One woman in the other party was a tall blonde, with a thin, red-cheeked face and graceful bare arms. Although both the women facing Rob wore iridescent, full-length dresses, the impressions they created were very different. The tall woman’s gown was like a sheath for a fragile and delicate ornament, the other’s like the container for a moving flame.
It was that second woman who drew Rob’s full attention. She was short, no taller than Corrie herself. Instead of the latter’s slim figure, however, she possessed a full and sensuous build, shown off to advantage by the clinging formal gown. Her hair was dark and glossy, framing her small head and taken smoothly back from her brown forehead. Rob saw the delicacy of her cheekbones under a tanned flawless skin, the wide mouth, and the dark irises of her eyes with their clear blue-white surrounding.
It was she who broke the tension between the two groups, as she laughed and said, “Cornelia, my dear. This is certainly not the place that I ever expected to find you. What is it that brings you to sample the pleasures of Way Down?”
Her voice was a surprise, deeper and fuller than Rob expected. She was still smiling, revealing small, even teeth of glittering white. Rob looked instinctively at her temples and the side of her neck. The scars were there, but the job had been superbly done. The marks were scarcely visible, so that with make-up it was hard to tell that a rejuvenation had ever taken place. Rob kept on staring, unable to control his curiosity. The woman seemed to vibrate and pulsate with an unnatural energy and vitality, while her skin appeared to glow beneath the surface. Then he looked at her eyes again, and caught the first hint of something else. The pupil of one seemed to be fractionally bigger than the other. Suspicious, he glanced down at her hands. It was there, the slight characteristic trembling — and there was a fine line of perspiration above the upper lip. Rob felt a sudden twist of pity.
“I’m sorry, Senta.” Corrie’s tone was stiff and uncomfortable as she took the dark-haired woman by the hand. “I knew that you came here regularly, but I thought the chance that we would meet was small. I came here myself by invitation.” She turned to Rob. “I would like to introduce you to a friend” — her voice was husky on the last word — “of mine. Senta, this is Rob.”
“I’m delighted to meet you.” Senta took Rob’s hand in both of hers and inspected him closely, while he stood silent. Her grip was burning hot against his skin. “Very good,” she said at last. “Now let me introduce my friends. This is Howard Anson.”
The taller of the two men nodded politely at Rob, whose hand was still imprisoned in Senta’s. Then, surprisingly, he gave Rob a broad wink and a friendly grin.
“And this is Eiro and Lucetta Perion,” Senta continued.
The other couple stared at Rob in confusion. It was obvious that they knew something that he didn’t, and they were less good than Howard Anson at hiding it or accepting it.
Senta seemed quite unaware of any of their reactions. “He’s not at all your usual space-hero type,” she said to Corrie, finally releasing Rob’s hand. “He’s very nice.” She looked up at him through long, dark lashes. “What did you say that your name was?”
In spite of his knowledge of what she was, Rob could feel a tug of sexual attraction emanating from the woman in front of him. How old was she? Fifty at least, assuming one rejuvenation treatment. Her face and body were those of a twenty-year-old, overlain with the subtle odor of desirability of a mature and knowing woman. It was nature, heightened by another factor. The appearance of those dark eyes and the trembling of the hands were unmistakable. Senta — beautiful, sensual, and obviously wealthy — was a taliza addict.
The drug had been widely tested and used for five years after its discovery. It seemed an ideal tool, the answer to the psychologists’ dreams. A patient could re-live, in complete detail, the previous experiences of life.
Rob had seen taliza at work before. Apply the correct input stimulus, and the return would be instantaneous and total. The patient did not remember the original scene — he re-lived it, as it had happened. Conversations were re-heard, scenes re-visited in memory, old messages played back through the stimulated brain. The patient repeated his exact words, as audio and visual input streams were short-circuited and replaced by recollection.
The perfect tool for psychological research? Not quite. Taliza had been far too expensive for routine use. Then CGG Pharmaceuticals found the alternate production technique. The new, cheaper taliza should have been identical to the old. It was not. It produced addiction, total and irreversible and remorseless, after a single full dose.
Following addiction, regular use was essential. If it were withheld for more than a couple of weeks, withdrawal symptoms ended in a long-drawn and disgusting death as key synapses of the brain discharged random electrical signals through the highly organized and delicate cerebral cortex. Mind and reason went first. Soon after came the loss of all physical control of body functions and finally the collapse of the autonomous nervous system.
When the side effects were discovered, CGG’s form of taliza was quickly banned from the System. Too late. Given a sizeable investment in equipment, the drug could be produced simply and cheaply. Illegal production, sale and use increased at once to the point where all other addictive drugs became irrelevant, and the pusher’s dream came true. For taliza offered one other thing that much of the world seemed to need: an entranced high, in which the user felt a glorious sense of self-satisfaction and inner contentment, stronger than hunger and pain, able to relieve any sorrow.
Howard Anson had observed Rob’s close inspection of Senta. He caught his speculative expression and gave an almost imperceptible nod. There was sorrow and compassion in his face. Rob began to suspect that Howard Anson might be more than the butterfly escort that had provided his first impression. He nodded slightly in return and turned back to Senta, as she frowned at him and said again: “Come on, I’m not trying to steal you away from Cornelia. Why don’t you tell me your name?”
“I will,” Rob said softly. He looked into her dark eyes. “I’m Rob. Rob Merlin.”
As he spoke his full name he was aware that Corrie stiffened beside him, and Howard Anson frowned at him in a sudden surmise. He concentrated on the skin of Senta’s forehead, which seemed to burn with a dusky bloom beneath its deep tan. She must have had a shot within the past couple of hours and be almost ready for the booster.
“Your name suits you.” Senta reached again for Rob’s hand and took it in her warm grasp. “But how on earth did you meet Cornelia? She rarely lets pleasure interfere with her work.”
Rob looked questioningly at Corrie, but she would not meet his gaze. “I’m part of work, I guess,” he said at last. “We’ll be talking about it here tonight.”
“You mean that you work for Darius Regulo?” The tremor in her hands was becoming more noticeable, passing from her hands to his. She would need the taliza booster in a few minutes, or lose the high completely. Rob noticed that Howard Anson was watching her hands also and fidgeting uncomfortably in his perfectly cut evening suit.
“Well, Cornelia,” went on Senta, turning again to Corrie. “I must admit that surprises me. You must be getting more interesting work-mates out on Atlantis. How is Darius?”
Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent that suggested some other emotion — one strong enough to cut through the feeling of well-being and self-confidence that came with a taliza high.
“As ever.” Corrie’s tone was unhappy. “Still the King of Heaven, still busy remaking the Solar System.”
“And still `winning small’?” Senta opened her eyes wide at Rob. “Darius has always been willing to settle for two percent — provided that it is two percent of the whole Universe.”