Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [7]
It was a sight few on his world could afford. But then, Lumas was successful at his profession. He had earned his perquisites in life.
Smiling at the notion, he breathed in and then out. It was the growing season. The air was sweet. And for the first time in what seemed like a long time, he had a few minutes all to himself.
After all, Lumas's workday was over, and the stringed-instrument concert up the mountain wasn't slated to begin for half a decacycle. His wife and two daughters, who would normally have been buzzing
about the great room like insects, were still downstairs selecting clothes for the occasion.
Lumas chuckled to himself. His elder daughter, Finaea, meant to impress a young man who would be playing the chinharp. He knew this because she had told him so. Hence, the fuss over which outfit to wear.
Of course, Lumas's wife outwardly disapproved of Finaea's obession with the lad. That was only proper. But it didn't stop her from reveling in the opportunity to dress her daughter up.
Suddenly, something occurred to Lumas. He could stand on his balcony any time he wished. But with the great room empty, he had a rare chance to try out the new realizer his wife had purchased.
Yes, he thought. This is the perfect time to try it out.
Re-entering the great room, with its strategically positioned works of two-dimensional art, Lumas brushed his fingers against the sensor on his western wall. Instantly, the portals in the room irised down to nothing. A brush of an ad acent sensor and the overhead lights dimmed, leaving the vast chamber dark and deliciously expectant.
Next, Lumas approached the stand in the corner of the room, where the realizer band sat in its simple metal cradle. Picking up the device, he admired its sleek, black lines. Then he placed it over his head.
The realizer was so light, he barely knew it was there. But then, this was a state-of-the-art unit, and its physical attributes were only the smallest part of the advantages it offered.
Lumas touched his finger to one of the studs on the side of the band, activating its creator function. A tap
on a second stud notified the mechanism that he wasn't seeking anything permanent.
Only a moment's diversion-it was all Lumas had time for. But even that might turn out to be immensely satisfying, if all he had heard about this realizer was true.
Closing his eyes, he pictured a sculpture garden he had visited in Changer Province a year or so before. He recalled the way the willowy pieces of molded metal had glinted in the light of the twin moons, swaying and turning under the influence of an insistent sea breeze.
Beautiful, he thought. Unutterably beautiful.
Then Lumas opened his eyes and saw that the sculptures had invaded his great room. The place was filled with them. And though there were neither moons nor sea breezes present, the sculptures rolled and undulated just as they had that evening in Changer.
Lumas heard a sound: laughter, he thought, childlike and uninhibited. Then, with a thrill of surprise, he realized it was coming from his own throat-and laughed some more.
But then, who wouldn't have laughed? Who wouldn't have been delighted by such an experience?
Lumas had recreated the sculpture garden with impeccable verisimilitude and vivid detail. It was even more than he had hoped for.
He reminded himself to congratulate his wife on her purchase. This was worth every gem note she had paid for it.
"Father?" said a voice, high and thin.
"Agron?" said another-that of an adult.
Lumas turned and saw that his family had entered the great room. They were standing at the other end of the chamber, their eyes wide with wonder at what he had made.
"Why," said Finaea, "it's wonderful." She turned to Lumas. "Did you make this yourself, Father?"
He nodded, pleased that his daughter should approve. It