The Abulon Dance

by Caro Soles

  “Oh, baby, you’re a bundle of laughs today! No wonder poor old Orosin looks like death warmed over these days. You probably won’t even make love to him any more.”

  “Shut up!” Eulio’s hand, aimed at the sound of Triani’s voice, was very accurate. He hit the side of his face a glancing blow. “Get out of here, damn you!”

  Triani laughed and caught his wrist. “That’s more like it! Did I get too close that time? Can’t get it up any more, sweetie? Not feeling sexy in the dark?”

  With a cry of rage, Eulio kicked free of the bedclothes and leapt at Triani, feet first, lashing out at him with all the power of his well-developed muscles. Triani was not prepared for this. With a grunt of pain, he dropped Eulio’s wrist and bent over his groin protectively.

  Eulio scrambled back to the other side of the bed, waiting, tense, crouched ready to spring if attacked. His deep blue eyes were wide open and bright, his cheeks flushed with color. The sun turned his hair a dark, gleaming gold. “Holy shit, Eulio! What are you trying to do to me?” Triani massaged the inside of his thigh. “If you’d been a bit more to the left….” He turned his head to look at Eulio and suddenly grinned. “Hey, you’re gorgeous when you’re mad. Especially naked and mad.”

  Eulio pulled the covers around himself hastily. “I’m not naked,” he said stiffly.

  Triani shrugged. “That little piece of lace doesn’t count.” He straightened up cautiously. “It would be a pity to let all those lovely muscles deteriorate, wouldn’t it, baby?”

  “You’ve got a colossal nerve, Triani.”

  “I know, sweetie, and I agree. Your sex life is no damn business of mine. Besides, it’s probably one hell of a lot more interesting than mine is these days.”

  “That’s not what I hear from Serrin.”

  “So, you have had some visitors.” He flexed first one leg and then the other. Satisfied, he sat down again. “Want to hear the latest? We’re going to give a final performance. Apparently Luan is alive after all and we’re going to dance for his Coming of Age Day, or whatever the hell it is.”

  Eulio stopped rubbing his wrist and raised his head alertly. “Go on.”

  “We’re doing ‘Twilight’.” Triani was watching Eulio’s face closely.

  “I don’t believe it!” The color drained from Eulio’s cheeks. ‘Tales of the Twilight Kingdom’ was one of his most famous roles. It had been created for him to dance with Triani six years ago. No one else had ever performed it. More than any other work, it was a celebration of their peculiar, intense partnership. “It’s not true. Is it?”

  “Nevon announced it this morning.”

  “The bastard!” Eulio pounded the bed with his fist. “That’s mine! He can’t do this to me!”

  “You’re doing it to yourself. What do you expect? He’s got a company to run. It was on the closing night program in the first place, and this will be our farewell performance.”

  “But it’s my part!”

  “Baby, you’ve done nothing but sit around on your gorgeous ass for days. Nevon did try to see you. Remember? You wouldn’t let him in.”

  “But he promised! It’s mine! I always….” Eulio was incoherent with emotion. “Oh, Triani, you’re not really going to do that show with…with Alesio?”

  “The Mincing Bastard in person, sweetie. It wasn’t my idea, but what can I do? It’s in my contract. If you’re not available, I have to dance with your understudy.” He moved nearer to Eulio, watching his face intently. “Are you available?”

  Eulio didn’t answer right away. His small fingers were twisting in the sheets. “Damn,” he said softly. “He’s not going to get away with this. He didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me.”

  Triani began to smile, a look of satisfaction spreading across his face. “You didn’t answer me. Are you available?”

  Eulio drew his knees up to his chin under the blankets, a worried frown on his face. The sudden anger was beginning to fade now, and he was starting to feel fear. Triani could sense it. He moved closer and took Eulio’s hand. He didn’t say anything.

  “You’re serious about this touch-dancing thing, aren’t you?” said Eulio

  “I’m serious.”

  Eulio moistened his lips. “It could work. There aren’t many solos and Alesio’s been dying to do them.” He was running over the choreography in his mind. “We’d have to make a few changes. The section with all those pivots in a circle would have to go, for instance.”

  “We can work all that out.”

  “Triani, this is asking an awful lot from you. I mean, you’d be going way out on a limb trying a crazy stunt like this. What if I fall flat on my face?”

  “You get up again. What else?”

  “It could be dangerous.”

  “We’re on Abulon, sweetie. Of course it could be dangerous. You probably haven’t noticed, cooped up in here all the time, but the whole place is an armed camp.”

  “I don’t know. There’s not much time to rehearse.”

  “Shit, baby! You know the damn part inside out, and the stage is exactly the same dimensions as the one at home.”

  “I’m scared.” Eulio was trembling.

  “Baby, I’d rather dance with you deaf, dumb, and blind than with anyone else in the universe.”

  There was a short silence. Triani dropped Eulio’s hand and moved back to the edge of the bed.

  “I feel that way about you, too,” said Eulio, smoothing the blankets over his knees.

  “Oh, shit! Let’s cut the sentimental crap and get down to work, okay?”

  “Thanks, Triani,” said Eulio.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The First Minister sprawled half naked on the pile of furs on his couch, picking his teeth with the point of his hunting knife. He had just dismissed the young girl who had been warming his nights lately. Even she was no longer able to distract him. Thanks to the meddling of the wretched Merculians, things had moved much too fast. Tquan was beginning to sense he was no longer a favorite at the gaming tables.

  He strapped his knife back on his arm and got to his feet. Outside, an uneasy stillness hung in the late morning air like a fog. Tquan shrugged into his soft leather shirt and pulled on his boots. It was almost time for the head of his secret security force to check in. For years these top secret meetings had been held every morning at the same hour. This was how Tquan kept in touch with the complex web of intrigue spun from his fertile, devious mind. For Tquan, there was no such thing as loyalty. It was always possible to find someone to betray a friend, a master, anyone in a position of power over them, for a price. No one could be trusted, and it was important to keep reminding those who served him, how much they owed to him, how easily he could ruin their lives, should they decide to betray him. Everyone would soon know that Tquan was a name to be reckoned with, despite his humble origins. Why should ties of blood be stronger than natural ability? Of what use was a well-known clan against native intelligence? It was his understanding of the role of technology, his vision that had led a reluctant Chief to seek membership with the I.P.A. It was his voice that had counseled against leniency for the rebels. And he had been proven right! He, Tquan, should be the leader of his country, the country he had worked so hard to bring out of the dark ages, not an inexperienced, lovesick youth like Luan. Abulon was well rid of the boy. He smiled to himself, knowing that even now his men were on their way to Norh, to cut the last link between himself and murder. Of course there was still that damned elusive android marksman, but he couldn’t hold out much longer. He was merely an android, incapable of acting on his own for any sustained period of time. Tquan rolled the word around his mouth, thoughtfully. It was ridiculous how the Merculians had reacted to that simple word, the nonsense they talked about machines and slavery. It was only a word! He shrugged. When the time came, he could explain it all to everyone’s satisfaction. What mattered was that at the final performance of the Merculian National Dance Company, he, Tquan, would be in the place of honor, the chair of office that up t
ill now he had forced himself to appear too humble to occupy. It was lucky for him that the Merculians were insisting on holding one last performance. They were so soft and easy to fool. The very thought of their Ambassador was enough to make his lip curl in derision.

  Suddenly, the sound of drums reverberated from the square outside his windows, the din echoing up and down corridors, resounding from balcony to balcony, as if the noise itself were a live thing. Outside, the clamor was augmented by voices, as crowds began to gather, looking about for the source of the noise, asking each other what was happening. It was the Day of Awakening. Was this some new ceremony? Tquan rushed outside too, peering over the stone balustrade at the swirl of humanity that grew as he watched. And then, Luan’s hated image appeared on the wall. Tquan stared in horror as more and more hologram images hung in the air, reflected off buildings, projected anywhere people could gather to see and hear the son of the Great Chief of Abulon. Luan wore a leather kilt and a plain unadorned vest. An angry jagged scar was visible on his bare chest and his face was drawn and haggard. His large dark eyes were unafraid. “Am Quarr!” someone shouted, and then Tquan saw it; the cats-eye amulet of power hung around the boy’s neck. In the streets all over the city people began to cheer.

  The First Minister swore and turned on his Chief of Security in fury. “You told me he was dead!” he shouted. Without hesitation, he pulled his knife and plunged it into the man’s heart. Too late it occurred to him he may have killed one of his few trustworthy followers.

  Tquan rushed to the speaker tube on the wall and bellowed into it. The frightened man in the control room beneath the palace was almost incoherent, but it was obvious that all efforts to jam Luan’s transmission were of no avail.

  “Whatever they’re using to power their equipment, it’s much stronger than ours,” he babbled.

  “Keep trying!” shouted Tquan. “Shut down the air circulation system and reroute the extra power! Pour everything you’ve got into it! Now!”

  Outside, the crowd had fallen silent as Luan began to speak. His young voice echoed eerily in the still air, fading in and out as the makeshift equipment worked overtime, surmounting all efforts to interfere. He spoke simply, standing unblinking in the bright lights with the rough walls of the tunnels behind him, and opened his heart to his people.

  “Those two-faced little alien hermie bastards,” raged Tquan. “He couldn’t have done any of this without them!” Tquan had realized from the beginning that the rebels knew about the tunnels. Like rats, they had now gone underground. He was glad he had taken the precaution of sealing off all entrances that gave access to the palace. Now, he saw his mistake. He should have sealed them all in with the miserable androids, and left them to die! He thumped his fist on the balustrade.

  Then, the android marksman who had eluded capture appeared beside Luan, and Tquan knew he had lost. There was nothing left for him now but escape. Like everything else in his careful plan, this too he had prepared for. The route was charted, the place prepared and waiting.

  He turned away and hurried into his apartment. He was totally surprised by the sudden entrance of the Merculian Ambassador.

  “Good afternoon, Tquan.” Beny stopped and stared at the body on the floor.

  “As you can see, it is not a good day for everyone,” remarked Tquan. He wiped the blade of his knife on the dead man’s long hair, relishing the shock in the alien’s delicate face.

  “I don’t want any more bloodshed.” The Merculian’s voice shook slightly, and Tquan smiled.

  “Then why are you here? Are you people fond of sacrificial gestures?”

  Beny cleared his throat. “Far from it.” His face was pale and one small hand was clenched around the hilt of the ridiculous jewel-encrusted toy dagger. “I have come to appeal to you, one more time.”

  “I warned you when you first came here that you should never beg. Have you learned nothing from your stay?”

  “I have learned that the Great Chief spoke the truth when he told me there are people who cannot resist the lure of power. It is like a fatal disease, insidious and eventually deadly.”

  “If you came to moralize, little one, you chose the wrong moment. Out of my way.”

  “No.” The Merculian stood his ground.

  Tquan began to laugh. “It’s a little late to make a grand show of bravery. There’s no one here to appreciate it but me, and I’m leaving.”

  “No, you are not going anywhere.”

  “Watch me.” Tquan drew his knife and advanced on the trembling alien. “Don’t even try to fight me,” he said softly. “I don’t want to harm an ambassador, but I will. It makes little difference to me, now.”

  “It does to me!” The Merculian leapt at him, taking him totally by surprise, and fastened his teeth in the man’s upper arm. Tquan howled, more with rage than pain, and tried to shake the creature off. But the small body clung to him tenaciously. As Tquan drew back his free arm to plunge the knife in his assailant, his wrist was seized in a grip of steel.

  “It is over.” The man was an Imperial Hunter. His sister had been under suspicion for dealing with the rebel androids. Apparently, the rumor about the beautiful Xunanda was true.

  “It took you long enough,” stuttered the Merculian, adjusting his silk tunic. His face was ashen. “I thought you said you’d be right behind me. I was just supposed to stall him.”

  “My apologies, Ambassador, but we ran into a few delays.”

  His two companions tied Tquan’s hands behind his back.

  “The game is not over yet,” Tquan said, with an unpleasant smile. “There are still the Elders and the sub-chiefs to persuade. You can’t arrest them all.”

  “They are not criminals,” said the Merculian. “You are.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Oh, yes. There will be no difficulty with that.”

  Tquan shrugged. “So you say, but I have been around far longer than you, your Excellency. Take it from me, your boy doesn’t stand a chance of making it to Chief.”

  As he was marched off to a cell, his mind was busy with the odds. They had swung heavily against him, for the moment. But there was always another day. Another game to play.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Benvolini has no right to order us to perform under these conditions!” cried Alesio, tossing back his red curls.

  “He has every right,” Nevon reminded the soloist. “It’s his job to run the Festival.”

  “Festival? There is no Festival any more!”

  “Alesio’s got a point,” another principal pointed out. “He’s stopped the other performers from coming here because it’s too dangerous.”

  “That’s because the I.P.A. has withdrawn its sponsorship of the event, thanks to what’s been discovered about the Kolaris,” Nevon pointed out.

  “Be that as it may,” said Lari, the lighting designer, “but giving a performance on that day as a gesture of support to Luan is a political act. Is this not going too far?”

  “From what I hear, Luan might not even appear at this great Name Day event or whatever they call it,” said Alesio. “Then where would our great gesture of support be? We’d look like fools!”

  “That wouldn’t be hard for you, sweetie!” Triani shouted. “For god’s sake, we’ve been dancing here every day anyway. What’s the difference?”

  “Oh, we all know why you’re behind this mad scheme!” Alesio shouted back. “Anything to get Cham on stage!”

  “You seem to forget that this ‘mad scheme’ will also get you on stage, Alesio, dancing Eulio’s solos!”

  “Of course I’ll be on stage! I’m a principal! And I should be dancing the entire role!”

  “So that’s it!” Triani snapped his fingers. “And you accuse me of having an agenda!”

  Serrin stepped forward and laid a hand on Triani’s arm. “There’s another difference you seem to have forgotten between a practice session and a performance. There’ll be an audience here. A possibly hostile audience, armed, da
ngerous and unpredictable.” There was silence for a moment. The dancers were standing on the stage in the glare of the working lights. Most of them were in dance clothes, having come ready for a company workout. The young members of the chorus lingered in the shadows, watching the principals tensely, murmuring amongst themselves. Cham hovered off to the side in an agony of anxiety. He wanted his chance to dance so badly it was making him physically ill, but the fear on the part of the others was valid. They were not allowed out in the city. An armed guard escorted them to and from the theater. From their windows, they could clearly see the ravages of the civil war that seemed to be still smouldering, in spite of the First Minister’s arrest, the Elders’ frequent calming bulletins and the sudden appearance of Quetzelan in the public square. There were growing rumors of the First Minister’s secret execution, which only added to the confusion. Even now, there were guards posted around the theater, outside and in.

  A noise behind him made him spin around, his heart in his mouth. “Oh, Ambassador, you scared me! You were so quiet!”

  “I was concentrating.” Beny smiled. “Next time I’ll make a noise, although with all the commotion in here, I don’t think any more noise is what’s needed.”

  Beside him, Eulio held tightly to his hand, staring straight ahead. Sweat gleamed on his pale forehead. “Did we interrupt something?” he said. His voice was calm, clear and pitched to carry across the stage.

  The others clustered around him, welcoming him back, but although their pleasure at seeing him was genuine, there was no real joy.

  Beny walked to stand beside Nevon, leaving Eulio with the others. He clapped his hands for silence. When he had their attention, he began to speak. “Whoever said this was a political event, was right. This whole Festival, our presence here, everything that has happened is political, and we’re fooling ourselves to think otherwise. This is Abulon’s first experience of Merculians. People call us ‘the entertainers to the galaxy’, and in this role, we have made quite a splash here.” There was a low murmur of assent at this understatement. “However, I want to give them something more; something they will understand in the context of their lives; something that will show them how we think, how we live, how we support our friends.”