Free A Fighting Chance by William C. Dietz Page B

only three rings from the center of the room, she felt a mild sense of apprehension. Though not on duty, she was never truly off duty either. And that made it difficult to relax. At her approach, three of those seated at the table rose to greet her. The nearest and therefore the first to introduce himself was a Legion general named George Tuchida. Judging from the chromed plate set into the right side of his skull, and the whirring noises that accompanied his movements, Tuchida was a “partial.” Meaning a cyborg who was still using significant parts of his original body. He turned to announce her name and title to the rest of those seated at the table.
    And even though she hadn’t seen him in many years—it turned out that Vanderveen already knew the second man who came forward to greet her. His name was Rex Soro, the eventual heir to the Soro computer fortune and a classmate from her college days. He looked a bit older, but still handsome, and was impeccably dressed. She caught a whiff of expensive cologne as he leaned in to hug her. “Vanders! What a wonderful surprise. You look gorgeous. And no ring. Let’s mate.”
    “I never mate prior to dinner,” Vanderveen said primly, “but thank you for the invitation. I see you haven’t changed.” Soros laughed.
    “My name is Hambu Tras Gormo,” the frail-looking Dweller said. His sticklike body was supported by the high-tech exoskeleton that made it possible for him to leave his low-gravity home world and travel to other planets. The device emitted a soft whining sound as the Dweller offered a formal bow.
    Vanderveen recognized the name. “ Senator Tras Gormo? It’s an honor to meet you.”
    Tras Gormo bowed again.
    “And this,” Soro said, as he gestured to the only other female present, “is the famous Misty Melody.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Vanderveen said, as the woman in question looked up from a gold compact. She had shoulder-length silver hair and had been poured into a matching dress. Her breasts were not only unnaturally large but almost entirely exposed. “I have all of your albums,” Vanderveen said truthfully. “You have a beautiful voice.”
    Melody’s smile was unexpectedly genuine. “Why, thank you . . . It’s the only part of me that’s real.”
    The comment was so unexpectedly honest that Vanderveen had to laugh. “Miss Melody is going to perform for the troops on Algeron,” Tuchida put in. “And we’re very grateful.”
    “We’ll see if the general feels the same way once the screeching is over,” Melody said with a grin.
    “And last, but not least, we have Trade Representative Imbia,” Soro intoned.
    The plainly dressed Thraki was sitting on a booster seat and apparently enthralled by the antics of his robotic “form.” It was doing cartwheels across the table in front of him. Vanderveen knew the six-inch-high machine was a technical work of art that had probably been assembled by its owner. Such toys were something of a passion where the Thrakies were concerned. The Thraks claimed to be neutral but had been caught providing support to the Ramanthians and clearly expected them to win the war.
    But because President Nankool and his advisors had no desire to push the Thrakies into open conflict, especially given the strength of their navy, they were allowed to travel freely inside the Confederacy. It was a constant source of concern for Madame X—Nankool’s chief of intelligence.
    The Thraki looked up to acknowledge the introduction with a curt nod. So Vanderveen allowed Tuchida to seat her and let the social process carry her along. There was a menu to choose from, the usual small talk about the war, the hand that Soro placed on her left knee. Vanderveen removed it and turned to Tuchida. It didn’t take long to discover that they had numerous acquaintances in common, something Vanderveen was quick to capitalize on. “So,” she said, as the first course arrived, “do you know Captain Antonio Santana by any