The Last Dancer | Page 4

night and were not allowed to
live among the witches.
For most of the witches the exclusion of men was not an inconvenience.
Many were lesbians, and those who were not often found the lack of
enforced day-to-day contact with men refreshing.
From her handheld a voice issued, the voice of Ralf the Wise and
Powerful: "Flight confirmed. I had to kill a web angel in Dallas; stay
out of the Net while passing 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