Betrayed, Book 2 of The Turner Chronicles

By Mark Eller

The War is over. Isabella has won, and the Talent Master is dead. Aaron Turner now lives in N’Ark, Isabella’s capital, where he mourns his murdered wife and son. All he wants is to tip a bottle, stare at walls, and recover.
But they won’t leave him alone.
The Isabellan government and slavers both want him dead. Savages look to him as their prophesied savior. His lawyer wants to control him. His neighbors and friends have been murdered, and a once dead shaman declares him a servant of her One God.
Aaron’s has to make things right. His honor demands it.
Dusting off his guns, Aaron sets aside his grief, readies his talent, and declares a one man war against a nation that has betrayed him, the Clan, and himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Rathbone
• Release date: Nov 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465920621

Mark Eller

Mark Eller has been exiled to a dank basement cavern by his wife, Daneen, because that is the only way he can ignore the distractions of family and eight parrots enough to be able to write. While trapped within his cave, in addition to writing short stories and books, he has recorded and released two audio podcasts, God Wars, a dark fantasy trilogy found at The Hell Hole Tavern, and Mercy Bend, a compilation of twisted tales. Both podcasts can be found at i-tunes. God Wars was written and recorded with Mark's partner, Elizabeth Drapper.Mark has been published by a number of magazines, both on-line and in print, discovering along the way that in certain segments he has been classified as a horror writer, much to his surprise. He enjoys reading fantasy, science fiction, and mystery, but also has a strong preference for reading about archeology and history.

Book preview

Betrayed

By

Mark Eller

Smashwords Edition

In association with White Wolf Press, LLC

Copyright 2009 Mark Eller

Dedication

As always, this book is dedicated to Daneen, my wife, and to my three kids, Troy Anne, Kris, and Kameron. I would also like to thank the world’s best editor, author Larion Wills, and Brian Rathbone. Without them this would not have happened. A special thank you has to go out to Darrell Jay Cook, a recent friend who is working hard on my behalf. And let’s not forget Emerian Rich, my personal nag, irrepressible author, and hostess of the Horror Addicts podcast. Entire football teams wish they had half her drive and energy.

Chapter 1

Sausage on a bun. Get yer sausage on a bun.

Bagel an' a smear. Right here for yer bagel an' a smear. Nothing better in the mornin' to getcha goin'.

Screeeee.

Hey there. Get yer arse out o' the road. Ain't ya heard o' street corners? All ya damn men are the same. Ya think the damned road was put there just fer yer sakes? Well, I'll tell ya, Mister, there's others of us what need to travel--.

Watch yer language, you old harridan! Have the law on you, I will! It was you and yer horses what was doing--.

Welcome to early morning in N'Ark, Aaron told himself. He was surrounded by people heading from home to work and by people heading from work to home. Tourists impeded sidewalk traffic. Panhandlers and street players did their part to block the walkway. Everyone around him was irritable and rushed and crunched and abused, but that was not unusual in Isabella's capital city. There was nothing lazy about this city. N'Ark was the center of Isabellan society, seat of the Isabellan Assembly, and the financial center of several stock and security markets. At best, it was controlled chaos. At worst, incomprehensible.

Speed it up there, ya old harridan! Ain't got all day!

I'll speed you up--.

Ignoring the activity, Aaron squared his shoulders, gathered his courage, and prepared to enter the four story brick building he had been standing in front of for the last three minutes.

You going to stand there all day? a man's voice asked dryly. Other people need to get inside.

Aaron gave the complainer a curt nod and pushed his way through the doors.

He walked across the large lobby, ignoring people lounging in the scattered chairs. He paused before setting his foot on the stairway leading up. Part of him wished he had the guts to turn around and leave. Another part knew she would track him down eventually.

Gods, he really hated these meetings.

Aaron sighed and climbed the stairs until he reached the third floor. Once there, he clumped his way down the wide hallway until he reached the third door on the left. He drew in a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Miss Bivins' waiting room looked small compared to the offices of other legal firms she and Aaron habitually dealt with. As yet, she did not need a great deal of space because her practice only had one lawyer, herself, and one client, Aaron. However, keeping up with Aaron's financial interests had changed from a one-day-a-week job into something that required almost all her time. Aaron did not know exactly what Amanda Bivins did for him, but he did know that she suffered from an intense desire to succeed. From what he could tell, she measured success by the size of her bank account. That bank account depended heavily on Aaron's interests.

Amanda's secretary, Miss Heidi O'Malley set aside a sheet of paper and picked up another legal form as Aaron came through the door. Seeing Aaron, she gave him a quick wink and adjusted a shoulder strap to display more cleavage. In return, Aaron gave her a noncommittal smile. Heidi was hunting a husband and Aaron was not in the market, a fact which did not deter her at all.

She gave him a wide-eyed stare and a full-mouth smile. Good morning, Mister Turner. Miss Bivins is expecting you. Go on in. Her right eye drooped in another wink. She's been waiting all morning so her mood is somewhat-- ambivalent.

Riiight. In other words the ever-so-irritable Miss Bivins had finished chewing her teeth down to her gums and was now grinding those gums into paste because Aaron was an hour late for her requested meeting, or a few days late, depending on which of her several requests he referred to.

Aaron sucked in his belly and marched forward.

Remember, he muttered beneath his breath. She works for you. Turning the knob, he opened the door.

You were supposed to be here an hour ago! Amanda snapped. How am I supposed to present our argument when I don't know how you want to attack this matter?

Aaron checked. No froth around her lips. She wasn't rabid--yet.

And a good morning to you. He pulled a chair around and plopped down. As always, you'll do and say exactly what you choose. We both know my opinion doesn't matter in the least. Besides, I've no idea what you're talking about.

Excuse me? Eyes narrowing, Amanda leaned forward, two sure signs he had goofed big.

I'm clueless.

Amanda sat back in her chair. A muscle twitched in her cheek, and her forehead wrinkled. I sent you three messages. You've had a week's warning, and you're saying you don't have a clue about anything?

Frowning, Aaron studied the stack of papers piled on one corner of her desk. After tossing a pair of dice in his head, he decided telling her the truth was probably the best approach.

That sounds about right. I haven't been home for a while.

She groaned. Been visiting the kids again?

Maybe. Aaron answered, reflecting that the solitude had been good even if the fishing had been bad.

And maybe not. Her narrowed eyes opened wide, and they were not pretty. Doesn't matter. What does matter is that your irresponsibility has created a problem. As you know, you have a five percent gross interest on every new product introduced to Isabella through the use of your other-world books, and that you a tax waiver on any undertaking you have a direct interest in for the next ten years. She gave him a long look. You do know this, don't you?

I signed the papers, Aaron reminded her.

You sign a lot of papers. I doubt you read more than one percent of them.

I only leaf through most, Aaron admitted. The papers you're talking about were the first ones you gave me so I read them several times over.

Well fine! At least we have that much, Amanda said. Okay. Here's the scoop. Several people among the liberals believe your books represent too great a financial and industrial sword to be owned by only one person. They want to remove the books from the university's keeping and add them to the National Archives, and they want to steal your ownership rights while doing so.

Aaron shrugged. Not much we can do about it, is there? Let them have the books and we'll call it a day. After all, I don't need the money.

Amanda shook her head. Uh-uh buster. You need all the money I've brought in and more. I know you don't keep track of your finances, but the sad fact is that we have to keep expanding if we expect to open new Turner orphanages. We have seventeen now. Only five are wholly self-supporting. Seven get at least a quarter of their support from you, and all five of the N'Ark Houses are a major drain. Those seventeen houses will break you inside of the year. That means you either have to keep control of the books and the money they represent, or you have to sell off the Houses.

Aaron took a moment to enjoy the way she had switched from 'we' to 'you.' Expanding his interests and opening more Houses were 'we' items, while the money needed to run them was entirely a matter of 'you.' Of even more interest was the fact that the 'she' part of 'we' had not one thing to do with the Houses. Hell, he barely had anything to do with them anymore. Amanda, or somebody, had hired a director here in N'Ark. The other Houses spread around Isabella were all single-unit affairs that could very well take care of their own running as long as Amanda wrote them a check every once in a while.

The Houses stay, he said firmly. I'll not put those kids back on the street. Our job is to make sure the Houses remain open and that we continue expanding. I don't care if the government gets hold of the books, but I do care whether or not the orphanages continue running.

Well, she said, your choices are limited. You can give up your books, live on your present funds, and start shutting down houses, or you can maintain ownership of the books. Personally, I like the second option.

Aaron chuckled. You would. Your practice is entirely dependent on me. Once my money's gone, you have no work.

Amanda shook her head again. Wrong. A year ago that would have been true, but I've gained a reputation since then. In fact, I've turned down three offers this week alone. No, Mister Turner, without you, I will do just fine on my own. I may have to give up my private practice for a short while, but I'd be snapped up by a respectable firm in an instant. You're the one who won't do well.

Scowling, Aaron thought of the buried silver bars he owned that she didn't know about. Even that much silver would do little more than delay matters for a few years. The Turner Houses were expensive, and Miss Bivins was correct. Only five were self-supporting. A few came close to breaking even. The rest were a continuing drain on his resources. None of that mattered.

The Houses stay, he repeated. If that means ownership of the books has to remain with me, then it remains with me. I do have a signed agreement with the government and the N'Ark University to that effect. They'll live up to the agreement, or they'll deal with us in court for the next fifty years.

You don't have the money to sue them for nearly that long, Amanda told him. A suit will only make you poor that much quicker. Besides, you're not a citizen of this country. You're an alien resident who's here on suffrage. If they throw the agreement away, the government can kick you out of the country. Try suing them when you have no funds and don't live inside Isabella. Go ahead. Try.

Aaron tapped his fingers on his knees. He hated governments and politics and everything else that was devised for the sole purpose of deception and sneakiness.

So what do we do? he asked. What are our options?

We need to show the government that they not only need the books, they need you. Frankly, that's a tall order. Now that you can no longer transfer to your birth world, there's little about you that's valuable to the government.

I do have a slightly different Talent now, Aaron reminded her, and a Talent Stone that makes it usable.

And you are best advised to keep that as secret as possible. An unscrupulous assemblyperson could make very good use of your Talent.

Such is the way of governments everywhere, Aaron complained.

Maybe, Amanda admitted, but you have to remember that governments are made up of people who have their own individual agendas. We have to show the assembly that promoting your best interests is in their best interest. The problem is that I'm not sure how to do this. I wanted to brainstorm with you before we went into the meeting.

Aaron raised his hands. Sorry. Right now my mind is a blank.

Amanda's smile became thin and unhappy. So we have to bluff our way through this thing.

We?

You're coming too. This decision affects you more than it does me.

Gods, Aaron groaned. This was why he liked to hire people. He hated politics and slimy politicians. When do we leave?

Amanda glanced at her watch and stood up. Thirty minutes ago would have gotten us there fashionably late. If we leave right now and arrive by conventional means, we'll be unforgivably late. That won't make a good impression. Do you know where the Assembly Building is?

Been in the area a few times.

Good. Get us someplace close so we can make it on time.

Aaron sighed. He hated using his Talent to transport to unsecured places. In a big city like N'Ark, the chances of being seen were fairly high. True, his picture was not in the papers, and he kept a low profile. The chances of being recognized by sight were slight. Still, that chance did exist.

Then again, if he lost the books he would have to start closing Houses. That he would not allow. Sometimes the knowledge that he had created the Houses was the only thing that held him together.

Let's go.

Amanda walked over to join him. Closing his eyes, Aaron concentrated on the secret part of his mind that wanted to take him someplace else.

Flicker

* * *

Crash

Son of a--Where did you two come from? Look, I'm sorry. I didn't see you.

Forget it. Forget it, Aaron sputtered from the ground while frantically brushing garbage off his chest. A mostly empty garbage can lay a few feet away. The woman who had dropped it stood over him. We shouldn't have been here anyway.

The woman helped him to his feet, and then assisted Amanda. Amanda glared daggers until they left the alley Aaron had transported them into.

My suit is ruined, Amanda said in an unnaturally reasonable voice. Her lips twisted in distaste. Mister Turner, there is stinking trash all over us. We can't go to a meeting like this. It will make entirely the wrong impression. She shook her head unhappily. We're supposed to be at the National Assembly in a quarter hour. They won't let us in the building if we look like this. Can you just--you know--move some of the stuff off our clothes?

Disbelieving, Aaron looked at her. Miss Bivins. I am not the Lady or Her Lord. That kind of discrimination I don't have. We'll just have to do the best we can. After all, accidents do happen. They'll accept us or they won't. Either way we'll do our best.

She grimaced, nodded, and led the way from the alley. Aaron followed. Once on the sidewalk, Amanda stopped and peered around to get her bearings. She smiled when she saw the gold brocade of the Freedom Monument, suddenly her old confident self again.

Very good. Remember to watch your language once we're inside.

I'm not in the habit of--. Aaron began.

Speak clearly. Impressions are important. We don't want them to think we grew up on a farm. Amanda stepped out onto sidewalk abutting the main thoroughfare.

You did grow up on a farm, Aaron pointed out as he followed.

Yes, but we don't want to shove that fact into people's faces. Watch me carefully and say as little as possible. Okay?

No, Aaron answered, but she did not hear. Instead, Amanda struck out with a purposeful stride that dared any passerby to get in her way. Aaron had to hurry to keep up. They reached the Assembly Building with ten minutes to spare.

The doorman gave a pointed sniff before barring their way. There are no public tours today. You can come back in two days if you are cleaned up. Until then, go away.

Amanda drew herself up. Her eyes probed into the doorman's, daring him to further impede her path. Aaron admired her presentation. He had seen that same stance do her well in court. It might even have been effective here if she had carried a few extra years on her shoulders. Unfortunately, Amanda looked exactly her age, and that age was several years younger than Aaron's twenty-seven. The doorman did not look impressed by either her attitude or her stained clothing.

Amused, Aaron watched her try to cower the fellow for a few more moments. Seeing Amanda at a loss felt refreshing. She usually carried herself with such an air of competence that most people were overwhelmed by her. This man appeared merely annoyed.

You will leave, he said, or I will call for guards to remove you.

These are public buildings, Amanda spat, and you are a public employee paid by my taxes. I have a right to enter this building, and you have a duty to allow me entrance. My name is Miss Amanda Bivins. With me is Mister Aaron Turner. We have an appointment in eight minutes to see the Subcommittee on Domestic Affairs. It will cost your job if you make us late.

The doorman studied her as if she were a chicken he was about to turn into a stew. You go right after my job. I'll be fired as soon as you make your complaint. After I'm fired, I'll get a two-week vacation while my guild threatens to strike. Then I'll be back on the job with back pay plus grievance money.

Aaron caught the man's attention with a subtle gesture. It was time he showed Amanda that he was more than capable of handling some of these small difficulties himself.

Dom Verilago et Burrauge will not be happy when he discovers you are keeping us from our appointment, he said while peering at the doorman's lapel. I'll be sure to let him know that Mister Issac Penfrost is the gentleman responsible for this outrage.

Laughter leaped into Penfrost's face. I'm sure the Dom will be glad to hear from you. He needs the company. According to the morning papers, he was found head down in his own well yesterday.

Oh. Damn. The next time Aaron pulled the name of a crime figure out of the papers he would have to make sure the person still lived.

Mister Turner. Quick footsteps clacked across the floor as a well-dressed woman rushed toward them. I have been waiting for you. The assembly members asked me to show you the way since we have met before and thus were most likely to recognize each other. Stopping before them, she took a long look at their clothes. Her nose wrinkled. I must say, you have a novel approach toward addressing the assembly. Most people leave their peculiar odors behind.

Most people don't have garbage cans flung at them while they're on their way to an appointment, Aaron noted. Good morning, Mistress Bestrow. I don't believe we've spoken since we saw each other in Last Chance.

Good morning. She gave the doorman a perfunctory glance. Admit them, Mister Penfrost. Catlow wants to see them.

The minister?

Yes, the minister, she replied impatiently.

B-but their clothes, he sputtered.

Their clothes are perfectly acceptable for someone the minister wants to see. The matter would be different if they were petitioning her, but that isn't the case.

Yes, Mistress Bestrow. Sir, madam, you may enter the Assembly Building.

Thank you. Amanda swept through the door like she was royalty visiting the commons. Mistress Bestrow, you may show us the way.

Aaron followed in a more sedate manner since he could not attempt Amanda's regal charade without laughing.

Mistress Bestrow smiled faintly. Perhaps you could follow me then?

Perhaps so.

Amanda managed to look as if she were leading the way while being guided along. Aaron happily took up a position in the rear. Only a fool of a client would try to one-up Amanda Bivins at this point.

They walked down several long corridors, passing people who appeared to know the business they had been sent to do. Mistress Bestrow used the magic name of Mistress Catlow to get them past two other sets of doorway guardians. She led them down an ornately decorated hallway and into a large sitting room.

Wait here, she said. I'll be back after making sure everyone who is supposed to be at the meeting actually bothered to show up.

She left with a fast clicking of her heels.

Aaron looked to Amanda and saw she had the same problem he did. They stood in an immaculately clean room, looking at some of the most comfortable-appearing chairs it had ever been Aaron's privilege to see, and they could not decide whether or not to sit down while wearing their garbage-strewn clothing.

Amanda decided the issue.

Always bold, she said just before plopping down in the plushest seat in the room. Mister Turner, do make yourself comfortable.

Aaron chose the chair that seemed to be covered with the most cleanable material. Settling in, he released a faint groan as the chair seemed to wrap itself around him. This is one nice chair.

Isn't it? I have to confess, when I attended law school I never thought I would find myself dealing with the movers and shakers this early in my career. I thought it would take at least another four or five years to make it this far.

So you always assumed you would be one of the country's top business lawyers? Aaron asked.

He understood her confidence. Amanda was very good, and she seemed to live for her law books. Still and all, she was also a virtual nobody. Her parents had paupered themselves putting her through school. Large sections of the family farm were sold off and several of her siblings took on extra jobs to bring in the needed money. Since taking on Aaron as a client, Amanda had made amends to the family. Her parents now lived in a larger home, and she was putting two of her sisters through college. Still, she was a woman who had sprouted out of common ground. She had no political connections, and her parents knew nobody on the inside of the power scene.

I always knew I would own one of the top law firms in Isabella, Amanda replied. I have since expanded my plans. I now know I will own the top firm in Isabella. In a few years I will expand my influence into several other countries. She smiled. I think I will like that.

Aaron shook his head. If that's your idea of fun, then I wish you all the luck in the world. Personally, I want something a lot simpler. I want as little stress as possible, as little notice as I can get, and I want to be left alone.

Amanda chuckled. Not much chance of that happening. You are rather at the center of things. Not many people know exactly who you are, but you hold more potential power in your hands than many of our elected assembly. I suspect that is why we are here today. Somebody wants to pull your claws before you start flexing them.

She stopped speaking at the sound of approaching voices. Standing, she brushed her clothing straight, then gestured sharply for Aaron to rise.

A number of women and one man entered just as Aaron pulled himself erect. Curious eyes fastened on him, took in his slight build and his trash-stained clothes, and dismissed him. However, one scar-faced woman and the man stared at him with ill-disguised distaste. They were dressed much like the others, wearing power suits and crisply cut hair, but they held themselves distant from the others.

Do you have business here? one severe woman demanded. Her face made Mistress Bestrow's humorless features look soft. Disapproval of the world stared from her eyes, making Aaron think that this was a woman who knew where the bodies were buried. She had probably shoveled some of the dirt herself.

We have a meeting, Amanda told her. Mistress Bestrow bade us to wait here.

That one, the woman sniffed. It figures. Wait then, if you must. Just keep your eyes off your betters while you do so--and keep those filthy clothes off our furniture.

Placing a hand on her arm, the man shook his head.

What do you--? she began, but his hard stare silenced her protest. You handle it then, if you must.

The man did not walk forward. He glided with an unconscious grace that would shame a professional dancer. His female companion glided forward with him. If anything, her movements were smoother than his. Glancing at Amanda, they dismissed her.

You are the small man, the woman said with a carefully controlled voice. Her accent sounded thick and heavy, yet her meaning was clear.

Aaron looked at her. I suppose I am small, yes. Not much I can do about that.

Your size is greater than your inches, the man said gravely. Both angry and respectful, his voice was filled with firm dislike. You have taken much from us. For that you owe a great debt. I am Delmac. She is Tremon. You are the Chosen. We will see more of each other. Turning, they went back to their group. The group moved toward one of the side doors.

Just before walking through the open door, the surly woman paused to give them one more distrustful look. The furniture, she reminded. Keep off it.

Miss Bestrow came back at that moment. Her eyes turned hard when she saw the woman's retreating back. I see you've met Assemblywoman Sporlain. I advise you to stay clear of her. That one is never happy unless she is making trouble. She is also one of the forces behind this drive to circumvent our agreement. Come along. People are waiting.

Those two knew you, Amanda whispered to Aaron. What did they mean? You have done nothing to them. Nothing. I know of all your dealings since you came to Isabella.

You don't know everything, Aaron murmured while guilt battled with the hatred he felt for anyone associated with Haarod Beech. The thought of Beech brought forth the memory of his wife, Sarah, and his son, Ernest, burning in Beech's Talent made fire. Aaron's Talent for teleporting could not save his family when set against the multiple gifts of a Talent Master.

Gods, he missed them.

He turned his eyes back on Amanda, not caring that she saw his tears. They're clanspeople I've encountered before. I helped them lose a war; then I murdered their messiah.

He looked back to the now empty doorway and thought of the deaths his weapons had brought to those people. He remembered the feel of Sarah's steel sword slicing into Beech's body, and he remembered his son's dying screams.

I don't regret it, he said thickly while raising a hand to swipe at his eyes. Not any of it.

They are ambassadors for the Thirty Clans, Mistress Bestrow said. Her mouth turned down in a frown. I'm afraid they are here only to further determine how we will subjugate them. We do not have a good record when it comes to dealing with native peoples. Treaties are something we hold them to while ignoring our own obligations. Her frown straightened into its customary thin line. Come along. Important people are waiting.

Aaron nodded and pulled himself together. Let's go.

Fill us in while we walk, Amanda said.

Of course. Mistress Bestrow led the way. You know Mistress Catlow, of course, Minister of the Interior. She supports your arguments because she was behind the government's original deal with you. Probably the person you most have to beware of is Mister Alfred Harrison. He started this entire procedure. For reasons beyond my ken, he has formed an intense hatred for you, Mr. Turner. Some of the others are unswervingly on his side, but a few are riding the fence. Some might slip over to your side. The leader of the largest hostile contingent is Miss Wanda Andrews. In fact, now that I think of it, she might be more dangerous to you than Harrison. Her political power in the assembly is not as great as his, but she represents a tremendous amount of financial and social power due to her position in her family. I think that if you--.

Her voice droned on while Aaron thought back to the two Clan ambassadors. The Thirty Clans had been supporters of Beech, but in a way, they had been his victims, too. They had brought war. They had killed settlers and soldiers, but they killed to gain freedom from an encroaching nation. They had gone to war on the orders of an egocentric madman. Now the war was lost because Aaron had given modern weapons to an invading army. The freedom they sought was lost because he had also given that army Talent Stones.

Aaron's stomach knotted. He had a strange feeling Delmac and Tremon expected him to get their freedom back.

Damn.

Chapter 2

She slid into the chair across from him in the restaurant.

What are you drinking?

Hmmm?

I said what are you drinking? I'll buy you one.

Aaron rested wine-blurry eyes on a woman who filled the exact description of an Amazon. If she stood less than six feet three inches, he was a poor judge of size. Broad-shouldered and thick-necked, she had enormous arms that pushed out the material of her shirt. Trapped above her muscular body was an absolutely beautiful face. Soft-sculpted planes and angled facets were fit together to create something that was exotic and exciting.

I'm married, Aaron told her. His head felt thick.

She shrugged. Isn't every man once he gets past twenty? Look sweets, I didn't come over because I thought you'd be an easy lay. When I looked over here I saw a fellow having a difficult time. Now I ain't no do-gooder, but I've been up against it a time or two myself so I have some idea of what it's like. I thought maybe there was something I could do to help.

Aaron lifted his glass and tried to take another drink. He was thwarted because the glass held no wine. After studying the situation over for a while, a solution came to him.

Runeburg White, he said, speaking carefully. I'm drinking Runeburg White. He gave her a sloppy smile. I think I'm a little drunk.

She smiled back. I think you're more than a little drunk. Why don't we skip the drink, and you can just get on with telling me your problems?

Aaron raised his hands. I'm surrounded by thieves. Everywhere I go people have their hands out asking more, more, more. The more I give, the more they ask. He lowered his hands, leaned forward, and whispered. I don't know how much thinner I can get. I've been counting myself for years. I'm only one man.

She gestured a waitress over to the table. The waitress arrived in her own good time, ambling over only after making sure her shoes were tied, she had no wrinkles in her dress, and her hair was perfect. She sidled up to Aaron, leaned her hip up against his arm, and delivered her best sultry look. What can I give you?

Even drunk, Aaron found her clumsy and obvious.

His companion cocked her head and studied the woman for several moments before speaking. Space, child, he wants space. Reaching into her front pocket, she pulled out a card and handed it to the waitress. If you insist on playing the game, you better learn how to do it effectively. Go here between ten and four. You'll find people you can talk to. If you like them, and they like you, they'll train you on how to attract a man. Now, if you're ready to take our order, we would both like lemon tea. She clapped her hands. Get on with it, girl.

Flouncing indignation, the waitress left. Aaron laughed, and his laughter surprised him. It wasn't something he did much anymore. What was the card?

Hmmm. The card? The woman shrugged. That was nothing. It's the address to a modeling agency. It fell out of the pocket of one of the people I exercise with. Her eyes rested on his face. Tell me, my friend, it's been a long time since you've been happy, has it not?

Aaron's laughter died. Does it show?

It shows to those who look for the signs. It shows better to those who have a bit of Talent for these things. When I look at you I see someone tired of living. I see someone who is unsure of what he wants to be or of where he's going. I see someone teetering on the edge.

The waitress came back and angrily rattled two teacups of hot water down on the table. After plunking two brass tea balls into the water, she left. Aaron stared at his tea ball, mesmerized by the thin stream of bubbles rising from the small holes. The ball was brass. Everything metal in this world was made of brass, bronze, copper, or a few other basic metals. In his home world, iron was the king of metals. In this parallel world, iron and all its alloys were almost unknown. Few people ever saw a chunk of iron ore. Fewer still conceived a use for it beyond those rare pieces that happened to be naturally magnetized. Those pieces were Talent Stones. Purely By accident Aaron had learned that a Talent Stone's ability to amplify Talent came not from the substance of the stone itself, but from its magnetism. After making this discovery, he had carried a substantial number of lead wrapped