“No. We’ll continue checking the portals in twelve-hour shifts. I think Anneke, Rachael, and me on the first shift, with Dael, Gabrielle, and Karrel doing the other. If she’s reached a civilized area, she’ll show up on some database somewhere and Jack’s position on Feodar’s World gives him access to most of them. He needs to be there and Jean-Paul has to settle the Viridians and listen for Kayelle’s call. I’ll leave the portal open so he’ll hear where ever he is.”
“What do I tell her parents and the Tetrarch?” Jean-Paul felt defeated. The last eight hours had drained him more than any other period in his life. He’d crashed from the euphoria of awakened love to the reality he might never hold Kayelle in his arms again.
“Stick to the truth. You went to the privy, came back to find her gone, and have been searching for her ever since. We’ll shift the portal close to the water and you can get your clothes dirty before you reach the house. Say you thought you sensed her in that direction and became lost looking for her. It’s wild country. Let them organize searches. I’ll link the portal to you and it will follow you around.” Peter’s decisive manner lifted Jean-Paul, giving him the will to proceed.
Knowing it was his fault made it worse. Had he not taken Kayelle into Limbo in the beginning, she could never have used the portal now. Peter thought Limbo was a mind concept rather than a reality and access to it required the mind’s acceptance of its existence. Without her first visit, Kayelle couldn’t imagine its existence and this mess couldn’t happen. Now she could be dead and he’d never know….
“Stop this nonsense now.” Peter’s command sounded harsh, a rare display of anger. “She’s alive. We’d know instantly if she wasn’t. Our task if to find her and bring her home.”
Jean-Paul recoiled. His father was right. He wouldn’t help Kayelle by futile hand wringing, or self-flagellation. She needed focused action and Peter showed the way. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
“Good.” Peter turned away to the portal he searched.
* * * *
Kayelle woke to the crash of the falling vase. Disorientated, she leaped to her feet to see a shimmering blue veil across her door, with the sense of Jean-Paul just beyond it strong in her mind. Following him was automatic and she found herself in a place hauntingly familiar. Limbo, the name came into her mind from nowhere, a place of waiting for a decision. She was alone; her sense of Jean-Paul centered on another veiled opening ten paces to her left. She hurried to it, extending her awareness.
Beyond, was a strange scene, groups of people carried past the opening by a moving pavement, emerging from a tunnel on one side and disappearing into another tunnel on the other.
Jean-Paul must be ahead of her.
Heartened by the thought, she stepped through, only to stagger drunkenly as her body fought to match the movement of the pavement and cannoned into an individual she hadn’t noticed.
“Steady, Lass. Where’d you come from? I thought I was the last off the shuttle.” The years she felt in his mind hid behind a merry grin. “You can’t go running around like that. They’ll think you a Pleasure Girl out of her licensed area. Wear my cloak till we get inside the Dome.” He shifted the garment from his shoulders to hers. “Pull the hood up. It’s always cold in the Admission Hall.” He fussed with the soft cord at its neck closure, tying an ornate bow.
Kayelle, who’d just realized she wore only a revealing nightgown donned specially for Jean-Paul, was glad of his kindness, for the shimmering blue veil had disappeared, leaving her no way back. Her sense of Jean-Paul had disappeared.
“Thank you,” she said. “I came in a hurry and forgot to dress properly.”
“Lass, I’m not complaining. I haven’t seen anything as good as you in more years than I care to remember, but I’m here to gamble at Xanadu Pleasure Dome. What’s your pleasure?”
Kayelle had followed his thoughts as much as his words and the germ of an idea in his mind answered all her immediate problems. She had to foster it.
“I’m following a friend,” she said. “We got separated and I don’t know where she’ll be.” Giving Jean-Paul a sex change removed an obstacle to his idea.
“Let her find you instead.” He’d taken the bait. “I’m heading for the high stakes table. The game is video cast throughout the Dome. We’ll doll you up and you can stand behind me to distract the other players.”
Kayelle nodded thoughtfully, entranced by the things hidden in her companion’s mind. Viridia seemed far away.
Dakar had been a gambler for one hundred and twenty standard years, ever since he’d escaped the constraints of his parent’s home and passed through a Federation portal. He wasn’t truly telepathic, just uniquely sensitive to others, a skill honed by thousands of hours at the card table. This game was his last. Once it ended, he was going home, back to the world he’d abandoned as a sixteen-year-old rebel, back to his Elite parents on Feodar’s World. There’d been great changes at home.
They’d deposed the Pontiff, rebuffed the Federation, and started modernizing under an Elite president. He wanted to become part of it, but not as a returning prodigal. He wanted enough wealth to return in triumph, his pride intact.
Kayelle smiled. Some things never change. Dakar’s story, the details altered only by their isolation, had played out a thousand times on Viridia, prodigal sons seeking their fortunes in other tetrarchies and not returning until they could return proudly.
“Well?” He reminded her she hadn’t answered.
“What do you want in return?” She might be from an isolated planet, unknown to the rest, but she knew men.
They’d reached the Admission Hall, a vast space under a high domed ceiling teeming with people, and his delighted laughter turned heads. “Nothing like you’re thinking.” He patted her on the shoulder. “High Rollers like me are provided with Pleasure girls as part of the service. They’re professionals, the highest class. I’ve grown used to the best. Your role is to help me win, nothing more.”
Kayelle’s face flamed with his casual dismissal, more so because she followed his memories of past services and thought them impossible.
“You, on the other hand, are free to dabble where you will. Just be there when I’m playing.” His thoughts on the activities she might undertake did nothing to reduce her color. “I’ll pay for your clothes, lodging, meals, and anything else within reason, so don’t hold back.” She felt his offer was genuine.
“Do we shake hands?” This was the Viridian custom for closing deals.
He gave another delighted peal of laughter. “I think sealed with a kiss is more appropriate.”
She didn’t know what to expect when he kissed her. She felt the mischief in his mind, and the avuncular peck on her lips caught her off guard.
“Stop worrying,” he said. “This is a business deal. Having you stand behind me is my insurance.” She couldn’t probe a dark area in his mind, a fear of something outside her understanding.
They joined one of the queues and shuffled forward with the rest until it was their turn at the turnstile.
“Place your right hand palm down on the screen,” the attendant instructed, indicating a flat sheet of tinted glass with the outline of a hand.
Puzzled, Kayelle placed her hand within the outline and had to force herself not to flinch at the wave of curious vibration she felt.
“Name?” The attendant sounded bored.
“Kayelle.”
“Planet?”
“Viridia.” She felt his interest spike and he glanced down at a screen hidden from her to see confirmation.
“Non-member entity,” he read. “You are our first visitor. This gives you guest status.” He turned aside and took a token from a gold box. “Present this token and validate it with your palm print. All charges will be met.” She felt his envy.
The turnstile buzzed, admitting her.
The attendant recognized Dakar and greeted him familiarly, wishing him luck in the game, and the gambler joined her, indicating a shor
ter queue on the far side of the hall.
“We’ll take the surface beltway. The underground shuttles make me claustrophobic”
Kayelle let him escort her, more interested in his thoughts than his words.
Guest status was a recognized commercial ploy, usually granted to the first five visitors from a new source, whether it was a world like Viridia, or an emerging society on some backward planet. Her palm print confirmed she didn’t exist in any database. They’d monitor her activities, gather information, and search for her world by backtracking her movements.
Kayelle smiled. She’d found nothing vaguely like the blue veiled doorways in his mind, although they seemed to have many similar properties to the portals to non-physical space providing instant travel through the galaxy. She suspected their search might be more frustrating than productive, but she left tracks now for Jean-Paul. He’d know all about databases and how to check them.
She felt good, her mind alert, taking leaps of intuition she would never have dared at home. No wonder Jean-Paul had such self-assurance. This was his environment, unimaginable even to the Tetrarchs. Before he’d given her a glimpse into his mind, this might have terrified her, now it fascinated her.
The surface beltway had four parallel belts at the entry. Each ran faster than the one before, so the final step onto the main belt was an easy one. Steadied by Dakar’s arm, she had no trouble. They emerged into the open through an air curtain, and the temperature rose appreciably under the reddish sun.
Other than this, it could have been the plains of Viridia, cropped close by the wandering herds, flatlands reaching to the horizon before them. Kayelle looked back at the receding dome of the Entrance Hall. Beyond it, she saw space ships, most a hundred-times-larger than Jean-Paul’s, landing and taking off in a continuous procession. She turned back in time to see the first spires of the Pleasure Dome pierce the horizon. Ten minutes later, she saw the upper curve of the burnished dome itself.
A last glance back showed how far they’d come and Kayelle felt a tiny quiver of fear. She’d committed herself. It was too late to turn back now.
Chapter Twenty
“You look great.” Dakar offered his arm and Kayelle took it, secretly amused by his mental definition of “arm candy,” as she allowed him to lead her out of their penthouse suite.
A day of new experiences had seen her manicured, coiffured, and dressed in the height of Xanadu Fashion, although dressed was perhaps a questionable description. The total amount of material in her gown would have made a good-sized pocket-handkerchief on Viridia, and only strategic placement gave it a passing claim to decency.
Her gold token had more power than even Dakar’s reputation. The sight of it transformed every vendor into an enthusiastic artist, intent on achieving miracles. Her slightest desire became a royal command and they’d pampered and molded her into what they saw as perfection. Kayelle felt less sure, even when she sensed the reactions around her. Jean-Paul, she’d trust. Dakar, she thought genuine, but the others stretched her charity. They fawned and gushed on cue, but their thoughts betrayed their envy and hatred.
Yet, they’d performed a more valuable service than merely changing her appearance. Their minds had put into context every glimpse she’d had into Jean-Paul’s mind, building her understanding of what lay outside Viridia, giving her confidence in dealing with it.
No Adepts existed here. Sensitives, like Dakar, they knew existed, but every child on Viridia could replicate his abilities, hers they would fear.
What did this make Jean-Paul?
His abilities exceeded hers to the degree hers exceeded Dakar’s and the only hint she’d found of immortals were the Alliance. More legend than fact, they opposed the Federation, a very real entity, wresting whole worlds from its grasp by guile and stealth.
Kayelle smiled. Even Viridia had its legends of a resourceful hero defending the helpless against the rule of the Tetrarchs. Such tales were the inevitable consequence of monolithic bureaucracies over-ruling local sensitivities for the general good, all the tales of small acts of resistance gathered and given substance in a single person, a phenomenon every sensible bureaucrat secretly fostered. It gave those who thought themselves oppressed an excuse to do nothing, waiting for a rescuer was far easier than acting yourself.
“What’s amusing you now,” Dakar asked. “You’re sometimes so far away that I wonder if you’re really here.”
“I’m here.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “This is all so new to me.” Her reply satisfied him and he returned to mentally preparing for the game.
No one capitalized its title, yet the game was the central focus of the Pleasure Dome. Popular legend had six spacers starting it long before the dome existed and it had continued down through the years, tenure of one of the six chairs starting at a million credits a week. The Pleasure Dome Authority took no cut from the table beyond this. Each chair had three occupants who arranged a schedule to keep the play continuous. The dealer was now a machine, programmed to detected marked decks and keep track of the number of cards in play. It responded to voice commands and announced its actions so the watching crowd could follow the play.
Dakar wouldn’t play tonight. The next vacancy was tomorrow at noon, when he would have to bid for it in an auction. Against legendary players, the cost of a chair escalated, topping ten million credits in some cases, and his reputation bought him nothing but a following, even though it would increase the price of the next seat. He’d once bet the equivalent of a planet’s GNP on the turn of a single card and won.
She’d been incredibly fortunate in her companion. Dressed in his plain-colored native kilt and vest, he was distinguished, confident, good-looking—a man to be reckoned with in any company—and a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. Were it not for having met Jean-Paul, she’d be attracted to him, even if he was a Non-Adept.
Their entrance attracted attention. Kayelle sensed the focus of the crowd shift from the table to Dakar, and then to her, a subtle tide of red climbing to darken her features until she blocked out the coarser pictures by focusing on the five men and one woman sitting at the table.
The woman was winning. Kayelle felt her elation as she pushed four stacks of chips into the center and player after player folded, tossing their cards into the discards tray, until the bid reached the man on her right.
His mind stayed quiet. He didn’t look at his cards; she saw no picture of them in his mind. He counted the remaining stacks in front of the woman, calculating how much she’d risk. Too big a bet might frighten her. He made his decision, pushing a matching four stacks into the center first, and then added another four.
Doubt swirled though the woman’s mind and Kayelle shared the events leading up to this impasse. The focus on facial expressions rather than cards surprised her. The woman saw a pattern in the way her opponent responded and was backing this as much as her assessment of the cards, where the odds promised less.
She shifted back to the man and found him studying her rather than the cards or his opponent. He’d calculated his moves and could do nothing more to influence the outcome, so he enjoyed her beauty without sexual undercurrents, as if she were a piece of art rather than a woman of flesh and blood. It affected her oddly, more as an affront than a challenge. There was something reptilian in it and she had to discipline herself not to stare back at him.
“Rohan’s ready to gut her,” Dakar whispered. “He’s taken days to set this up and she’s fallen for it. Her only chance is to fold now. He took me to the cleaners the same way five years ago.”
“What will happen if she does fold?” Kayelle considered something foolish.
“It will take longer. She’s out of her depth here, doesn’t understand what’s happening and thinks the cards matter. Any idiot can memorize the probability tables and we play long enough to make them rule. The game’s won and lost in the mind, not on the table.”
Dakar wasn’t being chauvinistic. His assessment was purely technical. He’d been fo
llowing the play all day, preparing.
“Do many women take part?”
“Three of the best are women. You should see one in action before I leave. The news will spread when I’m playing and they have old scores to settle.”
She sensed he was depending on it. They’d bring big money with them and he wanted it all.
The woman player matched the bet and then hesitated for fear of losing. Kayelle understood instantly what Rohan had achieved. The woman was no longer a winner. Doubt had entered her mind and her departure from the table had become a certainty.
“We’ll move on,” Dakar said, touching her elbow. “I never enjoy this, even when it’s me in control.” His thoughts revealed the truth. He wanted Rohan to know he understood.
For Dakar, the game had already begun.
They toured the night spots. Entertainments ranging from spectacular variety performances to more private demonstrations of why the Pleasure Dome was favored above all others. Dakar showed her off, establishing her connection to him. The rumors would already be out that he’d fooled the Authority into funding his companion for the game. He flaunted his supposed success. The game had many facets and the mind picture he drew for his opponents, great depth.
A fascinating man, Dakar was a thinker. He processed everything with an intellect sharp enough to command Kayelle’s respect. His mind picture of her already had question marks against their fortuitous meeting, her moments of abstraction and the unusual accuracy of her responses to new experiences. He even listed telepathy as a possible explanation and wondered if she had a connection to the Alliance.
His suspicions aside, she was fortunate in her companion. He had few prejudices and a deep knowledge of his society, an incomparable tutor for someone like her. Viridia would need people like Dakar when she emerged from isolation.
“Jean-Paul would be proud.”
The thought came from nowhere, leaving her unsure whether it came from her mind or someone else’s. She’d not experienced anything like it before, but this was true of almost everything since Jean-Paul had burst into her life.
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