“We can begin fresh,” he agreed, acceding to their unspoken pact. Lily smiled up at him with a pleased expression. She had neatly won her case. He took both her hands in his and gave them a kiss. Lily was a good woman, and if she was willing to take him back and wait upon his decision, the least he could do was give their relationship every chance to flourish.
Herb did not stay long after their talk. Though her family was prosperous, she was a dedicated working girl who had to be at the Nursery early the next morning. Herb felt a bit drained from the emotional confrontation, and decided to make an early night of it himself.
He was soon home in his small apartment, stretched across his water bed, thumbing through the swimsuit issue of Play Plant magazinia. The photosynthegraphs of scantily clad passionflowers leaped out at him from the scented pages. He almost regretted his promise to Lily. While not prone to hop from one flower bed to the next, he did regard himself as a normal young Veganoid. His magazinias were a far cry from the raunchy trash he had seen in the polli parlour, but they still had lovely blossoms, and were not helping matters.
He flipped to the classified section instead, and browsed through the personals; the seed of answering one was growing in his mind. Why not? Responding to an ad would fill up a dull evening, and it wasn’t as if he would actually meet the girl. Just writing a letter could hardly be considered disloyal to Lily, especially if she didn’t know about it. It might be amusing to see what kind of reply he got.
Some of the ads were blatant, while others were obscure. He wanted to know something about whom he was contacting, but was put off by the aggressive ones. An ad near the end of the page at last caught his eye.
“Attractive, human Moon Maiden with botanical background seeks correspondence with interesting male. Species no obstacle. Object?”
A botany student? Herb thought girls in these magazinias were more interested in body than mind games. He was certain she had never studied his species of plant. Paradise was off the beaten path for vacationers, not without good reason. “Moon Maiden.” He liked the sound of that. It was romantic, rather than sexy. “Object?” probably meant friendship, but the door was open for exploration. Herb decided he would answer this “Moon Maiden.” Anything to relieve the monotony.
On New Moon, Iolanthe slid another letter beneath Spring’s door and walked quickly away. If any of the Companions saw her do such a thing, it could mean expulsion or at the very least, solitary penance.
The Companions were quite strict about some of their precepts and outside communication was one of them. It would not matter that Lady Spring was only in their temporary care; she was still expected to abide by their tenets. It was, after all, for her own good. Hadn’t her father made it a matter of extreme importance that none were to discover his daughter’s presence? He did not explain why, but that was of small matter. The Companions were not curious. They wished only to lead a quiet life away from distracting outside influences. What he had requested was no more than they required.
Under ordinary circumstances, Iolanthe would never have agreed to such complicity. It was only that the sad-eyed young woman had been through so much and now had no one at all since her only parent had passed away. If this covert communication afforded her a measure of peace, then who was she to deny that request? Peace and comfort were the goals of the Companions, were they not? And it was plain the letters she had smuggled in to Lady Spring did provide her with a strange comfort.
She also admitted to herself that the harmless intrigue spiced up an otherwise too peaceful existence for Iolanthe. She went on down the hallway, reminding herself to do extra kitchen duty for the worldly thoughts she had been plagued with of late. And perhaps there would even be the chore of discarding the extra portions.
While Iolanthe contemplated pudding, Spring was thinking of her dearest enemy. “What is on your mind tonight, Zygote? Are you warm and secure in your mad magician’s bed, or can it be you will toss and turn, wondering where the daughter of Gabriel has eluded you?
“Do you dare dream of holding her in your thin arms, penetrating her soft young body even as you penetrate the deepest secrets of her mind? Or could the ways of the flesh hold any allure for one such as you? I think not.
“No, a woman’s heart is but an organ. To know a heart, you must possess one, and yours is cold hard lead. Power is your love, wealth your desire. How could a mere woman compete with that?”
“Dream on, Zygote, and sleep well. All your fond desiring, anxious waiting, patient planning, will avail you nothing. Yet, we will meet. But at a time of my choosing, and I fear, your dreams will become a nightmare.”
The sound of the letter thrust beneath the door jarred Spring back to reality. Her face still reflected the hatred for the man who had destroyed her father, as she retrieved the missive. Another of the growing assortment she had received in answer to her ad.
Most were from smut-mouthed aliens looking for thrills with a pretty human female. They minced no words detailing descriptions of their incredible desires. Many were unintelligible to her, of course, as she had no idea what it meant to “gibrate with her dorlinta as she comarited his nobila.” Or to “swing the ten patos to contact her ba ba.” But one could imagine a full stomach would be a no-no.
She had assembled three piles of replies to go through. The truly depraved were tossed aside, the mixed bags sorted through, and the handful of best possibilities carefully considered. She went through these again, noting they came mainly from lonely males on distant or rural planets without many females of their own age or status to choose from. They seemed genuinely interested in forming a friendship. She lingered over one in particular.
It was from a tiny planetoid called P#23. Wait—it stood for Paradise. How quaint. It was very secluded. A point in its favor. The young man who was writing called himself a Veganoid, a part human, part plant person. As a student of botany she found that concept intriguing rather than repelling. She had a vague recollection of such beings, but as the plant folk were not space travellers and of comparatively noncompetitive technology, they were largely unknown. Certainly she had never met one nor knew of anyone who had. Interesting.
Spring set the letter aside and ripped the rest up, tossing them at the bathroom disintegration unit. Considering their foul content for the most part, it was an appropriate way to dispose of them.
Reading through Herb’s letter again, for that was the plant man’s name, she discovered he had mentioned enclosing a picture. Could she have overlooked it when sorting? Probably he had intended to, and then forgotten before posting it. Now she was more curious than ever. What would a plant man look like? A walking bush?
Taking out a sheet of floral-scented note paper, a nice touch, she wrote thoughtfully for a few minutes, then placed the note in its sealer and tucked in a photograph of herself in swim apparel. While it was common on many planets to swim in the nude, body suits were still used on her home world. She had on such an outfit in the photo, a transparent affair except for big daisy designs at the proper places. It was actually quite concealing, but the illusion was otherwise. She had had quite a discussion with her father over that selection. How she wished he were still with her to argue! Sighing wistfully, she closed the sealer.
The object of her interest, Herb Moss, sat in a shady bower in the Paradise Public Gardens reflecting on his life. He and Lily were getting on well. At least, they never disagreed. Maybe that was because Lily always deferred to him whenever the least hint of discord threatened.
While it was all very well to have one’s way all the time, such a relationship lacked stimulation and exchange of ideas. She was giving in for the sake of peace, not because she agreed with him. Now that he thought of it, they didn’t discuss much of anything outside of their upcoming union plans and his work at the firm, or other safe subjects.
Lily’s family had forgiven him for his temporary transplant, and his father had offered him a good position at the firm of Moss and Ivy, Inc. It was an old compan
y with a spotless reputation and would assure them a good financial future. It was uneventful work, but secure, with his father for his boss.
Herb was just the sort of steady young man most parents hope their daughter will meet, and Lily’s parents were thrilled that he had at last decided to plant a union with their daughter. Financial considerations aside, they had always felt he was right for her. Likewise, Herb’s family approved of Lily and felt she was the proper type of girl for Herb. One who would stand him in good stead as a company wife. She came from strong roots, her family had run a thriving cottonwood plantation for several generations, and they were frequently mentioned in the local society column at this or that charity function. His father thanked the Founder that Herb had not taken up with any of those spa blossoms he’d spoken so fondly of.
The families were happy, Lily was happy—well, that was two out of three. Everything was coming up roses and he still could not feel right about it. He had it all, and yet something was missing.
True to his unspoken word, Herb had not strayed from the narrow path. It took some getting used to, but he had faithfully confined his interest in the opposite sex to lofty thoughts of Lily, and the not so lofty thoughts to the pages of some men’s zinias he had picked up on a whim from the corner newsstand.
Lily might not exactly approve of National Galactic Girl, Interstellar Stud, or Spicy Aliens as reading material, but he was certain she wouldn’t like the alternative. Yet, compared to his long distance friendship with the Moon Maiden, she might not care at all.
One bright spot in his life had become his secret correspondence following the answer he’d sent on impulse to a personals ad one night. He saw no reason to discontinue it yet. He and Lily had not set the final date for their union ceremony. She agreed with him it was wise to wait until they could afford a down payment on a home. Now that she was certain of him, there seemed no end to her patience.
The Moon Maiden had enclosed a photosynthegraph with her first letter, revealing she was well grown and as pale as her namesake, yet every bit as lovely as any normal, green Veganette he had known. Lily was also a fine grown woman, but something about Moon Maiden caught his eye as never before. The human girl was, in essence, forbidden fruit, and he was sorely tempted.
It was more than her beauty that held such allure for him, however, for he found her letters as enticing as her form. More than once he found himself recalling the Elder’s words to him about cross-pollination. But that was only foolish fancy. What matter how intelligent or pretty she was since they were light years apart?
Plant folk were not disposed to planet hopping, and even had he the unlimited merrygolds required for such a trip, other societies were not generally compatible with his kind. Most did not even recognize them as people. Herb recalled horror stories of past visitors who had actually uprooted saplings. It was nothing less than the murder of innocents, yet those who committed the acts claimed all ignorance of wrong doing, saying they had only “picked a few flowers.”
Because they were protected by the code of Intergalactic Immunity, there had been no punishment for the heinous crime, but the government had made entry to Paradise difficult to obtain thereafter. A native had to vouch for any visitor that set foot on P#23 soil.
With the new restrictions in force, interest in the small sphere as a vacation spot soon waned, and the little planetoid eventually shrank from public notice. No one appeared to mind very much. The few offworlders that did venture here, did so mainly on business. The home grown atmosphere was tame for more adventurous travellers.
Moon Maiden was cut from a different vine, Herb was convinced. For one thing, she had studied all manner of plant life and respected it greatly. A pity more of her kind did not share her open-minded views. Not only was she extremely interested in hearing about Dr. Gell and the history of Paradise, but she urged Herb to reveal more about himself, as she thought he was “fascinating.”
Lily had never told Herb he was fascinating. In fact, she was not the type of woman given to ready compliments. The nearest thing to flattery she had ever said was that he was “tall, green, and healthy.” But that was so cliche, anyone could say that. “Fascinating.” He liked that.
8
Kamalot
The planet wasn’t always known as Kamalot, nor was it actually a planet, but a large meteorite of some hundreds of miles in diameter that had been trapped in orbit around Tarnaria, one of the obscure stars near the Cone Nebula.
A pheric generator had been placed in the core, making a breathable atmosphere. This was a device of enormous expense, and only a few large companies would go to such extremes for exploration, most still preferring more economical life suits or oxy bubbles. It was considered a waste of money and resources; therefore, no such company had done so. But the local Tarnarian government had.
It was their theory the meteorite would be useful as a combination observatory and military base, and they had stationed troops there for a short time. As closer moons were later made available, they discovered it was unnecessarily wasteful to maintain, and all in all, there wasn’t that much to observe either. Eventually it was abandoned and placed on the market.
The pheric generator was left intact as the base wouldn’t be worth much without it, and once installed, such units were virtually a part of the planet with all the underground connectors. The cost of removal was prohibitive. The new administration had all but given up hope of finding someone to appreciate the property’s unique possibilities, when a very rich, eccentric magician made an offer that was ludicrously low. But it was an offer.
In order to erase the blot of the previous administration’s foible, it was quickly and quietly sold to one Zygote, who was of unknown origin. In matters of that sort, in effect cash in hand, it was not prudent to pry too deeply. Doubtless he would put the base to good use.
Zygote set about using all the scientific and magical powers at his command to decorate his new home, and they were considerable. He was rather traditional in taste, and built a fine medieval castle for his home and headquarters, making it resplendent with tall towers and secret passages.
He landscaped the exterior with loving care, adding a forest here, a mountain there, and tied it all up with rocks and rills for a flawless fairy tale setting. Just the right sort of environment a magician could comfortably wave his wand over.
Zygote’s planetoid was peopled with unusual beings, some from far planets, and some from imagination. He envisioned a world of his own where all were loyal subjects, ever ready to do his bidding at the drop of a spell. It might have been strange, odd, eerie, and even extravagant, but to Zygote it was simply “home.”
Magic could take one only so far, he soon discovered. An undertaking of that magnitude also required a certain amount of hard, cold cash. Magically produced Planetary Payment notes were regrettably detectable. Every establishment was equipped with a Forgery Scanner for all incoming notes. Zygote had been forced to travel extensively, from planet to planet, plying his trade, and earning an honest living. A sorry lot for one of his talents.
Now it was there on Kamalot, in one of the high towers containing the library of his magical tomes, that Zygote sat gazing out the window, master of all he surveyed. There was a great deal he could not survey, of course, but that small deficiency was taken care of by the two large eyes set into the front gate of the castle walls overlooking the moat. No one could enter unseen, as that was the only access to the castle. The surrounding moat was filled with beasts and unpleasant spells that made it undesirable for swimming. Zygote felt ever so secure.
Now he thumbed thoughtfully through some of Gabriel’s papers stolen from the late magician’s files. Most of the files were protected by confidence spells and written in magical codes. Some were protected by curses as well. It was not an easy task to pry into another magician’s private papers. He reflected for a moment on that challenge.
Once, Zygote had invoked a counterspell, thinking the code broken, only to have a vicious wasp
fly through the tower window and attack with supernatural fury. Fortunately for him, he had been wearing a protective amulet, rendering the stings painless and impotent.
Another time, he almost had one seal broken when it suddenly burst into flame, destroying the entire document. He made a note to be far more careful in the future, or the valuable information he sought would disappear into smoke before his eyes.
If it wasn’t so annoying, he could almost admire the late Gabriel’s efforts to protect his secrets so zealously; it was hard to properly appreciate such steps when one was dodging balls of fire, hosts of ghosts, and tar and feathers. Gabriel had been a cunning old devil despite his angelic namesake. In fact, Zygote was sorry that the ornery cuss had rebuffed his offer of friendship and cooperation. He was truly sorry that the man had died rather than yield. Because he really did respect what Gabriel had done.
Zygote had fallen upon news of Gabriel’s work by a stroke of sheer luck. When attending the last New Landers Magicians and Medical Doctors conference, Gabriel had been so secretive about his projects, he had inadvertently piqued Zygote’s interest. If it was that good, it had to be profitable. He had tried to worm his way into the good doctor’s graces, but to no avail.
While rabbits feet and four leaf clovers were all well and good, a well concealed microphone in Gabriel’s lab had yielded a far better harvest than expected. It was in that way he had detected that the doctor’s daughter, Spring, was somehow connected with the vital information he sought.
Unfortunately, Gabriel discovered the technical device, and that tipped his hand. He managed to spirit her off the planet before Zygote had a chance at her. He regretted not using a magical device instead, a spy spider, for instance. But no, that fool Elton had installed the microphone without his instructions, and it was too dangerous to go back.