Free Rhythm of the Imperium by Jody Lynn Nye Page A

can describe it. I haven’t got a clue what would get their attention, even though we specialize in show-stoppers.”
    “Ah,” said Madame Deirdre, with a light clap of her hands. “We do like a nice show-stopper.”
    I could have applauded, too. That was it! I wanted a show-stopper . The garment had to be made so I could move easily in it, but have that gravitas so it would impinge upon the consciousness of a being that saw eternity and changed it to suit itself. But did Icari have such a thing in stock?
    As the noisy metal racks rotated, I watched the garments sway by. Among them, I made note of a few outfits that might fit my purpose. One of midnight blue with close-fitting trousers and a nearly bare chest looked interesting. I could see possibilities of great symbolism in between the meshing gears decorating a brown leather coat that fell from shoulders to heels in one clattering sweep. No, the notion of wheels within wheels might be lost upon a people who had long ago left behind the need for surface conveyances. No, the one I needed to try on was almost military in flavor, but in the middle of its overshirt in a blue such as existed in between the moment between daylight and twilight it had a starburst made of twinkling lights and surrounded by a narrow band of brilliant red and gold such as might have arisen on that very moment that the universe was created. I started to raise an arm to point at it.
    “I would like …” I began.
    Madame Deirdre leaped toward me and pressed my hand downward with astonishing strength. She shook a finger in my face.
    “Ah, ah, ah! No, Lord Thomas! Now we will continue with the lesson I want you to learn today. You must express yourself physically and symbolically alone! Let us see if you can make yourself understood without words. It is the task of the dancer to speak with your body, not your mouth. Language takes too many shortcuts. Show what is vital through movement.”
    I opened my mouth to protest, but Deirdre was adamant. I lowered my head to display capitulation. The shop clerk watched me with a quizzical expression on his broad, furry face. This would be difficult. To point directly at the tunic I wished to try on would be cheating. How could I evoke “the red tunic with twenty pockets but not the wooden buckle, in my size, please?”
    “But, madame, such a thing is not nec—” Mr. Icari started toward us. He halted in his tracks as Deirdre held the warning finger toward him. Such was the power of her command of symbolism that he didn’t question it at all.
    “He must learn!” she exclaimed. “He will tell you through pure movement and symbolism which is the garment he wants to try on.”
    “Very well, madame.” Icari eyed me.
    I assumed first position, my feet arranged with heels together and my hands curved gently at my sides as I thought how to express myself. I was looking for something special. Therefore, I must move as though I was questing. It would not be sufficient to pace around the room with my eyes on the floor as though I had dropped my viewpad. Longing and need must come through my posture, though not as desperate as the search for sustenance and shelter. Nor could I merely trudge. Grace must inform my every move. I had to perform as though responding to unheard music.
    Without looking at the spinning racks, I raised my arms. Spreading my palms out before me, I grasped vainly for that which I could not hold. In my mind, I heard the tinkling of a piano, one of the pieces of music that Deirdre liked to use for sustained movement. I went into a dramatic crouch and ran around the room, dodging the numerous racks and models, seeking the object of my quest. I halted before Mr. Icari and brought my arm upward and across in a crashing salute, which extended into a sweep, describing the expanse of the sky. At least, I hoped he understood it was the sky. He followed the movement of my arm with a worried look, but one untampered by comprehension.
    I realized I