Amaryllis

with a sense of deep foreboding.

'A properly filled out questionnaire gives us a good basis to begin the matchmaking process,' Hobart continued briskly. 'The results will, of course, be supplemented by the extensive personal interview. At that time we'll also administer a revised MPPI.'

'MPPI?'

'The Multipsychic Paranormal Personality Inventory. The standard syn-psych test used with high-class talents such as yourself.'

'Do you use it with strong prisms, too?'

'Certainly,' Hobart said. 'We're all accustomed to thinking of prisms and talents as being quite different from each other, but technically speaking, the ability to focus a talent through a psychically generated prism is itself a talent.'

Lucas cleared his throat. 'Do you ever match full-spectrum prisms and high-class talents? I mean, I know it must be a very rare occurrence, but I just wondered if it happens once in a while.'

'Almost never. Everyone knows that full spectrums are rarely compatible with very strong talents,' Hobart said.

'Because the prisms are so damn picky?'

Hobart chuckled. 'Well, yes, in a sense. They prefer to think of themselves as extremely selective. But, then, so are powerful talents. Once in a great while we get a match, though. As I recall, the last one that we did at this firm was some five years ago. Why?'

'Just asking.'

'How far into the questionnaire are you, Mr. Trent?'

Lucas flipped open the first page and gazed moodily at the array of questions. 'I'm still on the first section.'

'Preferred physical characteristics?' Hobart made a tut-tutting sound. Distinct disapproval this time. 'My, we aren't making much progress, are we?'

'We?'

Hobart coughed slightly. 'Say, what if I drop by your office this morning and give you a hand.'

'Never mind, I can do this myself.'

'Exactly which question are you stuck on, Mr. Trent?' Hobart asked suspiciously.

Lucas scanned the list. 'Eye color. I'm doing eye color even as we speak.'

'You haven't gotten past eye color?'

'I had to do some thinking on the subject, but I've reached a conclusion. Whoever she is, she'll have to have green eyes.' Lucas picked up a pen and circled the word green on the questionnaire.

'Green eyes? I thought you told me when you came to the office that you weren't too particular about physical characteristics. You said you wanted to emphasize compatibility, intelligence, and temperament.'

'Call me shallow, but I've decided I want a woman who is compatible, intelligent, good-tempered, and who also has green eyes. Is there a problem with that, Batt? Because if so, I can always go to another agency.'

'No, no, it's not a problem, Mr. Trent,' Hobart assured him quickly. 'I just hadn't realized that you were so particular about that sort of thing. Now, then, if you need any help with the questionnaire, please remember that, as your personal syn-psych counselor. I'm available for consultation at any time.'

'Given the size of the fee that Synergistic Connections charges, I think that goes without saying,' Lucas muttered. 'You'll have to excuse me, Batt. I've got an appointment.'

'Certainly, certainly. I'll call you in a couple of days to see how you're getting along.'

Lucas hung up the phone. The sense of doom thickened. Registering with an agency was the smart thing to do, he reminded himself. No doubt about it. Five years ago he had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that, while he was very good at finding jelly-ice, he was remarkably incompetent when it came to the business of finding a life mate.

He had been searching for something besides jelly-ice for years. It was only recently that he had finally put the need into words. He was tired of being alone. He longed for what most people took for granted, a family of his own. He wanted to feel connected. He wanted to look in his children's eyes and see the future.

He had no clear memories of his parents. He only knew that, like so many others who did not fit into the conventional routine of life in the city-states, they had ended up in the Western Islands. The frontier attracted the drifters, the loners, those with shadowed pasts, and those without family ties the way honey-syrup attracted bee- flies.

In the islands a man or a woman could start a new life with no questions asked. Lucas sometimes wondered if it was the burden of an off-the-scale talent that had driven his father to the edge of civilization. Psychic power was an inherited characteristic.

His parents had not survived long enough for Lucas to ask them why they had moved to the islands. Both Jeremy and Beth Trent had been killed in a violent windstorm when their son was three.

There had been no relatives to take Lucas in and raise him. That task had been shouldered by a dour old jelly-ice prospector named Icy Claxby.

Claxby had been as alone in the world as Lucas. In addition to teaching his young charge everything he knew about finding jelly-ice and survival in the jungle. Icy had taught him how to get by without the cushioning network of an extended family.

But the one thing that Icy Claxby had not been able to teach Lucas was how to control the unpredictable flashes of the powerful talent that had made its first appearance shortly after Lucas hit puberty. Icy, an untrained prism, had done the next best thing. He had given Lucas some important advice.

'If you ever get yourself tested, boy, you're gonna go right off the scale,' Claxby said. 'That ain't good. It ain't good at all.'

'Why not?' Lucas asked. He was only thirteen, and he was still having fun with the process of discovering his erratic psychic abilities. 'I thought you said high-class talents are respected in the city-states. They get good jobs and stuff 'cause they're usually smart.'

'A powerful talent gets respect, but too much talent scares folks. I'm just a medium-spectrum prism, kid, untrained to boot, but I can tell you that you've got more talent than those fancy lab techs will be able to measure. If they figure out that you don't fit into their notion of what's normal, they'll get spooked. Word will get out, and you'll have nothin' but trouble.'

'I wouldn't mind throwing a scare into Kevin Flemming,' Lucas said, thinking of the bully who was making life miserable for him and his classmates at the small school in Port LeConner.

lcy's alarm was immediate and plain. 'Five hells, boy, you ain't tryin' to use your talent at school, are you? Damn it, I warned you not to ever fool around with it in front of anyone except me.'

'No, sir,' Lucas said. 'I haven't tried to use it at school.'

lcy's expression relaxed slightly. 'There's other ways of dealin' with a bully. Find one.'

'Yes, sir.'

Icy gripped Lucas's shoulder with hands that bore the scars of a lifetime spent on a harsh frontier. His faded eyes glittered beneath his shaggy brows. 'Listen, boy. I'm serious about this. If folks find out that you've got a powerful talent, there'll be hell to pay.'

'Like what?'

'People will call you a psychic vampire.'

'So?' The possibility held distinct appeal.

'So you'll have problems gettin' a job, for starters. Men won't want to hire you. Others will refuse to work with you or for you. Lots of ice miners are superstitious, you know that.'

'Yes, but--'

'You won't be able lo date any decent females 'cause their parents will think you're a freak. You been talkin' lately about havin' a real family of your own someday. Well, you'll never find a wife because no matchmaking agency will register you. See what I'm sayin'?'

'Yeah,' Lucas said. Being a psychic vampire was apparently not as exciting or as useful as it sounded. It could prevent him from having a family of his own. Bad synergy. 'I see.'

Lucas had found another way to deal with Kevin Flemming, a method that had involved a large bucket of