relationship to the next level, and if she said “no,” he would be hurt and wouldn’t ask again.
So, what did she want? To open the door or close it? And what of Booly? Why couldn’t he pursue her with the same ardor that Six did? Because he was so desperately busy? Or just didn’t care? The words formed themselves. “That sounds like fun Samuel—thanks for asking.”
Ishimoto Six followed Maylo into the lift, knew the platform was falling, but felt his spirits soar. In spite of the fact that only the humans, dwellers and a few other races liked to dance, or even had a name for it, nearly everyone wanted to participate in President Nankool’s birthday celebration—some because they truly liked the chief executive, some because it pays to suck up, and some because there was nothing else to do.
That being the case, the corridors were overflowing with revelers, would-be revelers, or reveler watchers all heading for the Starlight Ballroom. They were dressed to the nines, or whatever the nines were in their particular cultures, which made for a nearly overwhelming assault on the senses. Booly stepped out of his sixth meeting of the day, felt the crowd pull him along, and was stunned by the bright shimmering reds, blues, and greens. Capes, gowns, and robes rustled, swished, and in once case chimed. The smell of perfume, incense and things the officer wasn’t quite sure of filled the air. Add the drone of multilingual conversation to the mix, and it made for a stunning combination. It was the sort of thing that the officer in Booty dismissed as a complete waste of time. Still, odds were that Maylo was somewhere about, raising the distinct possibility that he could talk to her. or better yet, convince her to leave early.
Booly was considered a player by then, a being to be reckoned with, which meant that he was forced to shake all manner of limbs, answer nonsensical questions, and dodge various types of supplicants, the worst of whom were arms dealers, eager to sell him everything from pocket knives to nukes. Finally, after what felt like a swim upstream, the officer heard music, managed to break through a screen of onlookers, and made it to the dance floor. It took less than a second to spot Maylo and recognize the man she was with, Senator Samuel Ishimoto Six.
They were dancing to something slow and stately. Maylo wore a bright red dress and positively glowed. Her teeth flashed when she laughed. They looked happy, as if made for each other, and the spectators thought so too. Comments came from all around. “Aren’t they wonderful together?” “Look at that dress!” “He’s so handsome!” “What a beautiful couple.”
Booly looked down, realized how plain his class two khaki’s were, and felt suddenly out of place. Maybe it stemmed from his upbringing on Algeron, maybe it was the result of too many years on the rim, but the entire atmosphere made him uncomfortable. This was Maylo’s world and one in which he would never be able to compete. Slowly, reluctantly, the soldier turned and forced his way back through the crowd.
Meanwhile, out on the dance floor, Maylo caught a glimpse of khaki. Her eyes followed, she saw his face, and then he was gone. Something, she wasn’t sure what, seemed to squeeze her heart. The music played, her feet moved, but the dance was over.
Chapter 13
General Directive 00003.0
Standard year 2502
Inside the Rim, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
The Sheen fleet swept through the Istar Seven system with the slow sureness of an organism that knows where it’s headed but is in no particular hurry to get there. And with good reason. In spite of the fact that the Hoon had completed its inventory and destroyed all remaining vestiges of its other self, the computer intelligence had something new to concern itself with.
Scouts had come across signs that the Thraki armada had not only come that way—but done so within the relatively recent past. There were other portents as well. . . Ships that flashed into existence at the far end of detector range, the presence of computer controlled drones that exploded if tampered with, and hundreds of free- floating relay devices that “squirted” data to each other as the fleet drew near. The occurrences were interesting for any number of reasons, beginning with the fact, that, old though the Hoon was, the computer had never observed such phenomena before. They suggested coordinated activity of some sort and presented a 92.3 percent match with instructions the AI had never been called upon to use before
How had the creators been able to provide instructions regarding events that would transpire hundreds of years in the future? The machine neither knew nor cared.
The essence of the newly revealed directions were actually quite simple: Although the Sheen had pursued the Thraki armada for centuries now, the day would almost certainly come when the hunted would turn and make a stand. And, as part of that effort, they might attempt to lure the Hoon into some sort of trap. The AI would know that day had arrived “when signs start to thicken, when ships harry the fleet, and when mysteries appear.”
The first pair of parameters made sense, but the last didn’t. “Mysteries?” What did that mean? Ah well, what the computer didn’t or couldn’t understand it had been programmed to ignore. So, cautious as to the possibility of a trap, the Hoon doubled the number of units assigned to reconnaissance, ordered the rest of the fleet to the highest possible state of readiness, and stowed the overall rate of advance.
That’s how the Sheen discovered that a Thraki convoy had taken refuge on the eleventh planet out from a rather undistinguished sun and turned to investigate.
