Amaryllis (16 page)

“I haven't seen it yet.” Lucas lounged back in his chair. “It's probably sitting in my secretary's In basket.” For some reason he began to feel a little more in control of the situation. “I'm calling to ask if you'd like to go out with me.”

“Out?”

“Yes, out. You know, like on a date.”

“A date?”

She was floundering badly. He could tell that much. Lucas wondered if it was an indication that she was trying
to think of a way to turn him down or if she was so excited by the prospect of seeing him again that she could hardly speak. He suspected it was the former, not the latter.

“As I just pointed out,” he said, “I'm no longer a client. That being the case, I wondered if maybe your professional code of ethics would allow you to see me socially. Now that you've sent the bill and all.”

“You're registered at a marriage agency.”

“So are you. What has that got to do with anything? There's nothing in the agency contract that says we can't date whoever we want while we're waiting for them to find Mr. and Mrs. Right for us.”

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Do I sound like a stand-up comedian?”

“No.”

“Good. Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?” He realized he was holding his breath.

“As it happens, I have plans for this evening,” she said slowly.

“I see.” He exhaled deeply. It was probably better this way. No point getting involved in an affair that was limited by its very nature. He would go back to saving himself for his future wife.

Amaryllis hesitated. “You're welcome to join me.”

On the other hand, his future wife was highly unlikely to be saving herself for him, Lucas thought. He straightened in the chair. “Yeah, sure. I'll join you. Where are we going?”

“It's sort of a business matter, not a social thing,” she said hesitantly. “I have to see someone at a club down in Founders Square. Someplace called SynCity.”

Lucas opened his mouth. Nothing coherent emerged. Just something that sounded like “Huh?”

“SynCity. Have you heard of it?”

“Uh—”

“Lucas, is something wrong?”

“Uh—”

“Look, if this is a problem for you, feel free to decline,” Amaryllis said crisply. “I realize it's probably not what you had in mind for the evening.”

“No,” Lucas managed. “No, it's not, but it's not a
problem.” Fortunately he was sitting down, he thought. Otherwise he would very likely have hurt himself. “Can I ask what sort of business you have with someone at the SynCity Club?”

“I don't have time to explain it now. I've got an appointment in a minute. I'll tell you all about it this evening. I'll pick you up around eight.”

“That's not necessary,” he managed. “I'll pick you up.”

“That's very nice of you. And, Lucas?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” Amaryllis said in a soft, urgent rush. “I've never been to any of the clubs in Founders Square. I appreciate the company.”

“Sure. My pleasure. I think. See you at eight.” Lucas very carefully replaced the phone.

He sat staring blankly out the window for a long while. He tried hard, but he could not think of a single reason why prim, straitlaced Amaryllis Lark would want to spend the evening at one of the raunchiest syn-sex strip clubs in town.

Dillon Rye sauntered into Lucas's office shortly before five o'clock. He was dressed in some designer's razzle-dazzle version of traditional Western Islands gear. Lucas hid a grin. The tough, no-nonsense denizens of the islands would have laughed themselves silly at the sight of the multitude of shiny snaps, zippered pockets, useless epaulets, and innumerable flaps that decorated Dillon's khaki shirt and trousers.

“Hi, Lucas.” Dillon threw himself down into the nearest chair. “Saw your picture in the paper. How're things going with Miss Lark? Did the agency date work out?”

Lucas folded his arms on the desk. He saw no reason to correct the impression that he had met Amaryllis through an agency. “We're going out again tonight, as a matter of fact.”

“Struck lucky on the first match, huh? Totally synergistic, man. I hear it often happens that way. Those agency syn-shrinks know what they're doing. Do I hear wedding bells?”

“No,” Lucas said. “You do not. Amaryllis and I are still in the initial stage of getting to know each other.”

“Oh. Well, it sounds hopeful, at least. The time has come, as they say. You're at that age where responsible men are supposed to get married. You can't put it off much longer, can you?” Dillon spoke with the serene complacency of a young man who would not have to concern himself with society's expectations for several more years.

Lucas decided to change the subject. “What did you want to talk about?”

Dillon sobered instantly. His blue eyes, so reminiscent of Jackson, turned uncharacteristically serious. “I need a loan. A big one.”

Lucas eyed him thoughtfully. “Why?”

“For the investment opportunity of a lifetime.”

“Ah. One of those.”

“Lucas, I'm serious about this. It's my big chance. If I get in on the ground floor, I'll be worth a fortune in three years.”

“What sort of investment are we discussing?”

Dillon leaned forward in his chair. His expression lit with the fires of youthful enthusiasm. “A guy I know who is putting together his own exploration company. Sort of like Lodestar. But instead of jelly-ice, he's going to search for deposits of fire crystal.”

“Fire crystal? Dillon, use your head. Fire crystal is almost as scarce as First Generation artifacts.”

The spectacularly beautiful, blood red gemstone known as fire crystal was the by-product of a synergistic reaction that occasionally took place between seawater and a rare plant known as crimson moss. The moss grew on shoreline rocks in certain remote coastal locations. During the formation process, chemicals from the seawater and the moss combined to alter the basic structure of the rocks. Fire crystal was the result.

The gemstone did not form every time seawater and crimson moss came in contact. If that had been the case, it would have been relatively simple to duplicate the process in a controlled fashion. But for some as yet undiscovered reason, the making of fire crystal was unpredictable. The synergistic reaction took place only rarely. One theory was
that the red crystal was formed only when the seawater was infused with the excretions of some unidentified species of fish during its spawning process.

“Come on, you're exaggerating,” Dillon said. “Fire crystal's not that scarce. The fact that it's rare is what makes it so valuable.”

Lucas shook his head. “Trust me, Dillon, this has all the hallmarks of a scam.”

“I'm telling you, this guy I know has developed an instrument that can locate deposits of the stuff.”

“If a commercially viable gadget had been invented to find fire crystal, it would be front-page news.”

“He's keeping it a secret until he can get the patent.”

“Is that what he told you? You're being taken, Dillon.”

“That's not true. This guy is on the level.”

“Is he affiliated with a reputable firm?”

“Not exactly,” Dillon admitted. “At least, he was with a big company but he quit when he got the idea for this instrument. If he'd stayed with the company, the firm would have tried to retain the rights to the device.”

“What company was he with before he came up with his idea? Seastar Mining? Bancroft Exploration? Gemsearch?”

Dillon's features compressed into stubborn lines. “He can't risk telling anyone where he worked. You know how it is with big corporations. They might take him to court in order to get their hands on his invention.”

“I'm sorry, Dillon, but this guy you know sounds like a con artist. My advice is to stay clear of him.”

“Five hells,” Dillon exploded, “you sound just like Dad. I thought you'd be different. I thought maybe you'd understand.”

“You asked your father for a loan?”

“He told me I was an idiot.” Dillon's mouth twisted bitterly. “I'm twenty-three years old but everyone treats me as if I were still a kid. Mom and Dad want me to choose between going on to grad school or finding a job in a corporation. But I want to do something interesting with my life.”

“Interesting?”

“Something with potential. Something exciting. Jackson was out in the Western Islands looking for jelly-ice when he was my age. So were you, for that matter.”

“Dillon—”

“If Mom and Dad have their way, I won't even get out of New Seattle. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to suffocate. They've got my future all mapped out for me, and it's so boring and predictable, it makes me sick.”

“Boring?”

“I can see it all now.” Dillon fanned his hands out as if revealing a vision. “First a nice, safe, nine-to-five job with a nice, safe, dull company. A few years of quietly going crazy as I work up through endless layers of do-nothing management. A few piddling little raises along the way. The next thing you know I'll be in my thirties. I'll be registering with a marriage agency and getting ready to start my own family.”

“What's so bad about starting your own family?”

“Nothing. When the time is right. But I want to live first. Right now my whole future is going down the drain and all because I can't get a simple loan.”

Lucas hesitated and then decided to go with his instincts. “Do you want to come to work for Lodestar?”

“Are you crazy?” Dillon's eyes blazed. “I'd give my right arm to go out to the islands to work for Lodestar. But you know how Mom and Dad have been since Jackson got killed. They'd never let me go to work in the islands.”

“You don't need your parents' permission to apply for a job,” Lucas said quietly.

“Easy for you to say. You don't know what it's like having a family breathing down your neck.” Dillon broke off, flushing. “Sorry. Didn't mean to insult you.”

“Forget it. You're right. I don't know what it's like to have a family breathing down my neck.”

“After Jackson died, Mom and Dad changed.” Dillon's gaze slid awkwardly away for a few seconds. Then he slammed a bunched fist down onto the arm of his chair. “Damn it, I loved my brother, but I've spent my whole life in his shadow. He was always the star. Athletics, business,
women, you name it, he was a success. He even died a hero.”

“I know, Dillon.”

“I want to prove to my folks that I'm as smart and savvy as Jackson was. I guess I want to prove to myself that I'm as good as he was.”

“Listen to me, Dillon,” Lucas said. “You don't have to prove a damn thing to anyone. Live your own life, not your brother's.”

“You don't understand.” Dillon surged to his feet and stalked toward the door. “No one understands.”

Founders Square was the oldest neighborhood of New Seattle. The twelve-block district near the waterfront marked the location of the colonists' first permanent settlement.

None of the buildings in the area actually dated from the first years of colonization because the original structures had all been built of Earth-based materials. They had quickly disintegrated along with virtually everything else that had been made on Earth.

The stranded settlers had rebuilt using native materials. Many of those buildings still stood, as grim and determined looking in their way as the people who had built them. These sturdy, stalwart structures were not what anyone could call striking architectural statements, but they were important. They represented the beginning of history on St. Helens.

Lucas had a hunch that the founders would have been shocked to the core of their sturdy, upright souls if they could have foreseen what would become of the neighborhood.

Founders Square was now home to the city's most popular nightclubs and casinos. After dark an aura of decadent glamour enveloped the old district. The garish lights of the main strip were bright enough to make visitors ignore the warren of grubby alleys and narrow side streets that angled away from the main thoroughfare.

The flashy casinos promised high-stakes gambling and
exotic entertainment. Smaller clubs offered dancing, syn-sex shows, and cheap green wine.

It took Lucas some time to find a parking space. He finally managed to squeeze the Icer into a tiny slot on a skinny side street two blocks off the main strip. A small, blinking sign advertising a grungy syn-sex club glowed coldly above the entrance to a very dark, very narrow lane.

A man would have to be desperate for sex to risk going down that dark alley, Lucas thought.

He glanced at Amaryllis as he deactivated the Icer's engine. She was eyeing the flashing syn-sex sign with distaste. She looked as thoroughly disapproving as any founder.

“So, do you come down here often?” Lucas asked neutrally.

Amaryllis started nervously. “No. I told you, I've never been in the square after dark.”

“Are you ready to explain to me why we're celebrating our first date here?”

“I'll explain it on the way to the SynCity Club.” She opened the door and got out.

Lucas looked at his watch as he climbed out of the car. He had picked up Amaryllis less than twenty minutes ago. They hadn't been together a full half hour yet, and already his mood was starting to deteriorate.

So why was he here, Lucas wondered. But as soon as he took Amaryllis's elbow he had his answer. Just touching her caused every muscle in his body to tighten with sexual anticipation. He could tolerate five hells' worth of irritation for the sake of this sensation even if he did end the evening under a cold shower.

With Amaryllis's arm tucked into his own, Lucas started toward the bright lights of the strip two blocks away.

“I know I've been acting very mysteriously, Lucas, but there's a reason.”