” Cham looked up at him questioningly. “An artist must be very observant. You have to know how a person holds his head while talking or listening, how they move, the way they sit on a chair or sip a glass of wine. You must know the subtle differences between the sexes. All of them. You never know what role will come your way. Open your eyes, lover.”

  “I’ll try.” Cham sounded doubtful but he looked about him intently as he started to talk. “We’re on a winding street, swept clean by squads of shiny-headed androids. Some of them are just finishing now. They never raise their copper eyes from their work. They all wear the same baggy brown pants and tunics. They have no expression at all.”

  “Good. What about the buildings.”

  “They seem to be shops—workshops, I think. They’re dim and narrow and go back a long way from the street. Some of them are open all the way through and you can catch sight of colorful gardens out the back door.” He stopped speaking. Quana was across the street, walking beside a tall, gaunt woman whose black hair looked as if shellacked to her skull. Between them walked a large greenish watch dog. Quana looked right at him, then her eyes slid aside and she turned away, with a scared expression. The smile died on Cham’s lips and he kept on walking.

  “Cut you dead, eh sweetie?”

  “She’s in trouble because of me. Maybe if I explained to her parents…about us, I mean. Do you think that would help?”

  “Explained what? That you’re perfectly capable of laying their precious daughter, who appears to have the hots for you, but you don’t feel like it because you’re living with a notorious letch who exhausts you every night?”

  “Aw don’t. Please.” Cham hung his head and scuffed his red boots on the uneven paving stones. “It’s not like that.”

  “Don’t be so sensitive, you’ll live longer.” In spite of the glib words, Triani was aware of the pain in the beautiful face and hated himself for being the cause of it. He grimaced briefly. “Look, if you want to make up with your stiff-necked girlfriend and her parents, why not send them tickets for opening night? Holy shit! Is this the best you can do for us, kid?” The boy had stopped at a dim doorway of a place that looked like some sort of café. He was gesturing them inside, a wide grin on his face.

  “I don’t think I want to go in there,” said Cham, hanging back. Triani only shrugged, disengaged himself from Cham and went through the open door. After a moment, Cham followed. When he looked back, the boy had disappeared. Inside, three men stood around a rectangular table with a recessed top, playing an intense game. They were using black and white counters and what looked like large, spongy triangles. A fat man with a thick neck was keeping score with the help of some sort of an abacus. They were obviously gambling. Stacks of paper cards with writing on them changed hands at intervals. Discordant music came faintly from a battered speaker at the back of the room. The men were drinking the native, brown ale and wiping the foam from their mouths with the back of a hand. Only one man was smiling but he didn’t look friendly.

  They paused to look up as Triani walked in. A man with a blue earring in his misshapen ear was wearing one of the distinctive figurines carved from blue crystal that Serpian men often wore. The fat man nodded. The one with a scar running the length of his cheek looked him up and down insolently, a faint smile on his lips.

  “You’re one of them dancer Merculians,” he remarked.

  “Well, well. You don’t miss much, do you, sweetie.” Triani put his hands on his hips and grinned up at the man. The others laughed and Triani, encouraged, came closer. He propped one foot on a stool, rested his elbow on one knee and leaned over to study the table. “Playing for pennies, boys?”

  “Hardly. You want in?”

  “What are you playing for?”

  “Whatever you’ve got.” They were looking at the flashy rings he wore. Triani could feel their interest but there was no expression in the dark, impassive faces. “How do you play?” He looked at the fat man who cleared his throat and launched into a complicated explanation of an essentially simple game. “I usually play cards,” said Triani doubtfully. In fact, he stayed away from games of chance because he found it difficult to know when to stop, especially when the stakes were high. “On the other hand, this looks like the only game in town. Deal me in, or whatever you say.”

  Cham examined the room, the stained bar at one side, the dusty pictures of tall men with their arms on one anothers’ shoulders. He wondered if there was anything here he wasn’t seeing, anything hidden just below the surface. He moved back beside Triani and stood patiently, watching and waiting. Gradually he became aware that the men were staring at him. One reached over to touch his hair.

  “Hands off,” said Triani, not taking his eyes off the game. “He belongs to me.”

  “You’re on a winning streak. Why not put him into the pot? We don’t want any more of your damn credits.”

  Triani laughed. “Find your own lover, sweetie. This one’s not for sale.” Cham pushed back his hair nervously. These men were serious. The fat one was looking uneasy as he watched Triani take a long pull at his ale.

  “What have you got for me of equal value?” Triani cocked an eye at the man with the scar who hesitated, then reached inside his vest. He glanced at Triani’s rings, two of which were already on the table.

  “You look like someone with an eye for gems.” He held out his hand. In his large palm gleamed three enormous mantino stones, flashing fire in the sunlight coming in the open door.

  Triani held one to the light and checked it with a practiced eye. “Flawless,” he murmured.

  Cham felt a sudden chill in the pit of his stomach. He knew Triani’s weakness for precious stones. He laid a small hand on his arm. “What are you doing, love?” he whispered.

  Triani slipped an arm around his waist and gave him a quick hug. “You’re flawless too, baby.” He turned back to study
the table. “On the other hand, I can’t lose.”

  “But obviously they think you can,” said Cham, worried. “And besides, it’s the first time you ever played this game.”

  Triani drained his glass. “This is ridiculous.” He backed away from the table.

  “Look here, fellow. You can’t pull out in the middle of a game. One more go. All or nothing.” The man’s fists rested on his hips. He towered over the Merculians.

  Triani moved back to the table. “I didn’t say I was welshing! Back off, mister!”

  “Nobody welshes on us.” The men exchanged glances.

  Triani took Cham’s hand a moment and toyed with the ring on the middle finger. Cham was frightened, too frightened to sense what Triani was trying to tell him. Tears welled up in his clear, grey eyes. He didn’t say a word.

  Triani turned back to the table and rested his hands on the raised edge. His black eyes studied the game intently.

  Watching him, Cham felt cold all over. He sensed violence in the air. He saw Triani tense and spring, heaving the table over and knocking the fat man off his stool. Counters, triangles, chits and beads scattered over the floor.

  “Run, Cham!” Triani sprang at the man with the scar, kicking out with his powerful legs.

  Cham stood rooted to the spot in horror. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind. The breath rushed out of him as he was thrown over a man’s shoulder. As the man started to run, Cham fainted. Triani was not a coward. Although he had the instincts of a street fighter, he had very little experience. The other two were obviously trained. The only thing in Triani’s favor had been surprise and the powerful muscles in his thighs. They hadn’t expected a Merculian to fight.

  Several men and women gathered in the doorway to watch. “A hundred to one on the little guy,” someone shouted, but no one took him up on it.

  Triani didn’t last two minutes. By the time the Officers of Concord arrived, the three men had disappeared, taking the money, rings and other valuables with them. Triani lay on the floor, unconscious, blood on his pale face, his red silk tunic torn to shreds.

  The fat man told his story, bobbing his head, rubbing his pudgy hands together. He was a witness. Triani had attacked a man without warning in an effort to get out of paying a gambling debt. Nobody mentioned Cham.

  * * *

  Triani came to in a small cell. He looked up into the wizened face of an old man who was rubbing his stubby chin anxiously. “Who the hell are you?” He tried to sit up and was hit by a searing pain in his shoulder. “Oh, shit! I’ll have to take a double shot of pain killer to dance with this.” The man laid a cool, dry hand on his forehead and smoothed back the black curls. “Hush, now,” he said softly, as if to a sick child. “How do we feel?”

  “I don’t know about you, sweetie, but I feel like shit. Where am I?”

  “In jail, young one.”

  “Why? Did I kill one of the bastards?”

  “Oh my dear, no. I do wish you Merculian people wouldn’t wear such tight pants. It can’t be good for the circulation. Here. Drink this.” He handed Triani a tall, pottery mug of steaming liquid.

  Triani wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “What the hell is this? Rat poison?”

  “Hush that talk now and drink it all up. It’ll take the ache out of your bones.” The old man patted his shoulder.

  Triani looked at him quizzically, shrugged and drank the potion. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to clear his thoughts. He looked around the bare cell. There was no door, just heavy, old-fashioned bars across the opening. There was no window, either.

  “Where’s Cham?” he asked, sudden panic constricting his chest.

  “No one was brought here with you.”

  “Oh God! They took him! They’ve got Cham! I must talk to someone in authority. Now!”

  “The Chief of Concord is not here at present. Who is this Cham person?”

  “He’s my…my ward. They kidnaped him! Oh shit!”

  “Hush that talk, now. He is just a child, do you mean? He was with you at the bar?”

  “Yes, yes. He is quite young and…very beautiful.”

  “Well, then, no one will harm a hair of his head, will they?”

  “Man, what are you on? It’s not his head I’m worried about!” Triani’s laugh was harsh. He swung his feet to the floor and tested his legs. “Who’s in charge here?”

  The old man stood up and patted Triani’s shoulder again. “There was no one at the bar with you, young one. You need rest, now.”

  “Look, old man, I’m a Merculian citizen! I demand to see my Ambassador! That’s my right!”

  “Oh, but I’m afraid you’re an accused criminal, you see. You have no rights here. Just rest awhile and someone will come to talk to you in good time.” He laid his palm over a panel in the barred doorway and it silently slid open. “Wait!” Triani sprang for the doorway but the bars clanged to in his face. “Damn you!” he shouted after the slowly retreating figure. He pulled the remains of his tunic together and tucked them neatly into his pants. He glanced at his hands, checking for broken fingernails. “Shit! They even took my rings,” he muttered. He went back and sat down on the hard cot and thought about the Serpian crystal figurine hanging around the neck of the man with the blue earring.

  EIGHT

  “I have been in jail all night! All night! Do you realize that? Me, Triani! Star of the Merculian National Dance Company, languishing in a filthy alien cell! Why? Just tell me that, will you?”

  “I will, if you give me a chance.” Beny felt at a distinct disadvantage sitting behind his desk. He stood up. “We only heard this morning. The instant we heard, we acted.”

  “You sent Thar-von Del! That’s acting? Why didn’t you come yourself?”

  “Because I thought he could handle it better.”

  “He doesn’t have your authority.”

  “He has their respect!” Beny sat down again and wished he hadn’t admitted this last fact. “Triani, you broke their law. They had every right to put you in jail. At least he persuaded them not to press charges.”

  “And what about Cham?”

  “According to their law, no one is officially missing until three nights have passed.”

  “I thought we were operating under our laws here?”

  “Only in our private quarters.”

  “You’re telling me no one is going to do one damn thing! You’re going to sit on your ass—”

  “Triani!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Shit.” He finally slumped down in a chair and covered his face with his hands.

  Beny tried to think of something comforting to say. He picked up a message cube, stared at it, put it down again.

  After a moment, Triani raised his head. “You’re not going to like this but I have to say it. I don’t trust Thar-von Del.”

  “You’ve never liked him.”

  “That, too, but in this case I mean ‘trust’. One of the males who took Cham was wearing a Serpian pendant.”

  “What?”

  “Those figurines are unmistakable. They’re nothing like Abulonian ornaments. Where else would he get one?”

  “Be careful what you say, Triani.”

  “Serpians aren’t known for their generosity, either. Those things are worth a lot of credits.”

  Beny felt around on his desk for the communications device, found it under a pile of order forms and called Thar-von. “Don’t let your anger run away with your good sense,” he said to Triani. “I knew I couldn’t expect any support from you. He’s your friend, after all. Just remember I’m the same species as you are, even if I wasn’t born with a gold chain around my waist. That should mean something.”

  “What should it mean?” asked Thar-von, closing the door behind him.

  “I want to know why one of the men who beat me up and kidnaped my lover was wearing a Serpian figurine around his neck.”

  “Good taste,” said Thar-von unperturb
ed. “If you are accusing me of something, please do so. I am very busy.”

  “You bastard!” shouted Triani. “Don’t you have any heart?”

  Thar-von drew himself up to his full imposing height and looked stonily at the wall above Triani’s head.

  “Sit down, both of you.” Beny tried to get some sort of control on the situation. “Triani, ask Thar-von a polite question and he will answer it.”

  “Do you still have the Serpian pendant you brought with you?”

  Thar-von looked startled. He glanced at Beny who nodded. “No,” he said.

  “What did I tell you!” cried Triani triumphantly.

  “Where is it?” asked Beny.

  Thar-von had turned a dark blue. His hands were clenched at his sides. “Must I answer this?”

  “Under the circumstances, yes.”

  “I gave it to a lady I met at the reception two nights ago.”

  Triani looked at him in astonishment. “You? Ice-water Del?”

  “Has it occurred to anyone that I am not the only Serpian on the planet?”

  The Merculians exchanged glances. They had both forgotten about Zox.

  “I think you owe Thar-von an apology, Triani.”

  “I hate to admit it but I guess I do. Sorry, okay?” Thar-von finally turned his navy blue eyes on Triani. “So I’m not very good at it,” said Triani nervously.

  “You could practice,” suggested Thar-von.

  Beny came around his desk and slid a hand under Triani’s elbow. “If you want us to accomplish anything, you have to give us a chance. This is my job. Go away and let me get on with it.”

  Triani paused at the door. “Find Cham,” he said. “If you don’t, I will.” He swept out the door, leaving Beny to close it behind him.

  “I resent what just happened here,” said Thar-von at once. “Why did you force me to divulge something personal that was none of his business?”

  “Von, I apologize, but Triani is difficult to handle. It was the fastest way to make him see how false his accusation was. I need some sherry. What about you?” Thar-von gestured no with his hands and sat down. His face was expressionless.