“A prissy little prig, would you say?”
“No, of course not. Just a bit shy, I think. Well, Synergistic Connections will find you some compatible dates. Now then, let’s see, where did we leave off on this questionnaire?”
“I don’t remember.”
Hannah ignored that. “Ah, here we go. Physical characteristics desired in mate. We’re almost finished with this section. You told me that you didn’t have any strong preferences.”
“Gray eyes,” Amaryllis heard herself say.
“I beg your pardon?”
Amaryllis toyed with the phone cord. “I want him to have gray eyes.”
“You’re going to get choosy about eye color?” Hannah demanded in disbelief. “Why in the world would you care about something so inconsequential?”
“I don’t know.” Amaryllis felt suddenly, inexplicably inclined to be stubborn. “But since this is my registration questionnaire, I’m going to be picky about eye color.”
“That’s ridiculous. Dear, are you feeling well? You sound a little strange this morning.”
“Long night. Listen, Aunt Hannah, I’ve got to run. I’ll be late for work.”
“What about the questionnaire?”
“I’ll give you a call this evening.”
“See that you do,” Hannah said. “I’ll be waiting. We have to complete this quickly. Mrs. Reeton wants to schedule the personal interview.”
Raw panic nearly overwhelmed Amaryllis. Filling out the agency questionnaire was one thing. The personal interview with her assigned syn-psych counselor was another. This was getting serious. Reality hit Amaryllis with the force of lightning. She was on the verge of getting herself married.
“Bye, Aunt Hannah. I’ll call you later, I promise.” Amaryllis slammed down the phone. Her fingers were trembling.
She regarded her shaking hand with disgust. It was too much. She was turning into a nervous wreck, and all because of Lucas Trent. She had to get a grip. She needed to get her mind off her personal problems.
She gave herself another minute to calm down and then she lifted the receiver again. She dialed the number of her office.
Byron answered on the first ring. “Psynergy, Inc. We make it happen. How can I help you?”
“Byron, it’s me, Amaryllis. Put Clementine on the phone, will you?”
“You sound terrible.”
“Gosh, thanks. And a cheery good day to you, too. Get Clementine, please.”
“Didn’t things go well with your hot date last night? What happened? Wasn’t he straight?”
“Get Clementine,” Amaryllis said grimly.
“Okay, okay. Here you go. Great shot of you in the morning papers, by the way. You look like you’re about to deliver a lecture to the photographer.”
“Give me Clementine.”
“You got ’er.”
Clementine’s deep, no-nonsense voice came on the line a few seconds later. “Amaryllis? How did it go last night?”
“It went very smoothly. No problems. Case closed.”
“No mysterious off-the-chart hypno-talent at work, I take it?”
“Of course not. The motivation for the corporate theft was personal. A little old-fashioned revenge. It’s over. I’ll send Trent the bill as soon as I get to the office.”
“Get to the good stuff,” Clementine urged. “What happened after the reception? Was Trent any good in bed?”
Amaryllis gritted her teeth. “We kept the relationship on a strictly professional footing.”
“Boring.”
“Clementine, I want to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you ever heard of a politician or anyone else, for that matter, using a prism to focus something like charisma?”
“Charisma?” Clementine sounded surprised. “That’s not a talent. It’s like charm or a cheerful disposition or something. Some people have it, some don’t. It’s a personality trait, not a psychic power.”
“Last night when I focused for Lucas Trent, I… we … stumbled into another strong talent and prism team working in the same room.”
“So? There are a lot of strong talents and prisms running around. Chances are good that there were a few in that room last night.”
“But the talent felt very odd. I’d like to get another professional opinion on it.”
“What the hell is wrong with my opinion?”
“Nothing,” Amaryllis said hastily. “But I’d like to talk with someone in the academic world. Call it professional curiosity. I think I’ll go out to the university today.”
“Hang on. That art dealer from Cascade Galleries called for an appointment. You know the one, the class-six talent with the nifty ability to detect forgeries. She needs a prism to help her look at some paintings that have been offered for sale.”
“Have Zinnia Spring handle it.”
“You know Zinnia only works nights. Damn it, Amaryllis, I’m trying to run a business here. I’m not paying you to satisfy your professional curiosity. Besides, it’s none of your business what that other team was focusing. Stay out of it.”
“Please. My intuition tells me this may be important. I want to check it out.”
Clementine sighed. “All right, but get back here as soon as possible.”
“Thanks.”
Amaryllis hung up the phone and sat gazing glumly at it for a long while. Clementine was right. Whatever had happened with the other talent and prism team at the reception was none of her business. But she couldn’t shake the urge to check into it. Things had felt wrong.
Maybe she was, indeed, turning into a sanctimonious little prig, a busybody who thought it was up to her to make sure everyone else stayed on the straight and narrow.
She wondered if Synergistic Connections would match her with a man who was just like her.
It was not a thrilling thought.
The carved relief that covered the entire south wall of the university library depicted the First Generation settlers in their finest hour. Amaryllis paused on the broad steps to gaze at the massive figures hewn from stone. As always, the sight elicited a quiver of admiration and pride in her.
The scene showed the stranded colonists fifteen years after the closing of the curtain. The last of their Earthbound machines had long since failed, forcing them back to a technological level that had been the rough equivalent of the seventeenth century on Earth. They had been forced to find ways to work with native materials.
The artist had created a memorial that had inspired students for nearly a hundred years. The stoic, determined faces of the men carved into the stone were turned resolutely toward the future as they drove primitive plows pulled by big, shaggy six-legged ox-mules through the mud. The women cradled infants to their breasts as they sowed grain from heavy sacks slung across their backs.
The young children were depicted sitting under trees, poring over heavy, handmade books while teachers supervised their instruction. The books were a very significant part of the scene. The cumbersome, handcrafted books had been the salvation of the First Generation.
When the settlers had realized how swiftly their sophisticated technology was failing, they had launched a prodigious effort to save as much of the contents of their computerized library database as possible.
It had been a harrowing race against time. The colonists had set up a scriptorium that had functioned around the clock for months. Information from the disintegrating computers had been painstakingly transcribed by hand onto thick paper made from native St. Helens plants.
There had not been time to salvage everything. The founders had soon realized that only a fraction of the database could be saved before the computers fell apart. Priorities had to be set.
The desperate colonists had concentrated primarily on the basic information they knew they would need to survive. The dazzling technology of Earth was of no use to them. They ignored it in favor of more pragmatic data related to farming, medicine, and survival skills. They had also copied inform
ation relating to the social structures that would support a stable community.
A hard, realistic lot, they had not allowed themselves to dwell on what had been lost. But their heritage was built into their language. It showed in many ways, including the whimsical tendency to name the exotic new flora and fauna of this world after the plants and animals that had been left behind. There were no real physical similarities between the life-forms of St. Helens and those of Old Earth, but that had not stopped the colonists from choosing names that held memories.
The library that housed all the precious home-world knowledge turned to dust along with the computers that had housed it. But the founders had salvaged enough to enable them to gain a toehold on St. Helens. The history texts they had copied so laboriously had taught them how to build plows, how to sow and reap and spin and weave. They had learned to make clocks and boats and sewage systems.
Their hand-copied library had saved the founders, and they had made certain that future generations never forgot the lesson.
Amaryllis dashed a small tear from the corner of her eye and continued on up the steps of the library. She walked past it, turned left, and went through the impressive arched doorway of the Department of Focus Studies.
Old memories came back in a rush as she walked along the corridor. Her office had been the second one on the right. She felt a small pang of wistfulness when she noticed the new name on the door. She reminded herself that she had made the right decision when she had left the academic world six months earlier. It had taken her a while to realize it, but now she knew that she belonged in the business sector. Even if she was a professional snob at heart.
“Amaryllis. Long time no see. What are you doing here?”
Amaryllis smiled at the woman who had just rounded the corner. “Hello, Sarah. This is just a social call. How are things going with you?”
“Great.” Sarah Marsh tossed a swath of long, dark hair over her shoulder and grinned. “Got a paper coming out in the summer issue of Focus Studies.”
“Very impressive. Congratulations.” Another jolt of wistful regret. No one in the business world cared much about the acclaimed papers Amaryllis had published in the professional journals.
“With any luck, it will ensure that I get promoted to assistant professor in the spring.” Sarah shrugged. “But who knows? Things have been a little chaotic around here since Professor Landreth died.”
“It’s hard to imagine the department without him. We all knew that he was getting on in years, but somehow it seemed as if he’d be here forever.”
“Uh huh. Running the department with his iron fist,” Sarah concluded dryly.
“Iron fist?” Amaryllis hesitated. “I certainly never thought of him as a dictator.”
“Oh, come on, Amaryllis. Landreth was one of the best scholars in the three city-states, but there was no getting around the fact that he was a martinet. Seemed like he was always lecturing staff and students alike about the importance of professional ethics and standards. Let’s be honest. The man was a stiff-necked prig.”
Amaryllis flushed. “He was very dedicated to the profession.”
Sarah chuckled. “True, but he was also rigid, obsessive, and narrow-minded. He’s only been gone a month, but there’s a new wind blowing through the department and I, for one, welcome it.”
Amaryllis decided it was time to change the subject. “I assume Gifford will be taking over as head of the department?”
“Gifford?” Sarah’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “He’s not here anymore. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I haven’t, uh, spoken to him recently.”
“He left the department two months ago. Opened his own focus agency. Took Natalie Elwick with him to run his office. Remember Natalie?”
“She was Irene Dunley’s assistant.”
“Right.” Sarah made a face. “Guess Natalie figured she’d never be anything more than a junior secretary as long as Irene Dunley was here, so she took Gifford up on his offer.”
“It’s hard to believe that Gifford has gone out into the commercial sphere.”
“I hear his new agency is very exclusive. Employs only full-spectrum prisms and accepts only VIP talents.”
“I see.”
“Is that why you’re here today? Did you come to see Gifford?”
“No. I came to see Effie Yamamoto.”
“You’ll be glad to know that she’s the new acting head of the department. Everyone expects her to be permanently appointed to the position sometime within the next few months.”
“Effie will do a fine job.” Amaryllis made to step past Sarah. “Is she still in her old office?”
“No, she’s moved into Landreth’s office.” Sarah lifted a hand in farewell. “See you around.”
Amaryllis hurried off down the corridor. A moment later she came to a halt in front of a familiar office. The door was open. Irene Dunley, a tall, sturdily built woman in the middle of her life, was seated behind an immaculately neat desk. The only paper on the polished surface was the one she was working on at that moment. Everything else, except for the telephone and a single pen, was stored out of sight. Irene had always been a model of organization and efficiency.
Amaryllis smiled at the sight of Irene. The woman was almost as much of a legend in the department as Landreth himself. The professor had often claimed that he could not have run the place without her.
Irene’s hair was cut in a crisp, efficient style. Her firm, matronly body was encased in a serviceable blue suit. She looked up at Amaryllis’s light knock.
“Miss Lark. This is a surprise.”
“Hello, Irene. I haven’t seen you since Professor Landreth’s funeral. How are things going?”
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. There’s been an unnecessary amount of disruption and confusion, what with the suddenness of the transition, but I expect to have things under complete control very soon.”
Amaryllis glanced around. “It looks like everything’s already under control. That doesn’t surprise me. Professor Landreth always used to say that if there was such a thing as a talent for organization, you possessed it.”
Irene smiled sadly. “Professor Landreth had such a dry sense of humor. Very few people appreciated it.”
“What are all those boxes doing there in the corner?”
Irene glanced at the stack. “Those are Professor Landreth’s personal effects. I packed them up myself the day after he died. I notified the authorities, but so far no one has come forth to claim them. Is there something I can do for you, Miss Lark?”
Irene did not waste time during office hours, Amaryllis reminded herself. “I came to see Professor Yamamoto.”
“I’ll let her know you’re here.” Irene pressed the button on the intercom. Miss Amaryllis Lark to see you, Professor Yamamoto.”
Oh, really? What wonderful news! Send her in.”
Amaryllis nodded at Irene and then walked through the door of the inner office. “Hi, Effie.”
“Amaryllis.” Effie rose from behind her desk and held out her hand. “Good to see you. Come on in.”
Amaryllis closed the door, went forward to shake hands, and then sat down. She grinned at her old friend. “Looks like you’ve come up in the world. Congratulations. About time.”
Effie laughed. “Things have changed around here. Coff-tea?”
“Thanks.”
Effie was several years older than Amaryllis, a distinguished scholar in her late thirties. Her dark eyes gleamed with intelligence. She had an innate sense of style that Amaryllis had always admired. Her black hair was in a sleek, chin-length bob that swung elegantly whenever she turned her head. Her trim, expertly tailored suit somehow managed to appear both professional and extremely fashionable. Amaryllis wondered if she should redo her own wardrobe now that she was making a handsome salary. One night in a flutter dress and a person’s taste underwent a drastic change.
“Saw your picture in the paper.” Effie winked. “L
ooks like your social life has improved considerably.”
Amaryllis felt her cheeks grow warm. “It was a business thing.”
“Ah, yes. Business. Very interesting business from what I saw. So what’s the Iceman like in person?”
“He’s a class nine, Effie.”
“Oh. Well, so much for any long-term hopes there, hmm?” Effie handed Amaryllis a mug and sat back down behind the wide desk. “Still, that leaves open some short-term possibilities.”
“I don’t think so,” Amaryllis said austerely.
“I assume this is not strictly a social call?”
“To be honest, no. I wanted to ask your opinion on something.”
Effie spread her hands. “Ask away.”
“I’ll come straight to the point. Have you ever heard of a prism working with a talent for the purpose of focusing charisma?”
“Charisma’s not a talent. It’s just a natural part of some people’s personality.”
“But what if it were a talent?” Amaryllis insisted.
“Well? What of it?”
“A politician could use it to con people into supporting him.”
“Politicians are in the business of conning people into doing just that.” Effie grimaced. “Even if a particular candidate with a high-class talent was able to use a prism to augment an aura of charisma, it wouldn’t be illegal.”
“No, I suppose not. But it would definitely be unethical.”
“Since when has politics ever been a model of an ethical profession?”
Amaryllis smiled ruefully. “I know what you mean.” Now that she was actually sitting here with Effie, she was no longer certain quite what to say. She was not sure how to explain the sense of wrongness that she had felt when Lucas had briefly picked up Senator Sheffield’s talent. “What if I told you that I think I witnessed a prism assisting a politician to focus charisma?”
Effie gave an eloquent shrug. “I’d say there wasn’t much anyone could do about it.”
“What if I told you that I’m almost certain that the prism was trained by Professor Landreth?”
Effie eyed her thoughtfully. “Assuming it can be done at all, a prism would have to be very powerful in order to focus something as vague as a personality trait.”