Free Morgan's Choice by Greta van Der Rol

and
conservative, she’d guess. Deep red was obviously suitable. She
concentrated and found the dress’s tiny processor with her mind.
Cherry red. The reflectors in each cell of the fabric shifted. And
now the style. Scooped neckline, not too low. Fitted at the waist,
flowing over the hip. The cells expanded and contracted as
instructed. Length. The sack was floor length, best be safe.
    She pirouetted in front of the mirror,
admiring her handiwork. Excellent. Conservative but elegant. She
smiled as she slipped on shoes, low-heeled pumps.
    When she emerged from her bedroom Roy jumped
up from the sofa, eyes widening in horror. “No. You cannot wear
that to the mess. A gown was left for you. Hurry, change. You are
already late.”
    “That thing? I’m not wearing that. It’s a
bag. And it itches.”
    Roy scowled. “You must. Immediately. That…
that thing you wear is not suitable.” She pushed Morgan toward her
bedroom, but Morgan stood firm. She’d been pushed around
enough.
    The door to the corridor opened to reveal
Ravindra, resplendent in a white dress uniform that accentuated his
dark skin. “You are late—” He stopped short, his eyes raking up and
down her body while Roy bent herself over almost double. “Cover
yourself up, woman. You look like a Vesya .”
    Whore. What the fuck? She forgot to avert her
eyes until his furious glance reminded her. Roy had straightened
up, her face a mixture of fear and chagrin. He was going to blame
her.
    “It’s not her fault. This is perfectly
acceptable in our messes.”
    His nostrils flared. “Must I remind you
again? This is not where you come from. Go.” A savage wave of his
hand. “Change into the gown left here for you. Quickly.”
    That shapeless bag? She glared at him.
    “You dare to cross me? Already?” He took a
step forward.
    Summoning what dignity she could Morgan
stepped back to her bedroom and changed the dress. Bastard. Typical
fucking male-dominated society. They even tell their women what to
wear . Oh, if she was at
home, she’d tell him… She tightened the belt around her waist and
scowled at herself in the mirror. Errk. She looked like two
sausages tied together. Smile, Morgan .
    He was pacing, arms folded, when she
returned. Roy was nowhere to be seen. Sent to her room? He stopped
and turned to look her up and down. She felt like a junior cadet
getting the once-over from the senior under officer. Not a happy
memory.
    “Better. Come. We are late.” He strode out
into the corridor, leaving her to follow.
    ‘Ladies first’ sure wasn’t the way of things
in this society. She tried to match his stride and was brought up
short by the hem of the shapeless tube he’d forced her to wear.
Fuck. And fuck again. He waited in the transit foyer, frowning his
impatience, as she minced her way toward him.
    Ravindra preceded her into a large room with
a dark blue carpet, softly pearlescent walls and at one end a
well-stocked bar. The assembled officers stood in groups, chatting
and enjoying a pre-dinner drink. Several murmured greetings and
many directed curious stares at the strange female. Captain
Lomandra positively looked daggers at her. She gave him a bright
smile to go with the little bow. Bastard. He glowered.
    “Officers,” Lomandra said.
    They filed into the next room, some
depositing glasses on tables against the walls. Morgan stood next
to Ravindra, feeling like an unwilling mannequin at a fashion
parade. Or maybe a prize exhibit at a freak show.
    Ravindra waited until the last officer had
entered the dining room before he moved. Morgan trotted along
behind him into a large room with a hard plasteel floor and walls
hung with battle honors and images of captains. All the officers
stood behind low chairs placed around the outside of three long
tables arranged as a rectangle with one open side. The doorway they
entered was level with the top table. Ravindra strode to his seat.
The only one vacant was between him and Lomandra. Oh, what