His foot tapped the white carpet in brief applause. “Don’t let 'em push you around. I speak from experience.”
“I’m still disappointed,” the Marchioness said. “You shall have to model the jacket for me.”
Zoot inclined his head. “I should be most happy, milady.”
Kotani cocked an eye in the direction of one of the entrances. “Here is Fu George. Take care with that necklace, my dear. I should hate to have to shoot the man over it. And I'd hate even more to have him shoot me.”
Geoff Fu George gave everyone a bow, sniffs, two fingers. From Kotani and Zoot he received one finger apiece; from the Marchioness, three.
“My compliments, my lady,” he said, concealing his surprise. “The glowstones suit your eyes perfectly.”
“Thank you, sir. The compliment means all the more coming from someone of your undoubted expertise.”
“Perhaps, sir,” said Zoot, “you might enlighten us as to the alarms that seem to have sent the security people into an uproar.”
Fu George’s ears twitched in bafflement. “I am as surprised as you are, sir,” he said. “It’s nothing to do with me. Ah,” he said, addressing a Cygnus. “Bring me a cold rink, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Possibly It’s Maijstral tripping a few alarms,” Fu George said. His voice turned dubious. “But even he's not quite that clumsy, surely.” He smiled at the Marchioness.
*
“D'you know there's a Drawmiikh onstation?” Kotani said. “A Drawmii lord, no less.”
“I believe,” Zoot said, “that any Drawmii sufficiently adventurous to leave its planet of origin and participate in the life of the Empire is almost always ennobled. It’s a way of encouraging the others.”
Kotani smiled. “Unsuccessful, I suppose.”
“I believe so, Marquess. There are only a handful at any time.”
The Marchioness turned her bored eyes on Zoot. “I wonder if we'll see the creature at dinner.”
“I hope not, dearest,” said Kotani. “It created quite a sensation in the Casino a few hours ago. Its lordship was quite noisy and, I am given to understand, it stank.”
“The Drawmii have a very distinctive odor, or so I’m told,” Zoot said. “I gather it takes getting used to.”
“Media alert,” Kotani said, seeing a pointed cap surrounded by floating silver balls. “I’ve been through it already; I beg your leave. Dearest,” offering his arm.
“Milord.”
Kyoko Asperson had changed for dinner: she wore baggy yellow trousers, a white shirt, a scarlet jacket, soft boots with gold tassels. If she weren’t so short she could have been used as a beacon.
“Zoot. Mr. Fu George.” Zoot, who like all Khosali had a very rigid spine, had to bend an uncomfortable distance to sniff her ears.
“I reckoned you would be wearing your jacket.”
Zoot's diaphragm pounded in annoyance. How often was he going to have to go through this? “Madam,” he said, “surely not for dinner.”
“Meals, in some restaurants,” said Fu George, “may be considered unexplored territory. In that case, Zoot's jacket would be perfectly appropriate.”
Media globes rotated, pointed in Fu George’s direction. “I wonder,” Kyoko said, “if you were surprised to hear that Drake Maijstral would be here?”
Geoff Fu George smiled. “I don’t believe I’ve given it much thought.”
“You're both in the first rank of your profession.”
Fu George’s head tipped; his eyes sparkled. The message was clear, though unvoiced: If you say so.
“Do you anticipate a duel between the two of you?”
A laugh. “We are speaking of a metaphorical duel, I take it?”
“Whatever kind of duel you like.”
The famous Fu George smile became a little forced. “I am here only for the view, and to see my friends. What Maijstral’s plans may be, I cannot say.”
“So you concede any contest to Maijstral.”
The smile was back, and genuine. “My dear Miss As-person,” he said, “I concede nothing at all.” He sniffed her. “Your
“I’m still disappointed,” the Marchioness said. “You shall have to model the jacket for me.”
Zoot inclined his head. “I should be most happy, milady.”
Kotani cocked an eye in the direction of one of the entrances. “Here is Fu George. Take care with that necklace, my dear. I should hate to have to shoot the man over it. And I'd hate even more to have him shoot me.”
Geoff Fu George gave everyone a bow, sniffs, two fingers. From Kotani and Zoot he received one finger apiece; from the Marchioness, three.
“My compliments, my lady,” he said, concealing his surprise. “The glowstones suit your eyes perfectly.”
“Thank you, sir. The compliment means all the more coming from someone of your undoubted expertise.”
“Perhaps, sir,” said Zoot, “you might enlighten us as to the alarms that seem to have sent the security people into an uproar.”
Fu George’s ears twitched in bafflement. “I am as surprised as you are, sir,” he said. “It’s nothing to do with me. Ah,” he said, addressing a Cygnus. “Bring me a cold rink, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Possibly It’s Maijstral tripping a few alarms,” Fu George said. His voice turned dubious. “But even he's not quite that clumsy, surely.” He smiled at the Marchioness.
*
“D'you know there's a Drawmiikh onstation?” Kotani said. “A Drawmii lord, no less.”
“I believe,” Zoot said, “that any Drawmii sufficiently adventurous to leave its planet of origin and participate in the life of the Empire is almost always ennobled. It’s a way of encouraging the others.”
Kotani smiled. “Unsuccessful, I suppose.”
“I believe so, Marquess. There are only a handful at any time.”
The Marchioness turned her bored eyes on Zoot. “I wonder if we'll see the creature at dinner.”
“I hope not, dearest,” said Kotani. “It created quite a sensation in the Casino a few hours ago. Its lordship was quite noisy and, I am given to understand, it stank.”
“The Drawmii have a very distinctive odor, or so I’m told,” Zoot said. “I gather it takes getting used to.”
“Media alert,” Kotani said, seeing a pointed cap surrounded by floating silver balls. “I’ve been through it already; I beg your leave. Dearest,” offering his arm.
“Milord.”
Kyoko Asperson had changed for dinner: she wore baggy yellow trousers, a white shirt, a scarlet jacket, soft boots with gold tassels. If she weren’t so short she could have been used as a beacon.
“Zoot. Mr. Fu George.” Zoot, who like all Khosali had a very rigid spine, had to bend an uncomfortable distance to sniff her ears.
“I reckoned you would be wearing your jacket.”
Zoot's diaphragm pounded in annoyance. How often was he going to have to go through this? “Madam,” he said, “surely not for dinner.”
“Meals, in some restaurants,” said Fu George, “may be considered unexplored territory. In that case, Zoot's jacket would be perfectly appropriate.”
Media globes rotated, pointed in Fu George’s direction. “I wonder,” Kyoko said, “if you were surprised to hear that Drake Maijstral would be here?”
Geoff Fu George smiled. “I don’t believe I’ve given it much thought.”
“You're both in the first rank of your profession.”
Fu George’s head tipped; his eyes sparkled. The message was clear, though unvoiced: If you say so.
“Do you anticipate a duel between the two of you?”
A laugh. “We are speaking of a metaphorical duel, I take it?”
“Whatever kind of duel you like.”
The famous Fu George smile became a little forced. “I am here only for the view, and to see my friends. What Maijstral’s plans may be, I cannot say.”
“So you concede any contest to Maijstral.”
The smile was back, and genuine. “My dear Miss As-person,” he said, “I concede nothing at all.” He sniffed her. “Your
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