4—Roped In

The Doctor and Adora arrived at the Val Maxdon estate in the early afternoon on the appointed day. Adora would have gone later except for the Doctor pointing out it might be better to arrive early and get it over with rather than arrive late and have to stand in line. The thought of a bored Doctor rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers in her profession held no appeal, so she hurried them both to the party.

They signed in and got their name badges that had their name and relative fame level in LED lights, then stood away from the table. They were not the first to arrive; several wet-behind-the-ears hopefuls scanned their name badges quickly, then slumped when they saw Adora and the Doctor were not bigwigs. Adora was a little surprised to find she had risen in the color scheme a little; she was now a slight bubble-gum pink instead of baby pink. She wondered if anyone would notice.

"Why is my badge black and yours pink, Adora?" the Doctor asked her.

Adora stifled a sigh; of course the Doctor would notice. "Black means you're not part of the writing business in any capacity. Anyone from white to the deepest crimson has some level of involvement they're getting paid for and the darker the color the more fame you have."

"So, a famous painter like Michelangelo?"

"He gets black unless he's also writing something and getting paid for it. In fact, someone got offended last year because they were a famous model but got a black tag. Left in a huff after making a huge scene . . . the only reason I remember is one of the bodyguards stepped on my foot as they were escorting the diva out. Please promise you won't wander off too far, but don't hover."

"I will do my best," the Doctor told her. "What else am I supposed to do?"

Adora steeled herself and told him, "You usually get into trouble wherever you go but I really need you to be on your best behavior and not attract attention or make a scene. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, really, and it's not always your fault, but . . ."

The Doctor kissed her on top of her head. "I promise I will make it my mission to not embarrass you at all this weekend, while still providing you with company," he told her earnestly.

"Let's go up to our room and drop off our bags. We can also see if we got private quarters. Last time I came to an author's weekend I had to share a room with three newbies and they had an orgy. Geptum's lucky I agreed to give another one of these a try, and if it's a bad experience I'm not going again, no matter what he tries to bribe me with."

The room was small, but definitely private. The room was labeled, 'Adora and Plus-One' and they needed a retinal scan to get in. They both got scanned and dropped off everything except Adora's writing bag, then went back to where guests were signing in. "Now what do we do?" the Doctor wanted to know.

Adora replied, "We wait for other people to arrive, saying hello to anyone we know, or if we're in the gregarious half of the population we strike up conversations with strangers about our work. I'm going to find a quiet corner where I can see this table but not get involved until I see the two or three friends I've made. They should be here; they have the same fame level as I do and their projects are interesting and show real promise. I met them in some workshops I attended at a writer's conference—a whole different animal from this scene. Writer's conferences have workshops and classes on how to improve your writing, where one of these parties is strictly networking."

"Do you mind if I mingle? I won't do anything unseemly."

"You can if you want, just glance over every once in a while to make sure I'm not hijacked."

"I will."

Adora waited a long time and was seriously considering getting a chair when she saw a familiar face. "Sedryn!" she called, "Sedryn, it's Adora! Glad you could make it."

The short, purple-skinned humanoid with no hair and four arms dashed over to Adora and swept her up in a mighty hug. "Adora! So your agent got you to give in at last. I'm really glad you're here. And who's this coming toward us?"

Adora told her friend, "This is someone special. Sedryn, this is my husband, the Doctor, and Doctor, this is my friend Sedryn. Sedryn is hermaphroditic, but prefers . . ."

"I prefer 'tal' actually; it's the term we use on my planet."

"Havizew!" the Doctor declared. "Just at the tip of the Mordean Stylus, am I right?"

Sedryn looked very surprised. "You've heard of it? I'm amazed; very few outsiders are familiar with Havizew . . . the place is so boring."

"And are you a Metcol or a Mytcol?"

"A Metcol, but there's a huge push back home to merge the tribes into one nation. I'm not a Unity Freak like some, but I never did understand the ins and outs of the whole tribal system." Sedryn shook its head. "I only write political thrillers; I don't ever get involved in the real thing. Besides, I base my work on the movers and shakers of galaxies, not the petty whispers of discontent back home. So, you, Doctor . . . what do you write?"

"I don't even keep a diary," the Doctor responded cheerfully. "Adora's the one with talent."

"Oh, yes—now I see the badge. So you just came to keep Adora company?"

The Doctor smiled at Adora. "Best company I could be keeping," he said simply.

Adora blushed a bright red, but neither Sedryn or the Doctor seemed to notice. They started talking about Sedryn's home planet as Adora searched through the crowd looking for another of her friends.

After a few minutes Sedryn told Adora, "Don't bother looking for Bappis, she had to cancel at the last minute, fell down a flight of steps while doing her laundry and broke some bones in her left flipper. She'll be out of commission for at least three months, she said—they can't use a bone-knitter on those bones or they'll fuse them together."

"That's such a shame," Adora sighed, disappointed. She had been looking forward to seeing her friend who would give the Doctor a run for his money on energy level and speed of speech, but it was not meant to be. "Did you bring anyone with you, Sedryn?"

"Bring them?" Sedryn mock-gasped. "I only came so I could get away from them! Thirteen children are just too much at times. Good thing my husband and wife are natural-born parents; they have the gene-pattern to back it up, even. They'll take care of things all right. One day I'd like to take the two of them somewhere and have an 'adults only' vacation, but not until the older ones can handle the supervision of the others. And how about you, Adora—planning any additions to the family?"

Adora blushed hard again. "Kenarn just got married, and it would be awkward to have a baby when the others are so grown."

"Nonsense!" Sedryn told her. "Older children only mean more hands for nappy duty. In fact, it's currently in fashion on Havizew to have large gaps between children. I mean, what's ten or fifteen years?"

"Try over one hundred," Adora replied.

Sedryn looked surprised, but just said, "The more children you have, the bigger your hearts grow, that's what our family's always said."

Adora glanced over at the Doctor. To her surprise, he had a look on his face that showed he was trying to hide how he actually felt. She would have to ask him later, but she wondered what it meant. Was he against the idea, knowing he would miss the child's growing-up years? Did he long to have another baby, even though he wouldn't be able to stay with it? She wasn't sure.

Just then, a five-foot, gecko-like lizard with a tan underbelly, brown back and black-tipped tail sauntered over.

"Adora-doll! I'm surprised you got here so early . . . and which one is the husband? Kinda hard to tell these days, so many inter-stellar relationships."

"Hello, Geptum," Adora said, letting him kiss her hand. "This is my husband, the Doctor and this is Sedryn; he writes intergalactic political intrigue."

Geptum looked at Sedryn for a moment and then said, "'Diplomat's Dream' is the name of the series, 'Translating Terror' came out two years ago and you have Grid advertisement rights on your home-world."

"You're right—how did you know?" Sedryn gasped.

"I'm an agent and I want to make my clients look good; of course I know. I have a dossier on every author here, from the littlest nobody to Reyapre her-selves. Did you find your room acceptable, Adora?"

"It's fine, Geptum. Where are you staying?"

"A bunch of us Antillans got a huge suite together just to be mean to everyone else; we love it when people can't tell us apart," Geptum sniggered.

"Antillan?" the Doctor questioned. "Oh, yes—shape-changers; always a step ahead at costume parties. This isn't a natural Renstigon form, though. Who are you trying to impress today?"

Geptum shrugged. "The backer paying for the weekend was very strict about me having a recognizable form to set me apart and to keep it at all times, so I chose a Lacronidian body; no one else will have one."

Adora was confused. "Backer? I thought Val Maxdon was paying."

"Private backer, not a writer, wants to keep his, her, or its name out of it; I'm not actually sure which one. Now, Adora, don't stand in corners all weekend or it'll be a waste for all of us. Make it a point to talk to at least five high-colored individuals before Eightsday; I can give you names and pertinent information on anyone you like. Nice to meet you, Doctor, Sedryn—enjoy the weekend. And Doctor, do try to get Adora to circulate."

Geptum moved on. Sedryn put a hand on top of Adora's head and told her, "I'll see you later, Adora—I want to see where I'm staying.

"I'll catch up to you later, Sedryn," Adora replied.

"Now I find that interesting," the Doctor mused. "What type of non-writer would pay for a bunch of writers to have a weekend together? It doesn't add up."

"It could be someone in the film industry," Adora told him. "Directors and film stars are always looking for stories to turn into blockbusters; it wouldn't surprise me at all. Don't even start poking your nose into this, Doctor."

"I'm sure you're right. Oh, look—they want us to go over this way."

Adora looked over and followed after the Doctor. "Cocktails and hors d'oeuvres outdoors. It's a great way for everyone to get some food, get drunk, and/or make a deal. Grab what edibles you can; they don't always feed you well at events like these. The food's all meant to be pretty and in style rather than filling; apparently the rich and famous aren't allowed to eat much."

"So we eat like pigs when we get the chance, won't get drunk—"

"Don't be so sure," Adora interrupted. "There's a lot of drinks out there that pack a punch even to a Time Lord; they are catering to dozens and dozens of different life-forms. Just be careful what you get."

"So, we eat like pigs when there's food, drink harmless beverages and stand around doing nothing else?"

"I'm supposed to be looking for some bigwigs and getting into conversations with them, but I never know what to say. It was a lot easier on Gallifrey—everyone practically knew everyone else's DNA and we were only jockeying for position."

"Well, view it like that then," the Doctor told her. "Don't think of them as people or even resources. Think of them as pawns to be moved into positions where you want them. It's just a different arena, is all."

Adora thought about it, and lifted her chin. "I think I'll try the group over there, the one where some are sitting and some standing. Wish me luck!"

"You don't need any," the Doctor reassured her. "Now go get yourself a seat on the High Council, or the post of Chancellor, Madam President, even!"

Adora smiled, centered herself and walked over to the group of six or seven people, not bothering to look at badges; the rank wasn't as important as the contact, at least at this stage. The people seemed to be discussing the merits of auto-books over the old paperback or hardback type. The one woman in a hoverchair, oddly shaped with two faces and an oversized skull attached to a withered body was just saying, "Paper books are relics of a long-forgotten age; we say leave them there."

"Not all books are made of paper; there are trillions of other substances . . ." a cat/man with perked ears and long sharpened claws said, tail twitching.

The woman dismissed him with a wave of one languid hand. "You know what we mean, Oshtin. Physical books need to go the way of the telegraph machine, or the pencil. Ancient, we tell you, simply ancient. The world of literature needs to stop grasping onto the shreds of its past and come into the modern age."

Adora waited a moment to see if anyone else would speak, then responded, "But there's something about the feel of a book in your hand, the rustling of the pages, the smell of the ink . . . things you just don't get with an auto-book. Where an auto-book captures your mind, a physical book captures the other senses as well. They aren't practical for every work; I can only imagine a trade-language dictionary in paper, but for others it can really make a difference."

"She's got a point, Reyapre," someone else chimed in. "Besides, auto-books can malfunction or break down. All you need for a physical book is a light source and you're done."

Adora almost fainted on the spot. Reyapre? Why hadn't she been paying attention—of course it was them! Reyapre were one of the most famous, most influential writers in their generation, crossing species lines and intergalactic distances. They were a conjoined twin with two separate identities sharing one body and people joked that it gave them double the creativity, though not in their hearing. Rumor had it that Reyapre wielded so much power they could destroy anyone's career with a nod or catapult someone into stardom with the same ease. Their dramatic thrillers were made into movies even before the ink was dry and they knew their craft well. Adora was severely outclassed, but it was far too late to back out now. She stood her ground and waited.

Reyapre peered at Adora's badge and said, "Interesting perspective . . . Adora. Certainly something for a serious writer to consider. We ourselves do not have the hand strength to turn pages, but there is something to be said about a multi-sensory experience with one's work. Yes, that could lead to many layers of depth within a story. We shall have to consider it. Fenryss! Fenryss?Oh, where did he go? Oshtin, go find that wandering agent of ours and . . . Fenryss, at last! Talk to this woman about what she's working on and do something nice for her. Speak to her agent as well about what she needs and come up with something. Do enjoy yourself, Adora."

"Thank you, Reyapre," Adora barely had a chance to say before the women's agent, a Krynoth male, took her aside. He brought out a tablet computer and, whiskers twitching, said in a bored voice, "Name and genre?"

"My name is Adora, and I write romance novels."

"Latest work, something within the last five years?"

"I just finished a novel called 'No Time for Tears', but I've been published for the last twenty years, mostly with individual romance novels."

The Krynoth typed the information in and asked, "Agent?"

Adora told him, "My agent is Geptum Alveret, he's here somewhere."

"Current projects?"

"I brought an outline for a work titled, 'Love on the Ladris', and I also have notes for another novel in my 'Mail-order-Bride' series."

"Hmm," the Krynoth considered. "Reyapre try not to drag out a series too long but do like parallel works, ones where a few characters might know one another, but the stories are basically separate. Would your series fit into that category?"

"I'm not sure . . . it could, I suppose . . . all the characters use the same Mail-order service," Adora told him.

"That might work as a movie deal. What about research for your other work?"

"I haven't done any as of yet; I'm still in the outline stage."

Is this real? she asked herself. Am I really talking to someone about making my novels into movies? This is amazing! Wait until the Doctor hears . . . and Geptum will die of shock.

The Krynoth told her, "Might not be ready for anything like that yet . . . I'll talk to your agent and see what we can work out. Now, for your current novel. Have you done any off-world events?"

"No, I just got it out on auto-book and home-world paperback," Adora replied.

"No Entertainment Grid ads?"

Adora's head was spinning. "No; I can't afford that type of advertising cost."

"You can now," the Krynoth declared. "So, a possible movie deal with the one series, some as-of-yet undetermined assistance with the one-shot and some Grid ads for the latest, with possible off-world events. I can work with that. You said your agent is here?"

"Yes, possibly even in the room."

"What does he look like?"

Adora looked around, then pointed. "He's the big gecko lizard over there with the drink in his tail. He's just showing off."

"He'll have reason to in a moment. Now, let me get some demographics; Reyapre like to keep track of their "projects", they call it . . . your name is Adora . . . species?"

"I'm a female Gallifreyan, a Time Lady."

The Krynoth looked at her steadily. "Reyapre are going to love this, launching an almost extinct race into the literature limelight . . . I hope you're good at your craft, Adora. Married?"

"Yes, my husband is here with me." Adora felt the words leave her mouth before she could censor them. She almost bolted, but kept still. It's too late now, fool—run and you'll never see a single word of yours in a bookstore again. It's true and it won't make or break me, as long as my husband behaves.

"Good to know. We'll make sure you both get special treatment. Children?"

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Two boys, twins. One just got married."

"Excellent!" the Krynoth told her. "I think I have everything I need from you; I'd better snag your agent before he gets too far; I hate hunting people down. Excuse me."

He left her, and Adora stood in the middle of the room wondering what she had just done. Not only could her name become synonymous with a genre most people were unfamiliar with, she also might have just sold her anonymity and privacy in one breath. She would have started hyperventilating with the exception that she was a Gallifreyan; any excess or deficiency of oxygen was taken care of automatically unless there was nothing breathable at all for a protracted period of time. Before she could drop down to the floor in shock or start screaming in fear and jubilation, a hand touched her arm. "Love? Is everything all right? You look a bit dazed."

"I need to leave," Adora said flatly.

"The scene here, the weekend, or the planet?"

"Let's start with here."

The Doctor led Adora to a secluded part of the verandah and asked quietly, "Are you physically well?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously.

"Did you show yourself for the consummate strategist you are?"

"And got more than Madam President out of it." She gathered her thoughts, then told the Doctor, "I made a seemingly off-hand comment to the right, or wrong, people at a crucial moment and now I might need to hire bodyguards and live on a space-cruiser to get a moment's peace. I told him everything—my species, partner status, family status—practically everything but my weight! The man was talking about movies, Doctor. Movies—from my novels!"

"Let's not worry about your books for a moment; I want you to focus on yourself. Did you give them an address?"

"No," Adora's voice wavered.

"Did you mention anything beyond your species and gender, like allergies, dietary requirements, anything that makes you physically vulnerable?"

"No."

"Did you mention my name or anything about who I am or what I do, anything that could put you in danger that way?"

"I just said I was married, and that my husband was here."

"Okay, you're safe in that department. Now, tell me who you spoke to and what you said."

"You saw me go over to that group of people?"

"Yes, one of many."

"Well, they were discussing the phase-out of physical books for auto-books. I made a comment about physical books being more of an experience and I said it in front of Reyapre, the most famous authors of the age. They liked it, so now I'm their latest "project". Their agent was talking movies, Entertainment Grid advertising, off-world travel . . . all sorts of stuff I wasn't prepared for."

The Doctor sighed. "When I said what I said, I didn't think you could go that far. Reyapre? You're certain?"

"I didn't think about it because I wasn't paying attention to how people looked, just their conversation. Next time . . . but wait, how could anything top this?"

The Doctor looked serious. "Don't go there, Adora; that's like asking if anything else could possibly go wrong. Would you like me to get you a drink?"

"Yes, please."

She watched him weave himself through the crowd, and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Everything was happening so fast, she could barely think. She just stayed there for a minute and then she heard a familiar voice.

"Adora? We've got to talk business and I mean right now!"

Adora opened her eyes and saw Geptum in front of her, tail whipping back and forth behind him. He was clearly agitated which surprised her—shouldn't he be happy? "Business?"

"Business, Adora-doll, like my new pay scale and new cut and new everything. We're in another league now and my salary should reflect that. Also, in my new contract I want—"

"New contract? Now!? We just signed one right before the final revision of 'No Time For Tears'! I don't understand."

Adora looked around wildly and saw the Doctor coming with her drink. She forced herself to stay calm and wait. He would help her, he always did.

"Money talks, Adora, and if you're moving up in the world I should, too. Your good fortune should be shared with those who brought it to you—"

"And you think that includes you all of a sudden?" The Doctor asked, handing Adora a glass filled with something that smelled of berries.

"Adora just got favors from the name in the writing business—"

"You said it yourself—'Adora got favors'. You had nothing to do with their procurement; why should you reap the benefits?"

Geptum's tail was wiggling in a frenzy. "This party wouldn't have even taken place without Adora's attendance, which was certainly all my doing! She never would have come if I hadn't—"

The agent stopped, gulped and shut his mouth.

Adora looked where he was looking and saw a man in a three-piece, black 21st century Earth suit and sunglasses glaring at the hapless creature. She was going to break in, but the Doctor held up a hand. "What do you mean, the party wouldn't have happened without her? This posh a place and this type of guest list, all for her? A tiny reptile like you doesn't have that kind of power; who are you working for?"

Geptum turned orange. "I've said too much; far, far more than I should. The contract stays the same . . . I'll talk to you more about what Reyapre's agent and I came up with . . . right now I have to go."

"Doctor," Adora hissed, trying to get his attention. The menacing figure behind them was still a factor and she wasn't sure who or what it was after.

"You're not going anywhere," the Doctor spat, eyes narrowed. "You're going to tell me who you're working for and—"

"Doctor!"

Geptum tried to flee, but the Doctor caught him by the tail and pulled. "What do you want with Adora? Who's paying you?" he roared.

Geptum squirmed, wrenched his tail out of the Doctor's grip and fled, the suited man disappearing a second later. The Doctor would have followed Geptum, but Adora grabbed his arm. "Doctor, you didn't see—there was someone behind you, someone who scared Geptum more than you did."

"What did he look like?" The Doctor growled, still watching the retreating Geptum.

"Looked human, in a three-piece 21st century Earth suit and sunglasses. As tall as you, but I couldn't tell gender. Doctor, what's going on? Why would someone want me at a function like this, or want to do me special favors? What's happening!?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm going to find out. First though, I'm taking you home; it's not safe for you to be here right now."

"You can't, Doctor. I can't. If I go now I'll never see another word of my own in print again, I won't be able to share so much as my recipe cards if I walk out of here before the weekend's finished. I can't throw my future away like that. Please, Doctor—I have to stay."

The Doctor sighed deeply. "Drink your drink," he told her. "It might be a bit strong."

Adora sipped, then downed the beverage in a few gulps. "A Berry Blast—splendid! Can I have another?"

The Doctor frowned, but merely said, "Only if you come with me; I don't want you out of my sight until I can get to the bottom of this . . . and you might not want to drink the next one as quickly; you'll get tipsy very fast."

Adora took his advice; she nursed her next drink for over an hour. They munched on a few canapés as the trays went by and generally kept themselves out of circulation until the Krynoth who had spoken to Adora earlier came up and said, "Adora, I will need copies of your three completed novels to show to some of the film magnates; do you have any with you?"

"I brought everything . . ." Adora pawed through her writing bag and brought out a box of microchips, looking at each one carefully. Finally she said, "I have my whole portfolio here, but is there a way you can get them copied yourself? They're all I have with me and I'm not sure which is which."

"Not a problem," the Krynoth told her. "I can return them in an hour. You'll still be here?"

"We're here all weekend," Adora promised, handing over the chips.

The Doctor watched the Krynoth leave then asked, "Who is he?"

"He's Reyapre's agent; his name's Fennis, or something. Do you think I'll see Geptum again? I need an agent."

The Doctor looked angry again. "You can do better than his kind, Adora; you need someone who won't sell you out or betray you."

"We don't know he's done any of that," Adora said. "All we know is that he claimed my attendance was critical for this party. He may have been exaggerating, he may have been wrong."

The Doctor shook his head. "And he may have been paid by someone to make sure you came, someone who might mean you harm. I have no way of knowing at this point. My advice is that you find someone more trustworthy, someone who's in it for you as much as they're in it for the money. Maybe it's innocent, maybe it isn't, but you can do better."

"I don't know," Adora protested. "I've had Geptum as an agent for over fifteen years and he could have set me up for stardom or failure ages ago if he wanted. Why would he sit around and wait all that time if he meant me harm?"

"Maybe it's not you they're after, Adora. It could be someone using you as a pawn to get to me, to either hurt me or force me into something. There's no way to tell yet. I do wish you would let me take you home."

"First, they won't let you back in without me and second, I've worked too hard and long to lose everything I have in an instant."

"All right, Adora, we'll play it your way, but if I find out you're in danger I'm carrying you off whether you agree or not. Do you need another drink?"

"Why aren't you drinking anything?" Adora wanted to know, as they made their way to the bar at the center of the verandah.

"Partially because I need to stay sharp, but mostly because they won't have any bananas until tomorrow night and this regeneration only drinks banana daiquiris." The Doctor went up to the bar and called, "Another Berry Blast, please."

The android bartender asked, "Fresh or frozen fruit?"

"Fresh," the Doctor replied, "definitely fresh."

They watched as the robot made Adora's drink, then went over to the side of the room where the appetizers were coming out straight from the kitchen and had supper. "Do you know what the little crisps are on top of the green ones?" The Doctor asked, biting into a tasty morsel.

"Which green ones, the hot ones, smoky ones, or the creamy ones?" Adora wanted to know. "I suppose it doesn't matter any more; I'm full." She was quiet for a minute, then mused, "In a few years this might be my house, and my party." She shuddered. "Will you make me a promise?"

"I want to hear what you want first."

"If the unbelievable does happen and someday I'm the one calling the shots and throwing wild parties and having people as my pet projects, do you promise you'll give me a good slap in the face and return me to my senses?"

The Doctor laughed. "You'll never be like them, Adora. I might have had fears for you at one time, but not now. You've learned that people are more than pawns or players or "projects". You wouldn't string people up just to watch them blow in the breeze or tantalize them with treats they couldn't possess. You're not vain nor selfish, and power isn't the ruling fire behind your eyes any more. You won't be like them, never fear."

As Adora sipped on her drink, Reyapre's agent returned with her microchips. "I made copies of everything in your portfolio including the outlines and notes, though they will, of course, be destroyed once the works are publishable. I will need to get your house communicator code to reach you, unless you want everything to go through your agent."

Adora passed over a paper with her house communicator code and told him, "For now, I'd prefer you to work with me directly, though that is subject to change. Would you be able to give me Reyapre's contact information, just enough to send her, no, them a thank-you card?"

"I can have that information delivered to your home once the party's over; they'll appreciate it more if you wait a day or two to let it all sink in for all of you."

"And your name?" Adora asked.

"Fenryss, Madam."

"I want to thank you as well; you're doing so much of the work. Thank you ever so much."

"You might not want to thank me yet, Madam; you have no idea how much your life will change after this weekend." He gave a quick nod to the Doctor, then slipped back into the crowd.

"You know," the Doctor commented drily, "He may be right.