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The apartment was large and airy, two story with the main hall rising to the full height with a balcony overlooking it. There was a mural on one wall depicting a pastoral scene along the Prague River and furniture that looked to be mostly Old Earth antiques. A brief tour, conducted by Charles on a careful sweep for any detection equipment, revealed similar luxury throughout including a jacuzzi, a shower area large enough for a platoon of drunken Marines, a sunken bathtub, a collection of "adult novelties" that was practically a store in itself and a shower-massage.
"Why a shower massage?" he asked when he got back to the overstocked kitchen.
"I have to have something for myself," Rachel pointed out. She was making a sandwich which consisted of two pieces of bread, a pile of alfalfa spouts and a half a bottle of hot sauce marked with a skull and crossbones. As soon as it was done she stuffed the entire load in her mouth.
"M g'ung sh'er," she mumbled, then cleared enough space to talk. "Nobody should come to the door. If they do, we're screwed. If there's so much as a knock, alert everyone and head out the window."
"I'll slip some tell-tales out the door," Charles said. He gestured at her open mouth. "Unless you know something I don't, the Peeps don't normally sweep in high microwave range."
"No, that's okay," she said after a moment. "Just don't get caught."
"They're self mobile," Gonzalvez replied.
"Next dibs on the shower," Mullins said, taking a bite of the sandwich. "This is really wimpy hot sauce."
Rachel laughed and gestured around. "Raid as you wish. I'm not pla
"As long as everything's there tomorrow, we're set," Charles said. "Of course, something will go wrong. But I intend to worry about that tomorrow."
"I don't suppose . . . ?" Mladek asked, lifting the bottle of wine.
"Go ahead," Mullins replied. "Just don't get so drunk you can't move."
"Well, say what you will about her boyfriend," Gonzalvez said from the depths of the refrigerator, "but he has excellent taste." He leaned out and flourished a jar. "Arellian caviar, Nagasaki shrimps in wine sauce and New Provence compote."
"A going away party," the admiral said with a sad smile. "I suppose it's appropriate."
"Just don't party too hard," Mullins replied.
"The condemned man ate a hearty meal," Charles said. "I'm surprised you're eating as well as you are, frankly."
"Why worry about it?" Mullins replied. "You guys go, I'll keep my head down and eventually we'll make contact again."
"Sure, easy," Gonzalvez replied.
"I'm not pla
"Cutting out early?" Mladek asked. "Don't get yourself picked up and blow our cover."
"I won't," Joh
"Well, I would have known anyway," Charles replied. "I laced that as well as the door."
"Just as well," Joh
"It's caviar, you Gryphon barbarian," Gonzalvez said.
"Sure, sure," Joh
John opened up the door to the closet in case there was anything that fit. He was willing to put on the sweaty prole outfit he had been ru
As it turned out Rachel's mysterious boyfriend had plenty of clothes. He appeared to be a bit on the hefty side compared to the Manty but there was one suit that looked to be Mullins' size.
Joh
He looked in the mirror and sighed.
"Okay, I guess there have to be some studs around here somewhere."
When he came down from the shower he felt a bit better about his outfit; Rachel had changed into an electric blue Beowulf pantaloon set. The material was semitransparent, responding oddly to reflected light; when the light was shining directly at it the material was opaque, but in shadow or with glancing light patches it would go completely transparent. As she moved it revealed and covered seemingly at random, always covering far more than it revealed. Try as he might, Mullins couldn't determine if she was wearing a cat-suit underneath or absolutely nothing at all.
It was frankly hypnotic and went remarkably well with the archaic tuxedo that was the sole clothing Mullins could find that fit.
"Well, aren't you the pair?" Gonzalvez said with a laugh.
"I thought that might work for you," Rachel said, lifting a glass of champagne in his direction. "I picked it up for Bonz hoping he could get it around his fat middle. No such luck."
"Well, it fits," Mullins admitted, shooting the cuffs and rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. "But I'd rather be wearing prole clothes; if we have to run this is going to stick out like a sore thumb."
"Well then, we'll just have to avoid making a run for it," Rachel replied, handing him a glass of champagne. "To a flawless escape," she said, raising the glass.
"To a flawless escape," Mullins replied tapping his glass to hers and taking a sip. "That ain't half bad."
"It's an excellent vintage," Mladek said reaching past for a glass. He was back in his own prole outfit and still drying his hair. He took a sip and sighed. "I'll miss New Rochelle grapes."
"You should try some of the Copper Ridge sparkling wines," Charles responded, working the wine around in his mouth. "This seems a tad raw."
"Raw? New Rochelle's one of the finest vintages known!" Mladek responded hotly.
"I think we can leave them to this," Rachel said. "I seem to remember that you actually can dance."
"Well, my mother never admitted that I had gotten any good at it," Mullins said, as he set down the glass. "But mom had two left feet."
"Darling, your only problem as a dancer is that you're too tall and refuse to follow where I lead," Rachel said, her hips thrusting from side to side.
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Mullins replied, completing a complicated twist that ended with his ankles locked behind hers and his hips following her in time. "When did you learn to suvala?"
The had been dancing for over two hours, the tunes segueing through a dozen styles. From the mirror-dance to the minuet, from the suvala to the Hyper-Puma Trot, the two of them had been trying to best each other. Rachel was far and away the more natural dancer, but Mullins, if anything, knew more styles and was more precise in each.
"I know a girl from New Brazil," she replied, her lips inches from his cheek.
"You know this dance is illegal on Grayson?" he asked in a whisper, leaning in to her ear, his hips grinding against hers.
"Silly people," she husked back then disengaged. "Charles? Admiral? We're going to bed."
"Ah, really?" Charles asked. "So soon? The Admiral and I were just about to come to a conclusion in regards to the superiority of the Tancre strain of grape bacterium."
"I'm afraid not, old boy," Mladek replied. "Dautit is still the superior bacteria."
"But only for higher sugar content! My God man . . ."
"No, I mean we're going to bed; you guys can stay up as long as you'd like."
"Oh."