where she’s going. Besides Europa Station, that is.”
Linda laughed. “There isn’t much to tell. Mom and Dad were high-priced freelancers, the kind who get lots of work, but aren’t willing to make the sacrifices required of lifers.”
“Were freelancers?”
A cloud passed over Linda’s eyes. “They were killed when the Mundo-Tech fusion plant went critical and destroyed Caracas.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “Don’t be. It was one of those crappy this-is-the-real-world kind of things, that’s all.”
I nodded. “Then what?”
Her eyes went out of focus. She seemed to see through me and into another time. “I was in college. There was some money, enough to finish my degree, and I did. Then the war started and I graduated just in time to get drafted by General Electric. I did fairly well and wound up as a captain.”
I nodded respectfully. “GE has some tough troops…what outfit were you in?”
Linda smiled. “Logistics…I spent the whole war using a computer to shuffle supplies from one place to another. How ‘bout you? How did you spend the war?”
I used my drink to buy time. The wine felt cool as it trickled down my throat. How honest should I be? Semi- honest seemed best. “I was a Mishimuto Marine, or so they tell me. I don’t remember much after being hit in the head.”
She smiled and gestured with her glass. “Which explains the rather unusual hairstyle.”
“Exactly.”
Linda leaned forward. Her cleavage made a wonderful canyon. A hand touched the side of my head. I fancied I could feel it there, warm through an eighth-inch of polished steel, accepting the thing that kept me apart. Nothing could have meant more to me, and I was sorry when the hand was withdrawn. She nodded as if satisfied. “I like the skull plate. It makes you look dangerous.”
“You like dangerous men?”
“No,” Linda answered thoughtfully, “I like men who look dangerous. There’s a difference.”
Word games are not my strongest suit. Not with a gazillion megabytes of god knows what occupying a significant portion of my brain. I let it drop.
“So, what did the logistics expert do after the war?”
One carefully plucked eyebrow rose higher than the other. She smiled. “Logistics…what else? GE liked my work and hired me as a freelancer.”
“This is a business trip, then?”
Linda laughed. “Of course. I could never afford this. My boss is up on A Deck, where she can hobnob with her peers. You’ll meet her at the ball. How ‘bout you? What’s an ex-Mishimuto Marine doing on his way to Jupiter?”
I delivered what I hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “I won the northwest regional lotto. Haven’t had a vacation in years. Thought it would be fun.”
If Linda thought the story was far-fetched, she gave no sign of it. She hoisted her glass. “To fun!”
Crystal clinked as our glasses touched and the conversation turned toward less dangerous ground. Time passed, and the ball neared. We stood. I bent slightly, felt her lips brush mine, and wallowed in her perfume. Bright blue eyes searched my face. “I’ll expect you at 1945 hours. You won’t be late?”
“Pirates are punctual.”
“Well, noblewomen aren’t, but I’ll do my best. Our entrance is scheduled for 2017. Perkins would be most annoyed if we missed it.”
“God forbid.”
I escorted Linda through the access tube and watched her walk away. And what a walk it was. I turned, and was headed for my stateroom, when Sasha appeared at my side. She had lain in wait. Her voice was determined. “We need to talk.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Your friend, if that’s what she is, lied to you.”
I stopped and turned to face her. The other pedestrians looked annoyed and walked around us. “Oh, really? And how do you know that?”
Sasha looked serious, and something else as well. Sympathetic? Sad? No, those were human emotions of the sort that her mother would never countenance. “I know because she’s a greenie.”
I frowned. “Says who?”
“Says all the propaganda lying around her stateroom.”
My jaw dropped. “You searched her quarters?”
“No,” Sasha said evenly, “Joy did. The air-conditioning ducts are like a highway for someone her size. The woman is not only a greenie, she’s Trask’s boss, and here to take you out.”
Part of it was true, anyway. With no orders to the contrary, Joy would do whatever Sasha asked. And, given her rather unusual programing, surveillance work was well within her abilities. I felt resentment, fear, and rage all at the same time. “You’re lying!”
Sasha spoke as if to a child. “No, I’m not. Believe what you will about my motivations, but I’m telling the truth.”
I didn’t know what to think, what to believe, so I turned and walked away. I was still confused by the time I ordered my door to open and stepped inside. Joy was dressed as a miniature noblewoman, and Perkins had left my costume on the bed. It was time to dress, and I allowed inertia to carry me along.
Before I knew it I was dressed in a wide-brimmed hat with plume, a snow-white shirt, a black vest, scarlet waist sash, black breeches, knee-high boots, a brace of flintlock pistols, and my aluminum sword. Even I, something of a cynic when it comes to my own appearance, was impressed when I looked in the mirror.
And Joy, cheerful as always, looked wonderful on my shoulder, her hair done up in a beehive, her petticoats arranged just so, and a tiny parasol tilted over one shoulder. She giggled happily. “We look great, boss…A prize is in the bag.”
But if we looked good, Linda looked even better. She was nearly ready when we arrived. She wore her hair piled high, like Joy’s, and a dress so daring it barely covered her nipples. I must have stared because she laughed and pointed over a shoulder. “Would you be so kind as to zip me up?”
I moved behind her and found in place of the buttons or hooks that would’ve been part of a real noblewoman’s gown, this one had been equipped with a most sensible zipper. A wonderful invention that reduces the amount of time it takes women to dress and undress. The second being more important than the first.
But as I zipped Linda’s dress, and looked over her shoulder I scanned the compartment looking for the evidence that Joy had allegedly uncovered, but saw no sign of it. That being the case, I decided to wait and see what happened.
We stepped out of Linda’s stateroom and into something verging on a traffic jam. Everyone but everyone was going to the ball, and the corridor was jammed with people wearing a fantastic assortment of costumes, all in a festive mood. Cheers welcomed us into the crowd, and every man within ten feet maneuvered for a chance to look down Linda’s dress. Being closest, I had the best view.
The line jerked forward by fits and starts, passed through a lounge where we were sorted and rearranged according to our entrance times, and sent into the lift tubes in proper order. The ride to A Deck took about fifteen seconds. The doors slid open, a uniformed crew member gestured to the left, and we obeyed.
The flow steadied as guests were funneled into the ballroom. The drill was to listen for your name, take three steps forward, strike a pose, and proceed across the open floor to the other side. That gave the residents of A and B Decks time to look at the costumes, compare them to the others they’d seen, and record their votes via small hand-held boxes. Each had thirty votes and could assign them in any way they chose. Winning meant absolutely nothing, but the knowledge did nothing to lessen the empty feeling in my gut, or slow the beating of my heart. Linda’s hand felt damp through my sleeve, and I knew the tension had affected her as well.
A voice called, “Frank Stanton and Mary Tomari,” in loud stentorian tones, and the couple in front of us, a somewhat portly sultan accompanied by a willowy dancing girl, stepped out into the ballroom. The music segued, and the sultan stood with arms crossed while his more athletic companion treated the crowd to a passable belly dance. The applause was light but sustained. Then, long before I was ready, it was our turn. The voice announced
