Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [63]
But Plymouth wasn’t heading in the right direction. He was walking north, away from the Blockhouse, up one avenue, across a park, past a fountain. Eventually he turned into a clothing store. Moments later he came out with a plastic bag, and stopped again to buy something at an electronics outlet.
Plymouth’s muscles rippled while he walked. He was big, in a world full of big people, with an extraordinarily narrow waist and wide shoulders. Once he glanced back, and she pretended to be gazing into the treetops. Then he was moving again, this time walking south, past the Klackner Museum, where he turned onto a long pathway that led directly through a patch of wood to the Blockhouse. Reassured, she now dropped back and stayed discreetly out of sight.
Despite its name, the structure was flared and curved, three stories high in front, lower in back, with a lot of dark glass. A dozen wide steps led up to a portico. Plymouth took them two at a time and disappeared inside.
She strolled casually in behind him. He was gone, into the men’s locker room. But she was reasonably sure she knew his ultimate destination.
There were probably twenty people in the women’s area, changing clothes and showering. Kim claimed a locker, picked up a towel, switched into a gym suit, and, following Solly’s instructions, went into the Total Workout section. There were a dozen people of both sexes using the machines. Plymouth was not one of them.
She did a few knee-bends to loosen up while she waited. Presently he emerged in shorts and a pullover, with a towel draped around his neck. He glanced at her and she smiled, inviting his approach.
“Hello,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“First time. Thought I’d try it.”
“It’s a good spot.” He offered his hand. “Name’s Mike.” She knew he didn’t like Manville, and never used it.
“Hello, Mike,” she said, taking the hand. “Kay Braddock.”
“You new to the area, Kay?” They picked a couple of the duroflexes and climbed onto the tables.
“Just moved in. From Terminal City.”
“You’ll like Salonika,” he said. “It’s a good cultural city. There’s lots to do here. It’s a little less commercial—” He hesitated, suddenly worried that he might be giving offense, but he’d gone too far to back off. “—Less commercial than most other places.”
She understood he’d intended to say than Terminal City. Not too quick on his feet, this guy. Just as well. She reassured him, set the timer for twenty minutes, and climbed on board. If he was still in the duroflex when the time expired, she’d simply extend it.
The machine adjusted to her dimensions. Coils settled around her wrists and ankles. Pads pressed against thighs and buttocks.
“Do you do this regularly?” he called over to her. It was difficult to carry a conversation while the machine was in operation, but he wasn’t going to be discouraged.
The duroflex began to move, gently at first, tugging at arms and legs, rolling her shoulders, squeezing her knees, massaging her buttocks.
“Yes,” she said. “I like to work out.”
Kim listened to occasional remarks about theaters and museums, how he’d come to Salonika at the end of the war, had found a home, and wouldn’t live anywhere else, and how good the weather was. Eventually he got around to inviting her out to dinner. “There’s a great place on the lakefront—”
He was likable enough for her to overcome her prejudice against bureaucrats, notwithstanding the fact that she was one herself. And he did have a modicum of charm.
“Sure,” she said. “I’d like that.” Yes. Dinner would not be a major sacrifice. That satisfied him and he quieted, surrendering himself to the machine.
So did Kim.
The duroflex gradually picked up the tempo. It stretched whole groups of muscles and ran a series of sit-ups at a reasonably fast pace. It chimed to warn her of a change in routine and then she was touching her toes.
She just