The Warlock's Companion

Rod recoiled, stricken.

Muldoon saw, and broke up all over again. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be a beast when you were only trying to help. But it is that bad! He goes out and sees every pretty girl he can cram into twelve hours, because he knows he won't see one again for a month! And every day, he's sitting right across from me, seeing me every time he looks up! But I'm not pretty!"

"You are!" Rod protested.

"Oh, be quiet, you idiot! I'm as plain as they come! I'm ugly!"

"You are beautiful!" Rod stormed. "Underneath those smudges is the most delicate, entrancing face I've ever seen! Your figure takes my breath away! Your features are the kind men kill each other for! Your eyes are pools that a man could lose himself in!"

She stared at him, her sobs slackening. "Do… do you really think so?" She hiccupped.

"I swear it!"

"Well… You're a rich boy, you must have seen the best…"

"Best, my fandango! You're so far beyond them that you can look back at the galaxy!"

"But… but they've got those lovely dresses… and they're graceful, and refined, and…"

"They're as graceful as penguins on land! You move like a fairy princess!"

"You've only seen me in free fall…"

"Give me a chance to see you in gravity," he begged. "Go on shore leave. Believe me—the Maximan girls don't have an ounce of your beauty!"

"But… in the pictures on the screen…"

"What pictures? Oh—You mean those little clips they put in on the 3DT romances? Those're actresses, not real Maximans. Oh, sure, now and then you'll see a few shots of a real ball—but the camera's so far away that you can't really see the faces and figures at all."

"But they're aristocrats!"

"Yeah, and they look like it, too. All they have that you don't have is pretty dresses and makeup—and you can buy both of those."

"But I wouldn't know what to do with powder and rouge if I had it!"

Rod took a deep breath. "Trust me. I do."

He had studied the use of face paint through many an inordinately dull banquet—since he'd had to look at his table companions, he'd had to find something to keep his mind busy, so he'd started figuring out how they'd managed whatever effect they'd achieved. Then he'd had a few makeup workshops in the Maxima Amateur Theater Society, and he'd had a chance to study the process at close range, while the female Thespians labored with brush and liner.

"Yes, you must use a foundation! I know your complexion is perfect—I'd think you'd never exposed it to sunlight!"

"I didn't." Muldoon glared up at him. "I grew up in L-5. But I did have acne."

"Then you had one hell of a doctor. But skin is skin, and you're going to be a canvas!"

"Oh, all right," Muldoon griped, and sponged it smooth. Then she picked up a stick.

"No," Rod said, "not the pencil. Use the brush; shadow lines aren't really drawn with a ruler.''

"But the pencil's so much easier!" Muldoon complained.

"Do you want ease, or results? Remember, it has to shade—chiaroscuro, just as in a painting. That's what you're going to be, when you get done—a work of art. Dust that color back in from the cheekbones."

"But I can't move with these things on!"

"Then you'll never be graceful in gravity. Those magnets should give you just about the same pull as one G—I had Fess design them. Remember, now, one foot at a time, and short steps."

"I'll never get anywhere, that way!"

"Where you're trying to get, isn't measured in meters. You can move fast if you take lots of quick steps. Okay, try it… Good! You've got the feet right. Now, keep your back straight, and your shoulders back a little."

"But that makes my—you know. Like I'm trying to show off."

"What's the matter—are you ashamed of them? No? Then walk as though you're proud—that's right! Now, tilt your chin up just a little…"

Rod's head swiveled from side to side.

"Give it up," Muldoon advised. "You can't see everything at once."

"I can try, can't I? Wow! So this is Ganymede!"

"Yeah, one big shopping mall, except for the spaceport. You name it, you can buy it."

"Oh, come on! There have to be some laws!"

"Don't tell the natives—they'll think you're swearing."

"Oh, wow-wow-wow-WOW!"

"Blink or your eyes will dry out," Muldoon grated. "We're here to look at dresses, not the lack of them!"

Rod pulled his eyes away with an almost-audible snap. "That is definitely not the right style for you!"

Muldoon scowled up at him. "How do you know what a woman should wear?"

"Sir, when it comes to beauty, I'm not just a consumer, I'm an addict! All I have to do is dress you like my dreams."

"I thought you said that wasn't the right style for me."

"Oh, doing your hair?" Rod popped in around the open cabin door. "Remember, now, you have to rat it before…"

"Shove off, swabbie," Muldoon muttered around a mouthful of hairpins. "This is something I do know."

"You do?" Rod couldn't help goggling. "Where'd you learn?"

"Before school, every day for thirteen years."

"Then wh—" Rod just barely managed to swallow the rest of it.

"Because when I got to college, I decided there was no reason to put up with the pain, and swore I'd never do it again. Will you get out of here?"

"But what about your oath?"

"I'm going to start using it in about three seconds. Now shove off!"

"Shopping!" Weiser chortled. "The little guy's going shopping! Hey, if ya see something frilly, take it in and have it filled, will ya?"

"Let him alone, Weiser," McCracken grumped. "At least he's getting Gracie to step out a little."

"Yeah. Nice move there, mister." Weiser throttled it down to a grin. "How come you know all about dresses, buddy boy?"

"Mr. Weiser," Rod said, in his loftiest ma

"Oh, yeah? Did you learn anything?"

"A lot, about truth in packaging." Rod turned around at the sound of high heels. "Ready, sir?"

"You betcha, swabbie!" Muldoon floated up in a velvet dress, hair falling in gentle waves, makeup flawless, and a twinkle in her eye. "Let's go see Titan!" She hooked her hand through his elbow and charged out to do battle with the cash register.

Weiser's head pivoted on his shoulders as he watched her go by. He studied their retreating forms, mostly hers. "Y' know, that kid just might be smarter than he looks."

"Yeah, and maybe he's so smart that he's dumb." McCracken frowned at him. "I worry too much, Albie."

"D'Armand's Finishing School," Weiser chuckled. "It'll finish you, if you don't stop snickering."

"I'm not snickering, I'm chuckling."

"Well, stow it, whatever it is—here she comes." They tipped their hats as Muldoon breezed by. "Hi, Gracie!"

"Good to see you, Grace!"

" 'Grace' is the word," Weiser murmured, watching her retreating back. "Maybe the kid knows what he's doing."

"Maybe he does," McCracken agreed. "Pull your eyes back into your head, Albie."

"Ceres again," McCracken sighed. "Whelk goes off to his wife, the captain goes off with a crowd, and I go off to di

"Whatever we're doing, let's go." Weiser had the fidgets. "Do we have to wait for the captain?"

"More a matter of him waiting for you." Whelk came up. "I understand he wants to give us all a sermon."

"For liberty?"

Donough came up with a smile. " 'Ten-shun! Now, men, I know this is going to be something of a strain, but I understand we're giving the good ship Murray Rain a bad reputation."