Sword of the Lamb (27 page)

He had shown inexcusably poor judgment.

Alexand raised the plasex goblet to his lips and closed his eyes. He had turned up the volume on his earspeaker, as if the compelling beat and grating dissonances of the music could drown out the raucous voices, the peals of drunken, drugged laughter. At times, he had the irrational conviction that if he could find the right switch, he could turn off those sounds, too.

Poor judgment and a childish desire to wipe that expression of haughty superiority from Julia Fallor’s face.

Julia, with her flaxen hair glittering metallically; a thin face, but with strong bone structure, a face that might have been beautiful, and he supposed she
was
considered beautiful. But he always had the feeling that a flame wouldn’t burn her, it would melt her. Like wax.

And tonight Julia’s usual hauteur, the pride she took in being the accepted Promised of the Lord Alexand, was mixed with embarrassment. She was embarrassed about Alber. She had even gone so far as to suggest to him, at the Galinin ball, that he shouldn’t have worn the Confleet uniform. His response to that had silenced her on the subject for the rest of the evening, but his disgust for her, for the stultifying ceremonies and niceties, the cloying atmosphere of avaricious curiosity sugared with mannered courtesies, had overwhelmed his judgment.

Elianne Robek. The eternal child.

Elianne had approached him at the Delai Omer ball, greeting him with a familiar exuberance that made Julia redden and lift her chin in contempt that said silently,
second
-class Elite. Elianne cut her down with a few swift verbal thrusts, smiling sweetly all the while, but Alexand had had enough of Julia’s arrogance, and when Elianne suggested the float, he acquiesced without a second thought.

Alton’s found this swervy float, love. About six levels down in the Outside, I guess
. . . .

Elianne reveled in anything with a flavor of danger as long as it wasn’t truly dangerous. She delighted in forays into the Outsiders district as she did in the milder psychomaxic drugs. Even at the ball it was obvious she’d already indulged in maricaine.

Anyway, Jamie and I
—
Jamis-Cadmon, you know; the lucky boy’s my escort
—
we’re exing this high-collar fest. Alton knows how to find the float. Come along, love
. . . .

Perhaps if Julia hadn’t objected then that it would be unseemly for her to be seen in a float, and in the Outside at that . . .

Poor judgment.

Elianne had mentioned her cousin Alton Robek more than once, but it hadn’t registered. And Rich had told him.

Tonight Alton Robek was escorting the Lady Adrien Eliseer.

It hadn’t registered until after he landed the sleek Cariol twin-seater on the roof of the float in the heart of Concordia’s trade district on Phillip Bay where the city’s “Outside” flourished.

Elianne and Jamis Cadmon were waiting, Elianne’s laughter bubbling over the music blaring from the surrounding casinos, stimutheaters, psygame houses, and maxobooths. Elianne, elated, cheeks flushed; Cadmon, blearily grinning. The attendant who took the ’car wore an ornately sheathed knife at his waist, and that unnerved Julia, but Alexand knew it to be simply a badge of manhood here. On this level of the Outside, at least, its denizens lived by providing forbidden fruits to the Elite and even Fesh who could afford them, and no one was likely to jeopardize their high profits by threatening the clientele with bodily harm.

Even then the significance of Alton Robek’s name hadn’t registered; not until they were hurrying across the roof to the entrance, until Alexand saw the Bond standing by a ’car marked with the Robek crest. A giant of a man, waiting with practiced paticnce; he wore the blue-and-silver tabard of the House of Eliseer.

Lectris. Adrien’s personal guard.

Alexand knew he should have turned back then, but the time for the decision passed in his confusion and self-disgust. They were given earspeakers at the entrance, and he moved mechanically through the process of handing cloaks to the attendants and paying the exorbitant door charges. He was only vaguely aware that Julia was still making self-righteous noises as they moved down the nulgrav shaft into the cavernous heart of the float.

The dimensions of the place were impossible to determine; the darkness was total and seemed infinite. Varicolored shimmeras drifted among the glowing strands crossing the void, a trimensional spider web, jeweled with lights like droplets of dew. Shadowy figures moved along the strands, literally floating in the .1 g weightlessness, and far below, a shimmering, multihued disk was dotted with figures moving in frenetic rhythms incomprehensible until the earspeakers were activated. But Alexand hadn’t turned on his ’speaker then; not until later when the distraction seemed imperative.

Elianne launched herself into the void, golden hair floating around her head; she spun languidly, laughing with the abandon of an infant, or of the insane, caught a passing shimmera and tossed the glowing globe to Cadmon before her hand closed on a lighted strand to stop her descent.

Transparent spheres floated in the darkness, some only large enough to seat two people, others ranging in size to a capacity of ten or twelve. A shout, loud enough to carry over the music Alexand wasn’t hearing: Alton Robek standing at the opening in one of the pods.

“Elianne! Over here!”

And the airborne passage through the emptiness, one hand guiding him along the strands, the other clasping Julia’s. And if he’d cared, he might have seen that the smugness was gone and a nervous giggling had set in.

The gravity level within the pod was still slightly lower than normal, and he put his empty glass down carefully. He stared at it fixedly for some time, then finally looked up and across the table.

Adrien Eliseer was watching him, and as their eyes met she smiled, a faint, wistful smile that said she knew his thoughts. No doubt she did.

The waiter appeared with more drinks, and Alexand welcomed the diversion. But even when he wasn’t looking at her, Adrien’s image was in the eye of his mind.

A swan . . .

The patterns of passage fanned out across still waters, an endless interweaving.

The fair cygnet had become a swan.

She wore a gown of simple lines threaded with pearls; pearls woven in intricate designs on the bodice and sleeves, falling in dense strands from the waist to the floor; pearls starring her raven-silk hair. And in the dim light, she seemed luminescent.

Alexand felt the two of them locked in a void of silence. The voices, the laughter, even the existence of four other people in this confined space, were only peripheral awarenesses and totally unreal. He wasn’t even sure of his own reality. The images of Alber hovered at the edges of consciousness, but even they seemed unreal, like the memory of a vivid nightmare.

If there was reality within his grasp, it rested in the quiet, watching eyes of the young woman across the table from him, wrapped in soft light and calm; in the soul bond that existed between them, impervious to time or separation, the bond that he could not in her presence deny.

But now he forced himself to look at Julia Fallor, and the sick disgust was renewed. He’d succeeded in shaking her smug hauteur; he’d succeeded all too well. She leaned across the table toward Alton, coming between Alexand and Adrien, listened avidly as Alton passed on a vulgar bit of gossip, then threw her head back with a high pitched laugh.

Alexand downed half the contents of his glass in one swallow, more concerned with the anesthetic qualities of the brandy than its taste. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alton take a small, jeweled cylinder from the sleeve of his surcoat, but it didn’t make an impression on him at first. Not until he heard Elianne’s squeal of anticipation.

“Oh, Alton, you darling!”

Alton laughed, aquiline features drawn into a cold, masklike grimace of amusement, his pale eyes, despite the dilation of the pupils, alert and rapaciously alive. He opened the cylinder and spilled the contents in the center of the table with a mocking flourish, and it was only then that Alexand’s attention came into full focus on this byplay, and his hand moved unconsciously to turn off his earspeaker; he didn’t want distraction now. He stared at the triangular blue tablets scattered on the table.

Eladane. Instant euphoria. And for the careless, or those sensitive to its chemical properties, instant insanity, or even death.

He was well aware that Alton, Elianne, and Cadmon had already indulged in maricaine; he even suspected that Julia had, probably unknowingly. Adrien had taken nothing; her first drink, a mild liqueur, was still almost untouched. The use of maricaine was so common, it had only disturbed him because it enhanced the atmosphere of manic hilarity. But eladane was a far more serious matter, psychologically, physically, and, above all, legally. Conpol might wink at maricaine, but not at eladane.

Elianne swayed against Alexand as she reached for the pills, her green eyes avid and intent. But Alton, grinning sardonically, clamped his hand on her wrist.

“Ah-ha! Me fine Lady—just what the hell d’you think you’re doing?”

Again, the pealing, child’s laugh. “Oh cousin mine, you wouldn’t hold back on a sweet thing like
me
, would you?” Her tone was syrupy, and there was nothing cousinly about the sloe-eyed look she sent him.

Alton leaned across the table toward her with a grotesque leer. “What’s it worth to you, Elianne, little Cuz?”

“That all depends, darling, on what you had in mind.”

He raised her hand to his lips, eyes fixed on her face, and, still grinning, bared his teeth and bit at her finger, making a growling sound in his throat, and this gaucherie called up a chorus of laughter. Alexand stared at Julia, aware of the length of her fingernails resting on the table, the predacious curl of her hands.

Alton joined the raucous chorus, then, with great deliberation, dropped one of the tablets in Elianne’s glass.

“Far be it from me, Cuz, to deprive you of
any
thing.” Then he swept up the tablets and, suddenly magnanimous, extended his palm first to one then another. “Takeoffs on me, friends! Time to liven up this soddy party. Jamie boy, don’t be shy! Here.” He dropped a tablet into Cadmon’s drink. “Enjoy yourself. Adrien?” His grin faded as he encountered her cool gaze. “Hey, love, you’re supposed to be having a good time. Come on, try one of these.” He leaned close to her, but she didn’t move, not even to withdraw from him. “You’ll love ’em, I guarantee you!”

“I’m forced by convention to accede to your whims, Alton, but not to this extreme.” Her tone sent a livid flush into his cheeks.

“
I’ll
try one, Alton.”

Alexand tensed. Julia. He made no overt move, but his voice sliced through the brittle laughter.

“Julia, that’s eladane. Leave it alone.”

She drew herself up haughtily. “I don’t recall asking
your
advice, Alexand.”

“You’re getting it anyway. Leave it alone.”

She hesitated, then stiffened at Alton’s jibing laugh.

“Julia, darling, you didn’t tell me you were Alex’s little automaton. Tell me, do you do
everything
he asks?”

The hectic, laughing chorus again, and Julia reddened.

“I do exactly as I please, Alton!” And she reached for one of the tablets.

“Julia!” Alexand lunged for her hand, but too late; she’d swallowed the pill. He watched helplessly as her eyes widened and she sank back into her chair, giggling softly.

He turned on Robek. “Alton, damn you, if—”

“ ’Zion, what’s the matter with you, Alexo? Let her enjoy herself.” Alton looked at Julia and laughed with sadistic relish. “It’s
her
choice.”

Alexand said coldly, “It
is
her choice, but the responsibility is entirely yours.”

“So it’s all mine. Why not?” He laughed again and extended the palmful of pills. “Hey, Alexo, how about you, m’lord? Huh? Little joy ride?” Again, the laugh, vicious and sibilant. “Come on, don’t be such a damned stiff! You can’t tell me you never take off now and then. Look—I’m offering free tickets to happy town!”

“And I’m offering a warning: Back off, Alton.”

Alton’s glittering eyes narrowed, lips drawing back.

“I’m all a-quiv. A thousand pardons. Wouldn’t want to corrupt our noble and fearless
Leftant
Woolf.”

Alexand felt the blood drain from his face. His first thought was to leave before his anger got out of control, and if he hesitated, it wasn’t because of Julia Fallor, lolling in her chair, tittering inanely at Alton.

Adrien. She was pale, eyes averted in helpless repugnance. He couldn’t leave her, desert her to Alton and his games.

Alton leaned back, his derisive laugh underscored with triumph; Alexand hadn’t answered the challenge implicit in that reference to
Leftant
Woolf.

“All right, Alexo, have it your way. You want to miss all the fun—hey, Elianne, flying high, Cuz?”

Elianne was on her feet, arms raised, hands pressed against the curve of the pod. She laughed, tossing her head back and forth in a steady rhythm.

“Oh, glory! Oh, Alton, darling—look at the music!” She did a quick pirouette, crashing into the wall, and, still laughing, fell against Alexand. He caught her before she collapsed onto the table.

“Elianne! For the God’s sake—”

Her arms twined around his neck, her mouth pressed to his, tongue moving against his closed lips. He pushed her away, fighting the impulse to bring the flat of his hand across that pretty, child’s face, but she only laughed as he shoved her unceremoniously into her chair and a moment later blithely turned her amorous attentions on Cadmon.

Alexand closed his eyes, feeling himself immersed in a new nightmare, bludgeoned with that incessant laughter. He looked across at Adrien, but she was intent on Julia, who was slumped with her elbows on the table, eyes half closed, her mouth a grinning red smear. Adrien was frowning as if she were puzzled. He reached for his glass and tipped it up, finishing it off in one swallow.

And through the distorting lens of the plasex, he saw Adrien’s eyes turn toward him, that puzzled look still there, then sudden realization and a warning that came too late.