Free The Stardance Trilogy by Spider & Jeanne Robinson

into the video rig built into the office wall, dimmed the lights, and sat across from Shara. It ran twenty minutes, uninterrupted, no soundtrack, stark naked.
    It was terrific.
    “Aghast” is a funny word. To make you aghast, a thing must hit you in a place you haven’t armored over with cynicism yet. I seem to have been born cynical; I have been aghast three times that I can remember. The first was when I learned, at the age of three, that there were people who could deliberately hurt kittens. The second was when I learned, at age seventeen, that there were people who could actually take LSD and then hurt other people for fun. The third was when Mass Is A Verb ended and Carrington said in perfectly conversational tones, “Very pleasant; very graceful. I like it,” when I learned, at age forty-five, that there were men, not fools or cretins but intelligent men, who could watch Shara Drummond dance and fail to see . We all, even the most cynical of us, always have some illusion which we cherish.
    Shara simply let it bounce off her somehow, but I could see that the major was as aghast as I, controlling his features with a visible effort.
    Suddenly welcoming a distraction from my horror and dismay, I studied him more closely, wondering for the first time what he was doing here. He was my age, lean and more hard bitten than I am, with silver fuzz on top of his skull and an extremely tidy mustache on the front. I’d taken him for a crony of Carrington’s, but three things changed my mind. Something indefinable about his eyes told me that he was a military man of long combat experience. Something equally indefinable about his carriage told me that he was on duty at the moment. And something quite definable about the line his mouth made told me that he was disgusted with the duty he had drawn.
    When Carrington went on, “What do you think, Major?” in polite tones, the man paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and choosing his words. When he did speak, it was not to Carrington.
    “Ms. Drummond,” he said quietly, “I am Major William Cox, commander of S.C. Champion, and I am honored to meet you. That was the most profoundly moving thing I have ever seen.”
    Shara thanked him most gravely. “This is Charles Armstead, Major Cox. He made the tape.”
    Cox regarded me with new respect. “A magnificent job, Mister Armstead.” He stuck out his hand and I shook it.
    Carrington was beginning to understand that we three shared a thing which excluded him. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Major,” he said with no visible trace of sincerity. “You can see it again on your television tomorrow night, if you chance to be off duty. And eventually, of course, cassettes will be made available. Now perhaps we can get to the matter at hand.”
    Cox’s face closed as if it had been zippered up, became stiffly formal. “As you wish, sir.”
    Puzzled, I began what I thought was the matter at hand. “I’d like your own Comm Chief to supervise the actual transmission this time, Mr. Carrington. Shara and I will be too busy to—”
    “My Comm Chief will supervise the broadcast, Armstead,” Carrington interrupted, “but I don’t think you’ll be particularly busy.”
    I was groggy from lack of sleep; my uptake was slow.
    He touched his desk delicately. “McGillicuddy, report at once,” he said, and released it. “You see, Armstead you and Shara are both returning to Earth. At once.”
    “What?”
    “Bryce, you can’t ,” Shara cried. “You promised .”
    “Did I? My dear, there were no witnesses present last night. Altogether for the best, don’t you agree?”
    I was speechless with rage.
    McGillicuddy entered. “Hello, Tom,” Carrington said pleasantly. “You’re fired. You’ll be returning to Earth at once, with Ms. Drummond and Mr. Armstead, aboard Major Cox’s vessel. Departure in one hour, and don’t leave anything you’re fond of.” He glanced from McGillicuddy to me. “From Tom’s desk you can tap any