Since there was nothing remarkable about the dress she was wearing — floor–length white with long sleeves that ended in gloves and a high neck — everyone knew she was going to dance, which would be fine, she had a Capitolwide reputation for interesting effects, and one of the bestselling lifeloops in history had been her "Rehearsal Day" tape in which she had practiced every conceivable dance pose and motion, nude.
The Kapock design was interesting enough — as she danced her ordinary–looking dress began to glow brightly, dazzlingly, and slowly the guests realized that it was dissolving somehow in the process. The bright aura lingered for several minutes after she was completely naked, and when she ended her dance sparks still seemed to dance around her. The guests applauded wildly — some with lust, some with real appreciation, and a few with gratitude: with this on their loops, more than one budding young actress would have a good start to her career.
After her bow, she brought out Kapock, the designer, who also bowed stiffly.
"Poor guy," Hop commented to Jazz, "he hates the bitch, but who can turn down a commission these days? Inflation eats it up faster than you can spend it. And the price of lower somec ratings is always going up."
Arran picked up a drink from a passing tray and walked out among her guests. The other women soon realized that she had no intention of dressing again, and so they sighed and undressed, too, wishing they hadn't bothered to spend so much money on costumes for the party.
Arran went to Jason Worthing and handed him the drink. Immediately a group of lifelooping women and interested onlookers gathered to see what would happen, hoping perhaps to interject some witticism that might turn the incident to their favor — some clever remark that might get them invited to another, grander party on their next waking, or the one after.
"Did you like Fritz's little costume?"
"Very clever," Jazz said, smiling and accepting the drink. "How is it done?"
Fritz Kapock, who had followed Arran, smiled and said, "I'll never tell."
"He told me," Arran said, tossing her head prettily, "that it's oxidation."
Fritz laughed. "Of course. That much is obvious."
"Oh, and now Fritz is telling everyone how stupid I am," Arran pouted.
What a great act, Hop thought. Billions of loopwatchers, seeing this scene, would nudge each other and say, "See, there's Arran Handully, pretending to be dumb. She'll get ‘em in a minute."
Fritz Kapock awkwardly denied her accusation. "Of course I'm not."
"It's still a dazzling effect," Jazz said, and Hop was pleased that Jazz was making an effort to be pleasant company, even without being on contract.
"That calls for a drink," Arran said, taking a glass out of the hand of a servant near her.
Kapock held up his glass and said, "To Arran Handully, who managed to upstage my small effort by wearing a costume far more beautiful — her lovely self."
"What a poet," Arran whispered, and then she brought a gasp from everyone by stepping toward Jazz Worthing and putting her own glass to his lips. A declaration of intent, and everyone waited for the completion of the ritual, Jazz sipping and then placing his own glass up to Arran's lips.
He didn't do it, though. Instead, he stepped back, rejecting the offer, and raised his glass into the air. "And let me add my own toast to her courage — who else would dare to try to murder me at her own party?"
It took a moment for the words to sink in. And then the guests murmured as Arran protested, using her body coquettishly in a reflexive attempt to disarm and win over all watchers. "What a thing to say, Captain Worthing. There are politer ways to say no to a girl."
"You mean you deny it? Then take a drink from your own glass, my dear."
"After I've been refused? I could almost wish it were poisoned."
"Really? And so could I," Jazz said. "Shall we see if your wish is fulfilled?" He stepped toward her abruptly, taking the glass from her hand, seizing her by the hair with his other hand, and putting the glass to her lips. No one intervened. Let the action flow, as they all said. However things turned out, this would sell a billion loops.
"Take a drink, sweet Arran Handully, from the glass you offered me," Jazz said, smiling.
"What an actor you are," she said softly, and Hop was sure now that he saw terror in her eyes. For the first time it occurred to him that somehow Jason might well have uncovered the very murder plot he had been warned against. But how? They hadn't left each other since he disembarked from the ship.
Jazz began to tip the glass up to pour over her smiling mouth. Suddenly she writhed away, knocking the glass on the floor. It broke; the liquid splashed.
"Don't touch it," Jazz commanded. "It's now time for at least one of our kind and watchful observers to show himself and take a fragment of glass for analysis."
Suddenly several women moaned in disappointment, punching at the buttons on their loop recorders. A grim–faced man came up, holding a suppressor, and the moans stopped. Mother's Little Boys could do whatever they liked — including cutting out a choice scene from a lifeloop. The man knelt down by the fragments of glass and in a very businesslike way mopped up a sample of the liquid and took four pieces of glass, dumped them into a small bag he pulled from his pocket, and then, nodding to the company, left.
Arran was sitting down, shaking.
Fritz Kapock looked at Jason Worthing in hatred. "That was incredibly crude, doing a thing like that," he said.
"I know," Jazz agreed, smiling. "A more courteous man would have drunk, and died gracefully." Jazz excused himself from the group in a way that informed everyone that he preferred not to be accompanied. Hop, of course, accompanied him anyway.
"How did you know?" Hop asked.
"I didn't. But it seems like it was a pretty good guess, doesn't it?"
Guess? Hop knew perfectly well that Jazz Worthing wasn't stupid enough to open himself up to libel suits on the basis of mere guesswork. But if he preferred not to tell, why push him? Then again, why not? Managers have some rights.
"Come on, Jazz. How did you know?"
"I'm a Swipe," Jazz answered.
Hop rolled his eyes and laughed. "All right then. Don't tell me. Protect your sources. But at least tell me why she tried!"
Jazz only smiled and looked over at the group gathered to commiserate with their offended hostess. She was looking weak and helpless, and Hop couldn't help but admire her technique. A brilliant actress — able to utterly hide every natural emotion, play a role every waking moment.
Fritz Kapock separated himself from the group around Arran Handully and began to walk toward where Hop and Jazz were sitting.
"You see," Jazz said, "they're persistent. They won't settle for one attempt."
"What?" Hop asked. "Not Kapock. He's —" but then Hop remembered the gossip sheet " — a damned good swordsman and has had more than a few formal duels. None to the death, but Jazz, be careful, you've got to keep yourself safe. The Empire needs you."
"Not as much as you need your twenty percent, my dear friend," Jason answered.
Fritz Kapock stopped about three meters away, and began talking loudly with a group that had gathered there. Jazz didn't take his eyes off Kapock. Hop was worried. "Jazz, you know a hell of a lot more than you've been telling me."
"Of course," Jazz said, patting Hop's wrist. "That's why you're a manager and I'm a starpilot."
Kapock's voice came loudly to them: "Only a bastard and a coward would make an accusation like that — especially at her own party."
People nearby began to edge nearer. Actresses frantically fiddled with their loop recorders, trying to get them to warm up again, though they knew it was hopeless for a few minutes more — suppressors always ruined recording for exactly ten minutes, no more, no less.