A robot appeared, lit the candles, and took their orders, cheese and bacon for Hutch, beef stew for Preach. And two cold beers. “You have any experience with these people? The Whatzis Society?”
“Contact. I’ve met a couple of them. They’re okay. As long as you don’t get them started on aliens.”
The beers came. They touched glasses. “To the loveliest woman in the room,” he said, affecting to gaze about and confirm his judgment. “Yes,” he said, “no question about it.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Preach.” She put some brandy into her voice. And then: “Who knows? Maybe you’ll strike gold out there.”
He looked at her over the rim of his glass. “And what would the gold be?”
“The neighbors. At last. After all these years, and all the ruins, and the hints, we actually find them. Preach Brawley finds them. And suddenly we have somebody to talk to.”
“Here’s to the neighbors,” he said.
Their meals came. While the robot set them down, Hutch glanced about her, scanned the several dozen couples in the room, and decided Preach was right: She was the most attractive woman in the place.
He tried his stew, gave it his approval, and inquired about her sandwich.
“It is,” she said, “delicious.” Not unlike the company.
The whispery music faded and virtual entertainers appeared. They were dressed in flowing caftans and armed with a variety of stringed instruments and horns. Their leader, lanky, seductive, dark of eye and mien, signaled, and they rolled into their first number:
O my baby has a ticket
On the Babylon Express.
She’ll be riding through the Chaldees,
She’ll be gliding past the sphinx,
’Cause she loves me, loves me truly,
On the Babylon Express.
“Another express,” said Hutch.
Preach frowned. “Who are these guys?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Even if he knew who they were, she suspected he’d have pleaded ignorance. Preach didn’t strike her as someone who’d admit to a taste for pop culture. So she put on a tolerant face. “That’s Hammurabi Smith and his Hanging Gardeners,” she said. “‘The Babylon Express’ is their signature number.”
“I can see why it would be.”
She reduced the volume, and they made small talk for a few minutes, whether it might rain all night, where she was from, how Preach had gotten started as a superluminal contractor. Midway through the meal, he laid his fork down, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Do you think there might really be something out there?”
“Somewhere,” she said. “Sure. But hanging around a neutron star? I don’t think so.”
They finished up and strolled onto the Overlook. More coffee was available, and the music from Maxie’s was piped in. But they’d been there only a few minutes when someone shut it off, and a commotion developed in a far corner.
“Not now, David,” said a woman, in tones that suggested now would be a very good moment. Her eyes glittered, her lush black hair fell to her waist, and she appeared to have had a little too much to drink. She wore red and black and was exposed to the navel. She and David were standing on a small stage. Professionals, she realized.
David was an immense young male, probably a head taller than the Preacher. His hair was gold, and it fell into his eyes. “Beth,” he said, “I’m sure the folks would enjoy it.” Several people applauded.
She gave up, and David opened a cabinet, pulled out a tocket, and turned it on. Its strings hummed with energy.
Beth looked resigned, said okay if you must, and moved to the edge of the stage. David rippled lightly through a few chords. The crowd expanded. “What would you folks like to hear?” Beth asked.
“How about ‘Randy Andy’?” said a female voice.
David tried a few chords, producing a burst of light and sound, and then he cut it off. “Too loud. I feel moody tonight.”
“‘The Macon City Bar,’” suggested a baritone.
Beth laughed. “This is a desperate bunch, David,” she said. They cheered.
…She stood her ground at the Macon City Bar,
Took my heart, and I never been the same,
Never been the same,
Since she stood her ground at the Macon City Bar….
Pretty soon everybody was singing and dancing. Hutch and Preach joined in. He sang off-key a lot, but he knew it, may have exaggerated it for effect, and grinned when she laughed. “I get better after I’ve had a few,” he said. She luxuriated in his presence and in his embrace. It had been a long time since she’d been close to somebody who could generate this kind of electricity.
Beth played and the crowd roared. They sang “Rocky Mountain Lollipop” and “Highballer,” a rousing number about the glide trains. And “Deep Down in the Culver City Mine” and “Last Man Out” and “Climbing on the Ark.”
Beth was sitting atop a dais by then, doing requests, sometimes performing one of her own choices. In the middle of the “Peacemaker Hymn” she spotted Preach and signaled him to join her. He glanced down at Hutch, looking for her reaction. “Go,” she said, faking nonchalance. Maybe Hutch wasn’t the loveliest woman in the room.
They performed “Providence Jack,” who was “faithful as long as I could see him.” When they finished she’d let him go. But she ended the evening with “Azteca,” looking at him the whole time and leaving no doubt about her inclinations.
During an intermission they broke away. He escorted Hutch back out to the taxi pad, and looked innocent when she suggested he’d made a conquest.
It was raining heavily. They rose through the storm, and he seemed pensive. “Hutch,” he said finally, “are you by any chance free tomorrow?”
“I’m headed for Princeton, Preach,” she said, “to see my mom.”
“Oh.”
“Why did you ask?”
“I was going to suggest dinner.” He shrugged the whole thing off. Bad idea. Should have known you’d be busy.
“She’s expecting me, Preach. Hasn’t seen me in a year. I can’t really beg off.” Her instincts were telling her just as well. Don’t rush things. Not if she was seriously interested in him. “Tell you what, though. I’ll be back Friday. How about we get together then?”
“Okay,” he said. “Call me when you get in.”
The taxi landed on the rooftop of her hotel. He told it to wait, got out, and went with her to her apartment door. She opened up and turned back toward him, debating whether to invite him inside. She’d been drinking a bit too much, as had he. “Thanks, Preach,” she said. “It was a lovely evening.”
“Me too.” He leaned toward her, planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, opening his lips and letting them linger just long enough to stoke her fire a bit. Knows what he’s doing, this lad. Then he took all decisions out of her hands by backing away. “You’re one of a kind, Hutch,” he said. And he wheeled and strode off.
She watched him disappear into the lift and had to fight off the sense that she was being an idiot. She closed the door softly and went to the window. Moments later she saw a taxi rise into the night and arc off in the general direction of the Crystal Tower.
Chapter 3
Decadence has been given a bad name throughout history. The truth is, there is never a better era in which to be alive than a decadent one. The food is good, the liquor flows, women are usually willing, and somebody else is fighting the wars. It’s invariably the next generation that has to pick up the bill.
HUTCH CHECKED IN at the operations desk at midmorning and got her instructions. She was told to expect between six and eight passengers. Details weren’t finalized. There’d be a briefing at the Academy conference room on the Wheel on the sixth, and departure would be October 7.
She was also given a virtual tour of the City of Memphis. It was smaller by half than most of the Academy carriers. But her size was largely a function of reductions in space given over to propulsion systems, made possible by technological advances in both the Hazeltines and the fusion engines, whose specs indicated a level of efficiency beyond anything she’d seen before. Sensor arrays and communications systems were state-of-the-art, as were command and control functions.