Diamond Mask (Galactic Milieu Trilogy) (34 page)

“Well, I suppose we’d better socialize,” Denis said with reluctance. “Let’s try to steer clear of Rory Muldowney, shall we?”

“Heavens, yes.” The two of them rose and dusted off their clothes.

There was an inscription carved on the rock above the spring. Lucille studied it, then held out a cupped hand, caught some of the falling water, and sipped from it. “There. According to this sign, now I can make a wish at the holy fountain. I wish … I wish we could all have a few quiet years for a change—without any crises rocking the galaxy or the family.” She stepped back to give Denis room. “Now it’s your turn.”

Obediently, he drank from the spring. “I wish I could do more for the Milieu. Find it in me to be the kind of statesman the Lylmik keep urging me to be.” But then he shook his head, pulled out a linen handkerchief, and briskly dried his hands. “No. Abort that wish. It would never work. I can’t bear the idea of opening my mind to a telepathic colloquium as the Magnates of the Concilium do. Masses of mentalities, exotic and human, all debating and consulting and trying to coerce others to their point of view, everyone knowing the motivation and reasoning of everyone else! No dishonesty—but no room for face-saving diplomacy or decent reticence, either.”

Lucille regarded him with concern. “Is that so repellent?”

“It is to me. The Concilium working relationship is wildly chaotic. It’s not at all like the order and elegance that characterize metaconcert.” He tucked away the handkerchief and adjusted his cuffs. “I realize that I should try to overcome my feelings—but I can’t. Perhaps if Unity prevailed amongst the Simbiari and the Human Polity things would be different. As things stand, if I agreed to become a magnate I’d go bats before a single Concilium session wound up.”

“Never mind. The work you’ve accomplished isn’t too
shabby.” Lucille’s smile was teasing. “And you can be especially proud of our children.”

Denis turned a little away from her, gazing at the nearest danceground where partygoers of three races were jigging hilariously to the strains of “Father O’Flynn.” Only the poor gloomy green-skinned Simbiari were ill at ease, standing on the sidelines with glassy smiles and sipping from beakers of fizzy water.

“Our children,” Denis murmured. “They’re right over there, most of them. Philip and Maurie and Adrien and their wives, and Sevvy dancing with Catherine. I’d certainly like to wish peace and happiness for them. But there’s this damnable Hydra thing! We haven’t the least notion where those renegade creatures are hiding, and the identity of Fury is still a complete mystery. I’ve had no luck with my own investigations and none of Paul’s schemes to uncover the monsters has panned out, either. It seems that all we can do is wait for a new crime having the Hydra modus operandi—and pray that Davy MacGregor or Owen Blanchard or some other hostile magnate doesn’t find out about it first.”

“Paul and Throma’eloo Lek will see to it,” Lucille said soothingly. “And the Lylmik Supervisors are on our side. They know how important the Remillard contributions to the Milieu are.”

“They may not protect the family much longer.” Denis’s tone was grim. “Not with two of our sons becoming more and more vocal in opposing Unity. And now Marc has managed to rock the Human Polity to the core by defying Paul in that damned maiden speech of his before the Concilium. And he doesn’t even sympathize with the Rebel separatists!”

“Paul should not have taken Marc for granted,” Lucille said tartly. “He can’t get it through his head that Marc is a grown man now with a vital agenda of his own—and the only Paramount Grand Master metapsychic in the Human Polity.”

“Whatever that means,” muttered Denis.

“It means he’s a force to be reckoned with, my darling. Marc’s no Rebel. He believes that humanity must remain part of the Milieu in order to survive, but he also believes in intellectual freedom. That’s why he spoke up in opposition to Paul’s motion to outlaw the anti-Unity faction. People paid attention because of Marc’s rank and the brilliance of his argument. And Paul lost.”

“Fury must be delighted! … Damn Marc.”

“Nonsense. He was only standing up for his principles. I have a certain sympathy for the Rebel faction myself. We didn’t
ask
for the Intervention. The Milieu had to drag us into their marvelous
interstellar confederation. And when we agreed to join them back in the beginning, there was never any explicit condition made that we would have to embrace Unity.”

“It was implicit. And given the relatively high power of human metafaculties, it’s a practical necessity. Luce, I’ve devoted my life to metapsychology and I’m positive that we must eventually be Unified. If—if I were part of a network of benevolent, coadunate minds, I wouldn’t feel so uneasy about the future. And neither would Sevvy or Adrien or the rest of the Rebel group.”

“But the exotics don’t seem to be able to give us a clear picture of how Unity would affect us.” Lucille’s voice was troubled.

“Unity is one of the principal goals of human evolution, as Teilhard de Chardin and so many other philosophers have maintained. It just can’t be the soul-destroying hive-mentality that its opponents claim. I know too many wise, kind,
individualistic
United exotics to believe that. Who would ever accuse good old Fred and Minnie of being zombies? Or Dota’efoo Alk’ai and that uxorious husband of hers? Sweet Jesus—the entire Gi race is an argument against Unity as a lockstep mind-meld!”

Lucille giggled. “Do you know Uncle Rogi was propositioned by a Gi last week—and almost succumbed?”

“No!”

Lucille took her husband’s arm. “I’ll tell you the whole story. But first I want you to take me into that cute little shebeen down there and get us both a nice drop of Black Bush.”

“Whatever you do,” Luc warned his little brother, “don’t let yourself exert mindpower on the robot horses. They’re bugged, and any PK or creative meddling by the spectators will disqualify the entry.”

“I understand,” said Jack. He clutched the receipt the Poltroyan bookie in the orange-checked suit and green bowler hat had given him. “One places bets according to the fictional handicap information provided in the form-plaque, analyzing past performance of the horse, so-called breeding, and the other factors. It was rather complex, determining the best entrant, but I solved the equation. The winner will be Tipperary Tensor even though he’s rated 30 to 1.”

“We’ll see, wiseass,” Luc growled. He had bet on Shillelagh Sprig, the favorite.

The small mechanical equines with their Poltroyan jockeys
were at the post, pawing and snorting. A bell chimed and they were off to the screams and plaudits of the crowd, kicking up clouds of dust and moving as realistically as living animals.

At first Shillelagh led by two lengths. Tipperary Tensor was third going into the turn and fell to fourth in the back stretch. The second runner, Knockmealdown, began to overtake Shillelagh Sprig, whereupon Tipperary Tensor’s jockey guided him outside the bunched front-runners and plied his whip. The spectators gave a collective shout of surprise as the long shot suddenly pressed forward, passed number three, Wild Oscar, and continued to accelerate in the last turn. Thundering into the home stretch, their tiny legs twinkling, Tipperary Tensor, Knockmealdown, and Shillelagh Sprig were neck and neck. But at the finish Tipperary pulled away and was the clear upset winner by half a length.

“I told you so,” said Jack smugly.

Luc grunted in disappointment and tore his ticket into pieces. “Self-congratulation at the expense of another person is odious.”

Instantly contrite, Jack offered to show his brother how he had calculated the winner.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Luc said. “What does matter is that you learn how to behave in a polite and kindly manner. It makes no difference how smart and talented you are: if you behave like an asshole you’re either thoughtless and immature or acting with deliberate or unconscious aggression. In either case, people won’t want to socialize with you.”

“But Marc is rude to me rather often—and to others as well—and no one ostracizes
him.
People may get angry with Marc, but they still admire him. I can tell. I do it myself.”

“Marc is different.” Luc spoke bitterly. “Marc’s magic. He doesn’t have to play by the rules like the rest of us poor chumps.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jack demanded. “Is magic some kind of super-coercion?” Open your mind Luco and let me analyze the thought!

NO! … Oh well maybe later. I’m jealous of him you know and I have other mixedup feelings about him that you’re not ready to understand.

They were trudging side by side to the bookie’s stand for Jack’s payoff and the racecourse was becoming more crowded by the moment. All at once Jack halted and stood staring at a group gathered around Tipperary Tensor and its jockey, who were being adorned with green carnations and orange roses.

“Look. There are Marco’s four friends. Can I tell them that I won?”

Luc tightened his lips fastidiously. “Well, if you must. But I don’t really care for their company very much. That Boom-Boom Laroche is a vulgar barbarian, and Pete Dalembert acts so snotty and superior.”

“Marc’s going to make Pete the Chief Executive Officer of his new private CE laboratory,” Jack said casually. “And Shig Morita will be in charge of development and manufacture.”

“What?” Luc was thunderstruck. He grabbed his little brother by the arm and swung him into an alcove behind the saddling enclosure. “Marc is leaving Dartmouth College?”

Jack nodded. “I heard him bespeaking his friends. They had a thought-screen up, but it was easy for me to get around it. Marc is tired of having the college threaten to limit his CE research. He asked Alex Manion and Boom-Boom to work with him, too, but they said they have to do some other things now. They said they’d think about joining Marc later.”

“But what the hell is Marc going to do? Where will he work?”

“He has lots of money in his trust. He’s going to move the E15 project into a place near Seattle as soon as we get back to Earth. I hope he’ll still let me help with the design modification. I’ve got a
really
neat idea for improving the SIECOMEX.”

“This is going to cause big trouble,” Luc said, “in the family and outside it. You’d better not say anything about Marc’s plans to anyone else. Let him make the announcement when he’s ready to.” And let him take the flak!

Jack’s eager face fell. “Why should there be trouble?”

“Just remember what I said. Come on, we’ll get your winnings and see if we can place a bet on another likely long shot with a different bookie. They’ll be on to you pretty soon, but we can probably manage another winner or two before they warn you off.”

Atoning Unifex had exhorted Its fellow Supervisors not to miss the St. Patrick’s Day party, promising that it would have an unusual and important climax. The Lylmik might have overseen the affair from their own enclave, of course; but their leader had strongly urged a material manifestation and they had eventually agreed to attend wearing Poltroyan bodies and the bogus Irish costuming sported by true members of that race. As they had done on previous occasions, Noetic Concordance and Asymptotic
Essence assumed female form while Homologous Trend and Eupathic Impulse became males. The sexuality of Poltroyans was so similar to that of the Earthling bodies they had worn before that the four entities felt reasonably comfortable.

“Have fun,” said Atoning Unifex, “and keep a sharp eye out for impostors.” With that It withdrew to Omega knew where, leaving Its four colleagues bemused but resigned.

“What was
that
supposed to mean?” Impulse inquired grumpily.

Noetic Concordance adjusted her wig’s orange curls, which had become entangled in one golden earring. “I suspect we’ll find out. You don’t suppose that the Hydra creatures have been presumptuous enough to invade Orb?”

“By the Prime Entelechy! Surely one jests!” The bluish-violet cheeks of pretty little Asymptotic Essence faded to a grayish lavender.

“If the monsters are here,” Homologous Trend said, “we’d better get along and find out what they’re up to. If we can find them, that is. They’re getting devilishly clever at screening.”

“What good will it do to spy them out,” sighed Eupathic Impulse, “when Unifex has forbidden one to interfere? It’s maddening, enough to discourage one from contemplating the situation at all until bifurcation is imminent.”

“There are hints of a stupendous skew in the noögenetic curvature,” Essence noted balefully. “One hesitates to predict calamity, but … see for yourselves.” She projected a complex probability graphic.

Homologous Trend was more equanimous as he modified the equations to produce a more happy result. “The Hydras and Fury have taken on the aspect of strange attractors and may prove to be even more maleficent than we originally supposed. Or again—thus!—they may not. There is always a chance that the dynamic they introduced will paradoxically advance the Protocol of Unification rather than cause its disintegration.”

“One can only continue to have confidence in the judgment of Unifex,” Concordance declared. “It is so much older and wiser.”

“And capricious,” grumbled Impulse. “Oh, very well. Let’s get along to the shindig.”

No sooner had they arrived at the party than they were dragooned into joining an overly energetic group dance. Twirling and prancing with humans, Gi, and legitimate Poltroyans through one merry tune after another, they found themselves unaccountably
exhilarated. When the set ended and the pipers and fiddlers bowed and skipped off to refresh themselves, the four Lylmik applauded as enthusiastically as the rest of the dancers before staggering to a table outside one of the taverns and ordering a round of green crème de menthe.

“How strange,” said Noetic Concordance, “that rhythmic, repetitious physical activity should be pleasurable to so many different races.”

“Well, one may
resonate
for the fun of it in Lylmik form,” Eupathic Impulse noted, “even though some may deem it childish.”

“It’s not quite the same,” Asymptotic Essence said. “The rhythmic irregularities and changing tempi of dancing have an appeal all their own.” Her ruby eyes twinkled at her partner. “You dance very well, you know.”