Chapter Five

"We," Rachael exclaimed, "are facing an enigma." She continued to inspect the mirror as she spoke. "You were right about the city, there are dimensions involved in its construction that defy logic. The stadium was immense, larger than any arena or amphitheater I've ever seen. Obviously there is no way a structure of its size could exist inside the tower."

"We're most certainly involved in more than one dimension," Martin answered. "There were doorways everywhere. Our seats were at least two hundred levels above the floor of the auditorium, but one turn down a ramp took us to the podium in an instant. I'm sure the governor's entrance and exit were aided by the same thing. Portals, doorways leading to dimensions within dimensions, some smaller, some larger."

"It may well involve time as well as space," he muttered.

"It's the bigger dimensions that get me, the banquet hall and the stadium. Whoever.....whatever created all of this had to have been insane," Rachael barked. "Just look at the body politic, and we don't know if level-one is any better." Martin grinned at her expression.

"Beginning to believe in Shaper?"

"Why not? However we conjure up our gods, we always use them for our own personal, greedy motives."

"Or for justifying the ultimate evil," Martin added. "There is no doubt in my mind that Fairmont is using their deity's name for his own righteous indignation. Nothing is more horrible than genocide committed in the name of a god."

"And we're stuck right in the middle of it," Rachael muttered.

"The question is, how do we get out? I've been elected to the Inner Council without even knowing how the body politic operates. If a few trite phrases can bring me to such high office, what simple design is necessary to be elected to the Governor's office?"

Rachael paused in her examination of the mirror, raising as eyebrow as she looked at Martin's reflection. She let the idea flow through her mind unhindered before offering the theory

"Maybe there's no election at all, the whole thing could be a sham. Remember what Blake said at the meeting? By shaping he is worthy....." Martin's raised hand stopped her in mid-sentence.

"When we left the tailor's shop Blake said that I was shaped for great things. And Gateman said he wasn't shaped to walk the beams at any level. I thought he was talking about his physical condition. Damn it, Rachael, are you thinking the same thing....." It was Rachael's turn to interrupt.

"This society is fated, their future is plotted out at the moment of birth. You're either made for the council or the body politic, or you're not. The same thing is true for every level of the city, including the delvers."

"It may go further than we imagine," Martin reflected, "but I think you're right. No matter what you are shaped for, it is recognized by everyone. You are born to your limb of the tree and there you stay. The idea of advancing up an economic or social ladder is unheard of in this civilization."

"A very nice analogy, but if it is true, we should have been born on the level we were shaped to fit. And if that's the case, why would Blake assume we were winners of an election coming from another level," Rachael asked?

"Shaped for the body politic, we would always have been on level-ninety? If you're right, we're really in trouble. Blake would have to know we're not....."

Martin's statement left both of them cold. Rachael turned from the mirror and took a seat on the bed next to Martin.

"You think they're playing with us? Gateman said they loved their games." Martin looked sick.

"We have to get back down to level-one as soon as possible, surely Gateman must know the truth. And there's something else that bothers me. Fairmont said he had waited seventy years for a new member to be called to the Inner Council. He didn't look like an old man to me. If he is, he's awfully well preserved. There's a lot more to this than meets the eye." Rachael shook her head.

"That Trite saying could get you into the Blake's office."

"No, thank you, we're in enough trouble as it is. If I'm around when the purge begins....." Rachael's troubled expression stopped Martin again.

"The war against the delvers is only one of our worries. I forgot about Margo."

"What about Margo?"

"She wants Blake to name us beam-mates. I have a bad feeling that it amounts to the same thing as wife-swapping. Your buxom blonde has nothing more on her mind than sleeping with you. Now that you've been elected to the Inner Council, there should be nothing to stop her."

Martin stared at Rachael for a moment and then bowed his head.

"As if being involved in a civil war isn't enough, we have the designs of a scheming woman to deal with." Martin was not sure which was worse.

"Gateman warned us, he was very pointed about the whole thing. We must never agree to such an arrangement."

"And if we don't, Margo is sure to call our bluff.. If Blake suspects anything, she does too, and Fairmont.....we seem to be trapped in the old web of having to choose between the lesser of two evils."

"Which is no choice at all," Martin noted bluntly. "We have to get in touch with Gateman. And the best way to do that is to find a service phone."

Rachael rose from the bed and stood in front of the mirror again. Fingering the top corners of the frame, she pressed gently. A low hiss backed her away from the fogging glass.

"Extension please?"

"Maintenance and entry." Rachael's voice shook, trembling noticeably.

The glass swirled with a dim smoke, and then Gateman's blurred features appeared. They sharpened quickly, revealing the groundling inside his darkened shack. Moving close to the mirror, he offered a whispered conversation.

"You must get back down to level-one at once. There is no time for explanations."

"Just how do you propose we do that," Martin asked?

"The same way you went up, on the east-side landing elevator. You cannot afford to wait until weekend, things have gone terribly wrong."

"But Margo will be coming for us soon. She wants us to become beam-mates with her and Blake."

"You must leave before that happens." Gateman's round face scarred with a hideous frown. "You must leave now, right now. If the partnership is sealed I will not be able to help you. The signs are very clear on this."

"What signs," Rachael asked?

"Fools, haven't you seen the hall's ceiling fresco? It is changing, but then you couldn't know. Did you notice the sculpture at all?"

"Yes, the tree."

"Nice of you to be so observant." The groundling's tone was insulting. "And what about the figure leaning against the tree?" Martin nodded dumbly.

"The one with no face?"

"Yes, very good. Well, that character is not original, it is being added to every etching and sculpture in the city. It started changing when you arrived, you Martin. It is you, and your mind is shaping it!"

"Get down here now, before it is too late." The glass fogged and then lay clear with Rachael and Martin's pale faces frozen on its surface.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. They looked out over the city with a growing distaste, finding the effervescent scene more grotesque than beautiful. Moving away from the mirror, Rachael stood in front of the picture-window.

"It's like the food, isn't it?"

"Maybe, the food was intentional, the sculpture isn't. Both seem to be controlled by the mind. This entire world appears to be a creation of their god's.....Shaper's mind. Believe that and I'll give you another puzzle. If the beam-walkers are able to change things with their minds, this place must be in a constant state of fluctuation. What is real, and what is illusion? If I am shaping the fresco, it's being done subconsciously." Martin paused.

"But according to Gateman, you are changing it. Your mind is definitely having an effect on it," Rachael injected. Martin's brow furrowed.

"How can you make sense out of a world created from the meandering of the subconscious? No one is that stable, that sane. I have the uncomfortable feeling that this whole thing is a lot more complicated than we imagine. At their best, how could anyone improve on the work of a god?"

"Generally they don't," Rachael offered. "All that's brought into the world after the creation, is imperfection."

"Seems to me the original was just a little off center to start with." Martin tried humor, but the effort was weak.

"We'd better get to the elevator, I don't want to be around when Blake and Margo arrive." With his mind made up, Martin knelt beside the bed and peered under the frame.

"Bid a fond farewell to the skyline.....Rachael, have you seen the back packs? I put them under the bed after we got our new clothes."

"That's the last place I saw them."

"Well, they're not here." Rising, Martin wiped his hands together and stared out the window.

"We're in real trouble," he mumbled. "It looked so beautiful when we first got here. Knowing the insanity going on behind those lights makes it frightening. Come on, let's get out of here."

The banquet hall was empty, but Martin insisted they appear as natural as possible. They walked calmly toward the only exit on the right side of the room. Slipping inside, he peeked through the half-closed door and then shut it cautiously. Searching the floor of the store room for the trap door, Martin

found the handle just as Rachael hushed him.

"Listen," she whispered.

The sound of tinkling glass crept into the small chamber with them. Silverware clattered, and then a woman's gentle laughter stopped their ill-timed flight.

"What in the world are you doing on the floor?"

"Uh, we were going down to level-one....."

"Sight seeing." Rachael jumped to her feet.

"Just before the party, and in those clothes? Nonsense! You'd better hurry. You both need some cleaning up before we get you dressed. Blake expects to start on time. After all, you are the guests of honor."

Martin rose slowly and returned Margo's wink with a wry frown. She held the door open until both of them stepped into the great hall and, as if to insure their attendance, stayed close behind them as they moved through a sparse crowd. Despite the small number of early arrivals, the banquet hall was filling quickly with members of the body politic.

A festive mood was being enhanced by music, uncontrolled laughter, and drinks served by the council member's women. If they handed someone a glass, they immediately emptied one for themselves. Several of the more colorfully dressed females seemed well on their way to oblivion.

"We won't be long," Rachael cooed.

"I'll wait," Margo smiled.

"Now what do we do?" Martin leaned against the closed door, positive a headache was on the way.

"We bathe and dress for the party. If it's anything like the last one, we'll have several good chances to slip away. Just don't use your imagination to make the drinks any stronger than they may already be."

Rachael snatched the new jump suit from their bed and headed for the bathroom.

"We really should make an appearance. After all, we are the guests of honor." The door slammed.

Martin studied the flat-white material of his own outfit and slumped onto the bed. His stomach revolted against fear, trying to chase the hungry animal from his mind. Reasoning things out only made his anxiety worse.

"I wonder how they execute impostors," he remarked out loud.

"They throw them from the Great Tower's walkway," Gateman noted, "but there has only been one execution in the history of the city." Martin bolted upright on the bed.

"It was an early shaping, very complex, but out of context. Claudius B, tried to take over the Governor's office. He was the only beam-walker, or member of the body politic, who was given the gift of creative reasoning."

The groundling's shape was etched sharply on the mirror. The area surrounding his rotund figure was unfamiliar, but Martin felt certain it was not the shack. Colored lights flickered behind Gateman giving Martin the impression of a candle-lit room.

"We tried to....."

"I know. Your departure was just a bit late. Do not try to leave again. Instead, I will come up to you. I have no idea how long it will be, the fever of war has infected level-one with madness. Even I am not safe on the road. Do the best you can."

The mirror stood clear as Rachael walked into the room. Her light gray jump suit was slashed with white bolts of lightening, and above her right breast, the flowering tree stood out in brilliant green/.

"Gateman is coming up," Martin gasped. "We're not to try to escape again." Without waiting for an answer, he rushed into the bathroom.

Rachael's brow lifted at the remark, then fell again as Margo cane into the room without knocking. Her jump suit was radiant, the gold material matching her long, blonde hair. As was her custom, the young woman's outfit was tailored to show off her well endowed figure.

"Not ready yet?" Her attitude seemed demanding, and Rachael spoke with caution.

"Just waiting on Martin. You know how men can be when they're preening their egos." A quick smile flashed across Margo's pretty face.

"Only too well. Blake can be horrible, but we have to hurry along. The members of the Inner Circle are arriving, and you must be there. Ah, at last."

Margo's eyes shone with desire as Martin's flat-white figure strode into the room. Somehow, even his thinning hair seemed full of vitality.

"I can't fault Blake's choice in material, it looks great. What do you think?" Rachael's eyebrow crept up again.

"No time for comments, the party is about to begin."

Without giving either of them time to hesitate, Margo hurried Martin and Rachael out of the apartment and into the banquet hall. The moment they stepped into the room every eye was on them, and applause rose above every other sound. Even as it grew Blake appeared, smiling happily, arms extended in greeting.

"Here are our guests of honor at last. Martin, Rachael, to the podium."

The Secretary's voice rose proudly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the man and woman of the hour, Martin and Rachael."

Cheering filled the great hall, and this time it did not stop suddenly as though it were an afterthought. The accolade went on, slow to dwindle as the body politic welcomed its newest members. In turn, each of the nine Inner Council members shook hands with Martin, and bowed politely to Rachael as she was allowed to accompany her consort onto the stage.

Arms raised high above his head, Blake finally managed to silence the crowd. Waiting patiently, he chose the perfect moment of silence and then raised his voice in praise.

"Nothing delights the council more than a reason to party." General laughter.

"And what better reason than to celebrate the election of a new Inner Council member." Cheering started again from the mouths of those most intoxicated, but it was quickly restrained by handing them filled glasses.

"Martin comes to us at a most appropriate time in our history. Our thanks be to the wisdom of Shaper. His task will be a great one, for not only will he fulfill his position as a member of the council, but he will stand beside Fairmont and myself as Minister of Propaganda."

Bedlam rose in the hall, hands clapped, voices rose up until they grew quiet from exhaustion. Laughing, Blake addressed the body politic again.

"Beyond this, tonight becomes a very special one for myself and Margo." The crowd waited in expectation. "At last one of rank and merit is found to join with us to become part of one life."

Stepping up beside Blake, Margo smiled radiantly, her eyes glued to Martin's figure.

"Tonight, we name Martin and Rachael, Beam-mates."

The response outdid the madness of Fairmont's declaration of war. Rachael was forced to take her place in the foursome until all of them were pressed close together. Following suit, she raised an arm and waved to the drunken body politic.

"Our table is a common one," Blake shouted to Martin above the din. "We'll have your things moved to our corridor, a very nice connecting suite, good office space. Perhaps Rachael can teach Margo something about fashion, she tends to be a bit outspoken in her choice of colors."

Smiling harder, Blake waved to the congratulations of the crowd.

"Our desks will be together, our plans for the campaign a joint effort. This will be very pleasing to the Governor, very pleasing indeed."

Food rolled into the room on large-wheeled tables, only to be attacked by the voracious hunger of the general council. With their minds occupied by eating and drinking, Blake and Margo were able to lead their newly announced beam-mates to a large table some distance from the crowd. In relative privacy, they ate their meal without speaking, and Martin began to relax as his mind turned to giving their dinner an acceptable taste.

Rachael seemed to have less success, but she cleaned her plate hurriedly and concentrated on a steaming cup of coffee. As she grew more at ease, here eyes shifted toward the ceiling and its mysterious carving. The figure leaning against the tree still had no distinguishable face, but there were shadows forming, creating an almost familiar visage. Her elbow captured Martin's attention.

Following the movement of her eyes, Martin observed the changing fresco, his mouth opening slightly as the resemblance stunned him. He looked down quickly, smiling at Blake as the Secretary caught his attention.

"Excellent meal, filling." Blake nodded politely.

"Yes, quite a party."

Margo smiled, pushing her shoulder against Martin's as they surveyed the crowded hall. Most of the council had given up eating in favor of draining their glasses. Although the same groups had formed again, the laughter became general throughout the room. The background music suddenly appeared again, loud, a bizarre tempo that stole the minds of the council. Several mounted tables, gyrating with the heavy rhythm.

Reason gave way to madness, and it was not long before half naked participants began frolicking in something that resembled an enormous Conga line. Margo began to laugh, writhing her ample figure in the chair next to Martin. The unrestrained bobbing of her breasts soon brought a dew of sweat to his brow, and Martin looked away to hide his embarrassment.

"Rachael, let's retire from this insanity before my dear Margo finds it impossible to escape another evening of indiscretion." Blake rose, extending his hand in a refined gesture.

She had no choice but to rise from her chair and slip her arm through Blake's. Following behind them, Margo wrapped herself around Martin like a young, inexperienced lover, nipping at his ear as they headed toward Blake's office. Unable to escape Margo's yielding figure and the probing of her sharp breasts, Martin walked with a decided tremble.

The guards parted quickly as Blake's waving hand pushed the door open and then fondled Rachael's shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she smiled properly and moved toward the first chair she could find. Martin was not as successful in disengaging himself from Margo and only managed to free himself from her alluring figure by sitting quickly and denying her his lap.

"A toast to the mating!"

Blake handed each of them a glass, raised his poetically and drained the contents. The clear liquid hit Martin's stomach like a rock, burned for a moment and then softened into a warm glow. The pleasant sensation radiated through his body, relaxing every part of his mind.

"Tomorrow we begin the great work," Blake extolled. "Banners must be designed, posters drawn, speeches written....."

"Oh, Blake!" Margo breathed her objection despite the Secretary's growing excitement. "Must we go through all this dreary business again? Why can't we just get to the torture and the executions? It's so boring repeating all the droll details every time. I want to change it, get to the good part right away."

Martin stared at Rachael with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"Margo, how many times do I have to explain that the campaign must be perfected before the actual battle can begin. It gets more exacting each time and the end result, the good part as you call it, is more and more satisfying.

"Blake....."

An argument seemed inevitable, but it was deftly avoided by a deep grumble from the Secretary.

"Well, perhaps the Governor would agree.....but if we could only do this once more for Martin's benefit. I promise to ask Fairmont to draw out the final destruction as long as we possibly can."

Blake's words appeared to soothe Margo and she sat back on the arm of the Martin's chair, her fingers teasing through his sparse hair. Uncomfortable as it made him, he dared not protest against her undisguised advances.

"By the way," Blake added calmly, "we meet with Fairmont in the morning. The three of us have much to do before the date of attack can be made public. The longer we delay, the more unruly our confederates on level-one will become."

"I will be more than unruly if you keep delaying our evening," Margo threatened. "I am absolutely ready....."

"Alright, alright," Blake laughed, "enough for tonight. After all, this is a time of celebration, and celebration is for sleepers not warriors. Martin, you may use your new quarters. Rachael and I shall attend to our own discoveries here in my suite."

"Uh, before we adjourn for the evening, I have a question or two." Rachael bolted aside as Blake's arm extended toward her.

"Now, now," Blake soothed, "not tonight. Margo is anxious to get to bed." The Secretary cleared his throat with a knowing grin. "And I am ready....."

"I know what you're ready for," Rachael cooed.

Her face glowed with anger as Blake's arm tried to find a secure home around her waist. Margo could only giggle with delight and hold Martin's hand in a death grip. Rachael's efforts to avoid her newest consort increased as the feverish blonde dragged Martin across the room.

"Martin, are you going to do anything....."

Despite Margo's incessant tugging, he came to a halt. Martin tried to smile at the young blonde, but Rachael's distraught expression only added to his fears.

"Do something.....yes, I'm going to sleep. I'm much too tired to do anything else."

Blake laughed heartily, his arm covering Rachael's shoulders. She fought to control her temper realizing that neither of them had a choice. To resist the advances of their new beam-mates would only add to their dilemma. She watched Martin and Margo disappear through a small foyer, and then turned to Blake with a gallant smile.

"I suppose Martin is right. I am rather tired myself, shall we go?"

"Of course, my dear. We will spend an unforgettable evening together. This is the first time in the history of the city that I have chosen a beam-mate. It is not a matter to be taken lightly." Blake led her to the opposite side of the room, and through a curtained hallway.

* * * * * * * *

The Secretary's apartment was magnificant, much larger then their own and more elegantly furnished. The Satan sheeted four-poster was enormous, its canopy and bedspread embroidered with the symbol of the great tree in shades of green and brown. Thick carpeting muffled Rachael's hesitant step, while tapestries on every wall pictured the city with all its lights glowing brightly.

An enormous picture window took up the entire length of one wall, in itself, longer than their own room. The brilliant vista took Rachael's breath as the tapestries were repeated in real life. Amidst the galaxy of lights, brilliantly lit elevators could be seen rising and falling from the city's floor. The lifts were the only moving lights she could see, but their number seemed multiplied far beyond those she had noticed before.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Blake stood behind her, his hands gently fondling Rachael's shoulders. "Over there, level-one restricted stages. They go to level-seventy, but no higher."

One finger dropped down the glass as he followed the slower ascent of a green lighted square.

"Level-fifty, carnival, the roost cafes. Ah, there!" Rachael guessed his exclamation was meant to point out the huge frame of the east-side landing elevator.

"Your friend, Gateman, might even be riding at this hour, taking in his new domain. Glorious, isn't it?"

"Yes, but.....strange." She shivered openly.

"In what way, my dear?"

"This is the same view we have from our apartment, but our rooms are on the opposite side of.....never mind, it's not important."

Realizing that she had almost stumbled, Rachael moved away from the Secretary's handsome figure and began surveying the bedroom. A large mirror attracted her attention. She advanced on it with a smile of delight, preening in front of the shiny surface. Her eyes set on Blake's impatient figure, his chin cupped in one hand.

"You're not going to call Gateman, are you?" Rachael took a deep breath.

"Of course not."

"Good, then it's time for bed."

Blake began to remove his clothes without hesitation. The jump suit fell away in one piece. Stepping out of it, he drew his undershirt over his head with obvious excitement, and prepared to remove his shorts.

Rachael's eyes grew wide as he smiled at her, bent, and stripped away the last garment. She stared openly, dumbfounded as Blake stood before her in unashamed nakedness. Formed perfectly, his body was accentuated by rippling muscles, a waist that tapered quickly, flowed into angular hips, and then down to nothing.

The Secretary stood quietly for a moment, and with a wink, slipped beneath the covers of the bed. Rachael stared at the space he had occupied, her mind straining to understand what she had just seen. Blake was man enough in form, except for the most essential detail. He bore no mark of sexuality. There was no more between his legs than a store mannequin possessed, nothing but clean, unbroken skin.

Blake slid to the far side of the bed, patting the Satan cover invitingly. Flushed with embarrassment, Rachael slipped out of her clothes, her small breasts shivering in the cool air of the bedroom. Blake studied her rugged figure, broad, swelling hips, solid legs having seen the years leave them shaped more for strength than feminine attractiveness.

"You're not taking your panties off?" Rachael eyed him angrily.

"After I'm in bed."

"But that's not Margo's way," Blake protested.

"Well, it's mine." In this she did not relent.

Once under the covers, Rachael slipped off the cotton garment and dropped them beside the bed. With her back turned to Blake she felt him snuggle closer until his body moved against hers. Rachael closed her eyes, dreading his alien touch and the unwanted manipulation of her body. Warm beside her, Blake breathed deeply.

"I have waited for this from the first moment we met. Does it excite you?" Rachael squirmed uncomfortably.

"Excite, is not the word I had in mind," she whispered.

Laughing gently, Blake's arm slipped over her waist. He sighed with delight and then lay still.

There was no darkness in the room. The lights of the city glowed throughout the apartment denying her the privacy of night. Turning her head slightly, Rachael listened to the Secretary's heavy breathing and almost cried with relief.

'Sound asleep, deep within the visions and dreams of unrequited slumber,' she thought.

Her eyes turned up toward the ceiling, a hand over her mouth to subdue a giggle. She listened to Blake again and then shook her head.

'Oh, God, what about poor Martin? If the almighty Secretary of the Council has no....."

A spurt of laughter forced its way past her lips, forcing Rachael to bury her face in the pillow. Breathing deeply, she moved away from Blake, hoping his slumber was deep beyond waking. Wriggling into the feather mattress, she found a comfortable pose on her stomach. Sleep edged toward her as a thought whispered into her mind.

'I can't imagine what Margo was talking about,' she mused. 'Black and blue.....quiet Rachael, quiet.'