Her comment was only result. Some petitions were submitted and Warden’s bodyguards started carrying new type of gun; no other changes. After he had been here a while he quit making appearances even by video.
So I went to meeting merely because Mike was curious. When I checked my p-suit and kit at West Lock tube station, I took a test recorder and placed in my belt pouch, so that Mike would have a full account even if I fell asleep.
But almost didn’t go in. I came up from level 7-A and started in through a side door and was stopped by a stilyagi–padded tights, codpiece and calves, torso shined and sprinkled with stardust. Not that I care how people dress; I was wearing tights myself (unpadded) and sometimes oil my upper body on social occasions.
But I don’t use cosmetics and my hair was too thin to nick up in a scalp lock. This boy had scalp shaved on sides and his lock built up to fit a rooster and had topped it with a red cap with bulge in front.
A Liberty Cap–first I ever saw. I started to crowd past, he shoved arm across and pushed face at mine. “Your ticket!”
“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t know. Where do I buy it?”
“You don’t.”
“Repeat,” I said. “You faded.”
“Nobody,” he growled, “gets in without being vouched for. Who are you?”
“I am,” I answered carefully, “Manuel Garcia O’Kelly, and old cobbers all know me. Who are you?”
“Never mind! Show a ticket with right chop, or out y’ go!”
I wondered about his life expectancy. Tourists often remark on how polite everybody is in Luna–with unstated comment that ex-prison shouldn’t be so civilized. Having been Earthside and seen what they put up with, I know what they mean. But useless to tell them we are what we are because bad actors don’t live long–in Luna.
But had no intention of fighting no matter how new-chum this lad behaved; I simply thought about how his face would look if I brushed number-seven arm across his mouth.
Just a thought–I was about to answer politely when I saw Shorty Mkrum inside. Shorty was a big black fellow two meters tall, sent up to The Rock for murder, and sweetest, most helpful man I’ve ever worked with–taught him laser drilling before I burned my arm off. “Shorty!”
He heard me and grinned like an eighty-eight. “Hi, Mannie!” He moved toward us. “Glad you came, Man!”
“Not sure I have,” I said. “Blockage on line.”
“Doesn’t have a ticket,” said doorman.
Shorty reached into his pouch, put one in my hand. “Now he does. Come on, Mannie.”
“Show me chop on it,” insisted doorman.
“It’s my chop,” Shorty said softly. “Okay, tovarishch?”
Nobody argued with Shorty–don’t see how he got involved in murder. We moved down front where vip row was reserved. “Want you to meet a nice little girl,” said Shorty.
She was “little” only to Shorty. I’m not short, 175 cm., but she was taller–180, I learned later, and massed 70 kilos, all curves and as blond as Shorty was black. I decided she must be transportee since colors rarely stay that clear past first generation. Pleasant face, quite pretty, and mop of yellow curls topped off that long, blond, solid, lovely structure.
I stopped three paces away to look her up and down and whistle. She held her pose, then nodded to thank me but abruptly–bored with compliments, no doubt. Shorty waited till formality was over, then said softly, “Wyoh, this is Comrade Mannie, best drillman that ever drifted a tunnel. Mannie, this little girl is Wyoming Knott and she came all the way from Plato to tell us how we’re doing in Hong Kong. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”
She touched hands with me. “Call me Wye, Mannie–but don’t say ‘Why not.'”
I almost did but controlled it and said. “Okay, Wye.” She went on, glancing at my bare head, “So you’re a miner. Shorty, where’s his cap? I thought the miners over here were organized.” She and Shorty were wearing little red hats like doorman’s–as were maybe a third of crowd.
“No longer a miner,” I explained. “That was before I lost this wing.” Raised left arm, let her see seam joining prosthetic to meat arm (I never mind calling it to a woman’s attention; puts some off but arouses maternal in others–averages). “These days I’m a computerman.”