Flatlander - Larry Niven [88]
She smiled a bit nervously. “Gil. I saw you at dinner. Do you remember me?”
“Naomi Horne. Hi.”
“Hi. Naomi Mitchison now. What are you doing on the moon, Gil?” She sounded a bit breathless. She’d always talked like that, eager to get the words out, as if someone might interrupt.
“Conference to Review Lunar Law. I represent the ARM. How about you?”
“I’m sightseeing. My life kind of came apart a while back … I remember now, you were on the news. You’d caught some kind of organlegging kingpin—”
“Anubis.”
“Right.” Pause. “Can we meet for a drink?”
I’d already made that decision. “Sure, we’ll squeeze it in somewhere. I don’t know just how busy I’ll be. See, I actually came here following my ex-roommate. She’s a surgeon on loan to the hospital here. Between Taffy’s weird hours and the conference itself—”
“You’re likely to meet yourself in the halls. Yes, I see.”
“But I’ll call you. Hey, who was your date?”
She laughed. “Alan Watson. He’s Mayor Hove’s son. I don’t think the mayor approves of his dating a flatlander. Lunies are a bit prudish, don’t you think?”
“I haven’t had a chance to find out. I can’t seem to guess a lunie’s age.”
“He’s nineteen.” She was teasing me a little. “They can’t tell our ages, either. He’s nice, Gil, but he’s very serious. Like you were.”
“Uh huh. Okay, I’ll leave a message if I get loose. Would you object to a foursome? For dinner?”
“Sounds good. Chiron, phone off.”
I scowled at the blank screen. I had an erection under the water. She still affected me that way. She couldn’t have seen it; the camera angle was wrong. “Chiron, spa,” I said, and the evidence disappeared in bubbles.
Strange. She thought it was funny that a man would want to take her to bed. I’d told myself that fourteen years ago, but I don’t think I believed it. I’d thought it was me.
And strange: Naomi was clearly relieved when I told her about Taffy. So why had she called? Not because she wanted a date!
I stood up in the tub. A half-inch sheath of water came up with me. I scraped most of it back into the tub with the edges of my hands, then toweled myself off from the top down.
The picture window was jet black but for a small glowing triangle.
“Chiron, lights off,” I said. Blind, I took a chair and waited for my eyes to adjust. Gradually the view took form. Starlight glazed the battered lands to the west. Dawn was creeping down the highest peak. A floating mountain seemed to flame among the stars. I watched until I saw a second peak come alight. Then I set the alarm and went to bed.
* * *
“Phone call, Mr. Hamilton,” a neuter voice was saying. “Phone call, Mr. Hamilton. Phone c—”
“Chiron, answer phone!” I had trouble sitting up. There was a broad strap across my chest; I unfastened it. The phone screen showed Tom Reinecke and Desiree Porter bending low to put her face next to his. “It better be good,” I said.
“It’s not good, but it’s not dull,” Tom said. “Would an ARM be interested in the attempted murder of a conference delegate?”
I rubbed my eyes. “He would. Who?”
“Chris Penzler. Fourth Speaker for the Belt.”
“Does nudity offend you?”
Desiree laughed. Tom said, “No. It bothers lunies.”
“Okay. Tell me about it.” I got up and started putting clothes on while they talked. The screen and camera rotated to follow me.
“We’re next to Penzler’s room,” Desiree said: “At least Tom is. The walls are thin. We heard a kind of god-awful slosh-thump and sort of a feeble scream. We went and pounded on his door. No answer. I stayed while Tom phoned the lunie cops.”
“I phoned them, then Marion Shaeffer,” Tom said. “She’s a Belter, too, the goldskin delegate. Okay, she showed up, then the cops, and they talked the door open. Penzler was faceup in his bathtub with a big hole in his chest. He was still alive when they kicked us out.”
“My fault,” Desiree said. “I took some pictures.”
I had my clothes on and my hair brushed. “I’ll be there. Chiron, phone