The hoots of laughter drowned out the end of the sentence.
"And I'll bet the blonde was your Aunt Greta!"
"No, she's the sister of a friend who asked me to take her to dinner, poor thing. She's very shy, never goes out…"
Weiser howled, then smothered it to a chuckle, glanced at Muldoon, and went silent.
"As to the other two," Donough said with dignity, "you'll have to assume prior acquaintance; there as no other way I could have arranged to meet them, ahead of time."
"No way at all," Whelk said, deadpan. "It's too bad you didn't have time to fully enjoy the company of any one of them."
McCracken tried to swallow a snicker.
"Social obligations must come before personal pleasure," Donough sighed.
"Yes, but personal pleasure should be considered." Whelk turned serious, and also turned to Muldoon. "You really must take shore leave now and then, Engineer. It's vital to your emotional well-being."
"Yes, Muldoon!" McCracken turned a genial smile on her. "Why don't you come along next time?"
"Yeah, Gracie!" Weiser said, with genuine concern. "You gotta quit moulderin' in that engine room! Get out an' live a little! You need it!"
"No," Muldoon said, very quietly, "I don't think so."
She was still very quiet as she led the way back to the engine room. Rod felt awkward as he followed behind her, knowing damn well that she wanted to be alone, but not seeing any polite way to excuse himself. He kept feeling as though he should make conversation, but knew it would do more harm than good.
As they came through the door, Muldoon muttered something about paperwork and sat down at her terminal. Rod drifted around the engine room, not knowing where else he could go, but not wanting to be in her way. She was punching at the pads as though they were mortal enemies. The silence stretched tighter and tighter, till Rod could almost hear it thrum.
Finally, he couldn't take it any more. "Uh, sir, I could take the watch, if you needed to do…"
Then he couldn't hear himself anymore, because she was sobbing.
Rod was terrified. Oh, he'd dealt with tears before, but these sounded real. His instincts moved him to her as surely as his glands, but he didn't know what he could do.
Finally, he gave in and dropped to one knee beside her. "It'll be all right," he murmured. "It all comes out okay in the end! It's not really that bad!"
"Oh, shut up!" she stormed. "You don't even know what you're talking about!"
Rod recoiled, stricken.
Muldoon saw, and broke up all over again. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be a beast when you were only trying to help. But it is that bad! He goes out and sees every pretty girl he can cram into twelve hours, because he knows he won't see one again for a month! And every day, he's sitting right across from me, seeing me every time he looks up! But I'm not pretty!"
"You are!" Rod protested.
"Oh, be quiet, you idiot! I'm as plain as they come! I'm ugly!"
"You are beautiful!" Rod stormed. "Underneath those smudges is the most delicate, entrancing face I've ever seen! Your figure takes my breath away! Your features are the kind men kill each other for! Your eyes are pools that a man could lose himself in!"
She stared at him, her sobs slackening. "Do… do you really think so?" She hiccupped.
"I swear it!"
"Well… You're a rich boy, you must have seen the best…"
"Best, my fandango! You're so far beyond them that you can look back at the galaxy!"
"But… but they've got those lovely dresses… and they're graceful, and refined, and…"
"They're as graceful as penguins on land! You move like a fairy princess!"
"You've only seen me in free fall…"
"Give me a chance to see you in gravity," he begged. "Go on shore leave. Believe me—the Maximan girls don't have an ounce of your beauty!"
"But… in the pictures on the screen…"
"What pictures? Oh—You mean those little clips they put in on the 3DT romances? Those're actresses, not real Maximans. Oh, sure, now and then you'll see a few shots of a real ball—but the camera's so far away that you can't really see the faces and figures at all."
"But they're aristocrats!"
"Yeah, and they look like it, too. All they have that you don't have is pretty dresses and makeup—and you can buy both of those."
"But I wouldn't know what to do with powder and rouge if I had it!"
Rod took a deep breath. "Trust me. I do."
He had studied the use of face paint through many an inordinately dull banquet—since he'd had to look at his table companions, he'd had to find something to keep his mind busy, so he'd started figuring out how they'd managed whatever effect they'd achieved. Then he'd had a few makeup workshops in the Maxima Amateur Theater Society, and he'd had a chance to study the process at close range, while the female Thespians labored with brush and liner.
"Yes, you must use a foundation! I know your complexion is perfect—I'd think you'd never exposed it to sunlight!"
"I didn't." Muldoon glared up at him. "I grew up in L-5. But I did have acne."
"Then you had one hell of a doctor. But skin is skin, and you're going to be a canvas!"
"Oh, all right," Muldoon griped, and sponged it smooth. Then she picked up a stick.
"No," Rod said, "not the pencil. Use the brush; shadow lines aren't really drawn with a ruler.''
"But the pencil's so much easier!" Muldoon complained.
"Do you want ease, or results? Remember, it has to shade—chiaroscuro, just as in a painting. That's what you're going to be, when you get done—a work of art. Dust that color back in from the cheekbones."
"But I can't move with these things on!"
"Then you'll never be graceful in gravity. Those magnets should give you just about the same pull as one G—I had Fess design them. Remember, now, one foot at a time, and short steps."
"I'll never get anywhere, that way!"
"Where you're trying to get, isn't measured in meters. You can move fast if you take lots of quick steps. Okay, try it… Good! You've got the feet right. Now, keep your back straight, and your shoulders back a little."
"But that makes my—you know. Like I'm trying to show off."
"What's the matter—are you ashamed of them? No? Then walk as though you're proud—that's right! Now, tilt your chin up just a little…"
Rod's head swiveled from side to side.
"Give it up," Muldoon advised. "You can't see everything at once."
"I can try, can't I? Wow! So this is Ganymede!"
"Yeah, one big shopping mall, except for the spaceport. You name it, you can buy it."
"Oh, come on! There have to be some laws!"
"Don't tell the natives—they'll think you're swearing."
"Oh, wow-wow-wow-WOW!"
"Blink or your eyes will dry out," Muldoon grated. "We're here to look at dresses, not the lack of them!"
Rod pulled his eyes away with an almost-audible snap. "That is definitely not the right style for you!"
Muldoon scowled up at him. "How do you know what a woman should wear?"
"Sir, when it comes to beauty, I'm not just a consumer, I'm an addict! All I have to do is dress you like my dreams."
"I thought you said that wasn't the right style for me."
"Oh, doing your hair?" Rod popped in around the open cabin door. "Remember, now, you have to rat it before…"