How Much for Just the Planet? by John M. Ford

Author:John M. Ford [Ford, John M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780671629984
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 1987-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Come Up and See Me Sometime Irq ROOM 21 of the Hotel Direidi, Ambassador Charlotte Caliente Sanchez smoothed down the dress-length tails of her white silk shirt, pulled up a floor-length circle skirt of silver brocade on white wool, and fastened the skirt at her waist. She turned in front of the full-length mirror: the skirt moved very nicely indeed, and the shawl-collared blouse was cut deeply enough to absolutely rivet the attention of Captain James T. Kirkmwhile preserving the deco-rum expected of the special envoy to Direidi.

She sat on the edge of the bed, pulled on her high white slippers, tested the fit--not very comfortable, but then that wasn't what they were all about--stood and adjusted the drape of the blouse once more. Kirk, she thought, wasn't going to know what hit him.

And for the sake of Federation-Direidi relations, he'd better not ever find out ....

In the other arm of the V-shaped hotel corridor, in Room 22, Captain James T. Kirk was straightening his bow tie before the bathroom mirror, and

smoothing a collar wing that had gotten ruffled in the

tying operation.

There was a tap at the door. "Yes?"

"Laundry, sir. You wanted a suit cleaned?"

"Yes. Come in." The door opened. "Suit's on the

dresser. Do you see it?"

A man's scratchy, old-sounding voice said, "Yes,

sir. Are all the medals off this, sir?" "I think I got them all."

"Very good, sir. It'll be ready in the morning, if

that's all right."

"That's just fine."

The door closed. Kirk came out of the bathroom,

took the satin-striped tuxedo trousers from their

hanger and pulled them on, buttoned up the black ú braces. He fastened the cummerbund around his

middle, examined the effect in the mirror, then

cinched it a little tighter. Not bad at all. The classic

black dinner suit had been out of fashion on Earth for

two hundred and fifty years, give or take, but the

Direidi seemed to consider it the only possible garment for a gentleman out for the evening. Kirk didn't

see a thing wrong with the idea. He pulled on the

black jacket, plucked at the peaked lapels. They'd

been very reasonable about renting him the suit, too.

There was a red flower on the desk where Kirk's

dress uniform had been waiting for the laundryman,

with a card reading "With the Hotel's Compliments."

Kirk smiled, picked up the flower, and with an

elaborate flourish of his wrist inserted it in his button—

hole. When Pete's buddy Zack, playing the cat burglar, pretended to stun Kirk, he would grasp the

flower as a last, sinking gesture. Tonight's entertainment was being played for royalty, after all.

But before the fun, there was dinner. And

afterward...

Kirk spun an imaginary cane, and whistled about pUttin' on his top hat, as he opened the door.

In Room 32, directly above Kirk's, Captain Kaden vestai-Oparai was struggling with the knot of his bow tie. Tuk'zedo was a bizarre form of dress, he thought for at least the fortieth time, abandoned the tie for a moment and adjusted the braces. He supposed that they were a survival of weapon bandoliers. Was the cummerbund originally a knife-holder,

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