He reminded himself that his first loyalty belonged to the I-A and the peace it represented. Another part of him, though, chimed in mockingly—peace such as that now prevailing on Hamal and Sheleb.
Rather lamely, he said: “I hope you get over the feeling that I’m a stranger.”
“I’m already over it,” she said. She stepped forward, linked arms with him, said: “If you feel up to it, I’ll give you the deluxe guided tour. This is a really weird house, but I love it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Music represents an essential part of many Psi experiences which are labeled religion. Through the ecstatic force of rhythmic sounds, we perceive a call directed at powers outside of time and lacking the usual breadth and length compressed into the forms of matter by our corner of the endless dimensions.
By nightfall, Orne had been reduced to a state of confusion. He found Diana exciting and fascinating, yet the most comfortable female companion he had ever met. She liked swimming, the bloodless hunting of paloika, the taste of ditar apples. She betrayed a disdainful attitude toward the older generation and I-A officialdom which she said she’d never before revealed to anyone.
They had laughed like fools over utter nonsense.
Orne returned to his room to change for dinner, stopped at the polawindow, which he tuned to clear transmission. The quick darkness of these latitudes had pulled an ebony blanket over the landscape. Distant cityglow painted a short yellow horizon off to the left. An orange halo remained on the peaks where Marak’s three moons would rise.
Am I falling in love with this woman? Orne asked himself.
Again, he sensed the fragmentation of his being—and this time felt the pull of his childhood training added to all of the other forces at war within him. The ritual training of Chargon came back to him with all of its mystery.
He thought: I am that. I am the consciousness of self which senses the Absolute and knows the Supreme Wisdom. I am the all-one impersonal I which is God.
It came straight out of the ancient rites which transferred kingly powers into religious terms, but he felt that the old concepts had taken on new meanings.
“I am God,” he whispered and he sensed forces writhing within him. Even as he spoke, he realized the words made no reference to his ego-identity-self. The I of this awareness was outside usual human concerns.
Without understanding its significance, Orne realized he had experienced a religious event.
He knew the Psi definitions taught in the I-A, but this experience shook him. He wanted to call Stetson, not to report but to talk out his own confusions about his role in this household. This thought made him acutely aware that Stetson or an aide had eavesdropped on his afternoon with Diana.
The autobutle called dinner, distracting Orne from a sensation that he had fallen from grace. He changed hurriedly into a fresh lounge uniform, found his way to the small salon across the house. The Bullones already were seated around an old-fashioned bubbleshot table set with real candles (they smelled of incense) and golden shardi service. Two of Marak’s three moons could be seen out the window climbing swiftly over the peaks.
“Welcome to you and may you find health in our house,” Bullone said, rising until Orne had seated himself.
“You’ve turned the house,” Orne said.
“We like the moonrise,” Polly said. “It’s romantic, don’t you think?” She glanced at Diana.
Diana looked down at her plate. She wore a low-cut gown of firemesh that set off her red hair. A single strand of Reinach pearls gleamed at her throat.
Orne, who had taken the seat opposite her, thought: Lord, what a handsome woman she is.
Polly, on Orne’s right, appeared younger and softer in a green stola gown that hazed her barrel contours. Bullone, on the left, wore black lounging shorts and knee-length kubi jacket of golden pearl cloth. Everything about the people and the setting reeked of wealth and power.
For a moment, Orne saw a confirmation of Stetson’s suspicions. Bullone might go to any length to maintain this luxury.
Orne’s entrance had interrupted an argument between Polly and her husband. As soon as Orne was comfortably seated, they went right on with the argument. Rather than embarrassing him, this lack of inhibition made Orne feel more at home, more accepted.
Diana caught Orne’s eye, glanced left and right at her parents, grinned.
“But I’m not running for office this time,” Bullone was saying, his voice heavy with strained patience. “Why do we have to clutter up the evening with all of those people just to…”
“Our election night parties are traditional,” Polly said.
“I’d just like to relax at home for once,” Bullone said. “I’d like to take it easy with my family and not have to…”
“It’s not as though it was a big party,” Polly said. “I’ve kept the list down to fifty.”
Bullone groaned.
Diana said: “Daddy, this is an important election. How could you possibly relax? There’re seventy-three seats at issue, the whole balance. If things go wrong in just the Aikes sector… why… you could be sent back to the floor. You’d lose your job as… I mean someone else would take over and…”
“Welcome to the damn job,” Bullone said. “It’s one giant headache.” He smiled at Orne. “Sorry to burden you with this perennial squabble, m’boy, but the women of this family run me ragged if I let them. From what I hear, you’ve had a pretty busy day, too. Hope we’re not tiring you.” He smiled paternally at Diana. “Your first day out of the hospital and all.”
“Diana sets quite a pace, but I’ve enjoyed it,” Orne said.
“We’re taking the on a tour of the wilderness area tomorrow,” Diana said. “I’ll do the driving and Lew can relax.”
“Be sure you’re back in plenty of time for the party,” Polly said.
Bullone turned to Orne. “You see?"
“Now, Scottie,” Polly said, “you can’t have…” She broke off at the sound of a low bell from an alcove behind, her. “That’ll be for me. Excuse me, please. No, don’t get up.”
Diana bent toward Orne, said: “If you want, we can have a special meal prepared for you. I asked the hospital and they said you were under no dietary restrictions.” She nodded toward Orne’s untouched dinner which had emerged from the bubbleslot beside his table setting.
“Oh, this is quite all right,” Orne said. He could not hear Polly in the alcove. She had a security cone for certain. He bent to his dinner: meat in an exotic sauce which he couldn’t place, Sirik champagne, ataloka au semil… luxury piled upon luxury.
Presently, Polly resumed her seat.
“Anything important?” Bullone asked.
“Only a cancellation for tomorrow night. Professor Wingard is ill.”
“I’d just as soon they canceled it down to the four of us,” Bullone said. “I want some time to chat with Lewis.”
Unless this is a clever pose, that doesn’t sound like a man who wants to grab more power, Orne thought.