by Jayne Castle
But the one thing that Icy Claxby had not been able to teach Lucas was how to control the unpredictable flashes of the powerful talent that had made its first appearance shortly after Lucas hit puberty. Icy, an untrained prism, had done the next best thing. He had given Lucas some important advice.
"If you ever get yourself tested, boy, you're gonna go right off the scale," Claxby said. "That ain't good. It ain't good at all."
"Why not?" Lucas asked. He was only thirteen, and he was still having fun with the process of discovering his erratic psychic abilities. "I thought you said high-class talents are respected in the city-states. They get good jobs and stuff 'cause they're usually smart."
"A powerful talent gets respect, but too much talent scares folks. I'm just a medium-spectrum prism, kid, untrained to boot, but I can tell you that you've got more talent than those fancy lab techs will be able to measure. If they figure out that you don't fit into their notion of what's normal, they'll get spooked. Word will get out, and you'll have nothin' but trouble."
"I wouldn't mind throwing a scare into Kevin Flemming," Lucas said, thinking of the bully who was making life miserable for him and his classmates at the small school in Port LeConner.
Icy's alarm was immediate and plain. "Five hells, boy, you ain't tryin' to use your talent at school, are you? Damn it, I warned you not to ever fool around with it in front of anyone except me."
"No, sir," Lucas said. "I haven't tried to use it at school."
Icy's expression relaxed slightly. "There's other ways of dealin' with a bully. Find one."
"Yes, sir."
Icy gripped Lucas's shoulder with hands that bore the scars of a lifetime spent on a harsh frontier. His faded eyes glittered beneath his shaggy brows. "Listen, boy, I'm serious about this. If folks find out that you've got a powerful talent, there'll be hell to pay."
"Like what?"
"People will call you a psychic vampire."
"So?" The possibility held distinct appeal.
"So you'll have problems gettin' a job, for starters. Men won't want to hire you. Others will refuse to work with you or for you. Lots of ice miners are superstitious, you know that."
"Yes, but—"
"You won't be able to date any decent females 'cause their parents will think you're a freak. You been talkin' lately about havin' a real family of your own someday. Well, you'll never find a wife because no matchmaking agency will register you. See what I'm sayin'?"
"Yeah," Lucas said. Being a psychic vampire was apparently not as exciting or as useful as it sounded. It could prevent him from having a family of his own. Bad synergy. "I see."
Lucas had found another way to deal with Kevin Flemming, a method that had involved a large bucket of garbage and a pair of small, harmless twin-snakes.
Dealing with the erratic bursts of talent had proved to be much more complicated. Icy Claxby was an untrained prism. He could provide only limited guidance.
Psychic power made its own demands on a growing boy, just as all the other natural human needs and abilities did. The inborn urge to use the talent, to control it, and to understand it drove Lucas to seek solitude for extended periods of time. Icy Claxby had always been a loner himself. He didn't ask many questions about Lucas's absences.
With increasing frequency, Lucas took refuge in a small, hidden grotto he had discovered deep in the jungle. There, secure in the knowledge that no one could come upon him without warning, Lucas had spent endless hours teaching himself to deal with the strong spikes of psychic energy that his mind produced. The realization that he might never be able to work with a prism who could focus his full spectrum of talent had made him struggle all the harder to learn to control it himself.
He'd had some limited success, much to Icy's surprise. Lucas taught himself enough to conceal the extent of his talent from others, including prisms and synergistic psychologists. If he concentrated, he could force his psychic energy to obey his will for a few seconds at a time without using a prism. The hard-won skill had saved his life and the lives of others on more than one occasion during the Western Islands Action.
It was in the course of cleaning out the pirates that Lucas had discovered there were other powerful talents with secrets living in the islands. The knowledge that he was not the only freak in the world had reassured him. But Rafe Stonebraker and Nick Chastain valued their privacy as much as he valued his. The three men became friends and allies, but they rarely discussed the subject of their off-the-chart talents.
Icy Claxby died the year Lucas turned eighteen. Work, study, and the search for jelly-ice had filled the void for a time, but in the end a cold, dark well of loneliness had opened up somewhere deep inside Lucas. He spent long hours in his hidden grotto, gazing into the fathomless jungle pool. His dream of having a family of his own returned to haunt him.
Eventually he had formed a partnership with Jackson Rye, and for a time the fantasy of belonging to the Rye clan had kept the old dreams at bay, but Lucas had never lost sight of his goal to have his own family.
Five years ago he had met Dora. She had been as alone in the world as he. It seemed to him that they had a lot in common.
The runaway marriage had been a disaster, just as everyone had predicted. It took Lucas less than six weeks to realize that he had been married for his money. Family law being what it was, divorce was not a possibility, so Lucas spent the next eighteen months hoping that his beautiful, sexy, vivacious wife would learn to be happy with him. There were times when he thought he was making progress.
But one day, in a low moment, he had made the mistake of telling Dora about his talent. Whatever affection she might have had for him evaporated in an instant.
"Five hells," Dora whispered, horrified. "You're some kind of psychic vampire."
"It's not like that," Lucas said desperately. "It's harmless. "
"You're a freak, that's what you are. A damned freak. You should have told me before I agreed to marry you."
Lucas looked into her eyes and knew that he had just destroyed any hope of having the relationship he had yearned for. He should have listened to Icy Claxby.
"You can skip the outraged horror act." Lucas smiled humorlessly. "We both know you would never have turned down the chance to be the wife of the owner of Lodestar Exploration, even if you had known that he was a freak."
"You aren't the only owner of Lodestar," she reminded him.
In the end Lucas had learned the true meaning of being alone when he found himself sharing a home with a woman who wanted another man.
He pushed aside the old memories with the same ruthless control that he used to conceal his talent. He focused on the Synergistic Connections questionnaire.
Hair color. Did he really give a damn about hair color? What did it matter, anyway. A woman could dye her hair any color she chose.
A rich shade of amber brown would be nice, though.
He frowned when he noticed that the word amber did not appear on the list of hair colors. Light brown, dark brown, and reddish brown were offered, but not amber. Lucas picked up a pen and wrote in his selection.
Then he realized what he'd done.
"Damn." Lucas flipped the questionnaire closed and shoved it back in the drawer. He reached for the phone and dialed swiftly, before he could give himself time to reconsider.
A plumy masculine voice answered. "Psynergy, Inc. We make it happen. How can I help you?"
"I'd like to speak to Amaryllis Lark, please."
"One moment."
There was a pause and then Amaryllis came on the line. "This is Amaryllis Lark."
Lucas frowned at the tension in her voice. "Something wrong?" He thought he heard her breath catch. He didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one. Life was complicated for the intuitionally impaired.
"Is that you, Mr. Trent?"
"I'm not a client any longer. You can call me Lucas."
"Is there a problem with your bill?"
"I haven't seen it yet." Lucas lounged b
ack 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 schoo
l 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."
