Half Share attftgaotsc-2 Page 16

  There was nothing to be done about it, so I put my feet up on the console, made sure my coffee was in easy reach, and settled into my studies. I had a long time to sit, nothing else to do, and nobody was likely to interrupt me. I pulled up the section on liquid thermodynamics and started from the beginning.

  Chapter 16

  DUNSANY ROADS ORBITAL

  2352-APRIL-15

  Eventually the long night ended. Francis showed up right on time at 05:45 and smiled in sympathy when he saw me. “You holding up?”

  “Kinda. Not as bad as I thought it would be. I got a lot of studying in.”

  He looked uncomfortable at the mention of studying, so I added, “You did me a favor with the bookmark thing, you know?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “If you hadn’t set it to spec one, I’d still be slogging through spec three and wouldn’t have even thought about leapfrogging a rating.”

  “Well, I still feel bad. I thought sure you’d have caught the file setting as soon as you brought up the lesson.”

  “Hindsight, eh? I should have. I’ll never make that mistake again, but you were also right about me being distracted. There was a lot going on then. Are you ready to take this on?” I jerked my head at the console.

  “No, but it’s my turn.”

  “All ops normal, Mr. Gartner. No maintenance scheduled or performed. You have the watch.”

  “I relieve you, Mr. Wang. I have the watch. And keep an eye out for the girls this afternoon. They’ve got something up their sleeves.”

  Laughing I headed for my bunk and a few stan’s sleep before I found out what it might be.

  ***

  I had set my tablet to bip me at 12:30 so I had time for a shower before leaving for Roubaille. I woke a lot more refreshed than I thought I might be. My body had adapted to the watch cycle pretty well. Something about teaching it to sleep when I needed to and to stay awake when that was required. The old ideas of morning and night seemed a trifle artificial in the twenty-four stan world of watch standing.

  When I came out of the san, Bev, Brill, and Diane were all waiting for me. Normally, that would have been scary enough but under the circumstances, I almost turned around and walked right back in. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was met with.

  Beverly, of course, was in her black leathers, but instead of the usual armor plating under it, she wore a kind of silky chemise in a pale color that looked white next to the midnight black of the leathers. The material glowed against her darker skin. She was not wearing the jacket buckled at the waist the way she usually did, but instead she left it open all the way down the front so that the tails swung free. With her buzz cut hair, tattoos, and piercings she looked both fascinating and terrifyingly fierce.

  Diane wore heels and a black suit with an absolutely stunning green silk blouse unbuttoned so far she risked imminent danger of indecent exposure. The collars of both the blouse and the jacket were turned up to frame her face but also accentuated the plunge by extending the V even farther. Before I managed to track up to her face, I could not help but be aware of the softness swelling under that silky, silky blouse.

  When I finally got a look at Brill, the urge to retreat to the san became almost too much to bear. She looked awe inspiring, wearing a pair of straight legged slacks and very pointy shoes. Her legs seemed to go half way to the overhead before disappearing into a dark-red tailored jacket with offset black buttons. This was not the scarlet red of blood but a richer almost burgundy color without the purple overtones. The tailoring on the jacket was impeccable. The fabric hugged every curve—and there were some fascinating curves. Her jacket had a standup collar—it was almost military and oriental all at once, but really neither. She wore no blouse under the jacket, or at least none that I could see. This left her long neck, throat, and upper chest exposed in a way that shipsuit and tee never would. She did not have Diane’s cleavage, but she did not suffer one iota from the lack. She had done something with her hair, too. It had a kind of wild, spiky appearance that was totally at odds with the collected and cool Brill I was used to. She was smiling in a way that was very disturbing because of the way my body was reacting.

  “Wow.” It was all I could get out past the blood pounding in my ears.

  The three of them looked at each other and passed some primal communication that I could not interpret. “Don’t forget the chip from Bresheu,” Brill reminded me.

  “We’ll see you at the lock in five ticks,” Diane added.

  “We know where you sleep,” Bev warned me as they left.

  I sighed and put on my civvies. Straightening my jacket in the mirror, I grimaced at the guy looking back at me. He did not seem too pleased with what he saw either. With any luck, he would be wearing something a bit more presentable to wear when I got back.

  When I got to the lock, Sean had the duty. “Good luck, Ish.” His face twisted into a mischievous grin as I signed out.

  “Are you coming?” Bev asked.

  Sean shrugged helplessly and I waved to him as they escorted me out of the ship.

  Brill asked, “Do you have the chip?”

  I pulled it out and held it up. “Right here.” As I slipped it back into my pocket, I saw their eyes following it the whole time with a kind of hungry reverence.

  Seeing them again, I almost turned and retreated into the ship. If the lock had not already started to cycle closed, I might have bolted. There did not seem to be quite enough oxygen in the docking bay and the stinging cold was not helping my feeling of sudden overload as Bev’s body responded to the temperature under that silky chemise.

  “Now that we have your attention,” Brill said, arching an eyebrow, “shall we go?” She turned and led the way, while Bev and Diane waited to block my retreat. I took a deep breath and followed her to the lift. I was very aware of how nicely tailored the slacks were and wished, just a little, that her jacket were a bit shorter. I could hear Beverly and Diane striding along side by side just behind me, not quite in step, but very close to it.

  At the lift, Brill stopped and held the door while Diane and Bev ushered me into the car. As I turned I could see a half dozen people staring after us before the metal doors cut off the view. We had walked right through the group of them, and I had not even noticed. Judging from the looks, they had noticed us.

  The lift stopped at level eleven and the doors slid apart revealing the posh opulence of the upper deck. Brill strode out over the lush carpeting without looking back. She did not need to. The possibility of me not following her was as remote as a planet suddenly breaking from its orbit. At that moment, I understood the concept of magnetic personality in a whole new way. Besides, I had the impression that Bev and Diane were prepared, and able, to carry me should I balk.

  As we walked down the nicely appointed corridor, the feeling of being completely at the mercy of these three powerful, brilliant, gorgeous, sexy women almost overpowered me. I could barely breathe. It scared the hell out of me, but I also realized just how much I enjoyed it. I felt like I was riding a roller coaster without seatbelts.

  Near the front of the shop I caught sight of us as a group reflected in the glass. Brill, the statuesque goddess, strode the deck like some modern-day Valkyrie. Diane and Bev were in escort position one step behind me and offset one left and the other right. I was in the middle and did not feel so much like a prisoner but kind of protected. I straightened up and tried to walk with a bit more confidence. If these magnificent women thought I was worth protecting, then I wanted to at least pretend to be worthy. The glimpse was over in a flash as we hit the double doors and Brill sailed through them and into Chez Henri.

  Chez Henri was nothing like what I thought of when I pictured a shop in my mind’s eye. I immediately realized that I was way out of my league. Upon entering, I noticed there were no displays of any kind. There were not even any mannequins. The entry consisted of just a podium where a woman wearing a tweed suit stood and peered at us over antique-looking half-glasse
s. Doors flanked her on either side. The whole set up reminded me of a posh restaurant. Sizing us up with a glance she addressed Brill. “Good afternoon, madam, do you have a reservation?”

  Brill is not easily intimidated, especially not by tweed-suited receptionists. “We’d like to see Monsieur Roubaille,” she said with a cool smile.

  The receptionist was a pro and merely smirked. “Many people would, madam, but without a reservation, I am afraid it is quite impossible.”

  “Excuse me,” I spoke for the first time since leaving the ship and with what I hoped was considerably more confidence than I felt. “My name is Ishmael Wang and Monsieur Bresheu said I should pay a visit when I arrived in Dunsany.” I produced the chip and held it up.

  “Impossible. Bresheu is in St. Cloud,” the woman said dismissively, thrown off by my interruption.

  “And, as it happens, we have just arrived from there.”

  Brill slid smoothly aside and I stepped forward.

  “If you would be so kind as to pass this on to Monsieur Roubaille, we can wait.” I handed her the chip.

  She took it between thumb and finger as if suspicious of its cleanliness and turned it so the flowery B was visible on the casing. She controlled her emotions well, but her eyes flared slightly as her eyes focused on the chip. She looked first at me and then at each of the women with a new kind of uncertainty.

  “Of course, Monsieur,” she said finally with a small nod in my direction. “I’ll be but a moment.”

  She disappeared through the door on the right. I looked behind me and saw Beverly and Diane arranged so they could watch the entry while Brill was standing off to the side with a small, satisfied smile. She winked once quickly and gave the tiniest of nods.

  I could hear the voices coming from behind the door even before it burst open and a thin man rushed into the entry with the receptionist in tow. “Mr. Wang?” he said, looking at me. “My name is Henri Roubaille. Welcome to my shop. How may I help you today?”

  “Bon jour, Monsieur. As you can see, I am in need of some more suitable clothing.”

  “Certainly, if you would please step this way?” he indicated where the receptionist held the door open and swept us into the inner sanctum.

  I followed him through the door and Brill, Diane and Beverly trailed me. We entered into a smallish room with sofas and easy chairs arranged artfully around a coffee table. To be honest, I had no idea what to expect, but it was not this. I had yet to see a single garment that was not already in use and I grew more confused as each tick passed.

  “Please, have a seat.” He swep t a hand at the chairs. Brill nodded to Diane and Bev who sat together on one sofa while she took one of the side chairs. I followed and took the seat she had indicated with her eyes. M. Roubaille stood in attendance at the front of the room and, after a few ticks of pleasantry on the subject of refreshments, began the serious business. “How may I serve you this afternoon, Monsieur?”

  Brill spoke while I was still trying to figure out what I was doing. “M. Wang needs an outfit, Monsieur. We visited Bresheu in St. Cloud but ran out of time before he could decide and M. Bresheu graciously provided the introduction to you.”

  M. Roubaille paid particular attention to Brill but his eyes periodically tracked to Diane and Beverly as well. “And do we know what kind of outfit? Formal? Evening wear? Day wear?”

  “Casual, multipurpose, suitable for business or a dinner with a colleague,” she replied instantly. “Something that fits him. Perhaps a suit or some other ensemble.” She smiled and finished with, “That is why we have come to you, Monsieur.”

  I heard the words, but I did not understand the message that Brill had just given M. Roubaille. Apparently, he did because he gave a little bow to her and said, “Of course.” He turned to me and asked, “Shall we begin, Monsieur?” He held out his open hand indicating a passage to the side. I stood and followed him.

  He led me around the corner to a small, draped changing room. I could hear Brill and Diane talking in low voices on the other side of the partition somewhere with Beverly punctuating the discussion, but I could not make out their words. Everything was quiet and muffled.

  Roubaille stood me in the middle of the room and said, “Very well, Monsieur, if you would kindly slip out of your garments?” He held up a sumptuous-looking white robe. I stripped off my boots, pants, and shirt, laying them across the back of a chair. “The under garments as well, Monsieur. The canvas must be fresh.”

  I slipped off my ship-tee and he slid the robe over my shoulders while I stripped off my boxers from underneath. My socks were the last to go. I should have been nervous but the robe felt so luxurious against my skin. I did not even flinch at being practically naked with this strange man in the room. Besides, I did not want to embarrass Brill and the rest by making some kind of scene. I could still hear them talking softly and I found their quiet conversation comforting in a weird way.

  “If you would slip into these, now, Monsieur…a bit of support, yes?” He held a pair of briefs toward me and I slipped them on under the robe. After months of boxers, the soft cotton briefs felt a bit odd, but comforting. “Now, I think we are ready to begin. If you would stand here?” He indicated a spot on the floor and pulled a drape open to reveal a mirror. He came to stand behind me and we looked into the glass together for a moment. He stood just a bit shorter than me and off to the side so he could see me well in the glass. He reached up with one smooth movement and slipped the robe from my shoulders and I stood there looking into the glass wearing only the snug briefs.

  “So, Mr. Ishmael Wang? Who do you think you are?” he asked it softly, catching my eyes in the mirror. He did not ask it the way my mother used to when she was angry. His query put a particular emphasis on the word think.

  “I’m just a guy. Nothing special, but I’d like to have some decent clothes.” I smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

  He tsked and shook his head at me. “Please do not waste my time with this foolishness. You arrive at my shop with an introduction from Bresheu himself, and not merely a business card. No, you present a custom data chip with his initial on the case! You arrive in the company of not one, but three of the most delightful and strikingly beautiful women on this end of the galaxy, and you have the audacity to say to me ‘I’m just a guy’?” He pursed his lips in a puckered little smile. “I think we both know you are more than that.”

  The world receded and I found myself staring at the mirror. The running had done a lot for my body over the last few months. While I still was not beefy across the arms and shoulders like Pip, the muscles in my thighs and calves were pretty well defined. Not bodybuilder material but still pretty decent and I was surprised to see the way the light fell across my stomach. I had never been fat in my life, but neither did I have washboard abs before—even when running track in school. I ran a hand across my stomach while the shadows played in the mirror. I did a half turn and looked at the way the running had shaped up my buttocks before I realized what I was doing and glanced at M. Roubaille. He merely stood with the robe in his hands and waited patiently.

  “Please, M. Wang.” He offered a reassuring smile. “You cannot afford to be shy. You must have a good look at yourself if we are to understand how you should be dressed.”

  So, I took a deep breath and turned this way and that. The white cotton briefs fit perfectly and I started to get an idea of how others might see me—young still, beyond the coltishness of youth but not yet at that point of full maturity—slight of build but definitely male.

  “Do you like what you see, M. Wang?”

  It did not exactly feel natural standing there looking at myself in the mirror while this stranger watched me, but it was as if that part of my mind were numbed. I knew it was weird, but the weirdness did not seem to matter. “Yes.” I nodded slowly, still looking at myself in the mirror. “I think I do.”

  “So, are you ready to try on clothes?”

  I nodded.

  “Very well,” he
said and slipped the robe back over my shoulders. “This way, please. I think we are done measuring.”

  “Measuring?”

  He nodded to the glassy sensors in the flooring and walls. “Of course, Monsieur. I must know your physical dimensions, just as you need to know your spiritual ones.” He peered into my face. “Yes, I think we are ready.”

  He led me back out to where the women were seated. It was a little disconcerting to be in public wearing not much more than a robe, but it was not that much different than the sauna, if I did not count M. Roubaille, his assistants, and everybody besides me dressed to the teeth.

  “With your permission, ladies,” he addressed them, “we will begin.”

  He undraped another mirror and stood me in front of it. I was afraid for a moment that he was going to whisk the robe off and leave me standing there in my briefs again, but instead he took a pair of beige slacks from a hovering assistant and helped me slip them on under the robe. I felt better with pants, but the feeling did not last long as he then stripped off the robe and left me standing in front of the mirror wearing only the slacks. The mirror was angled slightly so I could not see the women seated just to my right in its reflection, but I could sense their eyes on me. M. Roubaille tugged the seam and smoothed the fabric over my backside in an oddly impersonal manner—as if he were dressing a mannequin. They looked good, fit well, but Brill summed it up when she said, “Too old.”

  Stepping back, M. Roubaille nodded and said simply, “Yes. Indeed.”

  He reached out and plucked a different pair of slacks from another assistant’s hands. He slid the beige pants down my legs and handed them off while helping me into the second pair, a nicely tailored pair of twill slacks in a chocolate brown. I stood there for a moment, looking at myself barefoot and shirtless in the mirror.

  “Too formal,” Beverly offered.

  “Hmm,” M. Roubaille said, thoughtfully. “You may be right. How do you feel about denim, M. Wang?” he asked.