It was a brilliant spring day and the lawn had been set up early for croquet. A wave of Terran Anglophilia had recently swept over Brunzibar. I didn’t mind the tea and crumpets so much, but there’s something unsettling about seeing aliens explain the merits of cricket. There was a lovely gazebo with a string quartet and elegant tables laden with eclectic English snack food; delicate finger sandwiches lay displayed side by side with bangers and blood pudding. It was a prestigious event, with only the highest social and political types in attendance, a Who’s Who among the rich and famous on Brunzibar, both human and alien. We had just started at croquet, playing with a set of mallets, wickets, and balls fabricated from a local wood and painted with painfully bright colors.
“No, Mr. Conroy, you’re swinging your mallet much too hard. Let me show you.” Baroness Parmaq moved behind me and her arms surrounded my waist as her hands grasped my forearms. I did my best to hold onto my mallet. Trakens are aliens, but they’re human looking aliens—third cousins, if you will. In the case of the Baroness, kissing cousins. She was a stunningly athletic woman half a head taller than me, and I’m considered tall. Her hair was blonde and coifed in an elaborate swirl of spiraling locks that cascaded all around her head and made me think of a force of nature, like a hurricane. Her skin had tanned to a golden perfection, and her face would have sparked envy in Helen of Troy. She strolled along the lawn in an airy frock of iridescent pearl that showed a great deal of leg and left her shoulders bare. So, no, I didn’t mind in the least getting croquet instruction from her, and didn’t care whether that attitude originated in my head or was something she’d slipped into it. I was in the arms of a sophisticated woman who also happened to be fabulously wealthy and powerful. I had nothing to complain about, but not everyone shared my view. Which is how the trouble started.
Reggie, my buffalo dog—and the most likely reason that the Baroness had latched onto me—had been happily nibbling the grass near my feet. He began bleating plaintively and scratching at my shoes. A shiver ran through me, and then I heard a familiar voice.
“Get away from her, you. . . you. . . human!”
I’d been looking down at my croquet ball. I looked up in time to catch a fist to the face. It was a powerful punch but I didn’t fall. I couldn’t. The Baroness, inadvertently but quite effectively, held me up. As a result, I received a second blow before I could stagger free. I turned to confront the bastard who’d sucker-punched me, Lord Ramilon Nerkt, President of Trakus Industrials. I’d met him the same day I’d met the Baroness; I hadn’t much cared for him then either. He glowered now; his eyes radiated hatred and contempt with just enough jealousy to justify their brilliant green. He had enjoyed a relationship of some sort with the Baroness, and it had ended rather badly just days ago. Clearly, he thought I’d replaced him. He came at me again and I raised my guard; he wasn’t going to get another freebie.
Only, I couldn’t lift my arms up. Part of me just didn’t want to, and that part held control. I felt loathsome, despicable, an utter cad. I deserved a good thrashing. His third punch caught me just below my left eye and snapped my head back hard enough to bounce my brain against the inside of my skull. It was only right. I dropped to my knees like a broken thing, sobbing. Lord Nerkt hovered above me. He chortled, and I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. I could take him, I knew I could, but. . . I couldn’t. Nerkt’s fist landed in my gut and knocked me onto my back. I watched, paralyzed and helpless, as he raised his boot over my face and prepared to stomp down with his full weight.
And then he fell over. My head cleared instantly and I could move again. Reggie stampeded over to me and began licking my face with his tiny blue tongue. I gathered him into the crook of my arm and scrambled to my feet. The Baroness stood holding a croquet mallet as she frowned down at the unconscious Lord Nerkt.
“Are you all right, Mr. Conroy? I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “I had no idea that Ramy would be here, let alone behave so poorly.”
I paused a moment and checked to see if the bastard had broken my nose while also trying to figure out what had just happened. “What just happened? I couldn’t move. . . couldn’t fight back.”
“Of course not,” said a new voice. “Ramilon Nerkt didn’t want you to have a chance of fighting back, he wanted you defeated at his feet.”
I turned to see who had spoken and found myself locking eyes with Chancellor Vishto, the ranking Traken on Brunzibar. He reached out, lightly touched my face, and scowled. “You’d better get some ice on that. It looks worse than it is, but it’s still going to hurt.”
I nodded. He was right. I should get some ice. I turned to do just that when one of the servants appeared at my elbow with an ice bucket and clean towel. Other servants were hauling Lord Nerkt to his feet and applying a cold compress to the back of his head. I gingerly touched a towel-wrapped chunk of ice to my face and regarded Vishto. He was handsome, in the way that an aging matinee idol is handsome. Impeccably dressed in a dark suit of living fibers, he toted an ornate walking stick of some dark wood. His face was deeply tanned and lined, but you wanted to trust those lines; his age spoke of experience and wisdom. He’d been advisor to three generations of Traken sovereigns. His milky blue eyes radiated calm. I felt much better.
“Calinda,” he said, addressing the Baroness, “I thought you assured me Ramilon wouldn’t be attending this function.”
“That was my understanding, Annaran,” she said as she lowered her mallet to a more typical position. “He told me he was returning to Trakus on the next ship.”
“He seems to have changed his plans. Perhaps you should return to the embassy. Alone.”
“And desert Mr. Conroy? I could never do that. Besides, we’ll be playing charades soon and I don’t want to miss it.”
Two humans hurried over. I recognized one as our host, Spencer Novato, the wealthiest man on Brunzibar. We’d met a few days earlier, a casual conversation over brandy and cigars, while our respective teams of lawyers hammered out the details of a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Novato was a light-haired man with a dark mustache and an easy smile. He was shorter than me and moved with an extra tension of energy, like a sprinter waiting for the starting pistol. He wore a tailored outfit of white linen, expensive and flawless, as always. I didn’t know the fellow with him, a bigger man with an inexpressive face and a drab brown suit that looked as if it belonged to someone else. “Are you all right, Conroy?” said Novato.
“I’m feeling much better, thanks,” I said.
He glanced at Vishto and then looked more closely at me. “Are you sure?” He laid a hand on my shoulder and everything changed. I didn’t feel better, I discovered, although Vishto wanted me to. I could discern his desire somehow, but it wasn’t taking hold any longer. I looked at the Baroness and I could feel her unspoken, possibly unconscious, need to be loved and realized that my attraction to her, though not as strong as before, was nonetheless my own. The effect was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
I turned back to Novato. “What did you do?”
He shrugged. “Just brought you a moment’s clearheadedness.” He nodded to the Chancellor. “My apologies. Lord Nerkt had come to see me. We’d recently ended a business negotiation, rather sourly I’m afraid. That’s why I asked Chief Miles to be here.” He gestured at the brown-suited man to his side. “I’d feared Nerkt might do something violent, but I assumed the violence would be directed at me.”
“Police Chief Matthew Miles,” said the chief, bowing his head lightly as he added, “Baroness, Chancellor.” He offered me his hand, a firm grip and a brisk handshake. “Do you want to press charges, Mr. Conroy? There are plenty of witnesses.”
Novato still had his hand on me, as if doing so kept me free of Traken influence. I looked around our little group, glancing in turn at the two humans and the two Traken, and shook my head. “No, that’s all right. I’ll let him have that one, but if he tries it again it will be the last time.”
Lord Nerkt chose that m
oment to begin bellowing. The servants let go of him and he stormed over to the knot of us. I could feel his rage, his hatred, beating against me. He wanted me broken, humiliated, or dead. The emotions washed over me but none of them stuck. Novato’s hand remained on my shoulder.
“I might have known it,” Nerkt shouted at me as he drew closer. “It’s a human conspiracy to destroy me. You and Novato are in it together. You want to shatter my financial life as well as my personal life? I won’t let you! I’ll see you both dead first!”
“Oh, shut up!” Novato removed his hand from my shoulder and sprang forward. He drove his fist into Nerkt’s face and the Traken went down a second time. Even aliens can have glass jaws.
Chief Miles frowned at Novato and then began issuing orders to the servants. They hauled Lord Nerkt to the main house, and the police chief went with them. After a moment’s silence the rest of us rejoined the party.
Half an hour into a disappointingly subdued game of charades Novato appeared at my elbow and drew me aside.
“Say now, Conroy, I understand you’re something of a hypnotist. Maybe you can put on an impromptu show, lighten the mood a bit?”
For more than a decade, I’d made my living as a stage hypnotist working spaceport clubs and dives in some out-of-the-way places that were desperate for live entertainment. That was all in the past though. Thanks to breaking the monopoly on buffalo dogs I was now rich as Croesus and trying my best to become a gentleman of leisure. While you couldn’t pay me to do the old “watch the pocket watch” game nowadays, I still like getting my ego stroked as much as the next man. At the request of Chancellor Vishto, I’d done a command performance a couple days earlier after dinner at the Traken embassy, even hypnotizing the Baroness—much to Lord Nerkt’s displeasure. My dinner companions had all been fascinated, and I’d been invited to stay on at the embassy as a guest. Apparently word of my little show had reached Spencer Novato.
The Baroness appeared instantly alongside me; Traken hearing is annoyingly good. She tugged playfully on my arm and said, “Oh, yes, be a dear. We’d all love for you do it again. And this time I get to watch.”
What could I do? My lovely Baroness wanted the thing and I was the only one around who could provide it. The quartet had left so I claimed the gazebo as a makeshift stage and accepted volunteers from among the party guests. The people I was about to hypnotize had wealth on a planetary scale. This was not a crowd to make cluck like chickens or to otherwise embarrass. I selected three volunteers—a Carlysle and two humans. All went under without difficulty, each with a different trigger phrase. I’m partial to two-word triggers, usually a flavor or food and a mythological reference. That’s not the sort of combination you’re apt to hear in casual conversation, which is what makes it so effective as a trigger. I implanted a few common suggestions for the audience’s amusement: I turned my hypnotic subjects into robots, I convinced them they were madly in love with their shadows, I regressed them to early childhood and asked them about their favorite toys and imaginary friends. The Baroness sat in the front row with Reggie snuggled comfortably in her lap. She laughed at all the right spots, her eyes twinkling with delight. It felt like the best performance I’d ever given.
I left my volunteers with the usual courteous suggestions, rewarding them for their participation by making them feel refreshed and vibrant for the rest of the day. The audience applauded and I stepped down from the gazebo, reclaiming my buffalo dog. Baroness Parmaq slipped her arm through mine and we made the rounds; Reggie dozed, curled under my other arm. We mingled. The other guests all made a point of complimenting my little show. Novato strode up and again clapped me on the shoulder.
“That was astounding, Conroy, utterly astounding,” he said, taking a flat gold case from within his coat. He opened it, withdrew a cigar and then offered the case to me. I helped myself. The cigars were a brownish purply hue: Infinity Smokes. Each one cost more money than I used to make in a year. Novato took a small polyblade tool from his pocket and snipped off the end of his cigar. I bit through mine and spat the tip out. We lit up. Novato took a deep draw, held it a moment, and then blew a perfect ring of acrid and slightly minty smoke. He gave me a knowing wink, as if the sharing of cigars marked us as members of some secret tobacco fraternity.
“And it’s so very different from the talents of our Traken friends,” Novato continued, gesturing in the air with his cigar. “So. . . deliberate. And do I understand you hypnotized the Baroness the other night?”
“He did indeed, Mr. Novato,” said the Baroness. “I quite enjoyed the experience.”
“Amazing. Just think what a talent like yours would do for my negotiation skills. I’d be able to turn the tables on our friend Lord Nerkt. Why, with just a snap of my fingers I’d have my competition signing away their corporations for a fraction of their worth.”
Another voice intruded before I could reply. “Mr. Conroy, I’ve been doing some reading on the subject. I confess, your expertise is why I invited you to dinner the other night.” Chancellor Vishto had come up on the Baroness’s other side and joined us. He wrinkled his nose at the smoke and Novato didn’t offer him a cigar. “I was of the understanding that hypnosis could not cause one to perform an action he would not normally undertake.” He paused and gave our host a cool stare. “It would take a subtler power than hypnosis, Mr. Novato, to effect your desires.”
“That’s true, Chancellor, but it’s far from insurmountable,” I said, making an effort to direct my smoke away from Vishto.
He turned to me. “How so?”
“Hypnosis is all about suggestion. Mr. Novato might not be able to hypnotize his competitors to sign a one-sided contract, but that’s not to say he couldn’t make them sign something else. The trick is to present the individual with a context in which the target action not only makes sense, but is desirable.”
“I don’t follow,” said the Chancellor. I felt a compulsion to explain and alleviate his confusion.
“You’re saying it’s really about just making them sign a piece of paper,” said the Baroness. “They wouldn’t sign a contract, so you don’t give them a contract. Instead you tell them it’s something else.”
I nodded. The lady was sharp. “That’s right,” I said. “You could tell your subject that he’s a famous media star and you’re his biggest fan. You’ve seen all his vids, and you’ve waited hours in line to meet him, and oh, would he be ever so kind and autograph this page you happened to have brought?”
“But, he’s not signing an autograph,” said the Chancellor.
“But he would, and that’s the key,” I said. I stared into the Baroness’s eyes and continued. “Create a compelling situation, and it’s not difficult to elicit the desired response.”
Novato laughed smugly, looking right at Chancellor Vishto. “Subtle enough for you, Vishto?”
The Chancellor eyed Novato like a bug. “Thank you, Mr. Conroy. Most illuminating. None of my sources presented it quite that way.”
I shrugged, causing Reggie to let loose several farts of oxygen, the trademark of all buffalitos. I worried briefly about the cigars, but Reggie quickly subsided.
“Perhaps,” said Calinda, returning my gaze, “it’s the difference between theory and application.”
“Or knowing and doing,” I said.
“Indeed,” said Vishto. “I shall endeavor to remember that.” He nodded politely and took his leave.
The party was definitely breaking up and the Baroness and I left soon after. We returned to the embassy but not to my guest suite. Instead, Calinda insisted on inspecting and tending to the bruises Lord Nerkt had inflicted. She took me by the hand and led me to her own set of rooms. I ended up spending the night. I’m too much of a gentleman to elaborate, but it’s fair to say I’ve never been a more attentive lover. Blame that telepathic intention of hers; I was in no position to complain.
In the morning, my Baroness was gone. I was surprised by how much I missed her. I found Reggie curled up on her pillow, s
noring softly, and now and then licking the air.
I slipped on a robe and walked from the bedroom to the adjacent parlor, hoping to find her there. I didn’t, but discovered a sumptuous breakfast of Eggs Montrachet, a rasher of Traken bacon, a pot of coffee, and two kinds of citrus juice. My napkin lay wrapped around a small gift box. I poured myself some coffee and unwrapped the box. It held a flat, two centimeter disk of burnished bluish metal, a medallion of some kind, connected to an intricately wrought platinum chain. There was also a note:
Dearest—
I’m sorry I’m not there with you now.
I remembered an early morning appointment that I could not break.
I’ll see you again tonight and we can pick up where we left off.
Till then, a small gift to remember me.
Wear it, and it will keep you safe from a repeat of yesterday’s misfortune.
She’d signed it with an elaborate glyph of curves and acute angles, her royal mark. The chain was beautiful and expensive. The dangling disc felt cold to the touch and vibrated softly. I slipped the chain over my head and tucked the thing under my shirt. She was sweet to leave a gift, all the more so if she were hurrying to an appointment, but I didn’t see how it would keep me safe. I planned to do that myself through the simple expediency of avoiding Lord Nerkt. Given his earlier rage at seeing Calinda and me play croquet, I doubted he’d take the latest development in our relationship at all well.
I ate breakfast and got dressed. Then I scooped up Reggie, fed him the last of the bacon, slipped out of the room and headed for my own suite and a fresh change of clothes. After setting my buffalo dog in his daybed by the door as I walked in, I continued through the anteroom to the bedroom and started to unbutton my shirt. I stopped halfway across the floor. Chancellor Vishto was sitting at the bedroom’s dressing table. He didn’t look happy.
Buffalito Bundle Page 17
