Charles Sheffield - Starfire

The return of weight brought Maddy out of her budding fantasy. She realized that her eyes were closed, and reluctantly opened them. When you began to have erotic thoughts about a hard-line engineer who was also your primary job assignment, something was long overdue.

Maddy felt heavier, which meant that they had dropped a long way from the central axis. And yet — she took a couple of steps — the floating sensation was still there.

The drug. It had to be the drug.

A voice at the base of her brain whispered, Be careful! Argos Group training forbade the use of drugs, not for any moral reasons but because they warped business judgment. The warning was intended to apply mainly to dope and fizzes, but Weinstein had mentioned that the Asfanil shot might produce the same effects.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. She had been told that it would be good if she could sleep, except that she had to stay with John Hyslop. Both of those were possible only if she slept with him. Maddy took a deep breath. She had to get herself under control. She ought not have been thinking of sex at all at a time like this. You were permitted, even encouraged, to have sex with your assignment when that came as a necessary part of the job. But you never, under any circumstances, became emotionally involved. Thanks to the Asfanil, she felt more than involved; in her present mood she was likely to say or do anything.

Fortunately, she was no longer the focus of John Hyslop’s attention. The drop chute had delivered them into the middle of the biggest room that she had ever seen on Sky City. Looking forward, along what had to be the main city axis, she saw thirty meters of floor before it reached a flat blue vertical surface. The wall behind was the same distance away. On the other two sides the floor curved up through ninety degrees to become the walls.

This had to be one of the big communal halls of Sky City, a combined social meeting place and restaurant. Scores of tables were scattered randomly on the smooth white floor. They and the one-piece chairs were all light and moveable. Small groups, mostly between two and six people, sat eating and chatting around the tables. Low-level rolfes scuttled unobtrusively between the tables, clearing and cleaning.

Everyone, it seemed, knew John Hyslop. Every few steps he paused to exchange a few words with a person or a group. Sometimes it was a question, such as how a repaired life-support subsystem on Sky City was performing. Sometimes the exchange concerned the airy web of the space shield. Never, Maddy noticed, did anyone ask or offer anything personal. No wife or kid talk, no flirting, no social chat. It was all microprocessors, monofilament strengths, q-bit rates, rolfe performance, and shield capabilities.

Geeks, she decided. Sober, serious engineers, dedicated and hardworking, the purest geek form in the universe.

And what did they think of her? Hard to tell. She was eyed with a good deal of curiosity, but no one asked who she was or hinted to John that he might provide an introduction.

So to hell with them. Except for John. He was a major challenge. There was real passion in him — you heard it when he spoke of aerospikes and dynamic tests. How could you transfer that to the human domain? Most interesting of all, how could you transfer that to you ?

She examined the set of his shoulders and the straight line of his back. She was listening, but hardly listening, to a discussion of the installation of smart strain gauges on extended fullerene members under extreme stress, when the thin, moon-faced man talking to John brought her awake by saying, “You know, you ought to talk to Lauren. She was around here just a while back, asking if anyone had seen you. She says she really has to meet with you.”

At last, a personal remark! Maddy’s muddled brain was asking, Who’s Lauren? Old girlfriend, present girlfriend? Then she remembered where she had heard the name before. It was nothing personal at all. Lauren was Lauren Stansfield, the woman who would take over John Hyslop’s duties.

No, get it right. Half his duties, the ones connected with Sky City. Someone else, a man — name? Don’t recall — would be responsible for engineering work on the shield itself.

The voice inside Maddy’s head was busy. If people will just go on talking to John, so I don’t have to talk anymore at all, maybe I can avoid making a total fool of myself . . .

“This will do.” They had reached an empty table at last, and John guided Maddy to a seat. “What would you like to eat?”

“Mmm.” She had professed to be starving, but in fact she was sure that any solid food would stick in her gullet. “Could I have soup? And a hot drink. But look, I’m fine, I can go with you and help myself. And I have a job to do. I’m supposed to—”

She managed to choke back the rest of the sentence. She said, “I’m supposed to rest, so thank you. I’ll wait here.” She had been about to say, “I’m supposed to stick to you tighter than Gordy Rolfe’s tiny ass.”

Maddy leaned her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands, covering her eyes. The only thing she could do was sit tight, bite her tongue, and pray for the Asfanil to wear off before she said or did something awful. She felt amazingly horny. Loose as a goose, the doctor had said. How would John Hyslop react to a quiet hand sneaking up his thigh under the table? Stare down his nose at her, probably. Explain to her that she was not a certified engineer and therefore not qualified to handle extended members under extreme stress. But he was wrong about that. She was Maddy Wheatstone, and she could handle anything.

“Here we are. I hope this is all right.”

Maddy took her hands away from her eyes. John was back, heavily laden. “Got you soup and a drink. But I thought you might be able to manage something a bit more substantial once you started.” He pointed to the contents of the tray. “So I brought you a Sky City special. It’s easily confused with real food.”

He was staring at her uncertainly. Bless him, could it be a joke? And he didn’t know how she was going to react. Look at the worry lines on his forehead, and see the concern in those lovely gray eyes. Smile at him, at the very least, show you appreciate what he’s doing for you.

“Thank you, John.” Maddy gave him her top-quality seductive smile. “That’s very sweet of you.” She patted the chair next to her. “Come on. You sit down right here.”

He ignored the invitation and sat down opposite. “Look, Maddy, I did something else when I was ordering the food. I hope you don’t mind.”

I don’t think I’d mind anything you do. Not the right answer. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what you did?”

“I put out a general message. For Lauren Stansfield, asking her to come to table forty-seven. That’s us. I know you’re not feeling well, and I should have asked you first. But Lauren has been telling people that she really needs to talk to me, and if she’s still here, I didn’t want to miss the chance.”

I hate Lauren Stansfield, and I don’t want her here. On the other hand, I think I may need her here. “ Of course I don’t mind. Where is she?”

“For all I know, she left. But if she gets my message, she’ll join us.”

Maddy squeezed the plastic bowl and took a mouthful of soup. It had a gritty consistency but no flavor whatsoever. He was watching as she forced it down. He watched as she swallowed another mouthful. If she didn’t find something to distract him, he was going to monitor every blessed milliliter she drank and every movement that she made. And if he looked a few inches lower, he couldn’t miss the fact that her nipples were erect and pushing against her green silk blouse.