Amaryllis

Chapter 6

"Good morning, Mr. Trent. Hobart Batt from Synergistic Connections here. Just thought I'd check in to see if you were having any trouble filling out the registration forms. We had rather expected to have it back by now."

Lucas tightened his fingers around the phone. He told himself not to lose his temper with the syn-psych counselor. It was unfortunate that Batt's chiding tone set his teeth on edge, but it did not take much to do that this morning.

It was Monday, three whole days since the fiasco in Amaryllis's bedroom. Lucas knew that he ought to be glad that Hobart Batt had called. It was definitely time to get moving on the task of finding a suitable wife. But for some reason it was the last subject he wanted to discuss.

"I haven't had a chance to finish the questionnaire," Lucas tied.

"No problem," Hobart assured him. "A lot of clients get bogged down in the middle of the questionnaire. It's somewhat lengthy, but that's only because we here at Synergistic Connections pride ourselves on being thorough."

"Yeah, sure. Thorough." Lucas opened a drawer and slowly withdrew the thick questionnaire. He gazed at it with a sense of deep foreboding.

"A properly filled out questionnaire gives us a good basis to begin the matchmaking process," Hobart continued briskly. "The results will, of course, be supplemented by the extensive personal interview. At that time we'll also administer a revised MPPI."

"MPPI?"

"The Multipsychic Paranormal Personality Inventory. The standard syn-psych test used with high-class talents such as yourself."

"Do you use it with strong prisms, too?"

"Certainly," Hobart said. "We're all accustomed to thinking of prisms and talents as being quite different from each other, but technically speaking, the ability to focus a talent through a psychically generated prism is itself a talent."

Lucas cleared his throat. "Do you ever match full-spectrum prisms and high-class talents? I mean, I know it must be a very rare occurrence, but I just wondered if it happens once in a while."

"Almost never. Everyone knows that full spectrums are rarely compatible with very strong talents," Hobart said.

"Because the prisms are so damn picky?"

Hobart chuckled. "Well, yes, in a sense. They prefer to think of themselves as extremely selective. But, then, so are powerful talents. Once in a great while we get a match, though. As I recall, the last one that we did at this firm was some five years ago. Why?"

"Just asking."

"How far into the questionnaire are you, Mr. Trent?"

Lucas flipped open the first page and gazed moodily at the array of questions. "I'm still on the first section."

"Preferred physical characteristics?" Hobart made a tut-tutting sound. Distinct disapproval this time. "My, we aren't making much progress, are we?"

"We?"

Hobart coughed slightly. "Say, what if I drop by your office this morning and give you a hand."

"Never mind, I can do this myself."

"Exactly which question are you stuck on, Mr. Trent?" Hobart asked suspiciously.

Lucas scanned the list. "Eye color. I'm doing eye color even as we speak."

"You haven't gotten past eye color?"

"I had to do some thinking on the subject, but I've reached a conclusion. Whoever she is, she'll have to have green eyes." Lucas picked up a pen and circled the word green on the questionnaire.

"Green eyes? I thought you told me when you came to the office that you weren't too particular about physical characteristics. You said you wanted to emphasize compatibility, intelligence, and temperament."

"Call me shallow, but I've decided I want a woman who is compatible, intelligent, good-tempered, and who also has green eyes. Is there a problem with that, Batt? Because if so, I can always go to another agency."

"No, no, it's not a problem, Mr. Trent," Hobart assured him quickly. "I just hadn't realized that you were so particular about that sort of thing. Now, then, if you need any help with the questionnaire, please remember that, as your personal syn-psych counselor. I'm available for consultation at any time."

"Given the size of the fee that Synergistic Connections charges, I think that goes without saying," Lucas muttered. "You'll have to excuse me, Batt. I've got an appointment."

"Certainly, certainly. I'll call you in a couple of days to see how you're getting along."

Lucas hung up the phone. The sense of doom thickened. Registering with an agency was the smart thing to do, he reminded himself. No doubt about it. Five years ago he had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that, while he was very good at finding jelly-ice, he was remarkably incompetent when it came to the business of finding a life mate.

He had been searching for something besides jelly-ice for years. It was only recently that he had finally put the need into words. He was tired of being alone. He longed for what most people took for granted, a family of his own. He wanted to feel connected. He wanted to look in his children's eyes and see the future.

He had no clear memories of his parents. He only knew that, like so many others who did not fit into the conventional routine of life in the city-states, they had ended up in the Western Islands. The frontier attracted the drifters, the loners, those with shadowed pasts, and those without family ties the way honey-syrup attracted bee-flies.

In the islands a man or a woman could start a new life with no questions asked. Lucas sometimes wondered if it was the burden of an off-the-scale talent that had driven his father to the edge of civilization. Psychic power was an inherited characteristic.

His parents had not survived long enough for Lucas to ask them why they had moved to the islands. Both Jeremy and Beth Trent had been killed in a violent windstorm when their son was three.

There had been no relatives to take Lucas in and raise him. That task had been shouldered by a dour old jelly-ice prospector named Icy Claxby.

Claxby had been as alone in the world as Lucas. In addition to teaching his young charge everything he knew about finding jelly-ice and survival in the jungle. Icy had taught him how to get by without the cushioning network of an extended family.

But the one thing that Icy Claxby had not been able to teach Lucas was how to control the unpredictable flashes of the powerful talent that had made its first appearance shortly after Lucas hit puberty. Icy, an untrained prism, had done the next best thing. He had given Lucas some important advice.

"If you ever get yourself tested, boy, you're gonna go right off the scale," Claxby said. "That ain't good. It ain't good at all."

"Why not?" Lucas asked. He was only thirteen, and he was still having fun with the process of discovering his erratic psychic abilities. "I thought you said high-class talents are respected in the city-states. They get good jobs and stuff 'cause they're usually smart."

"A powerful talent gets respect, but too much talent scares folks. I'm just a medium-spectrum prism, kid, untrained to boot, but I can tell you that you've got more talent than those fancy lab techs will be able to measure. If they figure out that you don't fit into their notion of what's normal, they'll get spooked. Word will get out, and you'll have nothin' but trouble."

"I wouldn't mind throwing a scare into Kevin Flemming," Lucas said, thinking of the bully who was making life miserable for him and his classmates at the small school in Port LeConner.

lcy's alarm was immediate and plain. "Five hells, boy, you ain't tryin' to use your talent at school, are you? Damn it, I warned you not to ever fool around with it in front of anyone except me."

"No, sir," Lucas said. "I haven't tried to use it at school."

lcy's expression relaxed slightly. "There's other ways of dealin' with a bully. Find one."

"Yes, sir."

Icy gripped Lucas's shoulder with hands that bore the scars of a lifetime spent on a harsh frontier. His faded eyes glittered beneath his shaggy brows. "Listen, boy. I'm serious about this. If folks find out that you've got a powerful talent, there'll be hell to pay."

"Like what?"

"People will call you a psychic vampire."

"So?" The possibility held distinct appeal.

"So you'll have problems gettin' a job, for starters. Men won't want to hire you. Others will refuse to work with you or for you. Lots of ice miners are superstitious, you know that."

"Yes, but--"

"You won't be able lo date any decent females 'cause their parents will think you're a freak. You been talkin' lately about havin' a real family of your own someday. Well, you'll never find a wife because no matchmaking agency will register you. See what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah," Lucas said. Being a psychic vampire was apparently not as exciting or as useful as it sounded. It could prevent him from having a family of his own. Bad synergy. "I see."

Lucas had found another way to deal with Kevin Flemming, a method that had involved a large bucket of garbage and a pair of small, harmless twin-snakes.

Dealing with the erratic bursts of talent had proved to be much more complicated. Icy Claxby was an untrained prism. He could provide only limited guidance.

Psychic power made its own demands on a growing boy, just as all the other natural human needs and abilities did. The inborn urge to use the talent, to control it, and to understand it drove Lucas to seek solitude for extended periods of time. Icy Claxby had always been a loner himself. He didn't ask many questions about Lucas's absences.

With increasing frequency, Lucas took refuge in a small, hidden grotto he had discovered deep in the jungle. There, secure in the knowledge that no one could come upon him without warning, Lucas had spent endless hours teaching himself to deal with the strong spikes of psychic energy that his mind produced. The realization that he might never be able to work with a prism who could focus his full spectrum of talent had made him struggle all the harder to learn to control it himself.

He'd had some limited success, much to ley's surprise. Lucas taught himself enough to conceal the extent of his talent from others, including prisms and synergistic psychologists. If he concentrated, he could force his psychic energy to obey his will for a few seconds at a time without using a prism. The hard-won skill had saved his life and the lives of others on more than one occasion during the Western Islands Action.

It was in the course of cleaning out the pirates that Lucas had discovered there were other powerful talents with secrets living in the islands. The knowledge that he was not the only freak in the world had reassured him. But Rafe Stonebraker and Nick Chastain valued their privacy as much as he valued his. The three men became friends and allies, but they rarely discussed the subject of their off-the-chart talents.

Icy Claxby died the year Lucas turned eighteen. Work, study, and the search for jelly-ice had filled the void for a time, but in the end a cold, dark well of loneliness had opened up somewhere deep inside Lucas. He spent long hours in his hidden grotto, gazing into the fathomless jungle pool. His dream of having a family of his own returned to haunt him.

Eventually he had formed a partnership with Jackson Rye, and for a time the fantasy of belonging to the Rye clan had kept the old dreams at bay, but Lucas had never lost sight of his goal to have his own family.

Five years ago he had met Dora. She had been as alone in the world as he. It seemed to him that they had a lot in common.

The runaway marriage had been a disaster, just as every- one had predicted. It took Lucas less than six weeks to realize that he had been married for his money. Family law being what it was, divorce was not a possibility, so Lucas spent the next eighteen months hoping that his beautiful, sexy, vivacious wife would learn to be happy with him. There were times when he thought he was making progress.

But one day, in a low moment, he had made the mistake of telling Dora about his talent. Whatever affection she might have had for him evaporated in an instant.

"Five hells," Dora whispered, horrified. "You're some kind of psychic vampire."

"It's not like that," Lucas said desperately. "It's harmless."

"You're a freak, that's what you are. A damned freak. You should have told me before I agreed to marry you."

Lucas looked into her eyes and knew that he had just destroyed any hope of having the relationship he had yearned for. He should have listened to Icy Claxby.

"You can skip the outraged horror act." Lucas smiled humorlessly. "We both know you would never have turned down the chance to be the wife of the owner of Lodestar Exploration, even if you had known that he was a freak."

"You aren't the only owner of Lodestar," she reminded him.

In the end Lucas had learned the true meaning of being alone when he found himself sharing a home with a woman who wanted another man.

He pushed aside the old memories with the same ruthless control that he used to conceal his talent. He focused on the Synergistic Connections questionnaire.

Hair color. Did he really give a damn about hair color? What did it matter, anyway. A woman could dye her hair any color she chose.

A rich shade of amber brown would be nice, though.

He frowned when he noticed that the word amber did not appear on the list of hair colors. Light brown, dark brown, and reddish brown were offered, but not amber. Lucas picked up a pen and wrote in his selection.

Then he realized what he'd done.

"Damn." Lucas flipped the questionnaire closed and shoved it back in the drawer. He reached for the phone and dialed swiftly, before he could give himself time to reconsider.

A plumy masculine voice answered. "Psynergy, Inc. We make it happen. How can I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to Amaryllis Lark, please."

"One moment."

There was a pause and then Amaryllis came on the line. "This is Amaryllis Lark."

Lucas frowned at the tension in her voice. "Something wrong?" He thought he heard her breath catch. He didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one. Life was complicated for the intuitionally impaired.

"Is that you, Mr. Trent?"

"I'm not a client any longer. You can call me Lucas."

"Is there a problem with your bill?"

"I haven't seen it yet." Lucas lounged back in his chair. "It's probably sitting in my secretary's In basket." For some reason he began to feel a little more in control of the situation. "I'm calling to ask if you'd like to go out with me."

"Out?"

"Yes, out. You know, like on a date."

"A date?"

She was floundering badly. He could tell that much. Lucas wondered if it was an indication that she was trying to think of a way to turn him down or if she was so excited by the prospect of seeing him again that she could hardly speak. He suspected it was the former, not the latter.

"As I just pointed out," he said, "I'm no longer a client. That being the case, I wondered if maybe your professional code of ethics would allow you to see me socially. Now that you've sent the bill and all."

"You're registered at a marriage agency."

"So are you. What has that got to do with anything? There's nothing in the agency contract that says we can't date whoever we want while we're waiting for them to find Mr. and Mrs. Right for us."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Do I sound like a stand-up comedian?"

"No."

"Good. Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?" He realized he was holding his breath.

"As it happens, I have plans for this evening," she said slowly.

"I see." He exhaled deeply. It was probably better this way. No point getting involved in an affair that was limited by its very nature. He would go back to saving himself for his future wife.

Amaryllis hesitated. "You're welcome to join me."

On the other hand, his future wife was highly unlikely to be saving herself for him, Lucas thought. He straightened in the chair. "Yeah, sure. I'll join you. Where are we going?"

"It's sort of a business matter, not a social thing," she said hesitantly. "I have to see someone at a club down in Founders Square. Someplace called SynCity."

Lucas opened his mouth. Nothing coherent emerged. Just something that sounded like "Hub?"

"SynCity. Have you heard of it?"

"Uh--"

"Lucas, is something wrong?"

"Uh--"

"Look, if this is a problem for you, feel free to decline," Amaryllis said crisply. "I realize it's probably not what you had in mind for the evening."

"No," Lucas managed. "No, it's not, but it's not a problem." Fortunately he was sitting down, he thought. Otherwise he would very likely have hurt himself. "Can I ask what sort of business you have with someone at the SynCity Club?"

"I don't have time to explain it now. I've got an appointment in a minute. I'll tell you all about it this evening. I'll pick you up around eight."

"That's not necessary," he managed. "I'll pick you up."

"That's very nice of you. And, Lucas?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks," Amaryllis said in a soft, urgent rush. "I've never been to any of the clubs in Founders Square. I appreciate the company."

"Sure. My pleasure. I think. See you at eight." Lucas very carefully replaced the phone.

He sat staring blankly out the window for a long while. He tried hard, but he could not think of a single reason why prim, straitlaced Amaryllis Lark would want to spend the evening at one of the raunchiest syn-sex strip clubs in town.

Dillon Rye sauntered into Lucas's office shortly before five o'clock. He was dressed in some designer's razzle-dazzle version of traditional Western Islands gear. Lucas hid a grin. The tough, no-nonsense denizens of the islands would have laughed themselves silly at the sight of the multitude of shiny snaps, zippered pockets, useless epaulets, and innumerable flaps that decorated Dillon's khaki shirt and trousers.

"Hi, Lucas." Dillon threw himself down into the nearest chair. "Saw your picture in the paper. How're things going with Miss Lark? Did the agency date work out?"

Lucas folded his arms on the desk. He saw no reason to correct the impression that he had met Amaryllis through an agency. "We're going out again tonight, as a matter of fact."

"Struck lucky on the first match, hub? Totally synergistic, man. I hear it often happens that way. Those agency syn- shrinks know what they're doing. Do I hear wedding bells?"

"No," Lucas said. "You do not. Amaryllis and I are still in the initial stage of getting to know each other."

"Oh. Well, it sounds hopeful, at least. The time has come, as they say. You're at that age where responsible men are supposed to get married. You can't put it off much longer, can you?" Dillon spoke with the serene complacency of a young man who would not have to concern himself with society's expectations for several more years.

Lucas decided to change the subject. "What did you want to talk about?"

Dillon sobered instantly. His blue eyes, so reminiscent of Jackson, turned uncharacteristically serious. "I need a loan. A big one."

Lucas eyed him thoughtfully. "Why?"

"For the investment opportunity of a lifetime."

"Ah. One of those."

"Lucas, I'm serious about this. It's my big chance. If I get in on the ground floor, I'll be worth a fortune in three years."

"What sort of investment are we discussing?"

Dillon leaned forward in his chair. His expression lit with the fires of youthful enthusiasm. "A guy I know who is putting together his own exploration company. Sort of like Lodestar. But instead of jelly-ice, he's going to search for deposits of fire crystal."

"Fire crystal? Dillon, use your head. Fire crystal is almost as scarce as First Generation artifacts."

The spectacularly beautiful, blood red gemstone known as fire crystal was the by-product of a synergistic reaction that occasionally took place between seawater and a rare plant known as crimson moss. The moss grew on shoreline rocks in certain remote coastal locations. During the formation process, chemicals from the seawater and the moss combined to alter the basic structure of the rocks. Fire crystal was the result.

The gemstone did not form every time seawater and crimson moss came in contact. If that had been the case, it would have been relatively simple to duplicate the process in a controlled fashion. But for some as yet undiscovered reason, the making of fire crystal was unpredictable. The synergistic reaction took place only rarely. One theory was that the red crystal was formed only when the seawater was infused with the excretions of some unidentified species of fish during its spawning process.

"Come on, you're exaggerating," Dillon said. "Fire crystal's not that scarce. The fact that it's rare is what makes it so valuable."

Lucas shook his head. "Trust me, Dillon, this has all the hallmarks of a seam."

"I'm telling you, this guy I know has developed an instrument that can locate deposits of the stuff."

"If a commercially viable gadget had been invented to find fire crystal, it would be front-page news."

"He's keeping it a secret until he can get the patent."

"Is that what he told you? You're being taken, Dillon."

"That's not true. This guy is on the level."

"Is he affiliated with a reputable firm?"

"Not exactly," Dillon admitted. "At least, he was with a big company but he quit when he got the idea for this instrument. If he'd stayed with the company, the firm would have tried to retain the rights to the device."

"What company was he with before he came up with his idea? Seastar Mining? Bancroft Exploration? Gemsearch?"

Dillon's features compressed into stubborn lines. "He can't risk telling anyone where he worked. You know how it is with big corporations. They might take him to court in order to get their hands on his invention."

"I'm sorry, Dillon, but this guy you know sounds like a con artist. My advice is to stay clear of him."

"Five hells," Dillon exploded, "you sound just like Dad. I thought you'd be different. I thought maybe you'd under- stand."

"You asked your father for a loan?"

"He told me I was an idiot." Dillon's mouth twisted bitterly. "I'm twenty-three years old but everyone treats me as if I were still a kid. Morn and Dad want me to choose between going on to grad school or finding a job in a corporation. But I want to do something interesting with my life."

"Interesting?"

"Something with potential. Something exciting. Jackson was out in the Western Islands looking for jelly-ice when he was my age. So were yon, for that matter."

"Dillon--"

"If Mom and Dad have their way, I won't even get out of New Seattle. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to suffocate. They've got my future all mapped out for me, and it's so boring and predictable, it makes me sick."

"Boring?"

"I can see it all now." Dillon fanned his hands out as if revealing a vision. "First a nice, safe, nine-to-five job with a nice, safe, dull company. A few years of quietly going crazy as I work up through endless layers of do-nothing management. A few piddling little raises along the way. The next thing you know I'll be in my thirties. I'll be registering with a marriage agency and getting ready to start my own family."

"What's so bad about starting your own family?"

"Nothing. When the time is right. But I want to live first. Right now my whole future is going down the drain and all because I can't get a simple loan."

Lucas hesitated and then decided to go with his instincts. "Do you want to come to work for Lodestar?"

"Are you crazy?" Dillon's eyes blazed. "I'd give my right arm to go out to the islands to work for Lodestar. But you know how Morn and Dad have been since Jackson got killed. They'd never let me go to work in the islands."

"You don't need your parents' permission to apply for a job," Lucas said quietly.

"Easy for you to say. You don't know what it's like having a family breathing down your neck." Dillon broke off, flushing. "Sorry. Didn't mean to insult you."

"Forget it. You're right. I don't know what it's like to have a family breathing down my neck."

"After Jackson died, Morn and Dad changed." Dillon's gaze slid awkwardly away for a few seconds. Then he slammed a bunched fist down onto the arm of his chair. "Damn it, I loved my brother, but I've spent my whole life in his shadow. He was always the star. Athletics, business, women, you name it, he was a success. He even died a hero."

"I know, Dillon."

"I want to prove to my folks that I'm as smart and savvy as Jackson was. I guess I want to prove to myself that I'm as good as he was."

"Listen to me, Dillon," Lucas said. "You don't have to prove a damn thing to anyone. Live your own life, not your brother's."

"You don't understand." Dillon surged to his feet and stalked toward the door. "No one understands."

Founders Square was the oldest neighborhood of New Seattle. The twelve-block district near the waterfront marked the location of the colonists' first permanent settlement.

None of the buildings in the area actually dated from the first years of colonization because the original structures had all been built of Earth-based materials. They had quickly disintegrated along with virtually everything else that had been made on Earth.

The stranded settlers had rebuilt using native materials. Many of those buildings still stood, as grim and determined looking in their way as the people who had built them. These sturdy, stalwart structures were not what anyone could call striking architectural statements, but they were important. They represented the beginning of history on St. Helens.

Lucas had a hunch that the founders would have been shocked to the core of their sturdy, upright souls if they could have foreseen what would become of the neighbor- hood.

Founders Square was now home to the city's most popular nightclubs and casinos. After dark an aura of decadent glamour enveloped the old district. The garish lights of the main strip were bright enough to make visitors ignore the warren of grubby alleys and narrow side streets that angled away from the main thoroughfare.

The flashy casinos promised high-stakes gambling and exotic entertainment. Smaller clubs offered dancing, syn-sex shows, and cheap green wine.

It took Lucas some time to find a parking space. He finally managed to squeeze the leer into a tiny slot on a skinny side street two blocks off the main strip. A small, blinking sign advertising a grungy syn-sex club glowed coldly above the entrance to a very dark, very narrow lane.

A man would have to be desperate for sex to risk going down that dark alley, Lucas thought.

He glanced at Amaryllis as he deactivated the leer's engine. She was eyeing the flashing syn-sex sign with distaste. She looked as thoroughly disapproving as any founder.

"So, do you come down here often?" Lucas asked neutrally.

Amaryllis started nervously. "No. I told you, I've never been in the square after dark."

"Are you ready to explain to me why we're celebrating our first date here?"

"I'll explain it on the way to the SynCity Club." She opened the door and got out.

Lucas looked at his watch as he climbed out of the car. He had picked up Amaryllis less than twenty minutes ago. They hadn't been together a full half hour yet, and already his mood was starting to deteriorate.

So why was he here, Lucas wondered. But as soon as he took Amaryllis's elbow he had his answer. Just touching her caused every muscle in his body to tighten with sexual anticipation. He could tolerate five hells' worth of irritation for the sake of this sensation even if he did end the evening under a cold shower.

With Amaryllis's arm fucked into his own, Lucas started toward the bright lights of the strip two blocks away.

"I know I've been acting very mysteriously, Lucas, but there's a reason."

"I'm listening." Lucas kept an eye on the yawning mouth of an alley that was crammed with darkness. It was a reflex on his part, the result of having grown up on the edge of a jungle. The predators that hunted in the city walked on two feet instead of the four, six, or eight appendages common to much of the wildlife of the Western Islands, but they were just as dangerous.

Amaryllis shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. "I got a strange call Friday afternoon as I was leaving work. I spent the weekend thinking about what to do next."

Lucas absently tracked two shadowy figures who hovered in a darkened doorway. "How strange was this phone call?"

"The person on the other end of the line would not identify himself. I was told that if I wanted to know the truth about Professor Landreth, I should talk to a woman who works at the SynCity Club."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lucas came to an abrupt halt and spun her around to face him. "What's Landreth got to do with our date?"

"Calm down, Lucas. There's no need to get emotional."

"I'm not emotional. I'm pissed off. There's a difference. What do you think you're doing?"

"The caller said that someone named Vivien who worked at the SynCity Club could give me information."

"About Landreth?"

"Yes."

"That's crazy."

Amaryllis lifted her chin. "That's why I'm here tonight, Lucas. I want to talk to her. I told you it was business. If you'd rather not accompany me, I'll understand."

Lucas gripped the lapels of her coat. "I don't believe this. Don't tell me that our little security job the other night at the museum gave you visions of becoming an amateur detective?"

"I admired and respected Professor Landreth more than anyone else on the faculty at the university."

"So what?"

"Questions have been raised, Lucas. I feel that, in honor of his memory, I must pursue the answers. You, of all people, must know what if feels like to need answers."

"What questions have been raised?" Lucas asked very carefully.

"Well, first, there is the matter of a Landreth-trained prism engaging in unethical focusing."

"Not that nonsense again. What's it got to do with this?"

"Don't you see? One thing leads to another. The more I wondered why a properly trained prism would get involved in unethical activities, the more I began to ask other questions."

"Such as?"

"Such as, what if Professor Landreth knew about the prism's unethical behavior? What if someone didn't want him to know?"

"Five hells," Lucas muttered. "I think I see where this is going."

"And then I got that phone call implying that there was a mystery connected to Professor Landreth. Lucas, if there is even the slightest possibility that his death was not an accident. I'm going to insist upon a full investigation."

"Fine. Go to the police and tell them that some anonymous caller told you that a syn-sex stripper may have information about Landreth. Let the cops take it from there."

"The case is closed as far as the police are concerned. You know as well as I do that they're hardly likely to reopen an accident investigation just because I got an anonymous phone call."

The light was poor on the side street, but Lucas had no difficulty seeing the determination in Amaryllis's face. It alarmed him as nothing else had done in a long, long time. "Amaryllis, listen to me, this is not a good idea."

"I just want to talk to Vivien to see if she really knows anything, that's all. You don't have to stick around if you'd rather not get involved."

"You're not listening, Miss Lark. I'd rather you didn't get involved."

"I thought you would have some empathy for my feelings."

"Because I know what it feels like to want answers? Amaryllis, bear in mind that I didn't particularly like the ones I got."

Her soft mouth firmed in a small but significant gesture that Lucas was beginning to recognize. Amaryllis had dug in her heels.

"I'm committed to this," she said austerely. "Look, I told you that I was coming down here on business tonight. If you would prefer to spend the evening somewhere else--"

"Anywhere else."

"Then feel free to get back in your car and go home."

"Do you really think I'm going to leave you all by yourself down here?"

Something in his voice must have gotten through to her because Amaryllis's expression turned wary. "Probably not."

"Probably not is right." Lucas released her lapels, seized her arm, and started toward the bright lights that marked the strip. "Let's go."

She quickened her pace to keep up with him. "I appreciate this, Lucas. I didn't want to come down here alone, but I hope you don't feel that I used you. You did volunteer."

"Yeah, sure. There's just one thing, Amaryllis."

"Yes?"

"When this is over, you owe me a real date. I intend to collect."

When the club door opened, the sensual, driving rhythms of heavy ice rock spilled over Amaryllis in a wave. Drunken laughter and the din of voices pitched above the level of the music created a wall of noise. Flashes of arcing light zipped back and forth through the shadows creating just enough illumination to reveal the club's customers seated at small, round tables.

Amaryllis came to a halt just inside the door and gazed around in dismay. "We'll never find a place to sit."

"What?" Lucas asked.

She cupped a hand to her mouth. "I said, we'll never find a table."

"We should be so lucky. Come on, unfortunately I think I see one over there near the wall."

Amaryllis slanted him a sidelong glance as he guided her through the darkened club. Lucas was not in a good mood. It had been a mistake to bring him with her, she thought. On the other hand, she was very glad he was here.

A waiter materialized out of the darkness the moment Amaryllis sat down.

"What'll it be?" he asked in a bored voice. "Two-drink minimum."

Amaryllis looked up at the young man who was standing impatiently in front of her. He was very handsome, very blond, and for an instant she feared that he was very naked. Then she noticed the tiny, tautly stretched leather thong that barely covered the critical regions of his anatomy. Actually, it was difficult not to notice the garment. It was at roughly eye level.

In an effort to conceal her shock, she hastily averted her eyes and gazed fixedly at Lucas. "Wine." The word came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. "I'll have a glass of wine, please."

"Green, white, or blue?" The waiter demanded.

"Green, please," she said quickly, opting for the weakest of the three.

The waiter glanced at Lucas. "And you, sir?"

"What kind of beer do you have on tap?"

"Jungle Fever, Twin Moons, and Five Hells."

"Five Hells."

"Got it. Be right back."

Amaryllis could not resist another glance at the waiter as he wheeled and disappeared into the crowd. She was curious, in spite of herself, to see where he stashed the small notepad he used to jot down drink orders. There did not appear to be any pockets in the leather thong that she could see.

Lucas leaned across the table. "Not quite what you expected?"

"I didn't know what to expect." Blushing furiously, Amaryllis jerked her attention away from the waiter's muscular flanks. "I've got to figure out a way to talk to this Vivien person."

Lucas shrugged. "Ask our server when he gets back."

"Good idea."

A drumroll silenced the music and the crowd. On stage the arcing jelly-lights began to pulse in rapidly shifting patterns between floor and ceiling. A murmur of anticipation rose from the onlookers.

A man dressed in formal evening wear stepped out from behind the heavy blue and gold curtains. He had a micro- phone in his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen." The announcer paused to make certain he had the full attention of the crowd. "Welcome to SynCity, where your most erotic dreams come true. Tonight's performance is about to begin. For those of you who have never experienced synergistically augmented sexual entertainment, allow me to present the two people who will thrill you tonight. York and Yolanda."

The crowd roared its approval as the outer layer of the curtain rose. A man and a woman stood revealed in the flashing lights. Both wore skintight garments fashioned of a glittering, silvery material. Their hair had been dyed a matching shade of silver white. Long, silver gloves covered their hands and arms.

The music swelled as York and Yolanda bowed to the audience. It took the announcer several minutes to regain the attention of the crowd. When he had it, he gave a leering smile and winked broadly.

"York is a class-eight talent, ladies and gentlemen. He is a syn-sex generator. One of those rare individuals gifted with the ability to pick up strong sexual sensations, heighten those sensations, and project them toward those of you who are lucky enough to be sitting in our audience tonight. Yolanda is the powerful prism who will assist him. Let's hear it again for York and Yolanda."

The crowd broke into eager applause. Shouts of encouragement went up around the room. Amaryllis frowned at Lucas.

"There is no such thing as a . . . a syn-sex generator," she hissed across the table. "And even if there were, he couldn't possibly project the sensations of sexual activity to a room full of people."

Lucas glanced around. "Tell that to this crowd. The first rule of good theater is that the audience wants to believe. And this crowd definitely wants to believe."

The announcer raised his hand for silence and got it. "Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to enjoy a truly unique sexual experience. You are about to discover new levels of erotic stimulation. I give you Vivien of the Veils."

The inner curtain rose. A woman appeared in the spot- light. She was shrouded from neck to toe in flowing purple. Her head was bowed. Purple hair cascaded down her back to her waist. Massive purple crystals sparkled on her wrists and decorated the gold circlet that bound her hair.

Amaryllis stared. "Do you think that's the Vivien we came to meet?"

"Wouldn't be surprised. Probably not a lot of Viviens around here. At least not a lot who wear veils."

The music fell into a low, throbbing beat. York and Yolanda took up positions at the edge of the stage. They clasped hands and closed their eyes as if in intense concentration.

The thonged waiter returned just as Vivien lifted her head and began a series of sultry, sinuous movements. Amaryllis picked up her glass and sipped cautiously at the weak green wine. She watched, first in amazement and then with increasing embarrassment, as the dancer's veils shimmered and swirled. Glimpses of Vivien's buttocks and breasts created a ripple of excitement in the audience.

"Reminds me of that dress you wore to the museum reception," Lucas murmured.

Amaryllis was outraged. "That's not true. My dress was perfectly decent."

"Whatever you say."

The men in the crowd booted and applauded as the first of Vivien's veils fell away. The women in the audience cheered a moment later when a man emerged from the shadows and strode onto the stage. He wore a pair of thigh- high leather boots and a thong that was even smaller than the waiter's.

The male dancer reached out to snatch one of Vivien's veils. It came free, baring the dancer's breasts, which were supported by a purple harness that emphasized purple rouged nipples. Amaryllis decided that she and Vivien did not shop at the same semiannual underwear and foundation sales.

Vivien circled her partner in a series of unmistakably erotic movements. The man responded with strong pelvic thrusts, which Amaryllis knew could not have been good for his lower back.

The music quickly grew more intense. The beat became relentless. At the edge of the stage, York and Yolanda were bathed in a sheen of sweat.

The male dancer lowered himself onto a purple velvet rug. Vivien, now almost completely nude, straddled his hips.

Embarrassed, Amaryllis turned her attention to the audience. The heavy breathing in the immediate vicinity was quite audible. A few people began to pant and moan. A shrieking cry of ecstasy emanated from a dark corner of the room. A man's husky groan sounded from a neighboring table.

On stage, York and Yolanda strained mightily as Vivien and her companion ground away at each other.

"I don't believe this for one minute." Amaryllis glowered at Lucas. "It's all an act."

Lucas smiled. "Want to prove that York and Yolanda aren't doing a damn thing except sweating up there on the stage?"

Amaryllis understood immediately. "You want to link? Here? Now?"

"I'm a detector, remember? If York is using any talent, I'll pick it up."

Amaryllis's cheeks burned at the memory of the sensual sensations that had flooded through her the last time she and Lucas had linked.

"I don't think that's such a good idea." She almost winced at the prim tone in her voice. "I'm supposed to be here on business."

Lucas grinned. "You're scared."

"That's not true."

"Don't worry, you're a professional, remember? You can handle it."

He was goading her. Amaryllis knew it but she couldn't seem to rise above it.

"All right," she muttered. "But just for a moment."

Lucas's eyes gleamed in the darkness. He reached across the table and took her hand.

The link happened quickly. A few seconds of seeking, the brief sensation of vulnerability, and then Amaryllis went to work. The prism took shape on the psychic plane.

"You know, professionally speaking. Miss Lark, you're good," Lucas drawled softly. "Very good."

Talent pulsed through the prism.

The noise of the music and the crowd faded. To her dismay, Amaryllis became acutely aware of the warmth in her lower body. She had been doing a reasonably good job of suppressing her reaction to Lucas all evening, but some- thing about the link loosened those inner controls. His fingers tightened around hers.

"I'm not picking up anything from York," Lucas whispered. "The guy's a complete fake."

"I knew it." Amaryllis hastily broke the link. The prism winked out of existence.

A woman's shriek sliced through the dark room. A man gave a muffled groan. The couple sitting at the neighboring table began to kiss passionately.

"Want to leave?" Lucas asked gently.

"I have to talk to Vivien."

"We can wait outside until the performance is over and then go to her dressing room."

Amaryllis felt absurdly grateful for the suggestion. "Excellent idea." She leaped to her feet.

Lucas put down his unfinished beer, stood, threw some money down, and took her hand. He forged a path through the maze of tiny tables. The cries and moans of people who appeared to be in the throes of sexual climax rose and fell.

"I can't believe that all these people have actually convinced themselves that they're being sexually stimulated by York and Yolanda." Amaryllis said. "This is nothing more than self-induced mass hysteria."

"I guess it works for them," Lucas said.