The Last Dancer | Page 4

through Dallas. Otherwise your journey should be safe."
Jasmine knew a response was not expected of her, and did not give one. Indeed, Ralf's message barely altered the flow of her thoughts, impinged only slightly upon her melancholy awareness of the home she was leaving.
Goddess Home was different from any other place Jasmine had ever known. There were no slidewalks, and no powered vehicles except for those employed by the three witches crippled beyond even the reach of modern medicine. In her adult life it was the only place Jasmine had lived where she had felt any sense of community. Four women greeted her by name as she walked through the streets to see Alaya Gyurtrag, and everywhere women were gathered in groups: at the town's only park, at one of the town's five sidewalk cafes. Their voices floated at the limits of comprehensibility, hundreds of women, a few male voices: the sounds of home.
I'm going to miss this.
The thought came unbidden, closely followed:
But it is not safe to stay.
"I'm catching the Bullet out of Burbank at nine-fifteen. If we could make this quick I'd appreciate it."
"Certainly," said Alaya warmly. "Have a seat."
Jasmine seated herself in the indicated chair, travel bag between her feet. She was distantly amused to note that the chair left her eyes about eight centimeters below Alaya's, though Alaya was not a tall woman. Alaya had changed out of that morning's business suit; now she was dressed almost as casually as Jasmine, in a pair of yellow shorts and a white silk blouse. She went barefoot on the office's pale blue shag rug.
The office reflected the personality its occupant wished to project. A power crystal hung on a solid gold chain over the doorway. Another somewhat larger crystal sat atop a small stand at the side of Alaya's desk. The desk itself was antique American, real redwood, over 150 years of age and hand polished on every surface until it glowed dusky crimson beneath the office's pleasant yellow sunpaint. The walls were hung with neo-Impressionist paintings, dating largely from the 1920s: women with parasols at the beach, a man on a bicycle, two children sharing an ice cream cone, all done in warm yellows and blues and greens.
"What can I do for you, Alaya?"
Alaya Gyurtrag sat with her hands folded before her. Her silver hair was pulled back from her face and hung in a single long braid down her back. Bright blue eyes fixed themselves upon Jasmine. "We're going to miss you, you know that."
"So I've been told. But between us, Alaya, you and I have never been close, and neither of us is going to miss the other. So what can I do for you?"
Alaya chuckled with what seemed to Jasmine genuine amusement. "Your point is well made. What you can do for me, Jasmine, is--relieve my curiosity about a business matter."
"Oh? In what way?"
"Why are you leaving us?"
The blunt question gave Jasmine a moment's pause.
"Really," Alaya continued, "you could not choose a worse time for it if you tried. July the Fourth is only six days away; the Independence Day riots are due to begin shortly. Goddess Home is safe; we haven't had Independence Day riots in our history. And you're not the only one leaving us; we've had resignations pick up twelve percent this year."
"Twelve percent?"
Alaya nodded. "I haven't publicized the figure. Next month I will complete my first anniversary as City Manager, and women are leaving Goddess Home, for the first time, faster than they are joining. And I know it's my fault but I don't know why."
Jasmine considered. "Many of the reasons I'm leaving are personal, Alaya. But there are two I will share with you. My finances are poor. I haven't worked except at community tasks in over two years, and my savings are nearly gone. The two ways I am capable of making a living--as a dancer and as a martial arts instructor--are inapplicable to Goddess Home. The population is too small to support a dance troupe--"
"We tried to get you to teach a class in self-defense."
"You don't need it," said Jasmine patiently. "As I said at the time. Violence within Goddess Home is rare. Those of you who venture outside are handicapped by unfamiliarity with violence and insufficient time for training. If I were to teach the women here to defend themselves, they would still, most likely, be hurt in any encounter where they were required to defend themselves. The willingness to hurt an opponent, to damage him, is more important than simply knowing how; and that willingness is something I can't teach. And I'm not sure I wish to. Personal Protection Systems, expensive though they are, are a better investment of Goddess Home's time and Credit. You just don't go outside that often." Jasmine shrugged. "You've heard