She sucked in air audibly, letting it hiss sibilantly through her teeth.
She was disappointed when the vial clicked empty. Maybe she should fix again? No. A stab-it habit was the worst kind; she’d learned that long ago. She twisted the cap of the vial, cleaned the needle, and dropped it with the other empties. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew she had to eat.
Why do I have to eat, she wondered. Because, mother, face it. You’re an animal. My, I’m disgusting. And so early in the a.m., too.
“Alexis,” she called.
The door slid open instantly, and her maid came in. She wore a white hat perched atop her head and a laced skirt that ended on her thighs where long, black mesh stockings began. She looked clean and wholesome in her uniform, Deborah thought.
“Some breakfast, darl,” she said. “Not too much.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Have you fixed yet?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“You’d better have that damned musichron checked. I overslept.”
“It clicked at ten-thirty, Miss. I heard it.”
“Then why didn’t you wake me?”
“I thought... I thought you might want to rest a little longer this morning, Miss.”
“You’re not paid to think,” Deborah snapped, and was immediately sorry when she saw the hurt expression that flicked on Alexis’ face. Damn, what was wrong with her lately, anyway? Well, there was no backing down now.
“I mean... because of the party tonight,” Alexis added lamely.
“I see.” All right, she’s given you a save-face, Deborah thought. Why don’t you take it? Go ahead, you have your way out. Go ahead.
“I’ll want some orange juice, coffee, and some buttered toast,” she said.
“Yes, Miss.”
Alexis turned and started for the door, and Deborah studied the flawless seams down the curving backs of her legs.
“Alexis,” she said, fully intending to apologize.
“Yes, Miss?” The maid turned, with a sudden, eager movement.
“Nothing. Just hurry.”
“Yes, Miss.”
She left the room, and Deborah stared at the closed door for several moments after she’d gone. I’ve slipped a cog for sure, she thought. Dropped a marble or two. I wonder what Rog would have to say about this little skirmish. The same thing, probably. The same thing he’s been dinning at me for the past two months. The trouble with psychs is that most of them needed to be psyched.
She grinned and made a mental note to remember that. Maybe she’d tell it to Rog. That should stand his hair on end. She walked to her closet, opened it, and selected a short dressing gown. She slipped into it quickly, hunching her shoulders against the slippery cold feel of the silk. The gown ended just above the rounded curve of her buttocks, fastened at the crotch with a single snap that left the rest of the garment spread in a wide V. She walked to the odor control, studied the panel for a few moments, and then selected pine. She twisted the dial, adjusted it for intensity, and then sniffed pleasurably as the scent of crushed pine needles wafted into the room.
How does pine go with orange juice? she wondered. Or, she added mentally, if we’re going to get philosophical, how does anything go with orange juice?
She walked briskly to the window and stared out over the city. Another day, endless, exhaustive. Dull. Another day, another dullard.
“Miss?”
She turned, saw Alexis setting the breakfast tray on the small table near her bed. “Oh, thank you, Alexis.” She walked to the bed, sat down quickly. “I’ll be eating, darl.”
“Yes, Miss.” Alexis turned away and walked quickly from the room. The door slid shut behind her, and Deborah touched the button near the head of her bed, locking the door. She remembered the blinds, stood up, went to the window, and closed them. She went back to her breakfast then, sipping at the orange juice. She was starting on her coffee when Alexis’ voice came from outside the door.
“Miss?”
“I’m eating, Alexis.”
“I know, Miss. Please forgive me.”
“All right, what is it?”
“Mr. Moore is calling, Miss.”
“In person, or on the Vid?”
“The Vid, Miss.”
“All right, I’ll take it.” She leaned over to snap on the Vid, and then remembered to say “thanks” to Alexis. She focused until Rog Moore’s face filled the screen clearly and sharply. He sported a Vandyke carefully trimmed on his chin, and he wore his hair in its natural shade, a deep black that hugged his head like a helmet. He squinted at the screen with intense brown eyes.
“Are you with me, Deb?”
“I’m here, Rog.”
“Can’t see you.” She saw him reach out with his hand to adjust his focus control.
“I’m blanked, Rog; I’m eating.”
“Oh, forgive me. I’ll call back later.”
“No, that’s all right. What is it?”
“Nothing, really. Just calling to see how you felt this a.m.”
“Professional or personal?”
“A little of each.”
“I feel fine, Rog.”
“No... well, no recurrence of previous symptoms?”
“You sound like a Ree.”
“No, just a psych.”
“No recurrence,” she lied, “all smooth.”
“Good. Have you given any thought to my suggestion?”
“A little.”
“And?”
“Zero, father.”
“Zero? Or X?”
“Sorry, I meant X. Did I say zero?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I meant X; I’m still undecided.”
“Well, mull it, jell it, it’ll come.”
“I know.”
“I’ve got to run, Deb. There’s an appointment due in about five.”
“Grooved, Rog. I’ll see you tonight, won’t I?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How’s business otherwise?”
“Not too bad. Got a real case this aft.”
“Oh?”
“A Vike turned Ree. Damndest thing you ever saw.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing much. His Id slid.”
Deborah laughed, and she saw Rog’s mobile face break into a large grin.
“I’ll see you,” he said.
He clicked off, and she went back to her breakfast, eating listlessly. His Id slid. She thought about it, and the longer she thought, the less funny it seemed.
Chapter 3
The projector snapped off, leaving the room black for an instant, somehow cold and empty after what had been. Van Brant sank back in the foam-upholstered chair, feeling completely spent and exhausted. Music flowed from the wall speakers, and the lights came on, soft and golden.
“Well,” Hayden Thorpe said, “how’d you like it?”
“I’m dead,” Brant said. He wasn’t kidding. It had been terrific. Positively sensational.
Hayden beamed happily. He was a short, corpulent man who affected tight tunics slashed to his waist in an attempt to cover the roll of flesh there. Van had to admit this was preferable, on Hayden, to a bare chest. Hayden rubbed his pudgy hands together now, and said, “This is going to set the Senso industry solid, Van. I’m telling you this is the biggest goddamned thing since video.”
“You’ve sold me, Hayden,” Van said. “How many scribes will you need?”
“Always business,” Hayden said, chuckling. He nudged one of his assistants, a pale-faced lad with an uneven crewcut. “What do you think of this illidge, Lawrence?”
Lawrence chuckled back, not daring to offend Van by agreeing with Hayden, yet not wanting to seem disagreeable.
“What’d you think of the love scene?” he asked Brant, changing the subject about as subtly as a riveter.
“Destruction,” Van said. It had been. He’d never experienced anything quite like it before.