Amaryllis (7 page)

But he was not surprised to learn that Amaryllis was excited by the sight of Madison Sheffield. It figured, he told himself. Sheffield was just the sort of politician who would attract the vote of an upright, prissy little prism who was overly concerned with ethics and other vague academic matters.

Sheffield was making a bid for the governor's seat on the Founders' Values ticket. He was running on a platform that emphasized a return to the supposedly sterling virtues of the First Generation colonists. People were responding to the Sheffield campaign in droves. The man had charisma.

“He's even more impressive in person than he is on television,” Amaryllis declared.

Lucas eyed the senator. It was fair to say that Sheffield was tall, lean, and possessed of a nose and brow that would have done credit to any founder. His aquiline features gave the impression of a man who was ascetic in his habits. His expensively styled brown hair was tinged with just enough silver to add a distinguished touch.

Sheffield's tailor had taken care of the rest.

Amaryllis's dress fluttered again. Bored with the sight of Sheffield shaking hands, Lucas found himself distracted by the movement. The rational, intellectual side of his nature considered the perplexing question of how the gown could both reveal and conceal at the same time. It was a frustrating problem, one which only served to heighten his irritation.

Apparently having lost sight of Madison Sheffield, Amaryllis came down off her toes and turned back to the array of artifacts in the display case.

“These are incredible,” she said. “Whatever the metal is, it survived, which is saying something. The alloys and hightech materials that the founders brought with them from Earth rotted away within months. They had to learn to use native materials. I wonder why these didn't disintegrate.”

Lucas forced himself to stop watching the drifting scarves long enough to glance down at the silvery relics. “The researchers don't have a clue.”

“Do you really think they're alien in origin?”

“That's the consensus of opinion.”

She glanced up. “How can the experts be certain? There's so much of this world that we haven't yet explored. Perhaps it's an alloy composed of some metals that are found on the other side of the planet or in the oceans.”

“Theoretically, it's remotely possible that those items are made of some rare St. Helens materials,” Lucas said. “But it's highly unlikely. Trust me, the lab folks subjected the artifacts to every test they could imagine. All of the results indicated that they did not originate on St. Helens.”

Amaryllis gazed thoughtfully at the relics. “I wonder what happened to the people who made them.”

“Probably the same thing that almost happened to the First Generation founders. They didn't make it to the Second Generation. Maybe they never discovered the basic Three Principles of Synergy. Or maybe they refused to accept the fact that the only way to survive was to learn to utilize native materials. When their technology went down, they went down with it.”

“But their technology didn't disintegrate. It's right here in front of us.”

Lucas smiled wryly. “Their tools survived, but they wouldn't have done the owners any good if they lacked a power source. I'll bet that whoever left these items behind never discovered jelly-ice.”

“Do you suppose the people who invented these artifacts came through the curtain, the way the founders did?”

“Who knows?” Lucas watched a wispy green scarf settle lovingly around Amaryllis's hip.

“Perhaps they got trapped here, too, when it closed.”

“Could be. Or perhaps they returned to their home world before the curtain came down. Maybe these things are just so much garbage they left behind.”

The story of the curtain was familiar to every schoolchild. It marked the major turning point in human history on St. Helens. The drifting web of raw energy had materialized in space near Earth two hundred and fifty years ago. It had lasted just long enough for scientists and researchers to discover it, study it, and eventually to take it for granted. The curtain was assumed to be a permanent feature of the solar system.

To the people of Earth, who had not yet found a practical means of voyaging beyond the nearest home-system planets, it had been an astounding discovery.

The curtain had had several bizarre properties, the most intriguing of which had been its ability to warp the fabric of time and space. It had functioned as an energy gate to the distant star system that contained St. Helens.

Forty-five years after the discovery of the curtain, the first colonists had shipped out for the new world that had seemed so Earth-like and which, because of the energy gate, was now so comfortably close to home. Supplies could be
transported easily, which was invaluable because technology kept breaking down on the new planet. Visits to friends and relatives on either world were possible. Earth-based corporations opened branch offices on St. Helens.

Five years later, just as the founders had settled in, the energy curtain had closed without any warning. It had never reopened.

“Perhaps the curtain was a gateway between many different worlds,” Amaryllis said. “Not just between Earth and St. Helens.” The scarves of her dress fluttered gently, as though responding to a tiny shiver that had gone through her. “It's a weird thought, isn't it? The people who made these artifacts might have been here when the founders arrived.”

“I doubt it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Several reputable psychometric talents have studied them.” Lucas took a sip of his weak green wine punch. It was nasty stuff. “These things are old. Very old.”

Amaryllis nodded. “Well, it will give the researchers something to study for years.”

“Yeah. Keep 'em busy.” Maybe it wasn't just the damn flutter dress, Lucas thought. Maybe it was his own hormones. They had been vegetating for longer than he cared to contemplate.

Several months ago, without conscious motivation, he had lapsed into an extended period of self-imposed celibacy. It was as if something inside him had finally balked at the prospect of going through the ritual of beginning and ending another extended affair.

Perhaps the decision to register with a marriage agency had roused his dormant physical needs, he thought. He certainly seemed to have sex on the brain tonight.

“'Evening, Trent. Good crowd, eh?”

Lucas stilled at the sound of the familiar voice. He nodded politely to the silver-haired man and the elegant, middle-aged woman who stood with him. Jackson Rye's parents. Just what he needed to make this evening complete.

“Good evening, Calvin,” Lucas said. “Beatrice.”

Beatrice Rye inclined her head in a gesture that obviously required extraordinary willpower. “Hello, Lucas. How nice to see you.” Her hostility burned just beneath the surface of her blue eyes.

Lucas relaxed slightly when he saw the young man who had accompanied the Ryes. “How's it going, Dillon? Congratulations on graduating from UNS.”

Dillon, the only member of the Rye family who seemed to have any fondness left in his heart for Lucas, smiled his irrepressible grin. “Thanks. Thought I'd never get out of the university. Now all I have to do is find a job.”

“That shouldn't be too difficult.” Lucas took Amaryllis's arm. “Amaryllis, I'd like you to meet the Ryes. Calvin, Beatrice, and their son Dillon. Amaryllis Lark.”

“How do you do.” Amaryllis gave the three a gracious smile.

“Miss Lark.” Calvin tipped his silver-maned head in a patrician gesture. His voice was crisp and formal.

“A pleasure,” Beatrice murmured. Several generations of good breeding hid most but not all of the cool reserve in her voice.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Lark,” Dillon said cheerfully. “Aren't these artifacts like totally synergistic? Leave it to Lucas to find them in the middle of a jungle. Dad says Lucas has the luck of the devil.”

“They're incredible.” Amaryllis seemed oblivious to the undercurrents that were flowing back and forth between Lucas and the older Ryes. “Absolutely fascinating.”

“You must excuse us.” Calvin grasped Beatrice's elbow. “I want to have a word with Senator Sheffield.”

“Of course,” Amaryllis said. “Nice to meet you.”

Beatrice favored Lucas with a measure of silent condemnation before she moved off into the crowd with her husband.

Dillon hung back. He waited until his parents were out of earshot before he took a step closer to Lucas. “Can I stop by your office next week? I need to talk to you. It's really important.”

“Sure.” Lucas glanced at the retreating Ryes. A whisper
of the old sense of loss flickered through him. He squelched it with ruthless will.

There had been a time when he had been welcomed into the Rye household. He had valued the tenuous ties of quasi-adopted kinship far more than the Ryes had ever realized. Intellectually, he had acknowledged that Calvin and Beatrice's acceptance of him was prompted by pragmatic business considerations, not true affection. Nevertheless, they had been warm and cordial. Lucas had settled for the reasonable facsimile of a family that the Ryes had provided.

He had tried to be realistic about the situation. He knew that they had all been bound together by the brilliantly successful partnership between Jackson and himself.

But three years ago, Jackson Rye had been murdered by the pirates who had invaded the Western Islands. His mother had made it clear that the Ryes held Lucas morally responsible. After all, Lucas had been the one with experience in the islands. He had been raised amid their dangers.

Dillon leaned closer with an air of urgency. “Listen, Lucas, do me a favor and don't mention this to Mom and Dad, okay? I don't want them to know that you and I are going to talk business. I want to handle this on my own.”

Lucas raised his brows. “What kind of business are we going to talk about?”

“I'll explain later.” Dillon lifted a hand in a quick, casual farewell. “See you around, Miss Lark.” He hurried off into the crowd.

Amaryllis glanced at Lucas. “Rye. Wasn't that the name of your partner?”

“Jackson Rye. He was Calvin and Beatrice's oldest son. Dillon is their youngest.”

Amaryllis frowned. “Jackson Rye was killed at the start of the Western Islands Action, wasn't he? The news accounts called him a hero.”

“Yes.”

“Did the family inherit their son's share of Lodestar Exploration?”

“The Ryes are no longer involved with the company,” Lucas said bluntly. “I bought them out eight months after Jackson was killed.”

“I see.”

The Ryes had wanted nothing from Lodestar except money after Jackson was killed, Lucas reflected. They certainly hadn't wanted their quasi-adopted relative. Lucas had politely unadopted himself.

Two more people emerged from the crowd. They homed in on Lucas with the skill of experts. Several heads turned to follow the handsome, sleekly coiffed man. The extremely thin blonde at his side carried a camera.

Amaryllis made a tiny, excited sound. “Is that Nelson Burlton?”

“Yeah. Try to contain yourself.”

“Trent.” Nelson came to a halt. “Knew you'd be around here somewhere. Hell of a crowd, huh?” He waved a manicured hand at his companion. “Elaine Crew. Friend of mine. Photographer with the
New Seattle Times
. Here on assignment. Me, I'm not working tonight.”

“Amaryllis Lark, friend of mine,” Lucas said.

Nelson Burlton turned the full power of his famous smile on Amaryllis. He held out his hand. “Miss Lark. A pleasure.”

“It's wonderful to meet you in person. I feel as if I already know you.” Amaryllis blushed furiously. “I suppose everyone tells you that, don't they?”

Nelson winked. “Hey, comes with the territory.” He turned back to Lucas. “I told Elaine here that I'd talk you into letting her get a shot of you standing next to the display case. What d'ye say?”

Elaine smiled. “I'd really appreciate it, Mr. Trent. My editor at the
Times
will be grateful.”

Finding himself cornered by reporters and photographers did not usually fill Lucas with delight, but tonight he was almost relieved by the interruption. He needed something to force his thoughts back to the business of the evening.

“Why not?” Lucas said. He set the glass of watery punch down on a nearby table and waited with stoic patience while Elaine unsheathed her camera.

Just as she was about to snap the picture, Amaryllis slipped gracefully out of range.

“No, wait, I want you in the shot, too, Miss Lark.” Elaine
lowered her camera and motioned Amaryllis back to stand beside Lucas. “Please.”

Amaryllis shook her head politely but firmly. “I don't think that would be right. Mr. Trent is the one who found these wonderful relics. I had nothing to do with it.”

“But you're with Trent, aren't you?” Nelson gave Lucas a speculative glance. “Someone said that you had recently registered with a marriage agency. I assumed that Miss Lark was a date.”

“She is,” Lucas said.

“But this is just an initial, get-acquainted date,” Amaryllis interjected hastily. “Lucas and I hardly know each other.” She gave Lucas a meaningful look. “Isn't that right?”

Her determination not to be photographed standing next to him exacerbated Lucas's simmering irritation. She was happy to gush over Madison Sheffield and Nelson Burlton, he thought, but she didn't want to appear in the newspapers with the man who had brought her to the party.

He gave her a deliberate smile. “I'm sure we'll be much better acquainted before the evening is over. After all, our agency claims to hit a perfect match on the first date ninety-four point six percent of the time. That's one of the reasons I registered with them.”

Nelson uttered his famous, well-modulated chuckle. “After covering Trent all these years, I can assure you that he doesn't believe in wasting time. The Iceman is a man of action, Miss Lark.”