The Abulon Dance (2 page)

“Sweetie, I’d better warn you about those things. You haven’t been here long and if you’re not used to them, they could send you around Antares.”

Talassa-ran looked down at him with disdain. “Really,” he drawled.

“We call them ‘buzzers’. It’s a common recreational drug here but it sometimes hits outsiders hard.”

“How absurd.” The Serpian juggled the marbles in his large hand, then popped two in his mouth as he turned away.

Triani shrugged. “Suit yourself, sweetie.”

Cham raised his head and smiled at him as they glided back to the dance. His eyes were slightly glazed. “Give me another one, love,” he murmured into Triani’s hair.

“Baby, you’ve had enough. I don’t want you passing out on me. You better go outside for a while and get some air. I’ll see you later.”

Triani watched Cham’s unsteady progress towards the garden for a moment, then turned to adjust a flowering rope-tree branch that had inched its way through the open door. The tree emitted a low hum as it withdrew. He would have to speak to the gardener droids. Perhaps they needed an overhaul. Pushing that to the back of his mind, he cast an experienced eye over the guests. The party was going well, even though that unpleasant male Serpian had shown up. He fingered the golden chain at his waist as he walked through the crowd, pleasantly aware of the warm metal links against his pale skin. Everyone was talking about Abulon. Would they recognize the importance of the dance there?

As he stopped to check the wine fountain, his understudy came rushing up.

“What’s the problem, Serrin? Someone pee on your purple velvet?” He grinned wickedly, amused at the shock in the other’s face.

Serrin cleared his throat. “It’s that Serpian, Talassa-ran. He’s really overdone it with the buzzers.”

“Yeah? I warned him.”

“So did I! Come on. He’s in the east dome.” Triani followed Serrin through the courtyard, out into the garden and back into another part of the house.

Talassa-ran stood with one pale blue hand on the wall to keep from falling. His slate-grey eyes were unfocused, his skin beaded with sweat. Triani had a pretty good idea what he must be feeling, the way voices would fade in and out, how colors would streak in lines as he moved his head, how the music and rhythms of people’s conversations would pulse inside his skin. Served him right.

“Mr. Serpian Male here figures anything we can do he can do double,” Triani muttered. “How many did he have?”

“I’d say twenty. At least.”

“Holy shit! Have you ever had that many all at once?”

“Never. The most I’ve tried was ten one wild night.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t do it again.”

Talassa-ran gazed in fascination at the pattern made by one black curl against Triani’s pale forehead. He reached out to touch it.

Triani smiled. Gently, firmly, he pushed the Serpian back on the cushions piled around the room. “Pretty,” the Serpian said weakly, gazing up at the stars winking above Triani’s head through the clear dome of the roof. He smiled with pleasure, the harsh lines melting from his face. A child-like expression came into his flat, slate-blue eyes.

“Ah, baby, you do know how to smile!” exclaimed Triani in delight. He stretched out beside him on the large cushions. “You’re stoned out of your tiny mind, aren’t you, sweetie?” he murmured. “I warned you, but the big man wouldn’t listen to the little dancer, would he?” Slowly he ran his hand up the man’s thigh. “Come on, now. Let’s find out what turns you on, okay?”

Talassa-ran stirred uneasily and tried to push Triani’s hand away. He ran a grey tongue over his dry lips.

“No,” he said weakly, as Triani’s hand slid under his tunic. “No. Please.”

“Triani, he’s a Serpian,” murmured Serrin, watching from the open door.

“Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious?” Triani asked, his hand moving in slow sensuous circles against the Serpian’s chest. He smiled, feeling the surprised pleasure the Serpian experienced from his touch.

Serrin shrugged.

Talassa-ran tried to focus on the pale face hanging over him, framed by the black curls, softened by the candle light. “Beautiful girl,” he murmured, his voice totally lacking its usual unpleasant twang. Triani’s round cheek rubbed against his and the Serpian closed his eyes, feeling the soft skin, the warmth, the gentle friction. He smelled the scent of almonds and some flower he didn’t recognize. He could hear the shiny satin of Triani’s blouse sigh against the rough material of his tunic. When the warm, soft lips met his, he tasted wine and salt and sweetness…such sweetness… And all this the Merculian picked up from his contact with the man, with an openness Serpian’s usually blocked entirely.

“See? I’m not going to hurt you,” Triani murmured. “I’m used to males. I’ll make you happy.” His fingers were working with the belt clasp, trying to find the combination to release it.

Talassa-ran grimaced as if in pain but his hands, moving without his volition, went to the belt, his fingers fitting into the familiar pattern to release the clasp. The heavy belt fell away.

Through the open door, the scented breeze drifted in from the garden. Suddenly there was a splash, followed by a wailing cry. Triani raised his head and listened. “Shit. The kid fell in.” As he did up his blouse he looked at Serrin who was still watching from the door. “Just when things were getting interesting, too. He’s all yours, sweetie. After all, you
are
my understudy.” With a wink, he went out into the garden and closed the door behind him. A blue privacy light flashed on.

Triani went through the garden, heavy with the sounds of murmured conversations, to the tiny, white crescent of a beach where a raft lay half out of the water. He bent down, pushed it in and jumped lightly aboard. Standing legs wide apart for balance, he pushed off from shore, his body bending gracefully as he poled towards the spluttering Cham. He was in no hurry. Cham could swim, although in his present state it might take him awhile to realize it. When he saw Triani, Cham stopped splashing about. He climbed aboard laughing, shaking back his long, wet hair.

“I fell out of the boat,” he announced. “It floated away without me.”

“Next time you drown.”

Cham laughed merrily and stepped out of his clothes. He wrung them out with exaggerated care and dropped them on the raft. Triani watched him, watched the moonlight silvering the curves and hollows of his strong young dancer’s body as he stretched out his arms to the stars. He was a statue come to life. He was beautiful. He moved suddenly to the edge of the raft and began jumping up and down, making waves that washed noisily against the shore. Triani sat down abruptly. He could smell the sharp resin in the yellow wood. “Are you selling tickets to this show?” he called. He could hear faint laughter from the shore. In the brightly-lit garden, he caught sight of Talassa-ran, almost naked, stumbling towards the gate. His silver body hair gleamed iridescent in the many-colored lights.

Cham stopped jumping and the raft began to level off, drifting further out from shore. “I’m cold,” he said in a small, husky voice.

“Come here, lover. I’ll warm you up.” Cham dropped to his knees and nestled against him. Triani held the yielding body in his arms for a moment, then cupped the small chin in his hand and raised Cham’s face to his. He gazed steadily into the wide grey eyes. The gold flecks sparkled strangely in the moonlight.

“Why are you afraid?” Triani asked.

“Abulon.” Tears spilled over and trickled down Cham’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve never been off-planet before.”

“Shit.” Triani looked away for a moment. “Is this the thanks I get for pulling strings to let you come along?” He felt Cham tremble, felt the ebb and flow of his emotions, the fear of the unknown, the effort to overcome it, the desperate need for comfort and reassurance. “Look, I’ll be right there with you. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

“Oh, Triani, I love you!”

“I know, sweetie. Just don’t rock the boat.” He eased Cham down on the gently swaying raft.

TWO

Being an Ambassador did not appeal to Orosin At’hali Benvolini. It meant leaving behind everything he loved; his family, his friends, his music…and Eulio. But he could not turn down the honor shown to the Benvolini name. He gave himself a mental shake. At least he had his friend Thar-von Del with him. And the Dance Company was arriving next week, so he wouldn’t be apart from Eulio for long. He sighed.

“What the bloody damn am I going to do if these pills don’t work and I up chuck at my first Abulonian state banquet?” He looked up anxiously at the tall, pale blue Serpian male beside him.

“Why wouldn’t they work?” replied Thar-von patiently. “And why are you so convinced they’re going to serve meat dishes?”

“They look like meat eaters to me, Von,” he muttered unhappily, inspecting his image in the dusky mirror. They were in the large, cheerless suite of rooms assigned to the Merculian Ambassador after the ceremonies welcoming them to Abulon. The rooms were high-ceilinged, but dark, lit by a peculiar combination of indirect lighting and torches. When they arrived, Orosin had placed dozens of brightly burning Merculian ‘candles’ about to lighten the atmosphere but they didn’t seem to help much. There were enough fur-covered couches and chairs placed in awkward groupings to seat two dozen people. “Apparently they expect you to do a lot of entertaining,” Thar-von had remarked dryly, looking around. His own quarters next door were almost cramped by comparison.

“Could you help me with this clasp, Von? I’m so nervous I can’t seem to do anything right.”

Thar-von leaned over the small, trim figure, his pale blue fingers working the clasp open and fitting the cloak fastening inside. Orosin studied his reflection critically. He had never questioned his looks before; the round, smiling face, the laughing, sherry-brown eyes, the fine, red-gold curls. He wore the grey and mauve uniform of the Merculian Diplomatic Corps. The long cloak lined with iridescent satin hung from the clasp on his right shoulder. Ruffles of lace frothed at his wrists and a slender ceremonial dagger encrusted with jewels hung at his waist.

“Gods, Von! I look so…so….”

“You look like what you are—an elegant Merculian diplomat.” Orosin bit his lip and didn’t answer. He glanced up at Thar-von, tall and distinguished in his simple navy blue tunic with the distinctive crystal figurine on a long chain around his neck, and the silver buttons and sash that matched his hair. It was no wonder there had been that unfortunate mix-up at their arrival. Following Alliance protocol, Thar-von had stepped forward first to make the official introductions. The Abulonians had instantly concluded that this imposing figure was the Merculian Ambassador. It took a lot of talk to persuade them that such a small, pretty person as Orosin could be of any importance. When this point was cleared up, they decided that Thar-von must be his body-guard. “It doesn’t matter, Beny,” Thar-von had murmured, using the affectionate, masculine-sounding nickname he had chosen years ago for his hermaphrodite friend. But it did matter…to Beny. The welcoming ceremonies were held in a huge amphitheater carved out of the dull, red rock. The Abulonians appeared warm and friendly. Dressed in colorful sarongs, kilts and feathered cloaks, they packed the open spaces, waving wooden clappers to show their enthusiasm. The women were grouped together in one area, giggling and chattering to each other behind their hands. This was obviously a patriarchal society and the strutting, virile men made Beny feel positively effete. They were tall, heavily built and dark-eyed, with deeply bronzed skin and thick, black, shoulder-length hair. They gazed at Beny’s red-gold curls with lively curiosity.

At home on Merculian, no distinguished visitor would ever be exhibited like this to the stares of the public. Beny stood alone on a raised platform of rock in the middle of the open space where everyone could see him. He bowed gravely to the makers of speeches, watched with real interest the amazing riding skills of a squad of men mounted on long-haired, four-legged creatures with a lumpy, gnarled horn on their foreheads. He greeted the leaders of various clans as they paraded by with their followers and standards. There was much discordant blowing of horns by a group of musicians perched high on the cliff near the edge of the arena. Beny was thankful for his years of travel with his parents on diplomatic business when he had witnessed many strange rituals. What he was not prepared for was being the center of attention; one lone, five feet tall hermaphrodite amid the barbaric, masculine splendor of Abulon.

A horn sounded mournfully along some distant hallway and almost at once there was the sound of a wooden clapper at the door. It opened and a small boy bowed low.

“You are ready, lords?”

“We are ready.” On impulse, Beny turned and held Thar-von’s large hand for a moment.

“Courage, my friend,” murmured the Serpian. “I am with you.” They followed the boy through the high, dim corridors. Beny’s hands were clenched at his side. Like all Merculians, used to almost endless daylight and the brightness of their double moons, he was terrified of the dark, and the lack of lighting here was like a frightening physical presence. He longed to touch the reassuring bulk of Thar-von who followed the regulation three paces behind. He began to recite a familiar litany to himself; ‘Darkness is only the absence of light. I am not afraid.’ One hand went to his dagger.

As the corridor curved downwards to the right, Beny became aware of the indistinct babble of voices and laughter. At last, a large, high-ceilinged hall spread out in front of them filled with smoke from the open fires built on raised platforms that were scattered about in an irregular pattern. Torches flared high up on the rough, stone walls. On one side, brightly dressed women sat in groups apart from the fires. The air was heavy with the acrid smells of burning animal flesh. Beny felt Thar-von’s hand on his shoulder for a moment, heard the familiar, low voice, a whisper on the air. “It’s only for a few hours. The pills will work.” As they passed, men seated on the floor on rugs and animal skins waved their bare arms and made the peculiar, deep-throated noise of approbation he had noticed earlier. The firelight danced on their faces and made points of yellow light gleam in their dark eyes. Obviously, Beny thought, a race of hunters, predators. He wondered bleakly whose idea it had been to abandon him here among these savages.