The Dark Symphony

portal to allow him use or entrance. It did not merely key' locks, it effectively dissolved doors for a moment to let him pass, set machines in tune with his own patterns so they worked for him as if they were a part of him. He had only to render the products of his talent in return. Finally, when all the rituals demanded by the situation had been run through to completion, the judge asked if Rosie had any requests to make now that he had been freed of the tests and the Pillar of Ultimate Sound.
    Then came the bombshell…
    He asked that his sister be allowed to try for a station in the arena.
    It was a preposterous request Women were Ladies. Women were never Musicians. It was a thing that had never been, a thing that had no place in their ordered society. It was like asking a twentieth-century man to accept a porpoise for his President simply because science had proved that the porpoise was intelligent. Vladislovitch, the Father of the World, had seen the function of women as procreation and nothing more. He had made it explicitly clear that women were to be the bearers of children, those who carried on the race and the immortality of Vladislovitch's own name, but that they were never to be stationed. Never. The station was a sign of masculinity, and a stationed woman would destroy the very basics of the order of things.
    Still, though the request was preposterous, so was the situation. They had their first Composer in two centuries. The histories told of the glory of the age of the last Composer, of the magnificence of the society he had inspired during his lifetime. The rise of a Composer acted as an inexplicable aphrodisiac on society, turning it on to itself until it blossomed colorfully. There wasn't a soul in the Great Hall who did not long for another such Golden Era. Rosie, therefore, was nearly a god to them. Indeed, after his death, he would eventually be canonized and then proceed from sainthood to godhood as the years passed. Tomorrow, they might feel a bit less sure of the move, but today they were exuberant, and they agreed to his request.
    Besides, what woman could possibly survive in the arena? There was almost no chance of her success. So there would be no problem later on. Would there?
    The crowd, jabbering, found seats again. Guil sat down as Rosie climbed the platform stairs and sat beside him. I didn't even know you had a sister," Guil said, trying to suppress his awe so that he might talk to Rosie as a friend, as he would have before the bestowing of the Medallion.
    "Oh, yes, Guil. A sister." Rosie grinned broadly. "You'll see. Here comes Tisha now."
    Guil squinted, trying to make the girl out from his position across the vast arena. Her instructor came to the left and slightly behind her, hobbling a bit. It was white-haired Fran?;! The gentle face, calm manner, and proud carriage told him that it was the old man who had trained him on the guitar, who had been so patient with his rumbling (unlike Frederic) and who had shown him that be did have at least the minimal talents of a musician. He fought down an urge to wave and looked back at the girl He swallowed hard, felt his Adam's apple bobble in his throat like a trapped animal Had he been expecting a hunchback like Rosie? A warped mutant, another error in the gene juggling chambers? But she took his breath away with her beauty, burned his already sore throat with a strange longing he could not quite define.
    She is magnificent
, Guil thought.
    Rosie smiled.
    Beautiful. Five foot three, slight but awe-inspiring. She was dressed in a wine-colored leotard suit and matching slippers. The suit clung tightly, too tightly to the sweet contours of her body. Long and stunning legs for so short a girl, flaring hips of perfect breadth, a tiny waist that looked as if hands might encircle it, pert and upthrust breasts, and her neck, a hand-carved polished curve of nut brown. Her face was delicate as fine Chinese embroidery, framed with a burst of black hair and punctuated with two eyes as blue-green as those of a cat Even from across the arena, her face shone with a radiant loveliness that stirred his nerves into a frustrated dance. Surely, the genetic engineers had been performing contrition for past mistakes when they had formed this shinning girl-woman,
    "She's… she's…"
    "Isn't she?" Rosie chuckled.
    The duo reached the Bench and halted—Tisha with her feet drawn together, her back arched, very pert and very pretty, old Franz stooped and looking