The Alliance (40 page)

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 following 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.

Her need for him was sharp and sudden. A yawning chasm in her soul threatened to engulf her, but Kayelle fought it down. She was an Adept, the great-granddaughter of a Tetrarch with a unique opportunity to serve her world.
Noblesse oblige
had many facets. Not the least of these was to deal with whatever situation life handed you, whining and regrets not permitted.

She touched Dakar’s arm. “Let’s keep moving. There must be more than this.”

He studied her face for a moment and then drained the glass in his hand. “There is.”

* * * *

Consciousness seeped into his mind, creeping furtively like a burglar in the night, until memory nagged him awake. Jean-Paul surged upright from the bed he’d shared with Kayelle. She’d felt very close for an instant, as if he’d heard the echo of her voice from a great distance.

Had he missed her call
?

“You were dreaming.”
Peter had sensed his distress. “
There was no call.”

Jean-Paul processed that. He felt no doubt in Peter’s mind. “
Can you monitor our private channel?”

“I can monitor the part of your mind that would hear her call when you sleep.”
Peter always read more into questions than the words.

“Can the others?”

He felt Peter considering the question.

“No.”
The admission was reluctant. “
They can’t.”
His father’s mind had leaped beyond the questions to the ramifications this had for his deepest fear—that he had created this reality and it was just a dream of a dying man.

“Does it matter?”
It felt strange to offer comfort to his father. “
We live, we breathe, and we love.”
The last was a shaft of pain. “
If we are just your dream, it is real to us, and that’s all we need to know.”

“Jean-Paul, are you awake.” Kayelle’s mother stood at the door. She’d sensed the activity of his mind.

“Yes, Ella.” He felt Peter leave.

“They’ve not found her.” She said it as a statement, not a question, accompanied by the despair only a mother can feel for her child. Jean-Paul felt lessened by the comparison with his own fears.

“No,” he said. “We’re still looking.”

“You must be exhausted. I thought you’d sleep longer. It’s only been two hours since you lay down.” He was her connection to Kayelle. She’d shared her daughter’s emotions and knew their center had shifted. She could only follow them, looking after him brought a little piece of Kayelle closer.

“It feels longer.” The pretense of searching on Viridia was more wearing than his true search in Limbo, but Peter’s word was law. He had to provide the comfort of action for the parents and the Tetrarchs.

“Come to the kitchen. I can’t remember when you ate last.”

Neither could Jean-Paul. He didn’t feel hungry, but his last meal was at the beach camp with his family—he thought.

“Coming,” he said, and followed her out of the bedroom.

The Tetrarch joined them halfway through the meal, querying politely before he entered. “I sensed you were awake again and thought I’d join you to discuss our lack of progress. My brother Tetrarchs are willing to send more men, if you think it will help.”

“I don’t know what will help.” Jean-Paul had to be honest. “We have no sense of her presence, but I can’t believe her dead. My ship’s instruments record no landings other than mine, so she should be where we can find her. She isn’t. I must continue searching, but I can’t demand it of others.”

The Tetrarch shook his head. “Kayelle is honored by all for her work with the sick during our recent troubles. We have more volunteers than we can handle and none complain of your efforts. Tell us where to search and it will be done.”

“My only suggestion is a line search through the area I sensed her heading toward.” Jean-Paul hid his guilt at suggesting so futile an exercise, but Peter had given him no choice.

“It will be done,” the Tetrarch said. “Every Adept is being informed by riders and all fishermen have their instructions.” He looked hard at Jean-Paul. “Get some sleep. I can’t make it an order, but I can ask as a friend.”

“As soon as I’ve eaten.” Jean-Paul’s guilt increased at the genuine concern he sensed in the older man. Peter and the others played these games; Jean-Paul didn’t.

* * * *

They held the auction at eleven am, a very low-key affair. The four potential bidders, two men and two women, gathered in a small room with the game coordinator and each provided proof of his/her solvency in the form of certified drafts. The coordinator then raised the bids in one million credit stages until only Dakar nodded his acceptance of six million credits. The others shook hands with him and this settled the deal.

Kayelle followed it from the next room. Her powers increased with the greater demands placed on them, proving Jean-Paul right.

“To the game room?” she asked as Dakar emerged.

He nodded to confirm he’d won the auction. “We’ll eat first and you can change into your most devastating outfit before joining me. I saw Rohan ogling you. Knock his eyes out for me. I want time to settle into the game.”

They ate at a restaurant overlooking the large ornamental lake in the center of the dome, their table prominent enough to ensure attention. Kayelle was aware of a constant murmur of mental speculation, unrestrained by the conventions that dominated its spoken version.

To divert herself, she followed Dakar’s mental preparation for the game. His lips moved slightly as he recited probability tables, effortlessly calculating the effect of displayed cards in a manner reminiscent of an idiot savant. She saw no conscious process involved. He merely pictured the cards and the results available appeared in his mind. Next came a catalog of the known idiosyncrasies of his opponents and those they’d played with recently. Gamblers learned from each other, and the more recent the lesson, the more dominant its effect. This led to his repertoire of subtle hints used to mislead and entrap, patterns of behavior the others could read at their peril.

“You remember the signals,” he asked. His mind still followed the familiar procedure.

“Yes.”

They’d agreed on a simple system of signals to cover his needs for refreshment and hers for toilet breaks. He wanted no stranger standing behind him.