Free Vienna Station by Robert Walton

Vienna Station
    Rules are rules. Anti-terrorist security rules are the most stringent of all, especially so on a space station. I am mindful of their necessity as I unfasten the velcro closures on my jumpsuit. The thin, pale blue garment falls about my ankles. I automatically glance at the mirror before me. My profession calls for both strength and flexibility. Form must follow function, so my upper body muscles are well defined and my thighs are well muscled. I poke experimentally at my stomach. Is there a bit of tummy beginning to appear? Possibly.
    A blue light flashes on the bulkhead above the entrance port. I sigh. This is no time to admire one’s girlish figure. I sigh again and brush back my hair. Long hair is the very devil in null gravity. Swirling like kelp in an ocean current, mine has gathered in a chestnut nimbus around face. I step through the last detector between the airlock exit and me. A horn suddenly hoots above me. A red light flashes. A robotic voice sounds over the ongoing horn, “Entry denied!”
    I look toward an audio pickup and say, “Obviously. Can you tell me why?”
    “Entry denied. Unauthorized electronics have been detected.”
    I shake my head. “That’s not too helpful.”
    “Unauthorized data processing system has been detected.”
    “Oh,” I look down and regard my gold and amethyst nipple pendant. “You mean my perkey?”
    “Yes, Ms. Tamez.”
    “I’d like to keep it.”
    “That is not possible.”
    I take a deep breath. “Look, I’m a musician. I was hired to perform here. Most of my repertoire is stored in my perkey’s data system. My ability to perform will be adversely affected if I don’t have it. Can’t you inspect it or something to make sure it’s not some sort of terrorist device?”
    “That is not possible.”
    I fold my arms across my chest. “I need to speak to a human supervisor.”
    “One moment, please.”
    I tap my foot with impatience. A very slight humming noise sends a shiver down my spine. I whirl and look behind me. I see walls, conduits, nothing out of the ordinary, but that shiver stays with me. I feel like I’m being watched.
    A human voice sounds over the speaker, “Ms Tamez?”
    I turn back toward the airlock entrance. “Yes?”
    “What seems to be the problem?”
    Mustering what patience I have left, I speak levelly, “I’d like to keep my personal data system, my perkey. I’m a musician and I need it.”
    The voice on the speaker also speaks with restraint,” You will not be required to play from memory or to perform interactively with our computer systems. Retention of your perkey is, therefore, not necessary to successful completion of your duties here. Deposit the perkey in the slot to your left. It will be stored and kept quite safe until you leave Vienna Station.”
    “Must I?”
    “You must.”
    I sigh again and squeeze my right earlobe. I disengage the powered down perkey from my right nipple and reluctantly consign it to the slot labled “valuables.
    Various sensors hum and whir. A green light replaces the red. Incongruously, a muffled giggle sounds from behind me. I turn in time to see a narrow a communications screen become opaque.
    My skin flushes pink with rage and shame. I snatch up the jumpsuit, plunge into it, slap the velcro closures shut and fling open the entrance hatch. The heavy hatch crashes against a shock absorber. I storm into the open chamber.
    “Hey, take it easy on the equipment.” A plump man with dark brown skin and thinning hair motions to me from a desk cubicle to my right.
    I turn on him, “Is it part of entrance security procedure to allow the local pervert a look at incoming employees?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    I take a deep breath. “Someone was getting an eyeful through a communications screen while I was standing around in my birthday suit.”
    The crewman spreads his hands. “Damn. Sorry about that. This kind of thing hasn’t happened before.”
    I snarl, “You liar.”
    He