The change of attire was symbolic of the power of synergy.
Meta-zen-syn was a philosophy, not a religion, but here in Northville many of its symbols had been grafted on to the far more ancient religious portion of the wedding ceremony.
Rafe was amused to see that Orchid did have some white in her wardrobe, after all. The dress she wore today was a breezy thing that fluttered and drifted with every movement. It was very meta-zen-syn, he thought as he studied it out of the corner of his eye. It somehow managed to reveal and conceal at the same time. Very modest by any standard, it nevertheless managed to make him salivate.
This was no time to turn primitive, he reminded himself. He was trying to make a good impression here in Northville.
When the vows had been exchanged, Veronica and her groom vanished into separate antechambers. The congregation meditated in silence while everyone waited for the couple to change into the formal green clothes that symbolized the synergistic result of the chromatic union of blue and yellow.
Synergistic principles were symbolized everywhere in Northville, Rafe noticed.
On the way into the austere little chapel he had seen North’s three basic tenets carved in stone on the outside wall. Not that he and everyone else on St. Helens did not already know them by heart, he thought. Every schoolchild learned them in kindergarten.
North’s Three Principles, after all, were the philosophical bedrock upon which any understanding of scientific and natural phenomena on St. Helens depended. It was the discovery and acceptance of that intellectual framework that had enabled the first generation colonists to survive. The principles were paradoxically both simple and profound.
The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
The struggle for balance and harmony governs all natural processes.
Balance and harmony are achieved only when the synergistic contribution of each element is equal to that of all other elements in the whole.
Rafe glanced at Orchid. She did not notice. Her attention was fixed on a tall, elegantly lean man dressed in a stylish white suit who was seated in another row. Preston Luce.
Rafe was relieved to see that Orchid’s expression was thoughtful, not wistful.
At that moment Preston turned his head slightly and smiled at Orchid. She immediately switched her gaze, to the large, unframed canvas that hung behind the simple altar. The painting consisted of two lightning bolt slashes, one black, one white. Rafe recognized the picture as the work of Eldon Moss, a master of the Neo-Post Synergistic Abstract school. The minimalist approach of the painters of that school had made their work very popular with the meta-zen-syn crowd.
Rafe had been in Northville for only a few hours, but already he had seen a lot of art and architectural design that was clearly inspired by minimalism.
He had to admit that, in large doses, the austere style took on a bland, flat sensibility. He could understand why a young woman with a strong romantic streak might have had a little trouble fitting into the Northville milieu.
There was a small stir of anticipation in the crowd. Veronica and Terrence reappeared in their formal green attire and were introduced as husband and wife. The congregation rose to greet them with a solemn meta-zen-syn chant of welcome.
The new couple walked back down the aisle together. Row by row, the guests followed.
Rafe took Orchid’s arm as she got to her feet. “Do we get to eat now?”
She gave him a fleeting grin. “Yes, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. At a classic meta-zen-syn wedding even the food is supposed to symbolize the Three Principles.”
“I’m hungry enough to eat green hors d’oeuvres.”
The afternoon was warm and sunny. The reception was held in a serenely austere garden that overlooked the heavily wooded hills of Northville.
To Rafe’s relief, the canapés were not all blue and yellow or even green. The small pastries, skewered tid-bits, and assorted delicacies were, however, artfully arranged in classic meta-zen-syn patterns on the trays. Most were decorated with meta-zen-syn designs, but the symbolism did not affect the taste. The intellectual elite of Northville were a sophisticated lot. They relished gourmet food and wine.
Half an hour later Rafe stood in front of an abstract minimalist stone sculpture that consisted of a large circle and a triangle and looked out across the low rock wall that surrounded the garden.
From his vantage point he could see most of Northville and the campus of the Patricia Thorncroft North Institute for Synergistic Studies. The town and the prestigious think tank were inextricably linked together. Everyone who lived in Northville was affiliated with the institute in one way or another. The connection was underscored by the manner in which the architecture of the homes and shops in the village echoed the meta-zen-syn elegance and simplicity of the institute’s buildings.
The effect of an entire town built along meta-zen-syn principles was either profoundly serene or downright dull. It depended, he supposed, on one’s philosophical orientation. The fact that he found the vista a little dull made him wonder about his own personal outlook.
“Enjoying the scenery, Rafe?”
Rafe turned to see Orchid’s father, Edward Adams, coming toward him. The two men had been introduced earlier, but there had been little opportunity to talk before the wedding.
Edward was much older than Rafe had expected. The professor was in excellent physical condition, but his hair was completely silver. There was a calm intelligence in his green eyes.
Rafe recalled Orchid telling him that she was the youngest of the Adams’ three offspring, but he had not realized until he had met her much older brothers that she had been born several years after them. She must have come as a surprise in more ways than one, he reflected. A rebellious romantic in a family of meta-zen-syn intellectuals.
“I’ve never seen a whole town designed by meta-zen-syn architects.” Rafe munched a small cracker topped with minced, spiced aspara-cado and cheese. “It’s interesting.”
Edward chuckled as he came to a halt. “That’s the word my daughter uses when she’s trying to be polite about a work of art she doesn’t like.”
“Useful word.” Rafe glanced across the garden to where Orchid was chatting with Veronica and her new husband. “I must remember to thank her for it.”
Edward continued to smile but his eyes held a father’s watchful, probing expression. “I understand that you and Orchid met through an agency?”
“Yes, sir.” Rafe smiled.
“A focus agency, I believe. You hired her for a routine assignment?”
So much for the fleeting hope that he might be able to pull off a small misunderstanding here the way he had at Alfred G.’s birthday party. “It wasn’t exactly routine.”
“Few things are where Orchid is concerned. She’s always marched to a different horn-drum.”
“I figured that out right off.”
“Because you also march to a different beat?” Edward studied him with a shrewd gaze. “Perhaps that is why you are drawn to each other.”
Rafe reminded himself that he was talking to a full professor of metaphysics with a specialty in synergistic theory. One had to be careful what one said around people like Edward Adams. They put things together in a hurry.
“Orchid and I have quite a lot in common,” Rafe said easily.
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“She tells me you’re a strat-talent.”
Rafe braced himself. “That’s right.”
Edward spread one hand on the round form of the sculpture as if he found the texture of the stone fascinating. “You and Orchid both have highly unusual para-profiles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Because of those profiles, neither of you has been successfully matched yet by your respective matchmaking agencies.”
“Like I said, Orchid and I have a lot in common.”
Edward’s eyes met his in a level man-to-man stare. “I suspect that, being a strat-
talent, you’ve concluded that you’re quite capable of finding your own wife.”
Rafe contemplated the keen scrutiny in Edward’s eyes and decided there was no point playing games with him.
“I don’t have much choice. I think my marriage agency counselor has given up on me.”
Instead of the immediate condemnation that was the only appropriate response to such a shocking announcement, Edward merely nodded. “I see. I was afraid of this.”
“Afraid of what, sir?”
“You’re a romantic, too.”
Rafe nearly choked on the last bit of the canapé. “Like hell.”
Edward studied him for a long moment, but he did not respond. Instead, he turned to gaze out over the relentlessly tranquil view of Northville.
“I don’t mind telling you that my wife and I have been somewhat concerned about Orchid’s future,” he said at last. “Ice-prisms are notoriously difficult to match properly.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not as bad as it used to be,” Edward said. “More research has been done on them in recent years. Orchid, herself, participated in one of the most significant studies.”
“The ParaSyn project.”
Edward frowned slightly. “You know of it?”
“She told me about it. The experience was not, I gather, a pleasant one for her.”
“No.” Edward sighed. “I can’t understand what went wrong. ParaSyn is a first-class research center. Over the years the labs there have produced not only some groundbreaking research in the para-bio fields, they have also come up with some extremely profitable technical breakthroughs. I, myself, own stock in ParaSyn.”
“So do I.” A lot of it, Rafe added silently, thinking of the holdings in the Synergy Fund.
“Dr. Gilbert Bracewell, who is head of the research labs there, has done an outstanding job for nearly twenty years.”
“I know.”
“Orchid never fully explained why she and the other two research subjects quit the ice-prism project before it was completed. Nevertheless, a great deal was learned.” Edward narrowed his eyes. “Some of that knowledge was used to help modify the Multipsychic Paranormal Personality Inventory and other syn-psych tools that are used by matchmaking agencies.”
Rafe realized the very civil skirmish between himself and Edward was taking a dangerous twist. He marshaled his arguments carefully.
“That doesn’t make up for the fact that there are very few ice-prisms around,” Rafe said. “The agencies haven’t had much opportunity to see how the new versions of the MPPI and the other para-profiling techniques actually work long term.”
“Still, an agency match is always preferable to a non-agency match.”
“This is an unusual situation.” Rafe paused deliberately. “An agency marriage might carry as much risk for Orchid as an unmatched marriage.”
“There is some risk in any marriage, of course. But logic and common sense indicate that an agency marriage stands a better chance of success than one contracted for, shall we say, old-fashioned reasons?”
“Is old-fashioned a polite meta-zen-syn term for primitive?” Rafe asked in his most polite voice.
“A student of meta-zen-syn comprehends that nature and human beings cannot be understood in terms of primitive versus sophisticated. Indeed, there is no such distinction to be made. What matters is the degree of balance and control individuals achieve over the synergistic forces that operate on both the physical and metaphysical plane.”
“The struggle for balance and harmony governs all natural processes,” Rafe quoted softly.
“Precisely. Perfect balance is never achieved. It is only a goal toward which the thoughtful person must continually struggle. Each individual must deal with a different set of synergistic forces within himself. Therefore the struggle takes different forms for all of us.”
“I’m a businessman, not a philosopher. You’re losing me here, Professor.”
“On the contrary, I think you understand me very well.” Edward’s silver brows rose. “Orchid tells me that you are a very powerful strat-talent, but even if she had said nothing about your paranormal abilities, I would have known soon after meeting you that the synergistic forces of your nature are extremely strong. Yet you have achieved a very high degree of control over those forces.”
“I like to think so. But just to be on the safe side, I try not to go out on nights when both moons are full.”
To Rafe’s surprise, Edward chuckled. Then his eyes grew solemn once more.
“I will be frank,” he said. “It took my wife and myself considerable argument and, some might say, outright pressure, to persuade Orchid to register with a matchmaking agency last year. For her sake, we would very much prefer to give the agency process a chance to work.”
“I understand there was already one screw-up.”
Edward winced. “You know about Preston Luce?”
“Yes.”
“That was—” Edward’s gaze drifted across the crowd to where Preston Luce stood talking to another guest—“regrettable. I’m afraid it put Orchid off the matchmaking process entirely. She wasn’t keen on it to begin with. I don’t think it suits her romantic inclinations.”
“How much longer do you think she ought to wait for Mr. Right to come through an agency?” Rafe asked softly.
“Another few months, at least.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “I see.”
“You want her badly, don’t you?”
In spite of his growing respect for Edward’s savvy insight, Rafe was startled by the unexpectedly blunt question. “Is it your experience as a practitioner of meta-zen-syn that tells you I want her or are you just naturally intuitive?”
“It’s my years of experience as a man and as a father that enables me to spot that particular expression in another man’s eye,” Edward retorted. “Trust me, if you ever have daughters of your own, you will develop the same kind of instincts.”
Rafe grinned in spite of himself. “Sounds primitive.”
“Oh, it is. Very.”
There was a short silence. Rafe broke it first. “Will you change your attitude on this particular subject if a few more months go by without Orchid getting an agency date?”
“I may have no choice,” Edward admitted. “But in the end, the choice must be Orchid’s.”
“On that point, we agree.”
Edward examined the scene spread out below the garden for a long time. “You mentioned that you and my daughter had a lot in common.”
“You mean besides our mutual inability to get an agency date?”
Edward did not smile at that. “Yes. What are those things, in your opinion?”
“Well, I’ve got to be honest and tell you that we don’t share the same taste in poetry. But on the positive side, we both admire Later Expansion period architecture.”
Edward groaned. “So terribly overwrought. Everything about it was designed to stimulate the emotions and arouse a sense of dark romanticism.”
Rafe quirked a brow. “Your daughter does write romantic psychic vampire novels.”
“True. And with some success.” Edward’s smile was rueful. “All I can tell you is that it doesn’t come from my side of the family.”
“She probably gets it from my side,” Anna Adams said from behind Rafe. “I shouldn’t admit it, but there is a wildly romantic streak in my branch of the family tree. It pops up from time to time no matter how hard we try to conceal it.”
Rafe inclined his head. “Hello, Dr. Adams.”
Orchid’s mother was a few years younger than her husband but she, too, was older than Rafe had expected. Her once-dark hair was streaked with silver. She had the trim, lithe frame that characterized many of the other local meta-zen-syn practitioners.
“Is Edward grilling you, Rafe?” She smiled at him as she came to a halt near her husband. “How very rude.”
“It’s all right, Dr. Adams. I understand. In his shoes, I’d do the same.”
“
Please, call me Anna.” Her eyes gleamed with the same mischievous light that appeared in Orchid’s gaze when she was amused. “Two professors in one family can be a bit confusing.”
Rafe shrugged. “I’m used to it. Both of my parents are on the faculty of New Seattle University.”
Edward shot him a quick, searching look. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Department of synergistic theory.”
A thoughtful expression appeared in Edward’s eyes. “Indeed?”
Instinct made Rafe suddenly search for Orchid again in the crowd. He saw that she was no longer talking to Veronica. Preston Luce had gotten her off by herself near a large reflecting pool at the far end of the garden.
“Mr. Stonebraker was just telling me about the things he believes that he and Orchid have in common,” Edward said to Anna. “Thus far it seems to be limited to a taste for Later Expansion period architecture.”
“I’m sure that’s not all they have in common, dear.” Anna gave Rafe a speculative look. “Isn’t that so?”
“What?” Rafe concentrated on the tableau near the reflecting pool. “Oh, yeah. Right. A lot more in common. We both like to eat leftovers at three in the morning.”
“Hardly the basis for a lasting relationship,” Edward observed.
“You’d be surprised.” Rafe started to step around Edward. “If you’ll excuse me, I just remembered something I wanted to say to Orchid.”
“Where is she?” Anna glanced around. “Oh, yes, I see her.” As she gazed at the couple standing near the pool, a faintly troubled expression marred the serenity of her brow. “She’s chatting with Dr. Luce.”
Edward frowned. “Why would she want to talk to him?”
“He probably didn’t give her much choice,” Anna murmured. “I do hope there won’t be a scene.”
That comment made Rafe pause. “You think Luce might make a scene in the middle of a wedding?”
Anna’s mouth quirked with humor. “Of course not. Preston Luce is much too diplomatic to cause a scene. It’s Orchid who worries me.”