He was in his early twenties, lean, good-looking in a youthful way, and painfully trendy, in Amaryllis's opinion. His long, blond hair was pulled back and tied with a black leather cord. He wore khaki trousers and a matching shirt. Both garments were festooned with countless epaulets, buckles, snaps, and pockets. An artificially weathered leather belt and deliberately scuffed boots completed his ensemble. He could have served as a model for an ad featuring the Western Islands look.
The style had exploded onto the fashion scene a year earlier when popular news anchor Nelson Buriton had gone on location to the Western Islands to cover the discovery of the artifacts. For nearly a week, Buriton, looking attractively rugged in Western Islands gear, had appeared nightly on the evening news. He had not only focused public interest on the alien relics, he had done wonders for the khaki manufacturers.
The young males of the three city-states had gone wild for what had come to be known as the Western Islands look. To date, the fad showed no signs of waning. A new wave of public excitement generated by the impending opening of the relics gallery at the museum had only served to fuel the rage for the style.
"Destiny is a function of synergy and can be easily altered," Clementine intoned.
Byron made a face. Then he grinned at Amaryllis. "Don't you just hate it when she starts quoting some old dippy philosopher?"
"She's quoting Patricia Thorncroft North," Amaryllis said, automatically slipping into her academic persona. "North was not some old dippy philosopher. She was one of the discoverers of the Three Principles of Synergy. If it had not been for North and her work, you might not have your present cushy job with Psynergy, Inc."
Clementine gave a snort of muffled laughter.
Byron groaned and put a hand to his forehead as though he had suddenly taken ill. "Please, not another lecture, Amaryllis, I beg you. I'm still recovering from the one you gave me yesterday."
"But she's so good at them," Clementine murmured.
Amaryllis flushed. She was still not accustomed to the phenomenon of office humor. There were too many occasions when she could not tell the difference between good-natured teasing and more serious remarks. Things had been different at the university, she reflected. Sometimes she missed the sober, serious-minded atmosphere of the Department of Focus Studies. But only sometimes.
"The point here," Byron continued in the painstakingly exaggerated tone one used to explain basic synergy to a child, "is that you have landed one very big fish for good old Psynergy, Inc., Amaryllis. I'd ask for a raise right now if I were you. Timing is everything in business, you know."
Amaryllis smiled wryly. "I appreciate the advice, Byron. But I think I'd better hold off asking for a raise. I have a feeling Mr. Trent is not going to be a happy, satisfied client when this job is finished."
Clementine's eyes widened in alarm. "What the hell are you talking about? Why shouldn't he be a satisfied customer? I know he's a nine, but you can handle him. Hell, you're a full-spectrum prism. You're certified for tens."
"It's not that." Amaryllis studied the contract unhappily. "There won't be any problem focusing his talent. But he's looking for answers, and I don't think he's going to get the ones he wants."
"So?" Byron frowned. "He has to pay the same fee, whether he gets his answers or not."
"Yes, but he probably won't go away happy," Amaryllis said. "You know how it is with high-class talents. They tend to be arrogant and difficult. When they don't get the results they want, they usually blame the prism who worked with them. They claim the focus was of poor quality or not strong enough to handle their psychic energy."
Clementine's gaze sharpened. "You said it was a security job. What's Trent looking for?"
Amaryllis sighed. "Brace yourself, because you're not going to believe this. He thinks a strong hypno-talent has used psychic suggestion to force one of his executives to steal proprietary information from Lodestar Exploration."
"A hypno-talent?" Byron's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
"That's ridiculous." Clementine scowled. "That kind of thing never happens except in films or an Orchid Adams novel."
"Psychic vampire," Byron whispered in a voice laced with theatrical dread. "Able to seduce innocent lady prisms and turn them into love slaves."
Clementine grimaced. "Sounds like Trent may have spent a little too much time out in the jungle."
Amaryllis regarded the contract with morose foreboding. "I tried to talk him out of it."
"What?" Clementine nearly fell off her perch on the corner of the desk. "You tried to talk him out of the contract? Are you crazy? He's the most important client we've ever had."
"I'm afraid he's going to be the most dissatisfied client we've ever had," Amaryllis said. "That's not going to be good for business, Clementine."
"Damn." Clementine pursed her lips, obviously weighing the pros and cons of the situation.
An air of gloom settled on the small office.
"Hey, look on the bright side," Byron said after a moment. "They call Trent the Iceman. He's a living legend. He didn't become one by being stupid. He must know the hypnosis thing is very improbable. Maybe he just wants to check out all possibilities before he makes his move. A superstrong hypno-talent who could force someone to act against his or her will is at least a theoretical possibility, isn't it?"
Clementine grimaced. "Sure. And it's theoretically possible that the Return cult kooks are right when they say that the curtain will reopen one of these days and we'll all go back to Earth."
"Get serious, Clementine, Trent's not crazy the way the cultists are." Byron turned back to Amaryllis. "I know he's a class nine. He told me that much when he made the appointment. But what kind of talent is he?"
"He's a detector," Amaryllis said. "He can sense when other talents are working."
"Is that all?" Byron was clearly disappointed.
"According to his certification papers." Amaryllis straightened the forms on her desk. "A class-nine detector."
"Class nine." Clementine whistled in awe. "What a waste. All that psychic power and no useful talent to go with it. Sort of like putting a hot engine in a big, souped-up ice-cycle and then putting it up on blocks."
"Bad synergy, all right." Byron shook his head. "Just imagine what it would be like to know that you had a high-grade talent, but the only thing you could do with it was detect other people when they used their talents."
"Must be frustrating for him," Clementine agreed. "No wonder the news reports have never said much about his psychic abilities. He probably doesn't like to talk about them."
"You know," Byron pursed his lips. "I thought for sure he'd have some really interesting talent."
Amaryllis glanced at him. "Such as?"
"Well, they call him the Iceman because he's so good at finding jelly-ice, right? I thought maybe he'd at least have a talent for locating valuable ore and mineral deposits or something."
"Apparently he did his prospecting the old-fashioned way," Amaryllis said. "Detailed research and a lot of grueling fieldwork. He has a degree in Synergistic Crystal Mineralogy."
Amaryllis did not know much about the complex process involved in the search for jelly-ice, but she knew it was difficult, sometimes dangerous work. It was also vital, high-paying work.
Jelly-ice was slang for the substance known in technical circles as semi liquid full-spectrum crystal quartz. Jelly-ice had a multitude of strange properties including a weird, jellylike consistency when it was in its natural state. But the most important fact about the stuff was that it could be made to produce energy. Clean, efficient, inexpensive energy.
Lucas Trent had made his fortune by locating several extremely rich deposits of jelly-ice in the Western Islands. The company he had founded. Lodestar Exploration, was one of the most successful in the business.