by Sharon Joss
Within moments, a dozen more traggahs had stuck their heads out as well, and their sharp whistles echoed loudly across the quiet stable yard. Some began bucking and kicking at their stable doors.
He froze. These huge animals were nothing like horses. As he turned to leave, he ran smack into a small Khirjahni woman and knocked her flat.
He helped her to her feet, noting as he did, dark bruises at her wrists. “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. His apology was drowned out by the noise of the traggahs.
She gave a single cough, and the commotion quieted.
He stared at her. “Wow. How did you do that?”
She frowned at him for a moment, then her eyes widened and she gave him a wondering smile. “Oh, you’re an empath!”
“What?”
She circled him as if he were an oddity. “You can sense them. You are able to hear their thoughts.”
“What?” Her eyes were her best feature. Mottled green and brown like those of the other Khirjahni he’d met, but she also had a light blue ring the iris.
“They can hear yours.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Khirjahni, although her horns appeared to be much smaller than others he’d seen.
“You are looking for someone. They want to attract your attention.” She moved over to one of the stalls, and petted the excited occupant’s long nose gently. “They want you to notice them. They cannot understand why you are ignoring them.”
She was just a little thing. Early twenties, perhaps.
He frowned. How could they…? Sure enough. From the open half of every stable door, peered a traggah with their ears pricked forward, staring at him with a bright-eyed intensity he found disturbing.
“I have never seen them react in this way to a Terran before.”
“What did you mean when you said they could hear my thoughts?” She didn’t look like Jiala or the other Khirjahni women he’d seen. Her bone structure was more delicate, more feminine. She didn’t have the heavy brow ridge or a thick neck.
“I have never met a Terran empath.”
“I’m not an empath. Not really. I don’t think.”
“My father was Terran. I always wondered if my gift came from him or the Goddess.”
He shrugged. “Some people on Earth have the gift. I wouldn’t say I was one of them. It only works between my brother and me.”
The traggah in the stall behind him whistled loudly. Almost like a laugh. He backed away.
When she smiled, her whole face lit up. “Traggahs instinctively yearn to bond. He will not hurt you. What is your name?”
She stroked the traggah’s neck affectionately. She had no fear of the great creature, which could have squashed her easily. He held out his open palm, holding still as he remembered doing for the ponies he’d known so long ago. “Renly Harkness.”
She cupped her hand beneath his open palm and brought it closer to the animal’s wet nose. “This is Silverbeard,” she said. “I am K’Sati.”
As soon as he touched the animal’s nose, he knew it wouldn’t hurt him. The tension eased from his shoulders and he reached out to stroke the muscular neck. “So silky.”
K’Sati smiled. “We shave them for racing. In the wild, their coat is long and warm. We use their wool for making cloth, but they are nothing like the sheep you have on Terra. Traggah are brave; their hides are tough and thick enough to protect them from predators. Even longteeth. Only craggon hide is thicker. Not even arrows can pierce it.”
In spite of her rugged boots and scruffy clothing, she seemed intelligent. Her English held but a scant trace of accent. Well educated, he guessed. She wore knee-high boots and worn clothing. “Are you one of the jockeys?”
She smiled shyly. “I’m an assistant to the training master at Arkady Racing Stables. These,” she gestured to the dozen or so interested traggahs. “Are my herd. We are bonded. I can sense when they are ill or when they are ready to run. With my help, the head trainer can decide how best to train them.”
The traggah nuzzled his hand, seeking attention. Renly silently rejoiced in his forethought to have brought so many pairs of gloves. At this rate, he would need them.
“Silverbeard likes you. Do you not hear him in your mind?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m an empath like you think.”
She cocked her head at him. “Why are you here? Off-worlders are not allowed in the stable areas.”
“Oh.” He showed her his guest pass and pulled Garrett’s picture out of his pocket. “I’m looking for this man. Have you seen him?”
She studied the image of Garrett, and then shook her head. “Sorry.”
“He’s my brother. He came here for the festival four years ago, and disappeared. I came here to find him. When I came to the track this morning, I got the feeling he was close by. When I didn’t find him at the warm-up, I thought I’d have better luck at the stables.”
“Why the stables?”
Such a lovely, expressive face. Not classically beautiful, but she had a spark about her. “We grew up with horses.” An innocent sincerity. “Um, back on Earth. He’s a professional gambler.”
The spark dimmed as she handed Garrett’s picture back. “Ah. Then your best chance to find him is at the betting windows.”
“Of course.” He wondered if gambling went against the Khirjahni belief system. She certainly did not look happy he’d mentioned the subject. “Sorry to disturb. I’ll leave you to your charges.”
* * *
By the time he got back to the track, long lines the betting windows were every bit as mobbed as he’d feared. He stationed himself against the wall at one end of the elegant wagering pavilion, grateful to be out of the chill of the stables, but suffocating amidst a sea of furs, heavy perfumes, and the sparkle of gold and jewels worn by men and women alike. No wonder the Arkady Corporation kept such a limited guest list. He had never seen so much obvious wealth in one place in his life.
The noise and the cackle of shrill laughter did nothing to quell his discomfort at being in the midst of so many strangers. He remembered one of the tricks Dr. Singh had taught him; how to maintain his calm in overwhelming situations. He concentrated on only one person at a time. The crowds interfered with getting a good look at all the betting windows, but he found a spot where he could observe people in the two or three betting lines closest to him. He kept his attention focused on the men, and as each approached one of the betting windows, he concentrated on comparing their jaw lines, brows, and cheeks to his memories of Garrett’s. Face after face; profile after profile, but none of them resembled Garret.
Near the end of the day, in the mad rush before the last race when the crowds at the windows were heaviest, he caught sight of a familiar face. By the time he realized who he was, the guy had already stepped away with from the window.
Renly waved wildly. “Paul,” but the gate announcer’s voice drowned him out. “Paul Hite! Over here!”
The dark-haired man turned and Renly saw the recognition dawn in the face of his brother’s best friend. Without a word, Paul turned and began to move away from him through the crowds. With his heart beating madly, Renly fought and shouted his way through the mass of people across the hall. By the time he got outside, Paul was nowhere to be found.
Even in his frustration at losing Paul, his hopes soared. He’s here! If Paul was here, so was Garrett.
CHAPTER 9
Renly’s initial excitement at seeing Paul Hite wore off quickly. Four more days passed without another glimpse of him. Wayne re-checked the master list of Gold Festival attendees, but Paul's name wasn't on the list. He even showed him the crew manifests for the ships transporting festival passengers. Once again, they went through all the hotel and casino records, but found no sign of anyone named Paul Hite. Wayne pointed out that seeing his brother's friend did not mean Garrett was on Aurum.
Renly spent hours scanning the security images, searching for Paul's face. He mad
e several sketches of Paul from memory, but they all ended up looking like Garrett. Without an image, he was the only person able to recognize Paul.
With no other leads, Wayne told him he was free to keep searching on his own.
Frustrated and punchy from lack of sleep, he spent most mornings in the operations center, scanning security images from the casinos; afternoons he spent at the track. Every evening, he cruised the casinos, but with no success. Garrett’s presence; so strong when he first arrived, seemed to fade with each passing day.
* * *
The royal family arranged for his transport from his hotel to the Gold Ball; held in the Midas Ballroom Conservatory, adjacent to the Amalthea Hotel. Wayne told him the Amalthea provided the best security of all the hotels in the festival village, and constructed to provide guests with virtually inaccessible private vaults for their valuables. The jewelers and gold buyers stayed here, secure in the knowledge their merchandise and their purchases would be as safe on Aurum as anywhere in the universe.
Despite the plain and box-like design of the hotel, the Conservatory was a charming birdcage of iron and beveled crystal panes built in an old-Earth Art Nouveau style. With the suns setting behind the western horizon, millions of twinkle lights lit the ornate building like treasure chest full of diamonds.
The royal family sent a car and chauffer to his hotel, along with a formal suit of clothes in the Terran style. Renly balked when he read the label on the inside the jacket, indicating the garment had been custom tailored for His Royal Highness, Okanga Hakaroah, but the chauffer convinced him to wear it. The jacket hung loosely on him; too big in the chest and shoulders, but the sash hid the ill fit. The King's suit was clean and far nicer than the suit he'd brought with him, and he supposed one didn’t turn down the King’s wardrobe, when offered. The deep purple sash was a bit much, but the Terran woman who took his royal invitation assured him he looked splendid. His hopes of finding Garrett faded when she gave him a green and gold eye mask and helped him put it on.
“It’s a tradition, dear,” she told him. “Everyone but the mandragons wear them.”
He stepped into the main ballroom and stared in wonder. Polished onyx floors reflected the twinkle lights of stars and half-moon shining through the cut crystal ceiling. Women in brocade skirts and shapely bare legs seemed to drift in mid-air across the night sky mirrored beneath them. The room swam with glitter provided by the guests; each bedecked in layers of sparkling gems.
Couples moved gracefully across the dance floor; he estimated no more than three hundred guests. Even so, with everyone wearing masks, finding Garrett would be difficult. He noticed the bar on the other side of the room and made his way through the crowd. Tremolians he recognized from the cruise ship; their colorful costumes sparkled with jewels and tinkling golden bells. A group of humanoid types with bright blue hair and skin clustered near the window. By ignoring the obvious non-Terrans and women he eliminated a third of the guests. The Arkady executives all wore black robes emblazoned with the company hologram: an image of a golden planet surrounded by rings of glittering silver.
He sat at the bar and the tender set a glass of champagne in front of him. From here, he could get a pretty good look and anyone ordering a drink, but after all the disappointments of this week, he wasn’t expecting too much. Ambassador Reinhardt insisted this event was the best place to find Garrett; he hoped it was true.
A man slipped onto the stool next to him and muttered his order Khirjahni.
The language classes he’d taken on board the ship had seemed like a good idea at the time, but since the official language of the Gold Festival was Terran English, he hadn’t much chance to use his newfound skill. “Doh cassa English,” he asked, hopefully.
The man turned to him and gave him a ghastly, golden-eyed, toothy smile. His swollen face was covered with iridescent brown scales of varying sizes. The man’s snout and large misshapen jaw jutted forward like an animal’s. His narrow lips did not cover the neat row of pointy brown teeth along the gum line. “Of course I speak English. I'm American, same as you.” The graveled voice scraped like an iron rasp across stone.
He gasped. The guy was not wearing a mask.
The creature’s expression faded somewhat, but he shrugged it off. “Oh boy. Lucky me, I must be your first mandragon.” He laughed; a choking bark. Long black claws grew from the tips of his gnarled brown fingers.
"Y-you're human?"
“Surely you’ve heard of dragon pox.” He spoke carefully, as if he had trouble getting his mouth around the words.
A nervous shiver ran down Renly’s spine. The guy had a Boston accent. With a trembling hand, he pushed away his empty glass. “They told me the coast is safe for off-worlders.”
“I guess I got nothing to worry about, then.” The thickened skin on the man’s face masked his expression. He raised his hand in a mock toast.
Renly tried not to stare. The bones of the mandragon's skull face had been reshaped and elongated. His entire facial structure seemed impossible. Dragon pox indeed. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he grabbed the bar. Why hadn’t anyone else in the room noticed?
Wayne had mentioned the mandragons. Gold prospectors who lived in the forbidden zone. Dirt-eaters, he called them. Based on Wayne's description, he assumed they were not welcome in civilized company. “I thought-- I mean, why are you here?”
“Are you kidding? The Gold Ball is on our honor. Look around. There’s a lot more like me here.”
Confused, he took another look at the crowd and realized the man was right. People he assumed to be wearing costumes looked just like the man standing next to him. Mandragon, he corrected himself. "I'm sorry, I don’t understand. Why is this event is in your honor? Don't you have the dragon pox?”
“Take it easy, man. I’m not contagious. Name’s Sully.” The creature took a sip of his beer. “They aren’t kidding when they tell you it’s an aggressive genetic virus.” The words barely rose above a coarse whisper. His grossly thickened skin masked his expression. He could not smile. “
Renly fought his primary instinct to run in favor of satisfying his curiosity. “How did you catch it?”
“I’m a prospector in the Crags of Corrah. All of us are.”
Renly frowned, his thoughts churning. Was this what the Ambassador had meant about finding Garrett? He didn’t want to believe it. “Is the disease reversible? I mean, no offence. ”
Sully shrugged at his reflection in the mirrored panel behind the bar. “None taken. I don’t think about it all that much anymore. The benefits outweigh the risks.”
"How can you can you say that?” The urge to draw Sully's strange face filled him with both yeaning and revulsion.
“When I leave here at the end of the festival, I’ll have more gold than Midas. I’ll be richer than I ever dreamed, and that’s saying a lot. I’ll buy me a new face. Ten new faces, if I want.”
“I thought all the gold belonged to Arkady Mining Corporation.”
The Mandragon nodded. “They like to think so. But their mineral rights are limited to the lands outside the 45th parallels; what you call the temperate zone. They’re not allowed to mine on either Khirjahni or Th’Dorran lands. But the Forbidden Zone straddles the lands between the two countries, and the Crags of Corrah are host to the richest deposits of gold ore on the planet. The Th-Dorrans and Khirjahni don’t care if a few crazy Terrans want to try to pull a little gold from the craggon caves. Once every four years, Arkady hosts the Gold Ball for us prospectors. We come down from the mountains and auction off our gold to the highest bidder. We have a little fun, chase a little tail, and bet on the races. Those of us who make a killing leave this stinking planet at the end of the Festival as rich as kings. Those that don’t, go back to the hills for another four years.”
Something clicked. A connection he'd missed. A feeling of certainty washed over him. He reached into his bag and pulled out the engraving he’d done of Garrett. “Have you ever seen this man?”
/> Sully studied the portrait, and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”
“He came to this festival four years ago; he hasn’t been heard from since.” The pupils of Sully’s unnatural yellow eyes were elongated, like those of a reptile. A chill swept over him.
“Maybe you should do yourself a favor and let him be.”
“Now you sound like those mining executives.”
Sully tilted his beer and poured the amber liquid down his throat in a single long swallow. “Let me give you some advice, Terran. You will see a lot of guys just like me here tonight, so listen carefully to what I have to say. Only a desperate man prospects for gold in the Forbidden Zone. Once you go, there’s no turning back. Gold fever changes a man. After a year or two, we are not the same. After four years, we're not considered human any more. We can't return to Earth. The things we used to care about don’t matter anymore. Family, friends, home. It means nothing to us.
Renly had no answer for that; only the conviction that the disease must have affected Sully's mind somehow. Garrett wasn’t one of these creatures. No way. Garrett had called him here for a reason. Even as he disbelieved Sully's characterization, he remembered Garrett had always looked after Garrett's interests first.
“If your brother went up into the hills looking for gold, he did so knowing what he was doing, and believe me, he doesn’t want anyone, least of all his family, coming after him.”
* * *
After Sully moved off, Ambassador Reinhardt appeared at his elbow with a fresh glass of champagne. “Glad to see you changed your mind about coming.”
He told the ambassador about seeing Paul, and his fading hopes for finding Garrett.
Reinhardt seemed sympathetic. “I feared as much. I saw you talking to Sully."
"You think that's what happened to Garrett. You think Garrett is one of those mandragon creatures."
The ambassador held up his hands. "Not at all. I am an optimist. But I think you now understand now what the Arkady executives believe happened to your brother. If I were you, I'd make the most of this opportunity and reassure yourself that he is not one of our honored guests this evening.”
