"Conceded," Florian Gusky said, and lifted the visor of the simulation helmet. He sighed heavily and took a pull of his beer, then looked around the room as though surprised to find himself alone with Simeon, blinking away the consciousness of a world and war that had never been. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his heavy-browed face and he worked the thick muscles of his shoulders to loosen the tension.
"You could play it out to the end," Simeon's image said from a screen above his desk.
"No dam' point. You've whipped my butt in that simulation twice, from both Union and Confederate sides."
"I could take a handicap," Simeon said with much less enthusiasm, Gus noted.
So he nodded. The last time he had beaten Simeon was in a Caesar vs. Rommel match on the site of Carthage, with the shellperson commanding Caesar's spear-armed host against Panzers and Stukas. Even then he had inflicted embarrassing casualties.
"Where is she?" Gus asked. There was no need to identify the female in question.
"She's dining at the Perimeter."
Gus raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "The Perimeter? That's some salary she gets." The Perimeter attracted two sets of guests: the rich, and spacers looking to blow six months' pay on one night.
Simeon laughed. "Nah, she's a guest of the management. Patsy's with her."
"Yeah, Patsy likes her," Gus said, his tone indicating that this revealed a serious and heretofore unsuspected flaw in Patsy's character. "Can you see them?"
"Yup."
"What're they doing?"
"Talking."
"About us?"
"I don't know. I'm not listening. Now they're laughing."
"They're talking about us, alright," Gus said gloomily.
"Geesh, Gus, let's get back to the game."
There was a plaintive edge to Simeon's voice. Gus reached for the helmet and then stopped, a slow grin creasing his heavy features.
"Isn't it about time we had a drill?" he said, thoughtfully.
"We just had one. About four hours ago, remember?"
"When I was in the Navy we had 'em six times a day, sometimes," Gus replied.
He knew that Simeon badly wanted to pull Navy duty. Only a few staff-and-command vessels used shell controllers and Simeon didn't rate, yet. In the meantime, he put a lot of weight on Gus' experience as a fire-control officer on a patrol frigate. That had been some time ago-Florian Gusky had spent a decade's hard work clawing his way up to regional security chief for Namakuri-Singh, the big drive-systems firm-but Simeon had a bad case of military romanticism. And real talent, he told himself without envy of the brain's abilities.
"I know it's early," Gus went on persuasively, "but it's important not to have predictable intervals. So we don't get complacent."
"Well…"
"I'd love to see the look on their faces."
"Since you put it that way-"
Channa started as the klaxons rang. They sounded like no other she had ever heard, a harsh repeated ouuuuga-ouuuuga sound. The elegant minuet of movement among the waiters turned to an inelegant but efficient scramble for the exits; some moved to assist guests. Thick slabs hissed up out of the floor along the outer wall and the lights flared bright.
"BREACH IN THE PRESSURE HULL!" a harsh male voice tone announced. "EMERGENCY PERSONNEL TO THEIR STATIONS. SECURE ALL SUBSECTION REFUGE AREAS."
Patsy stood and looked at her barely touched entree with dismay. "Damn! That's the second time this shift!" She threw her napkin down with disgust. "Simeon pulls these drills like a boy kickin' over an anthill to see the bugs scurry."
"Simeon!" Channa shouted.
"Yeah?" The klaxons dimmed in a globe around them.
"Is this a genuine emergency or just a test?"
"Excuse me, brawn-o'-mine, but you're not supposed to be privy to that information." There was the hint of a smug smile in the brain's voice.
"If you think I'm getting up from the best meal that's ever been put in front of me just because you're feeling your oats, you've got another thing coming. Cut it!"
As the klaxon abruptly ceased, people stopped, puzzled, and milled around uncertainly.
"Tell them it's over, Simeon. Don't just leave them standing there."
"This has been a test," Simeon informed them in the feminine tones he used for such announcements. "Return to your stations. This has been a test."
"We will discuss this later," Channa assured him icily. "Overdoing drills is dangerous, irresponsible and generally counterproductive."
Ah, hell, Simeon thought exhaustedly, why did I listen to you, Gus? I don't think you like the looks on their faces after all, buddy. I know I don't. He wondered what he could do to make it impossible for her to gain access to him for the next week.
Patsy sat down slowly, her wide eyes fixed on Channa's flushed countenance. "You really don't lahk him, do ya?" she said with some astonishment.
Channa looked at her blandly. "Whatever makes you say that?"
Patsy shook her head. "Just a hunch."
Channa sighed and smiled ruefully. "Well, to be fair, there may be a touch of 'transference' there. You see, I've always wanted to work planet-side. I love the feel of wind in my hair and rain on my face. I enjoy splashing in an ocean, and the feel of earth under my feet. So, for the past two years I've been campaigning for a particular assignment." She looked up at Patsy inquiringly. "Have you ever been to Senalgal?"
Patsy nodded and smiled warmly in reminiscence. "I sher have. I had my first honeymoon thar. What a gorgeous place! Beautiful beaches, warm ocean, flowers eve'rwhar, and the food. I'd love to live thar, at least fer a while." She sighed. "So, go on."
"Well, as you can imagine, the competition was incredible. I'd been through twelve interviews, including one with Ita Secand, the city-manager of Kelta, whom I would have been working with. God! What I wouldn't give to work with her. She's witty, charming, sophisticated. I felt that I could learn so much from her. It had come down to two of us, myself and someone else."
She shook her head. "I never did know who the other candidate was, but my feeling was that it was going to be an extremely difficult choice. When suddenly, after holding on for twelve years, Tell Radon decides that he has to retire right now! And that sweet little plum, that was almost in my hand, was snatched away so fast it left scorch marks on my nail polish. 'You're station born and bred,' they told me. 'You're perfect for this assignment,' they said. 'It's an extremely important and prestigious post,' they assured me. Rurrrgh! As the saying goes, I could just spit."
Patsy looked at Channa's bitter face.
"It's a gyp, alright. Looks like yer skills ah goin' against you instead of helpin' you out. So, maybe you ah takin' it out on Simeon jest a teensy bit?" She grinned and held up a hand that measured out a micrometer between thumb and forefinger. "Hey, maybe that's good fer him. Now, I think," she placed a hand on her bosom, "that we need you mo'n Senalgal does. I mean, Senalgal's gonna be special whoever runs it, right? But a station, well, it can be just a big ol' factory with the wrong people in charge. You don't need Ita Secand t' teach you to be witty and sophisticated-you already ah. We need some a' that right here, Ms. Hap, an I'm not kiddin'."
Channa blushed and grinned, taking a sip of her wine to hide her embarrassment.
"Well, thank you. That's quite a challenge you've set me," she murmured, and changed the subject. "Who was that big, handsome, gray-haired fellow you were talking to last night? Somehow I never met him."
"Florian Gusty?"