Episode 1
"AMOR VINCIT"
As Irma Glindar passed through the north
west sector of Recon 3, she was surprised at the number of new chem bars
springing up along the throughfares of what was once a quiet residential
neighborhood. Now, within a hundred meters of Galadrina's
little tea room, called Pentacles, was a plezzhur dome that until recently
would be plying its services exclusively to those who lived in the Grey
Giants of Recon 5.
The few people Irma encountered on the street in the early evening hour
kept their eyes distant, their faces mute. Fear was growing upon them --
fear of strangers, fear of losing what little they had, fear of the very
System itself and its
growing power to monitor their lives -- the kind of fear that someone like
Axon Kronstadt knew how to exploit.
All Kronstadt had to do was shake his fist on their screenz,
claiming that if elected he would stop the cowardly Underground
campaign of terror. Of course, nobody in the Underground bombed innocent
people (the very people whose support they were striving to win), but Irma
knew KorpOps and Kronstadt's spies did. The terror found its mark among
the dispossessed of the Outer Boardz, and few realized that the source was
to be found in Krania.
Unless the tide could be turned, its perpetrators would soon be installed
in the Director's Office.
At least the pedway still worked. Irma hopped off and walked toward the
two-story cottage with the sign in front:
"WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD FOR YOU?"
The yard had gone to seed. Flowers and tall grasses obscured the approach
to the front door and faded strips of lavender paint curled off the delicate
scroll-work above the archway over the front porch. An old, quaint porch
swing hung from worn plasteel cables. Irma wouldn't have trusted it to support
even her own lithe frame.
How could an old fortune-teller manage to survive here, with rents sky-rocketing,
and constant pressures to sell to sleazy fleshlords encroaching from the
Outer Boardz? Without being on someone's payroll, that is.
Bertie had asked her to visit Galadrina, and
Irma had protested vigorously. What if she's an agent? Too many Underground
operatives had been taken to the Mezzanine, never to be heard from again.
And what better cover for an informer than masquerading as a "spiritual
advisor," to whom one might feel encouraged to unburden one's heart
without reservation?
But her father had laughed: "My dear child, you are understandably
caught up in youthful paranoia . . . yes, Galadrina is strange and potentially
dangerous, but not to us. Her contact at The Inztitut gave us the boy who
has The Portal, and
now he's recovering in our house," he had said. "Galadrina has
the best memory in the Quadrant and she, if anyone, will remember what The
Portal is and what powers it may confer. More important, she will know much
about how we are to proceed. I cannot be seen in that sector, and you must
go." His words reverberated in her mind.
Irma knocked on the door, steeling herself.
"Come in, dear," came a voice from above. "I'll be right
down, please make yourself at home."
Galadrina's parlor was tidy, and sparsely-furnished, to Irma's surprise.
On the left a narrow stairway ascended to the upper story, and to the right,
there was a small antechamber which led into a modest darkened sitting room.
In the center of the room was a small round table with three chairs. Irma
noticed a centerpiece on the table, but it was covered with a drape of some
kind. Suddenly, a woman emerged out of the shadows. She extended her hand.
"Hello, I'm Faydra .
. . and, of course, you must be Irma."
Taken aback, Irma tentatively shook the woman's hand.
"Galadrina will be down shortly," the woman said, smiling. "I've
seen you before. Don't you work in the Med Center on QSU 14?"
Something about Faydra's eyes made Irma feel exposed and irritated, but
the woman did not seem threatening.
"Yes, in the Healthanc Unit, and you?"
"Second Level Physician in the Trauma Ward. . . I mostly deal with
gang violence and bombing victims, and of course,
Flezz injuries."
"Oh, yes, yes, I understand . . ."
"Welcome, welcome," came a cheery voice. To Irma's left an old
woman slowly maneuvered her way down a staircase.
"I'm sorry, I just don't get down these steps like I used to."
She was dressed simply, a green shawl around her shoulders. Golden earrings
sparkled from her ears, matching the glittering black pupils of her eyes.
"I am, as you might have guessed, Galadrina. And you must be . . ."
"Irma. Irma Glindar. We spoke onscreen about an hour ago."
"Of course, of course. My memory still goes back at least that far,
I think. And I see you've met Faydra, an old and dear friend. But do come
in, sit down, make yourself comfortable. Some tea?"
"Yes, thanks." While Galadrina busied herself in her small kitchen,
Faydra guided Irma into the sitting room, where the women seated themselves
around the small circular table. Still feeling that she may have walked
into a trap, Irma began to gather her thoughts, focusing her attention --
she intended to use the Ungo powers of mental concentration her father had
taught her to explore what Galadrina and this other woman might be hiding
behind their searching eyes.
Immediately an image arose. A group of richly dressed women -- one of them
Faydra -- held their glasses high as they toasted the beautiful kourtezan
Galadrina, Head Mistress of the Kourtezan Guild, at a lavish banquet. Her
father told her that Galadrina had once been a famous and powerful woman
in Krania, before the Purges.
"Sweet?"
"Yes, please," Irma answered.
Galadrina emerged, smiling brightly, holding a tray with a teapot, three
small cups, and a packet of Qsweet tablets alongside. She set them to one
side of the table and pulled the cover off a faintly glowing crystal mounted
on a pedestal in the exact center of the table. She sat down and beckoned
Irma and Faydra closer.
"The tea needs to steep for just a few minutes, so in the meantime
I suggest we let the crystal help us see clearer. She touched the crystal
lightly with one hand and it began to glow. Irma you have come at the behest
of your father to learn about The Portal and Faydra is here because she
is a trusted and wise friend.
"Yes, it's true I did not come of my own accord," Irma said harshly,
pushing herself back in her chair. "And I don't have much faith that
a talisman of some kind can help us reverse the increasing tyranny of The
System or rid us of its aspiring tyrant." There, she'd said it, and
if they were spies, let them be damned!
But when Galadrina and Faydra simply smiled, Irma found it difficult to
continue. Suddenly, She couldn't seem to stop the inrushing images of a
radiant, younger Galadrina from filling up her mind.
"The Portal is far more than just a talisman," Galadrina finally
said.
"That may be, but I don't think so . . ." Again, Irma couldn't
seem to get her thoughts quite straight. She tried to let go of Galadrina's
mind, to withdraw the filaments of Ungo -- and now the crystal -- that connected
them, but she couldn't.
A shiver went through Irma's body as the images in her mind began to change.
It was as if she herself were Galadrina, then Faydra, then Galadrina again
. . . now on trial during the Purges, then falling from grace. Irma tasted
the bitterness of both women's hatred of The System, and their dedication
to its transformation. And so she now knew that Galadrina could not possibly
be an agent for the servants of the same evilly twisted System which so
cruelly abused and exiled her.
Galadrina stared at Irma for a few moments in silence. "Well, I'm so
glad," she finally said, and poured the tea.
"Glad?" Irma sputtered, recapturing her voice. The images faded.
"Yes, my dear," Glad that you no longer suspect me of being such
a hideous thing as an informer."
"Why, no . . . I mean," Irma began faintly.
"Oh, my dear, don't bother. You must realize that when you attempt
to open my mind to reveal its secrets, you open your own to receive them
-- and you must surely understand that you are not the only one at this
table who has dabbled in the ancient art of Ungo."
Irma felt her face redden. For some strange reason she felt like a little
daughter, caught drawing with her mother's lipstick.
Galadrina's eyes were filled with a mother's compassion. "Now, now,
child. I've known your father since before we both fell -- didn't he tell
you? A fine, fine man. And such a pity, losing your mother when you were
so young. You've had a hard time of it, haven't you?"
And Irma, who prided herself on her toughness, who could walk into the roughest
dreg bars on Recon 5 to deliver messages from the Underground, the proud,
invulnerable Irma Glindar felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
Galadrina moved her chair beside Irma, taking the younger woman gently in
her arms, and Faydra laid her hands on Irma's shoulders. "That's all
right, dear," Galadrina said. "A woman needs to cry every now
and then, doesn't she? There's so much pain in our world, isn't there?"
Irma nodded. She enjoyed the comfort of Galadrina's arms and Faydra's soothing
hands. Then, suddenly Galadrina stood up.
"Yes, well, now my friends, why don't we take a drink of our tea, yes?
And then we'll get down to business? Mustn't keep the revolution waiting,
after all."