Secret of Spring Page 4

  His short but precious union with Laurel had meant quite a lot to him through the years, and he was certain Spring would feel the same once she had found the proper young man. Whenever he had broached the subject, however, she usually laughed in that impish way she had, and said he was the only man in her life that mattered. That she had lots of time for that later on.

  No, Gabriel had not encouraged her, and he regretted that now. Didn’t it please him to have a devoted and lovely daughter by his side? Didn’t she honestly enjoy the work they did together? And time did not go on forever. Who should know that better than he? He had been so intent on perfecting his discovery that it soon became all he could think about. He had referred many of his patients to an associate, to give more time to his research and it had paid off. He had discovered a way to tap secrets from the crystals, secrets that could change the world.

  Cursed secrets! If he had only seen where it was leading, had only known then what it would mean for them now, he would have done many things differently. Would he not? Would he not? That question frightened him, for he still was not certain of the answer.

  Lovely Spring! She was the very image of her mother at the same age; lithe and small with soft amber tresses that turned golden in the sunlight. He missed her immensely, his lovely shadow. But the secret—now that Zygote’s spies were beneath each rock, behind every tree, she was far and away safer where she was. Spring’s wellbeing was all that was important to him now. He could not bear to lose her as well. It would be like losing Laurel, all over again.

  Gabriel reached for a small piece of polished lepidolite and pressed the cool ridged surface against the proper chakra, hoping to restore some peace to his nerves before the next client arrived.

  Looking down his list of appointments, he proceeded to assemble the necessary stones and wands he would shortly be using. This was a sad case. A young man traumatized by a Turbocar accident. Those vehicles were dangerous and should be recalled, in his opinion. Both the client’s parents had been killed instantly, but he had escaped unharmed, physically. Emotionally, it was another matter. It would be a long road back for him. A complete cleaning would be called for, followed by daily visualization. Gabriel wished Spring were there to consult about some medicinal teas to relax him, but he could probably find some mention of them in her record book.

  He set out the cleansing stones, then selected several others. Red jasper should improve the immune system, jade would help dispel negativity, a moonstone for calming, and rose quartz for love. That young man would have to learn to love himself again; grief and guilt were terrible burdens for one so young to bear. For anyone to bear. Gabriel paused, remembering.

  As he held the chunk of pink quartz in his palm, his thoughts returned to a day not so long ago when he had commissioned a jeweler to carve an especially fine piece into a heart shape to be mounted and hung on a golden chain for Spring’s sixteenth birthday. She was so delighted, and had sworn never to take it off. She had been wearing it today.

  Gabriel started in surprise to hear the door chimes ring so soon. The client was early. Laying aside the quartz, he paused long enough to pull on his silk robes and adjust the golden half-framed glasses upon his nose. He took time to survey his appearance in the mirror.

  He was an imposing figure with his six foot frame, and touches of grey at the temples. Even at his age, he could turn a lady’s head for a second glance. Clients tended to respond better when he was properly attired for their sessions. So much of healing depended upon faith, and they felt a doctor should look like a doctor and a magician should look like a magician. He did indeed look every inch the magician.

  Parting the inside curtains, he went out into the front of the shop to unlock the door. It was not his girl’s regular day off, but she had called in claiming illness. He had offered to help, but she assured him it was a mundane problem best looked after with bed rest. He deduced it was most likely her time of the month and did not press for details. Since his schedule was lighter these days, he had decided not to cancel any appointments. He was capable of opening a few doors by himself, after all.

  Gabriel reached for the lever and swung open the door. He was immediately hurled across the room into his secretary’s work station, knocking off most of the contents and overturning a large potted plant.

  His glasses went flying from his face, lost in the action, and he winced from a sharp stabbing pain in his left side where his body had violently connected with the corner of the desk. He had just enough time to orient on his attacker before going down. It was gratifying to know it was not his client, but shocking to see the hulking form of a huge yellow Martian amazon crouched above him.

  The woman gripped him at the collar and yanked upward, slapping him hard across his face with the back of her free hand. It was the size of a ham, and felt like a rock. Martian females were no dainty breed, but the dominant sex on their home turf. No strangers to physical violence, they easily kept their less robust men in line. The Men’s Liberation League had sent emissaries to Mars for several years, but to no avail. At least that was the conclusion, since none had ever returned. Such events were the subject of crude jokes, but it was hard to see the humor in his present situation.

  Gabriel’s head was ringing from the savage blow as he slumped down thankfully into the seat where she had flung him. His sight was bleary from more than the loss of his spectacles, but he finally made out that his assailant was not alone. Standing behind her were two more foggy forms, one tall and angular, the other smaller, almost effeminate. He hardly needed much vision to recognize that nefarious pair. It was the mad Magician Zygote, and his strange Ki companion, Elton.

  “Zygote,” Gabriel said slowly, trying to focus. “Welcome to my establishment. You must excuse me if I don’t rise.” He wiped away a trickle of blood from his split lip, his expression feigning apology.

  “We will soon cure you of your insolence, Professor Gabriel,” whined the small young man beside Zygote. It was, of course, presumptuous to refer to Elton as a man. He/she/it was neither, being a Ki. Kis were multisexed, being capable of mating with male or female or most alien species. They were simply whatever they wished, and adapted accordingly. Since Elton had dressed in male attire when Gabriel had met “him,” he tended to regard the Ki as male for convenience of reference.

  Elton’s facial features were rather neuter as well; what one might describe as sensitive. That was delusion, of course, for there was no sensitivity in the distorted creature as he addressed Gabriel. He accented the magician’s name as if it were a slur of the vilest sort. It was not hard to imagine the nature of service he performed for his master.

  “Never mind, Elton,” Zygote said. “I’m sure the good doctor realizes this is not a social call.” He pulled out a folder from the inside of his robe and held it up for Gabriel to view. “Does this look familiar to you, Doctor?”

  Gabriel stared back in stunned horror. It bore his personal seal. “Where—where did you get that?” he gasped. His private research papers, kept in his secret files under lock and key and protected by a confidence spell of the strongest potency. No one could have possibly gotten in unless they knew the magic code. Debubrah? He had trusted her implicitly.

  “Yes, I see you’ve figured it out already, Doctor,” Zygote said. “Your little secretary. But she’s off today, isn’t she? Shopping, I imagine. Bribery is so old fashioned, but still effective. She wasn’t cheap, you know. Still, I tend to believe it was the love spell that did it. Young women remain romantics at heart, despite their independence, don’t you agree?”

  Elton snorted in derision. Zygote, suddenly bored with light conversation, spoke coldly. “But enough small talk, Doctor. You know why we’re here, and what we want.”

  Gabriel sighed with the resignation of a man who knows what he says is not going to be popular. “You won’t get it.”

  Zygote raised a brow quizzically. “Oh? I think I shall.” He nodded to the Martian who had been glowering none too patiently
in the corner. Now her face contorted in a smile, exposing ugly yellowed teeth, a healthy color for her kind.

  “Augah!” she snarled, moving in. Conversation was not her forte either. She obviously adhered to the maxim that actions spoke louder than words.

  The sounds of hard brutal punches rang out clearly in the quiet office. They drowned out the sharp words of Zygote, or perhaps it was Elton, as all sounds became garbled to Gabriel after a few moments. All that was left was the pain.

  Gabriel was no longer a young man, nor was he well. When the giantess reluctantly ceased her battering, he lay limp and bleeding across the cold surface of the office floor. His breathing came in shallow, painful rasps as he tried to speak.

  “Zygote—my heart. Can’t take this,” he said, clutching at his chest. “My medication. In the cabinet in my office. Green label.”

  “Get them!” Zygote snapped to Elton.

  “No, make him talk first,” Elton said sadistically.

  “Get them!” repeated Zygote. “He can’t say anything if he dies, you imbecile!”

  Elton sulked off into the other room and returned with the bottle which he flipped to the prone magician. Gabriel fumbled with the cap and finally managed to slide one tablet beneath his tongue.

  “Feeling better, I trust, Doctor?” asked Zygote. “This sort of violence appalls me. I am a physician, too, you know. Come, give me the information and we can surely work something out like civilized beings. There is enough in this for both of us. We can work together.”

  Gabriel eyed Zygote contemptuously, if blearily. “You shall never have the Secret. Never!” The blood had gathered in his throat, forcing him to cough violently. He tried to stand, but slid back down the wall, closing his eyes against the pain. Then, realizing that there could be no compromise with such ilk, he played his trump. He swallowed the rest of the pills. It was a relief. The pain faded, leaving only his hearing, for a while.

  “Talk, you doddering old fool!” Elton screamed, kicking him viciously in the rib cage with his pointed shoes. “I can make you talk!”

  Zygote gave an exasperated sigh and shut his eyes momentarily before glaring at his companion. “I seriously doubt that, Elton,” he said dryly. “This man is dead.”

  5

  Polli Parlour

  Herb had been wandering aimlessly, trying to focus his swirling thoughts into a coherent pattern. The encounter with Lily at the Hall still weighed heavily on his mind. He wondered if he would find himself returning to her to propose a union after all? All this time that he had been so certain that it was over between them, Lily had been patiently biding her time, not giving up on him.

  Herb began to lose conviction. Seeing her again had triggered a chain reaction. See Lily, want Lily. There had been a time he had not thought her so unsuitable. Even though he had been the one to transplant, deep down he knew she would be waiting should he decide to commit. Not fair, but true. Was that the real reason he had never officially ended it? Had he wanted her to wait?

  From their last conversation, it was plain the door was wide open, the ground still fertile. Lily was a nice girl. Perhaps too nice for her own good. Herb would choose to remain friends, but knew in his heart that was impossible. Lily was a union-or-nothing girl.

  Herb felt suddenly lonely. It was growing late. The tri-moons were rising. He had been walking without noticing where his feet had taken him. It had seemed important only to keep moving. Now as he turned the corner, he saw it was one of several streets in a seedy part of town. Potted plants leaned against doorways of disreputable establishments or sat along the curbs talking to each other. One specimen came toward Herb from the opposite direction, wobbling uneasily on his feet, and reeled into him as he passed.

  “Par’n me—” he slurred, weaving drunkenly onward.

  Herb moved aside to give him ample passing space, then continued on. As he approached one of the local polli parlours, a top heavy female Treeple boldly beckoned with her branches and called out to him.

  “Evening greetings, Sugarcane. Come on in.” Her leaves waved most enticingly.

  Herb paused, amused, but shook his head. He had never been inside one of those places, considering them a haunt of last resort for males unable to satisfy their needs within normal relationships.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be so shy,” she coaxed. “There’s a free show inside, and you don’t have to spend a scent. Costs nothing to look.” She stuck out her mounds, which were blatantly outlined beneath the tight, thin garment. “You do like to look, don’t you?”

  Herb allowed curiosity to overcome embarrassment for the moment. “What type of show?” he asked.

  The Treeple girl beamed. She could tell when she had a ripe one on the vine. “No, no, you have to see for yourself, Hot Pepper,” she said, pushing him inside with her branches and closing the door behind him before he realized what had happened.

  Herb decided to look around, since he was there. On the surface it looked like an ordinary book store, but on closer examination of the stock he realized he’d never seen books like those in the Public Botanical Library.

  There were rows and stands of books and magazinias with lewd photosynthegraphs of all Paradise varieties in every imaginable pose. “Ip! Ip! Ip!” read the covers. Herb blushed deeply as he opened a zinia portraying his own Veganoid species in graduating steps of infertile pollination, or Ip, for short. A lovely green Veganette lay with her limbs fully spread, tied up to stakes, revealing the open blossom. He slammed the zinia shut and put it quickly back on the shelf. He was no prude about Ip, as his recent vacation had proved, but there was a better way to express it than in these degrading zinias.

  He almost fell into the stands as a young Vinese girl sidled up to him, allowing some of her tender firm vines to brush against his leg. He moved back, thinking he was in the way. She repeated the action and he realized it was intentional flirting on her part.

  “Greetings, Green God. Want to go get potted? Afterward, we can roll together. Wouldn’t you like that?” she asked seductively.

  The strong fragrance of her blossoms assailed Herb’s senses. He had never cross-pollinated, but she was alluring in a strange, foreign sort of way. It was a temptation, but he reflected sensibly that he probably couldn’t afford her anyway. His prolonged vacation had depleted his savings, if not actually rendering him financially barren.

  “How much?” he asked, more from curiosity than intent.

  “Only five merrygolds,” she purred, wrapping her slim vines possessively around one leg.

  Herb wished she hadn’t done that. Even though they were quite different in appearance, he had chlorophyll in his blood. Her close proximity was evoking automatic male reactions he wasn’t prepared to handle.

  “Sorry. I’m unscented,” he said apologetically.

  Her scent faded as she abruptly removed her vines, shrugged, and moved on to better prospects. She was a working girl with no time for dead beets. Herb watched her roll away with a sigh of regret. He saw her attach herself to an aging Treeple with dried leaves. The old bark pulled some yellow coins from his trunk and they left together.

  Herb wandered over to the counters containing union aides. There were hoes and spades of all sizes for every need of each species. Sprinkling cans and small bags of “Fertilize Her” were piled high. Rubber plants were also popular items. Herb had never seen so many varieties. He reached out curiously, stretching a leaf. It snapped back with a loud pop. He looked up to see the eyes of nearby customers leering at him. Ducking his head, he moved quickly to another part of the store, his ears glowing emerald.

  Pausing at a new counter, he discovered he was no better off there. It was devoted to appliances for self-pollination, or Sip, as it was crudely termed. Narcissus powder, kissing tulips, clinging vines, sweet-scented potpourris, and leaf wax lay blatantly beneath the bright lights of the display. Herb’s color expanded to his lower regions. How could anyone find the nerve to purchase such items he wondered.

  Just t
hen an attractive Treeple woman reached past him and gathered up a variety of the tulips and other items in her branches. She winked at him.

  “Polli Party tonight,” she explained, and looked Herb up and down appreciatively. “We can always use an extra male, if you’re free?”

  “Uh, sorry. I have a date,” he lied.

  She sighed with regret and carried her selections off to the clerk. She was joined by a couple of her friends who helped carry the purchases. Herb noted their attire and decided they were Ippies, members of a sexual cult that believed in free Ip, roaming from place to place in brightly painted conveyances, smoking weeds and using potting soil. His friend, Cling Ling, had joined such a caravan briefly, and told him all about it.

  He started to leave, then noticed a concession stand at the back of the shop. Wandering over, he saw it sold potting soil and distilled water, though he doubted seriously if they had a license for it. The Patrol were lax these days. Maybe he should buy a pint of water and save a trip to the liquor shop.

  “Finding what you need?” asked the proprietor, appearing at his elbow. He looked as if he didn’t care for browsers. It was a hard business and those who ran it had thick stalks.

  “The girl outside,” Herb stuttered, “Uh, she mentioned a free show. No obligation.” He felt ridiculous and out of place. He wished he had kept walking.

  The manager became more friendly. “Sure, we have two shows tonight. Good for business.” He blew the smoke of his suspicious-smelling leaferette into Herb’s eyes. “The shows put the customers in the mood. Know what I mean?” He winked.

  Herb didn’t know, but he winked back. He didn’t want to seem like a sapling.

  “I know what you want,” the manager said, putting a finger to his lip, and looking around cautiously before reaching beneath the counter for a small zinia. He handed it to Herb, winking again.

  Curious, Herb accepted it and flipped open the cover. He gasped in disbelief. It was a seed catalog! The Patrol might be tolerant of most of these establishments, for sex played a large role in many of the new imported offworlder religions, but this was incredible. Child pollinography was an instant cancellation of license and closedown. Herb handed it back, disgusted.