The Abulon Dance (3 page)

Their young guide halted near the middle of the hall at a fire larger than the rest. Like the others, it was built up on a stone platform with a wide ledge running around the outside which served as a table. The Great Chief and his advisors stood to welcome them, clasping each of them in turn on the upper arm in a firm grip. Beny tried not to wince as the First Minister’s steely fingers closed around his arm. He could sense he was being tested. The men’s creased and weathered faces looked as if polished to a hard, nut-like finish. They all sat on fur cushions or beautifully woven blankets. Thanks to the tiny, sub-cutaneous two-way translators worn by the Merculians, conversation flowed easily.

It was obvious who was the
Am Quarr
, the Great Chief. Not that he wore any distinguishing robes or chains of office. He was simply dressed in a sleeveless brown tunic that showed off his wide shoulders and sinewy arms. It was his manner, his way of speaking, the simple assumption that he held absolute power and his every wish would be obeyed. Around his neck he wore a flat, irregularly shaped stone resembling a large cat’s eye. In the uncertain light, it seemed to change color, even texture. His deep set, old-young eyes were full of knowledge and gave the impression of seeing much more than surfaces. At the Chief’s right hand sat the First Minister, whose name, Beny remembered, was Tquan. A streak of startling white hair swept from the center of his forehead to his shoulders, giving him a distinguished look. It made him stand out in the sea of dark proud faces around him. The First Minister had a leather thong around his left arm where the unsheathed blade of a small knife gleamed against his bare skin.

The Chief leaned towards Beny, nothing but polite interest in his face. “We understand that you do not eat meat for religious reasons. Is this so?”

“Yes, Am Quarr. Originally it was for religious reasons. We cherish a reverence for all life forms.”

“Here we look at things quite differently, Ambassador. The life taken from an animal gives life to us as food. Therefore it is not lost, merely changed.”

“It is a change we have chosen not to make, Great One.”

Thar-von, at Beny’s side, raised his silver head suddenly. “That philosophy is not so different from the way we think on my home planet. We, too, are still hunters, even though technology has taken away the need.”

“Ah, yes. Technology.” The Great One smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. “It takes more than it gives, we have found. That is why we strive to maintain the old ways, the ancient ceremonies, the legends of our people.” Beny leaned forward with interest, thinking of the Merculian storytelling art he had studied years ago. “You keep alive the old songs and legends, just as we do!” he cried delightedly. “We would be honored to hear an example of your art.”

“Quetzelan, our Dream Weaver would be only too happy to oblige,” the Chief replied.

“Am Quarr, the Lord Benvolini is himself an accomplished teller of tales,” Thar-von said gravely.

Some men in the group made the distinctive growls of approval. Some waved the half-gnawed bones they were chewing. It was obvious that they enjoyed this form of entertainment and Beny promised to perform for them soon, pleased to have discovered some common ground. He tried to avoid looking at their shiny faces smeared with fat. He took a long drink of the flat brown ale and the clumsy, horn beaker was instantly refilled. The smoke was making his eyes water. It was difficult to breathe. Far above them, he could just make out round holes in the ceiling. The smoke didn’t seem to be finding them.

The First Minister leaned forward, one elbow on his knee. “You and I, Ambassador, we know that playing with words is only a game, but an important game,” he said, and he flashed a smile that was startling in its sudden brilliance. “And it is also something to amuse the women, no? Perhaps that is why it appeals so much to you people.”

“Well, it is appealing,” Beny agreed cautiously. He felt he was missing something, another meaning sliding between the words. “To us it is an art form.”

“Of course. An art. Like war.”

“Perhaps more like politics,” Beny suggested.

“Politics.” The First Minister’s voice caressed the word, his dark eyes danced. His long fingers touched the naked steel against his arm. “Yes, of course. You are indeed clever. But do you not find that the absence of meat weakens the mind as well as the body?”

“Our guest has explained his position, Tquan,” the Chief cut in. He held out a chunk of bread to Beny on the end of his knife. Carefully, Beny took the bread and placed it on his plate. He felt that he had lost the thread somewhere along the way and hoped he would find it again soon.

The conversation flowed on around them, talk of hunting and trading, of obscure building projects, of the Festival. Beny ran down the program of exotic, alien names and assured them that the Merculian National Dance Company would be arriving next week. He thought of Eulio and ached with longing. When he had taken on this job, he had not realized how much it entailed. For months he and Thar-von had worked steadily, setting up contacts, checking out details of transportation, preparing information packages for performers and their agents and managers. Even choosing their own staff turned out to be a problem.

Thar-von had come to him early one morning. It was obvious that he was very embarrassed. He had been closeted with the Serpian Ambassador most of the night. “Beny, I’m sorry but the insufferable woman insists we have a token Serpian on the office staff and she’s chosen Talassa-ran Zox.”

“Bloody damn!” exclaimed Beny, sinking into a chair. This was one Serpian male he could not abide. Zox was meticulous and precise to a fault, had no sense of humor and thought all Merculians were slightly mad. His thin lips seemed to be always pursed together with distaste.

“There’s nothing I can do about it, Beny. Believe me, I tried.” Thar-von was not fond of the man either.

“What else did your charming Ambassador have to say, Von?”

The Serpian turned away. “Her usual anti-Merculian propaganda. She warned me at great length about you.”

“Me?”

“She seems to have the idea that you’ll try to seduce me.”

“Did you tell her I tried that years ago and failed? For the first time in my life, I might add.”

“No, I did not. I don’t want to give her any ammunition. I’ll never understand why they picked a puritan like her to serve on Merculian.” Beny had to admit that Zox was a good worker and excellent at his job of office manager. But the Merculians disliked him. Talassa-ran’s humiliating experience at Triani’s party had not made him any more friendly towards his Merculian co-workers and now he insisted on reporting to Thar-von instead of to Beny.

Still, in spite of everything, the Festival was taking shape. The Terran contingent was organized. Final arrangements had been made for the Medorial chant-singers, the Silhouette theater of Carpuso 5 and an Ultraati Rope Dance troupe. Zox would have his work cut out for him. Beny had just opened negotiations with Serpianus for one of their famed circus troupes. The logistics of that one would intrigue a man like Zox.

Abulonian ale was stronger than it appeared. Thar-von warned him with a touch of his pale blue hand. “Eat,” he whispered. Beny tried, but the smells of the food were upsetting to him and the tastes, even of the non-meat dishes, were strange on his tongue. His stomach was queasy, in spite of the pills he had taken. The meal dragged on and on. Strange parts of unknown animals sizzled on the fire in front of him. Odd-looking, scorched vegetables baked in the coals, drizzled with fat from the meat. Chunks of coarse black bread and piles of nuts were about the only things he could eat with impunity. “Greetings.” A young man dropped down beside him. He wore only a short kilt and an intricately embroidered vest. Around his neck was a necklace of rough, green stones and a gold ring glinted in one ear. One slim, brown hand fingered the beads as he studied the Merculian. “I am Luan of Quarr.”

“The Chief’s son?” Beny asked, recognizing the name from the long list he had committed to memory.

The boy nodded. “For a long time I have had dreams about an alien sun. I see a person with hair on fire and round eyes like yours.”

“I guess you met the Merculian who was a member of the Contact team,” Beny said. He smiled at the young man, relieved to have someone to look at who wasn’t covered with grease.

The boy shook his head solemnly. “I was sent to make the rounds of the sub-chiefs when they were here. It was the season of tallies. I was…disappointed to miss the visitors, but I hear very few of us met them.”

Beny was puzzled to hear this, but he said nothing and merely returned Luan’s smile. The boy’s dark eyes were shining with curiosity and friendliness.

“Are you lonely so far from your home?”

“I haven’t had time to be lonely yet,” Beny replied.

Luan reached out to touch Beny’s hair. “We have heard strange stories about you people. Are they all small and fair like you?”

“I am quite tall for a Merculian,” said Beny with dignity. “And we are not all fair. Haven’t you seen my staff?”

“There is not one as good-looking as you,” replied the boy, gazing at Beny with frank admiration. “You look very young to be an Ambassador.”

“I’m not as young as I look,” laughed Beny. He considered telling the boy his age but realized this wouldn’t mean anything unless he wanted to divulge a whole lot more about Merculians. He adjusted the lace at his wrists and pushed back a lock of hair with one small hand.

The boy watched him closely. He eyed the velvet clothes, the elegant slippers, the bracelets, the rings. “Have you crossed the hall to the woman’s side?” he asked tentatively.

“I don’t think I follow you.” Beny frowned in concentration, trying to get some sense out of the words.

The boy hesitated. “Could I come and talk to you some time? Not tonight, of course. Tonight I expect to dream of you.”

“You are welcome anytime, Luan.”

The boy brushed Beny’s thigh with his hand and Beny felt a jolt of sexual interest. Before he could react, the boy jumped to his feet and was quickly lost in the smoke. Ah, Beny thought to himself with a smile. Those kind of dreams. He glanced over at the group of women watching them from across the hall. Was growing up more difficult with two sexes? Beny suppressed a sigh as a long procession of sticky, sugar-coated pastries appeared on large wooden trays carried effortlessly by the efficient servers. Then an intricately carved pipe began making the rounds. The bowl was shaped like an animal’s head, the stem long and curved and flexible. As if there isn’t enough smoke here already, thought Beny. Resignedly, he accepted the pipe and put it to his lips. It was a token gesture only. He had never understood the idea of smoking. He gave it to Thar-von who proceeded to draw deeply, much to Beny’s surprise, before passing it on amid grunts of approval. A peculiar smell hung in the air for some time.

“It is late, Lords and Elders.” The
Am Quarr
was on his feet, now. The others were getting up in one single, fluid motion that Beny found impossible to imitate. Thar-von helped him to his feet. Beny saw the amusement on the dark faces as the men started to drift towards the women who were still chattering together on the other side of the hall. The Great Chief turned his back and began talking to a tall, spare old man who leaned on a carved staff. He had long, thinning white hair and deep-set black eyes.

The First Minister laid a hand on Beny’s arm. “I see you are interested in meat after all,” he murmured. “Although not, perhaps, the four-legged variety.” He smiled with a flash of white teeth.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never beg, Ambassador.” Tquan raised a long finger in the air and for a moment, was all seriousness. Then he laughed and thumped Beny on the back, making him stumble. “Enjoy your evening.” He stepped into the group of men. They parted before him as he strode off.

Beny glanced at Thar-von, who stood nearby, his face an unreadable mask. Beny turned away uncertainly. Life is so much more difficult when one doesn’t know the rules, he thought. Straightening his narrow shoulders, he started for the door. He knew Thar-von would follow, three paces behind. He walked slowly, taking the time to sense the feelings of those he passed. There was some hostility, some ridicule, a lot of curiosity, even amusement. He quickened his pace. How long could he live in an atmosphere like this?

As he neared the doorway, he passed the Merculian office staff who were grouped near the entrance, waiting for him. As he went by, they smiled and silently clapped their hands in support. Only Talassa-ran was not applauding.

THREE

Morning sunlight poured into the room, breaking into miniature rainbows as it shone through the cut glass edges of the round windows. There were five of them, placed high up in the wall, so that all that could be glimpsed of the outside world was the cloudless, lavender sky of Abulon. This color was repeated in the glinting stones that studded the ceiling and adorned the base of the bed that dominated the room. On a raised platform of greenish marble opposite the bed was an oval pool, its shimmering surface in continual movement. A living curtain of blue-green leaves trailed down the wall behind it. To one side of the bed was a group of carved, uncomfortable wooden armchairs with cushions that matched the leaves. Beny was asleep. He looked very small in the huge bed, his red-gold curls bright against the pale green of the pillows. He stirred, uncurling into a languid stretch as he turned onto his back. He opened his eyes. As he raised his head, he found himself face to face with a large, dog-like creature who stared at him expectantly with three clear, green eyes. Its coat was mottled grey and brown, its hide smooth and shiny like patent leather. Two ears stood up straight on top of its head like twin flags and a long thin tail undulated, snakelike, from side to side. It was enormous!

Beny sat up slowly, clutching the covers against him as if for protection. “Nice dog?” he said questioningly.

It moved closer.

Beny shrank back against the wall in terror. Cautiously he reached for the small communication device lying on a recessed shelf beside the bed, his eyes fastened on the creature.