Power Lines

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Authors: Anne McCaffrey, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
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solicitously as they embraced. He wore a support bandage on his arm and she’d noticed just the faintest hint of a limp as he moved.
    “Of course, Marmie. You can’t keep an old dog like me down. I not only had Intergal’s best medicos working on me, but the best immediate and convalescent medical care available here. I’ll say that for this planet—good for your health,” Whittaker said. Releasing her—a trifle reluctantly, she felt—he turned to shake hands, showing just the right deference and enthusiasm, with Matthew. “You are welcome, Matthew. Your input will be invaluable.”
    Liar, Marmion thought, but she smiled vacuously as the two men went through the courtesies.
    Matthew introduced his gaggle of ganders to Whittaker, adding the provenance of each and their area of expertise. That is, he introduced all but poor Adam’s Apple.
    “And this is Braddock Makem,” she said, smiling brightly first at Matthew, then at Whit, and finally at poor startled Makem. “You remember Sally, I’m sure, Whit. And Millard and Faber, who are my staunch henchmen.”
    Whit shook hands with her assistants and then waved everyone to the waiting vehicles. The travel bags had already been unloaded and were on their way to whatever accommodations this depressing place might have for people of her and Matthew’s prestige.
    “We’ve laid on a fine meal for you, Marmie,” Whit said, making sure he sat beside her in the large personnel transport. Its seats, hard as they were, had been re-covered with rather fine furs.
    “How kind of you,” Marmion replied, and then, feeling the soft texture of the covers, she said, “And are these locally produced?” She did not have to pretend her enthusiasm, for she had seldom felt such beautifully cured natural pelts.
    “Yes,” Torkel Fiske answered from the double seat behind her. “It’s the one thing they do very well here.”
    “Really?” she asked, managing to keep the irony out of her rejoinder. “How int’rusting! You must show me more,” she said languidly. “I really could use some new stoles. Maybe a muff or two for when I have to stand in freezing airlocks and transfer stations.”
    “Better let young Fiske buy for you, Marmion,” Matthew said. “The moment they heard your offworld accent, they’d quadruple the price.”
    “No,
we
do that,” Whittaker said at his drollest.
    Marmion snuggled against him, wrapping her fingers about his arm and squeezing them slightly. “It’s
so
good to see you, Whit! Whatever’s been going on down here, it’s really brightened you up. I do believe you were getting office-bound.”
    Whittaker chuckled and jerked his head at the very upright, disapproving back of Matthew Luzon sitting in front of them.
    Marmion squeezed his arm again. “A field trip is what we’ve all needed to get the juices flowing and the lungs filling with good clean air.” Luzon’s shoulders twitched, and Marmion felt Whittaker’s ribs moving in silent laughter. “We’ll all put our minds to this little problem and sort it out in next to no time. Won’t we, Matthew?”
    His terse answer was lost in a screech of badly worn brake pads, as the carrier halted in front of a building, freshly painted in an aggressively bright yellow.
    “Sorry about the color, Marmion,” Whittaker said when he saw her wince. “All that’s left in Stores, but at least it’s clean and bright”
    This time Matthew’s snort of disgust was plainly audible. As he walked to the door, his body language spoke of displeasure, resentment, and aggravation.
    “Oh, dear, we’re in for it,” Marmion murmured so that only Whittaker heard her.
    “I believe we are,” he responded as quietly.
    “Forewarned is forearmed,” she added, and then rose to walk as gracefully as ever down the aisle and up the steps and into the incredibly yellow building.

 
    6
     
     
     
    The long multisegmented caravan divided, then subdivided, and subdivided again. The first to leave were Sinead

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