Which Art In Hope (Spooner Federation Saga Book 1) Read online

  The sophomore shrugged. "Not as far as I know. But no one turned up last year. Come to think of it, I've never heard of anyone turning up. I'll have to ask around." He grinned. "Go find that train schedule. Maybe I'll stick around too."

  "Okay."

  ***

  Teresza Chistyakowski glanced through the ragged screen of bolivar bushes that lined Gallatin's main quadrangle and spotted her quarry ambling toward the Humane Studies Center. She decided that the time had come to pounce.

  "Armand!" She broke into a trot.

  "Hm?" The tall, husky freshman stopped and turned. "Oh, hi, Teresza."

  "Are you going to the psi screening on Randsday?" She looked straight into his eyes and smiled her brightest smile.

  He looked puzzled. "Well, yeah, I expect to. Why?"

  She shrugged delicately. "Oh, I just thought you might want to join us for the party at Liberty Cafe afterward."

  "Party?"

  Her face warmed under his solemn regard. She felt her pulse accelerate.

  "Well, more of a get-together, really." She forced herself to speak slowly and casually. "It's just a few kids who've run through the screening before, having a little fun before going home for year's end. I thought you might enjoy it."

  He appeared to consider it. "How long does it last?"

  "A couple of hours, maybe." She felt herself running short of oxygen. "It's just a few kids having a few laughs before we have to run and catch the late trains."

  "Oh. Okay." He smiled. It was enough to stop her heart. "I'll see you there, then. Bye."

  Before she could ask him to come with her, he turned and sauntered into the Humane Studies Center.

  Rothbard, Rand and Ringer, why does he have to be so oblivious?

  Oh, buck up, girl. You got maybe twenty words out of him. That's probably a record. If he shows at the screenings, you can catch him there and drag him to the cafe. Then you'll have two or three hours to squeeze out another twenty words.

  The petite blonde junior sighed to herself, hefted her books and headed for her biology class.

  ***

  "Mom?" Armand fiddled with the squelch, keeping one eye on the frequency display and the other on his watch. He had five minutes maximum before the students lined up at the radio hutch turned nasty. He draped one hand over the display to conceal the setting from prying eyes. The Morelon clan took care to keep its comm frequencies from becoming public knowledge.

  "Armand? When will you be home Randsday, dear?" It was unquestionably Elyse Morelon's full, warm contralto, though tinnily delivered and full of static.

  "Figure about twenty-two."

  "Why so late, dear?"

  "Well," he glanced over his shoulder at the line of students waiting to use the radio, "the schedule says the last train to Jacksonville gets in at twenty-one thirty, and it takes about half an hour to walk home from the station."

  "Can't you make an earlier train, Armand? We were hoping you'd be here for dinner."

  "Uh, there's some end of semester stuff I have to polish off."

  A burst of solar static shrouded his mother's reply. "...will be disappointed, to say nothing of your sister."

  He sighed. "I know, Mom, but I'll be with Grandpere all day Sacrifice Day, and you and Charisse will have me around for two whole weeks."

  There was a brief silence. The line of waiting students that filled the dormitory's lobby had begun to murmur and shuffle. Armand forced down a wave of irritation.

  Let them try to disappoint Alain Morelon's granddaughter.

  "Well, if you have to, dear. We all miss you terribly, you know."

  "Yeah, Mom, I miss you all too. There's a line waiting for the radio. I'll see you late on Randsday, okay?"

  "All right, Armand. Take care."

  The voice dissolved into the background white noise from Hope's ionosphere. Armand quickly scrambled the frequency, removed the headset, and stood aside to let the next student make his call.

  Chapter 3

  Victoria Peterson slipped into the main auditorium of the Genet Social Sciences Center at exactly nine o'clock. The lights had been lowered. She peered through the darkness at the back row of seats, found an unoccupied one and slipped into it.

  On the stage at the front of the room, three young men were arranging easels and placards to face the assembly. Each placard depicted an abstract symbol. There were no captions to explain them.

  One of the young men, a curly-haired specimen with a pleasantly guileless face, stepped to the lectern and turned on the microphone.

  "Good morning, all, and thank you for coming. My name is Ethan Mandeville, and I'm a graduate student in the Department of Psychology." He waved at the placards behind him. "You're probably wondering what this is all about, and what psi testing will mean to you generally."

  Mandeville smiled. "To most of you -- probably all -- it won't mean a thing. The university has been running this program for a long, long time, and we've seldom turned up anyone who can score better than random on our tests. But the rare extra senses and the occasional hints of paraphysical powers we've detected have provided us researcher types with a lot of unusual angles from which to study the human brain. So we keep at it."

  Victoria listened with half an ear as the graduate student droned on. He spoke of the varieties of psi effects that had occasionally been produced by human beings, and of their implications for the organization of the brain, for nearly twenty minutes. Despite his obvious enthusiasm for his subject, he was no public speaker. Before he'd run down, everyone in the auditorium was fidgeting. Finally he waved at the easels behind him.

  "Back on Earth, decks of cards marked with these symbols were the first tools used to test for telepathy and clairvoyance. Two experimental subjects would sit on opposite sides of a partition. One subject would draw a card marked with one of these five symbols, and the other would try to determine which symbol was on it. Pure guesswork would yield an average of one correct result for every five trials. That's what we mean by 'scoring random.' If you could produce a consistently better result than that -- or a consistently worse one -- from either side of the partition, you were singled out for special study.

  "You might find it surprising, but in the twenty centuries since the study of psi began, no better technique has been found to detect psi powers than these cards, at least at the outset. Two weeks from today, when we actually begin to screen you, we'll replicate the test I just described -- and I promise you, ninety-nine out of each hundred of you, at least, will score a random score and be eliminated from further consideration."

  Mandeville grinned. "Just don't let it bug you, okay?"

  A faint ripple of laughter passed over the room.

  "All right. Today, we just want you to register your names with us, and to pick a partner for testing when you return from year's end. We're going to do this in alphabetic groups." He waved to his left. "All students with names beginning with the letters A through I, line up against the west wall. J through R, the center aisle. S through Z, the east wall. Okay? Go."

  The hall filled with noise as several hundred students rose and moved toward one of the three destinations. Victoria picked up her purse and made for the center aisle. Her fellow J through Rs were slow to gather, and she drifted steadily toward the front of the hall as she waited.

  "Vicki?"

  She whirled toward the familiar voice. Armand Morelon stood staring at her. A petite, irritatingly pretty blonde girl, her eyes switching uneasily between Armand and Victoria, stood close beside him. Victoria mustered her self-command and smiled brightly.

  "Hello, Armand. I'd heard you'd be coming to Gallatin. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

  Armand looked flustered. "Uh, sure. Terry, this is Victoria Peterson. Vicki and I went to the same high school, but she was a year ahead. Vicki, this is Teresza Chistyakowski. She's a junior."

  The blonde girl's smile held no trace of warmth.

  Probably thinks she's got him on a string alread
y. Wise up, girl. It isn't that easy.

  Victoria offered her hand, and Teresza took it. "Teresza...Chistyakowski? Then you would belong against the west wall, wouldn't you?"

  The girl reared back as if she'd been slapped. "Yes, of course." She looked up at Armand and smiled hopefully. "Don't forget the party, okay?"

  Armand smiled down at the blonde in a way that made Victoria want to grit her teeth. "Of course not, Terry. I'll see you outside. Don't leave without me."

  The blonde moved off without saying goodbye. Victoria watched her departing back, then smiled up into Armand's face.

  "So how's your family?"

  Armand shrugged. "About the same as always. Mom's still Mom, and Chary's started dating. How are your mom and Connie?"

  "Not bad. Connie's been talking about going to college at Taft, on Sulla, but I don't think Mom will let him. She was barely willing to let me go away to school. I can't imagine her letting him leave the continent. How has your first semester been?"

  "Well, okay, I guess." His thick black eyebrows knitted. "I'm still sort of surprised to be here."

  "Really? You hadn't planned to go to college?"

  "Uh, no. Actually, I hadn't thought about it at all. But there was a scholarship, and that made my mind up for me." He gestured at the stage. "Didn't you go through all this last year?"

  "No, I couldn't make the first three sessions, and after that they wouldn't have me." Victoria's eyes flicked toward the west wall. "What about your girlfriend?"

  Armand blushed and studied his boots. "Terry and I just have a couple of classes together. She said she went through it last year and the year before."

  "Why is she here, then?"

  He shrugged again. "Maybe there's something fun about it."

  "I guess we'll find out. Want to partner?"

  His face went momentarily blank, then he smiled. "Sure, why not? If they let us."

  The line had moved steadily forward as they spoke. A minute later they were giving their names to a pleasant-faced graduate student and being told that yes, they could partner if they liked.

  As they made for the exits at the back of the hall, Victoria said, "You know, I've been wondering whether I'd run into you. Hoping I would."

  "Really? Why?"

  She grinned. "The last time we spoke, you were mad at me. I wanted to make it right, that's all."

  He pulled open the door and stopped. His eyes were unreadable.

  "I wasn't mad, Vicki. A little sad, maybe. But it's okay now." He waved her through the door. "I'll see you in two weeks."

  Victoria's blood rose at the dismissal. She forced it down, hoping it hadn't shown on her face.

  "Enjoy year's end, Armand. Bye!"

  He waved again in farewell. He was already trotting toward that Teresza girl. The little blonde bitch had zeroed in on them as they'd emerged, and was looking at Victoria as if she were a poisonous plant. As Armand approached her, she grabbed for his hand, threw a final suspicious glance in Victoria's direction, and led him off like a dog on a leash.

  Okay now, huh? You've got a lot to learn about me, bucko. And I've got your curriculum all planned out.

  ***

  Liberty Cafe was dark, crowded, and noisy. The noise was mostly laughter and cheerful chatter. The crowd was having a good time. Armand had to admit that he was, too.

  Much to his surprise, Teresza had nudged him onto a bench seat against one of the blackwashed cinder block walls, pulled his arm around her, and settled herself against his side before he'd realized that she'd done it. He hadn't moved since, and neither had she. The cup of coffee he'd ordered two hours ago sat untouched on the table before him. He hadn't wanted to disturb her by reaching for it.

  They'd turned into one of the centers of conversation. Teresza was well known around campus. Her bright voice and animation proved to be a magnet for their fellows. The topics of discussion were varied and unconnected: from the weirdness of the psi test procedures through their families' Sacrifice Day customs to gossip about classmates and teachers. Armand simply relaxed in the darkness and allowed the gathering to amuse him. Teresza didn't seem to mind.

  A couple of times he scanned the room for Victoria, but without success. Either she hadn't come or she'd nestled in some corner too dark for his eyes to penetrate.

  It was nearly fourteen hundred before the gathering began to dissipate. The knot around him and Teresza was the last to dissolve. He felt no urgency. Teresza seemed to be in no hurry, and the late train to Jacksonville didn't pull out until seventeen-thirty.

  At a few minutes past fifteen, the few remaining students around them rose and said their farewells. Armand started to rise, but Teresza snuggled a little more firmly against him, and he relaxed again. A minute later, except for the girl at the register, they were alone in the cafe.

  "Did you have a good time?" Teresza's expression was hopeful.

  "Yes, very. Thanks for inviting me."

  She put both arms around him and laid her head against his chest. "I'm glad you decided to come. I'd have invited you to, well, something, a lot sooner, if I'd thought you might say yes."

  Huh?

  His free hand rose to stroke her cap of short, shiny blonde hair. "Am I that much of a lump, Terry?"

  She giggled against his chest. "No, but you've been so quiet in class, I didn't know what to make of you." She looked up again, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Now that I know what your voice sounds like, I'd like to hear it a little more often."

  He studied her a moment, letting his fingertips trail down the side of her face and along the line of her jaw. Her eyes slid closed as she leaned into the caress.

  "I'll be back two weeks from today." He hesitated. "Want me to come by?"

  Her eyes opened, and she smiled. She took his hand in her own and brought his fingertips to her lips. Her thumb rubbed gently against his palm.

  "What do you think?"

  Warmth flowered in Armand's chest and loins. It was a very good feeling.

  Why me? She's a junior. She's as popular as Victoria ever was. She could probably have her pick of the whole campus.

  Teresza had started to nibble gently on his fingers, strumming them across her parted lips.

  Do I really care why me?

  She was pretty. She was smart. She was affectionate. She was extroverted and naturally sociable. She was lively enough for five girls. The package came together perfectly: as charming as its parts were, Teresza Chistyakowski's appeal was much more than their sum.

  She's way out of my league. What on Hope does she want with me?

  Oh, who cares? She's terrific, and she likes me, and that's good enough. It's time I had a girlfriend. Might as well have a really neat one.

  The thought smacked into his recollection of how his mother and Charisse had reacted, the one time he'd brought Victoria to their home.

  Well, that was Vicki. And why worry about it now, anyway?

  He pulled her more closely against him, stroked the underside of her chin.

  Maybe I won't say anything to Mom and Charisse just yet.

  ***

  Victoria stalked toward the train station, her anger barely under control. They hadn't seen her, but she'd seen quite enough of them.

  That was about the fastest play I've ever seen anyone make. And it worked. On him!

  She wanted to scream, to stamp her feet, to beat her head against the trunks of the mason trees that lined the path to the station until she'd battered the fury out of her. She could if she liked. There was no one else on the path to see it.

  I worked on him for half a year, and he shrugged me off like a dirty sweater.

  A vein at her temple had begun to pulse. A headache swelled behind her eyes, sent feelers through her skull. Her jaws clenched in involuntary response.

  She stopped, set down her valise, and turned to face one of the mason trees. It was a beautiful specimen, about twenty-five feet tall and thirty inches in diameter. Its delicate blue bark glowed faintly in the waning
afternoon sun, and its crown of crystal-like hexagonal needles sparkled in shades of purple and blue.

  She closed her eyes and looked inside herself to find her rage. It wasn't hard to find. She'd wrapped it tightly in threads of self-control, as her mother had taught her to do, had insisted she do from a very early age. Severe beatings, at first with a hairbrush, later with a flail made of bundled bolivar branches, had been her childhood penalty for any display of emotion her mother didn't approve. When she passed puberty, her mother began to demonstrate other measures.

  She focused on the tree, then pushed the knot of rage into contact with the part of her mind she called her engine: the part that could do things. When she'd fastened them to one another, she took a deep breath, expelled it sharply, and parted the strands of control that held the knot together.

  The energy from the knot surged into the engine, and the engine pulsed. As the blast shot forth, her mind filled with dark delight, sweet and heavy.

  There came a furious crackling roar. She opened her eyes. From its roots to its crown, the mason tree was aflame. The gorgeous bark peeled back from the tree's pith, curled and crisped to cinders. Jets of flame spurted from the runnels of sap in the tree's core. Needles from its crown showered the ground before her, to glow and spark in the dust.

  The blaze took less than a minute to exhaust its fuel. She smiled to herself, hefted her valise and continued down the path.

  Chapter 4

  "Armand!"

  Armand had just stepped into the entranceway to Morelon House. He barely had time to put down his bag before a hundred twelve pounds of squealing teenage sister crashed into him and knocked him onto his back on the cold stone floor. She wrapped arms and legs around him in a hug of life threatening intensity. He hugged her back with a shade less force.

  "C'mon, Chary, let me up." He was laughing so hard that he could hardly make out his own words. It was a while before she complied. It was a longer while before their giggles subsided.