“Knowing that you are my Dream Woman,” Gianni breathed.
She turned ashen. “Who told you such a thing?”
“The Wizard in my mind,” Gianni answered. Medallia went from ashen to magenta. “That confounded playboy!” she stormed. “How dare he…” But she broke off, and her staring eyes widened even more.
It was true, Gianni realized—his love for her must have been fairly shouting from his mind, for she stood trembling as he stepped into the caravan, took her in his arms, and kissed her. She was stiff with surprise—then began to melt. Gianni broke the kiss just long enough to close the caravan door and make sure the latch had fallen, then to whisper, “Mystery Lady, I love you.” Then he kissed her again, closing his eyes to see the Dancer of his Dreams, her face finally clear and lighted by the radiance of love. It was Medallia’s face, and her kiss deepened with each touch and caress, with a splendor that far outshone his dream.
On his hilltop, Gar watched the great golden ship descend. The gangway came down, and Gar climbed up.
“So your trip is successfully concluded, Magnus,” said the mellow voice of the ship.
“Yes, but it was a close thing for a while.” Gar stripped off his medieval clothing and stepped into a sonic shower. “Lift off, Herkimer. Did you call the Dominion Police?”
“Yes, Magnus, and transmitted all my surveillance recordings to them. They were delighted and sounded quite eager, mentioning something about ‘getting the goods’ on the Lurgan Company at last.”
“That’s good to hear.” Magnus closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of glowing skin as most of the dirt flaked away. “The people of Petrarch should have a clean start now. I wish them luck.”
Herkimer said, “I detect overtones of sadness in your voice, Magnus. What is the cause?”
“Only that I can’t stay and enjoy the happiness that is about to be theirs,” Magnus said, “my friend Gianni, I mean, and his Mystery Woman, Medallia.” He followed the sonic shower with a thirty-second spray of soapy water, then more sonic scrubbing, and another thirty-second spray of clear water.
As the drier started caressing Gar’s body with warm air, Herkimer said, “If you cannot remain, how can Medallia? She is from off-planet too, is she not?”
“Yes,” Magnus said, “but she has a good reason—she’s going to marry a native.” He smiled sardonically. “Medallia will never forgive me for telling Gianni what she is, even though it was her own overmodulation that let the dream leak into my mind, and no mental eavesdropping of my own.” He stepped out of the shower and slipped into a modern robe of sybaritically soft and fluffy fabric.
“But the mental suggestions with which you held the vagabonds’ loyalty and obedience were your doing,” Herkimer pointed out.
“Yes, and so was the fervor and courage with which I imbued my troops—not completely by the power of my rhetoric alone,” Magnus confessed. He took a tall cold drink from the dispenser and sat down in an overstuffed chair for the first time in months.
“You could stay if you wanted, Magnus.”
But Magnus shook his head. “Not without a reason such as Medallia has found, Herkimer. I have not yet discovered my home.”
“Where shall we look next, then?” the computer asked.
“Show me your list of forgotten colonies with oppressive governments,” Magnus said.
The list appeared on the wall screen. Magnus sat back as he looked it over, considering which world should be his next chance to find love and a home—or sudden, blessed death.