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the market.”
    Rafe followed Hobart’s gaze around the room. It was true that the gothic elements that characterized Later Expansion period mansions were not to everyone’s taste. He could not even explain why they were to his taste. He only knew that the arched doorways, the intricate patterns in the tile work, and the elaborately molded ceilings pleased something deep inside him. He had even gone so far as to restore the original jelly-ice candle fixtures and fireplaces, although he had also installed discreetly concealed modern lighting, heating, and air conditioning as well.
    For a few seconds he tried to see his home through Hobart’s eyes.
    Fifty years ago the somber, overwrought architecture of the Later Expansion period had been extremely fashionable, an overreaction, perhaps, to the excessive ebullience of the Early Exploration period that precededit. But the demand for the dark, brooding style had quickly faded.
    Today many of the old houses in the district were shuttered and locked. Faded “For Sale” signs sagged from the massive gates that barred the long, elegant drives. Weeds sprouted where skilled horti-talents had once tended exotic gardens. Windows remained dark after the sun set. The sidewalks that lined the street were cracked.
    No doubt about it, the neighborhood had gone into a slump.
    Most of the dynasty-founding business families who had once made their homes on this particular hillside overlooking the city had moved to newer, more fashionable hills.
    Hobart was right, Rafe thought. His home would not appeal to a modern, sophisticated woman.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “Maybe I could give a little on that last requirement. My future wife doesn’t have to like this house.”
    Hobart raised his eyes briefly to the ornately decorated ceiling. “Very gracious of you, Mr. Stonebraker.”
    â€œLook, if you can’t do the job, Batt, just say so. I’ll register with another agency.”
    Hobart squared his discreetly padded shoulders and got to his feet. “There is no other matchmaking agency in New Seattle that could give you better service. You’ll simply have to be patient. You must accept the fact that it will take time to find the right match for you.”
    But time was the one thing he did not have, Rafe thought. It was rapidly becoming clear that he could not depend upon Hobart Batt and Synergistic Connections to find him a suitable wife in the few weeks that he had left before the annual board meeting.
    He had no choice but to take matters into his own hands. He would allow Hobart to continue to comb through the listings of registrants at Synergistic Connections.There was no harm in that and it made sense to cover every angle.
    But while Batt fiddled around with his files of registered candidates, Rafe thought, he would go hunting on his own. He was a strat-talent, after all. Hunting was the one thing he did very well.
    The first rule of the hunter was to go where the quarry was. Full-spectrum prisms were not exactly thick on the ground. Some worked in research labs and others held positions at the university. It would not be easy to meet and screen a lot of them in such a short amount of time.
    But there was another place to find full-spectrums. Many of them worked at least part-time for focus agencies, where they commanded exorbitant rates for their services.
    How hard could it be to arrange to hire and evaluate a bunch of unmarried full-spectrum prisms from a variety of local focus agencies? The natural optimism of the hunter rose within Rafe. Anticipation flowed across his senses.
    He would hunt his own mate.
Wife
, he immediately corrected himself. He would hunt his own wife, not mate.
Mate
sounded so… primitive.
    So did
hunt
, for that matter.
    Okay, he would
search
for his own
wife.
    When he had narrowed the field to a handful of possible candidates, he would call Hobart in to help him choose the best match of the