Read Online The City Who Fought by Anne McCaffrey, S. M. Stirling - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne McCaffrey, S. M. Stirling
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Social Science, Sociology, Space warfare, Urban, Science fiction; American, Space ships
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you something, Ms. Hap. I'm well aware that romance happens in the mind and the soul and the heart. I know that it isn't necessarily a physical thing. Remember Heloise and Abelard . . ."
"Great warrior couple, were they?" she asked smiling.
He sighed to himself. What do they teach them in university these days? "Not they, milady. I see I must persuade you beyond any measure of doubt. You've put me on my mettle." She cocked her head at him. "I shall court you, belle dame sans merci, and win your heart."
She laughed aloud in astonishment. "You've got your work cut out for you. I may like the romantical—as decor—but I'm no dewy-eyed sentimentalist and not at all susceptible."
"Oh, so you're seduction-proof, are you?"
"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. Goodnight, Simeon."
"Goodnight, Channa," he said quietly as she left without another word.
Not susceptible, eh, Happy baby? Well, get ready for it, sweetheart—you're in for the time of your life! You want romance? I'll give you romance, little lady, in such subtle and clever portions, you won't realize that you're being wooed by a very personal phantom lover.
He settled down to consider his strategy. Softshells could rely on physical attraction for starters; that was impossible for him, of course.
How to begin, he wondered. Well, with Channa, I suppose I could start with deft cooperation and nineteenth-century manners. I'd better look into the mores of Hawking Alpha Proxima Station and see what their courting customs are. Nothing so blatant as gifts right off, hmmm. Ah-ha! Music! After all, it hath charms to soothe the savage beast, or breast. Both apply in this case. Now, I'll just access her musical repertoire—which doesn't invade her privacy, merely her overt records . . .
* * *
"Hey, Simeon, what's going on?" Joat said, turning fromher breakfast to stare at his column.
"Going on, my dear?" Simeon said.
"Yeah, going on. All of a sudden you're so smooth you'd make a wombat puke, and Channa looks as if she'd just found a dead body, a long-time dead body."
Channa snorted suddenly. Since she was in the middle of a mouthful of coffee, the results were spectacular. Joat silently offered her a napkin as she coughed and sputtered.
"You're imagining things," Simeon replied, with a touch of asperity. He shifted into a mellow tone: "Are you all right, Channa?"
* * *
"What's wrong with Simeon?" Patsy asked, sotto voce. They were in the shadow of an impeller pump, and the vibration would make voice-pickup difficult.
"Wrong?" Channa said, frowning.
"Yeah, he's agreein' all the time."
"Now that you mention it . . ."
The woman from Larabie shrugged. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Chan. But, if you do, check the teeth fer file-marks."
* * *
Chief Administrator Claren gave a final keystroke.
"That's the projections matched against the past five years," he said. "You'll note turnover is a little high, but on a transit station, it's difficult to keep people."
Channa frowned. "I'd think it would be easier here," she said. "More big-city facilities."
"Also easier to leave," Claren pointed out, nodding towards the large passenger terminal.
"We should do more in the way of social and cultural activities," Channa said. "The contingency fund would cover it, and in the long run, such amenities pay for themselves and then some. There are a lot of mining and exploration sectors around here"—which was exactly why SSS-900-C had been established in the middle of the cluster of mineral-rich fifth-generation suns—"and their people need leisure activities just as much as their equipment and ships need servicing. The Perimeter's a gold mine for its owners and for the station, to name your only real star attraction. If the outposters could get entertainment and commissary supplies in a range from cheap to expensive, they wouldn't need to travel further in towards Center. This whole area would take a big step further toward being part of the Central
"Great warrior couple, were they?" she asked smiling.
He sighed to himself. What do they teach them in university these days? "Not they, milady. I see I must persuade you beyond any measure of doubt. You've put me on my mettle." She cocked her head at him. "I shall court you, belle dame sans merci, and win your heart."
She laughed aloud in astonishment. "You've got your work cut out for you. I may like the romantical—as decor—but I'm no dewy-eyed sentimentalist and not at all susceptible."
"Oh, so you're seduction-proof, are you?"
"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. Goodnight, Simeon."
"Goodnight, Channa," he said quietly as she left without another word.
Not susceptible, eh, Happy baby? Well, get ready for it, sweetheart—you're in for the time of your life! You want romance? I'll give you romance, little lady, in such subtle and clever portions, you won't realize that you're being wooed by a very personal phantom lover.
He settled down to consider his strategy. Softshells could rely on physical attraction for starters; that was impossible for him, of course.
How to begin, he wondered. Well, with Channa, I suppose I could start with deft cooperation and nineteenth-century manners. I'd better look into the mores of Hawking Alpha Proxima Station and see what their courting customs are. Nothing so blatant as gifts right off, hmmm. Ah-ha! Music! After all, it hath charms to soothe the savage beast, or breast. Both apply in this case. Now, I'll just access her musical repertoire—which doesn't invade her privacy, merely her overt records . . .
* * *
"Hey, Simeon, what's going on?" Joat said, turning fromher breakfast to stare at his column.
"Going on, my dear?" Simeon said.
"Yeah, going on. All of a sudden you're so smooth you'd make a wombat puke, and Channa looks as if she'd just found a dead body, a long-time dead body."
Channa snorted suddenly. Since she was in the middle of a mouthful of coffee, the results were spectacular. Joat silently offered her a napkin as she coughed and sputtered.
"You're imagining things," Simeon replied, with a touch of asperity. He shifted into a mellow tone: "Are you all right, Channa?"
* * *
"What's wrong with Simeon?" Patsy asked, sotto voce. They were in the shadow of an impeller pump, and the vibration would make voice-pickup difficult.
"Wrong?" Channa said, frowning.
"Yeah, he's agreein' all the time."
"Now that you mention it . . ."
The woman from Larabie shrugged. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Chan. But, if you do, check the teeth fer file-marks."
* * *
Chief Administrator Claren gave a final keystroke.
"That's the projections matched against the past five years," he said. "You'll note turnover is a little high, but on a transit station, it's difficult to keep people."
Channa frowned. "I'd think it would be easier here," she said. "More big-city facilities."
"Also easier to leave," Claren pointed out, nodding towards the large passenger terminal.
"We should do more in the way of social and cultural activities," Channa said. "The contingency fund would cover it, and in the long run, such amenities pay for themselves and then some. There are a lot of mining and exploration sectors around here"—which was exactly why SSS-900-C had been established in the middle of the cluster of mineral-rich fifth-generation suns—"and their people need leisure activities just as much as their equipment and ships need servicing. The Perimeter's a gold mine for its owners and for the station, to name your only real star attraction. If the outposters could get entertainment and commissary supplies in a range from cheap to expensive, they wouldn't need to travel further in towards Center. This whole area would take a big step further toward being part of the Central
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