Free The Princess of Caldris by Dante D'Anthony Page B

masks.”
Hammerstein declared the obvious.
    “ Shopping! On assignment.
At the edge of the Outworlds. This promises to be…different.”
Tokushima snarked.
    Hammerstein’s flight helmet turned and I
didn’t need to be a psychic to feel that vibe.
    “ Sorry, Sir,” she
retreated.
    We did, in fact, look ridiculous.

    Neil Thacker
    As it turned out, not for long. Hammerstein
quickly rooted out a shop of masks and what a shop it was-much to
Tokushima’s chagrin, the place was a wonder of fabulous items. I
chose a Ripjackle mask-a particularly fierce beast from Opa-locka’s
world. Hammerstein selected one of Mercury, the Roman god of
travelers, merchants, and thieves. Tokushima found one bearing a
stylistic feel for Japan, and we made a quick return to the
Hammerhead to lose the flight helmets and bore the weary look of
Parsons.
    He was wise enough, however, not to say
anything.
    Then we were off along the canals again,
masked and ready. No one spoke, Hammerstein trolling on sorting his
distant memories against the realities of the present. Things are
always smaller or bigger in our memories.
    He was heading for a waterfront nightclub.
The masks didn’t cover one’s mouth, so if we wished we could even
eat and drink with them on, such was the custom of the place.
    It wasn’t long before the sight of a bare
face would have been shock-when in Rome, as they say.
    It was day so the club was
virtually empty. There were all manner of arched and carved ways
and rooms, decorative plants, hologram art. A bunch of screen with
games from the Empire. Various hypercasts. It was a small galaxy,
it seems. I knew some of the channels.
    We sat and were promptly approached by a
bejeweled and masked waitress. Supple-beautiful, and centuries old
I realized-a cloner, this was her third clone incarnation.
Somewhere behind her mask, and behind the frivolously attractive
clone lay a personality of a woman from worlds away, and
generations before.
    I was, in my way, suddenly awed. Behind an
ordinary façade, an extraordinary history.
    “ Welcome,” she offered
brightly, placing chilled water glasses and bread before us, “I’m
Sasha.”
    The table glowed presently with images of
food for us to choose from.
    Fish, fish, and more fish.
    Tokushima selected a bread soup.
    “ I’ll have the fish” I
said, “Caldrisian Salmon. With a garlic butter, and crab cakes on
the side.”
    Hammerstein selected a steak.
    We ate quietly. Waiting for something to
happen.
    When it happened, it was a balding slight of
a man, dark skinned and masked with a strange golden happy Buddha
face.
    “ Travelers from a far?” he
hovered and swayed in a faux attempt at grace and light heartedness
he did not feel. He was a trader, eager to overcharge
tourists.
    “ Indeed. Indeed. Very far.”
Hammerstein was always like a well oiled trap ready to
snap.
    “ My name is Hugo,” he
smiled behind the Buddha, “if there is anything I can do to assist
while you stay here at…Langley Stay?”
    He said it like a question even though it
was an incomplete sentence that wasn’t a question.
    Now Hammerstein smiled beneath the Mask of
Mercury,“Indeed. Indeed. We need an aircar. But not just any
aircar, no, no. We require an exquisite ride of early model,
retrofitted with the most contemporary appointments and
technologies, security of course being no small issue for my wife
and son.”
    Tokushima blushed, but with a distinct
pleasure at that. Sensing it, and all it implied, I too blushed,
thankful for the mask of a sudden.
    “ Ahhh, yes, of course!
Nothing but best!”
    An impression was coming across then from
the Buddha man. An older version of Herbivore. Hammerstein knew
this gig like a well practiced drill. I was in awe.
    “ You know then where we may
find such an aircar?” Tokushima asked coyly.
    “ Yes. I do.” He replied
smugly. “And I shall be delighted to take you there immediately
after your lunch!” He bowed.
    Hammerstein showed his teeth in a