The Last Stand - Brad Ferguson [60]
“Oh, I agree,” Troi replied enthusiastically. “It’s perfect! Now what could possibly go with it—?”
“Well, I’ll take care of that, “the facilitator said. “If you’ll just come back this way—?”
“I just don’t understand fashion,” Kerrn said as the facilitator led them all toward the other end of the stall. “Just give me a simple nine-color outfit suitable for any occasion, and I’d be out of here before the old one hit the recycler. Can’t stand shopping, myself. Know anything about floatball, Dex?”
“Haven’t been following it lately, no,” said Riker. “I’ve been too busy lately. Used to be a big sports fan, though.” He watched as Troi stood on a small platform at the back of the stall. There was a gentle hum as bright lights bathed her from above and below. The facilitator then entered a series of numbers onto a touchpad set into the wall, using some sort of tag on the fifteen-color skirt as a reference. He then punched in another series of numbers without referring to anything at all, entering the digits and commands as if by instinct.
“Well, we’re all set,” the facilitator said, pleased. “I’ve added a few excusable frills, purely in the spirit of the day.” After a moment, a small display lit up next to the touchpad. It showed a miniature female figure draped in the outfit that had just been designed by the facilitator. The outfit looked like something designed by a Highlander on hallucinogenics, but here, among the Krann, it seemed to represent the height of fashion.
“Rosco, you are a genius!” Nawha cried. “It’s just the thing! Pralla, Rosco’s outdone himself, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes,” Troi said as enthusiastically as she could. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And so effortlessly, too!”
“Well, now,” the facilitator said modestly. “Mustn’t give me my own boat just yet, you know.”
Kerrn and Nawha laughed, and Riker and Troi joined them close behind.
“I take it, then, that you like it?” the facilitator asked Troi. “Do you wish to order this ensemble?” His hand hovered near the touchpad.
“Can we think about it?” Riker asked quickly. “I mean, this is our special day.”
“Well, yes, it is,” Rosco said, a hint of huffiness coming into his voice, “and it’s not getting any younger, you know. Why, it’s almost celebration hour.”
“What’s the problem?” Kerrn asked, puzzled. “He’s done the work.”
“Well, we need to talk it over anyway,” Riker insisted gently. “It’s beautiful work, Rosco. You can be proud of it. Very proud indeed.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Troi said.
Rosco pursed his lips. “Return here or not, it doesn’t matter,” he said haughtily. He punched a series of commands into the touchpad, and the display went blank. “I’ve randomized the design, and I shan’t recreate it. Go somewhere else if you need such services today.” He waved them out of his stall. “Please leave. Go. Have a good watch, but go.”
“We’re leaving,” Riker said abruptly. “Good-bye to you, Kerrn, Nawha.”
“Er, good-bye, you two,” Nawha said for both of them. She seemed as puzzled as her spouse.
Riker and Troi left the stall and began walking up the concourse.
“I don’t understand,” Kerrn said to Nawha as they watched them go. “Did we offend them somehow?”
“Supervisors,” Rosco sniffed. “Came down here to slum, I think, and have a little fun with us. Well, we don’t need that kind around here. We work hard, and we plot a direct course. Not like them.” He shook his head sadly. “I’ve never had this kind of thing happen to me in my entire life. Shows you what the fleet’s coming to, so close to planetfall. There are no standards anymore.” He paused and then, with an effort, brightened. “Well, then,” the facilitator said pleasantly. “What can I do for you good people?”
The first thing Riker and Troi noticed as they walked down the concourse was that there were now a good many more Krann dressed in dark clothing.
“I’ve got it,” Troi said. “The dark clothing is a standard work uniform. Remember what Nawha said about coming off shift a little early? Apparently the shift she was talking about is over now. That explains