Muse's hand paused, hovering over the security pad beside the door of her assigned quarters. Sounds of laughter could be heard beyond it, Halidee's bubbling giggle underscored by a baritone chuckle. A bass rumble and a soprano squeal joined the chorus and Muse winced. Games night again. That would mean four, possibly eight pairs of eyes in the common room clustered around the gamecomp, playing Gibbeus Main or Chockerill.

A pat to the door pad opened the door as Muse drew a resigned breath and prepared to run the gauntlet to her dinner, waiting frozen in the Mechomeal unit across the room .

"It's Muse!" Halidee managed to sound surprised as her roommate entered. "You're just in time to be a sixth for Chockerill. You know Garrid," Halidee flashed a smile at the square cut blond man beside her. "You haven't met Shima and Raible yet. They're up from the Mountain Subplex. They haven't seen the sky for a while so they came up for gaming." An armload of bracelets clattered as she gestured. "And you must say hello to Quilban, who's here from Carnegie Prime. Your mother's there, isn't she? She's an Archaist? Archivist? What do they call library specialists, Muse?"

Muse nodded where indicated and attempted to smile appropriately as she crossed the small common room to the dining alcove and programmed the aging Mechomeal to zap up a puffpot. From experience, Muse knew it would be longer than the seven seconds from storage to serving that its manufacturers claimed.

Smooth and dark, Quilban took Halidee's conversational gambit. He had leaned forward to see what Muse chose to eat.

"Actually, I don't know many Archivists. I'm in food service. I'm here on Mendez Three setting up a franchise to serve the new Subplex. I brought some samples of our meals for you and Halidee to try." He smiled hopefully. "You'll find them on the menu of your Mecho."

Muse made no response and Quilban blundered on.

"I see you programmed a puffpot. We have an item you might ...um... ah ... perhaps....", Quilban's voice fell off into an embarrassed silence as Muse gazed at him with colorless gray eyes. After a moment, Halidee interrupted the general discomfort.

"Muse, this came for you today." She took a white envelope from the table beside her. "I had to sign for it so it must be important. I'm dying to see what's in it...do open it now!" Halidee's long slender fingers ended in perfectly manicured fingernails, which gleamed against the envelope as she held it out. Muse stretched reluctantly to accept it. At the last moment, when Muse's gnawed nails and crooked fingers were about to take possession of it, Halidee snatched the envelope back.

"On second thought, I'll open it myself." Halidee slipped the point of her longest nail under the flap and neatly pried it open. "If I wait for you to tell me what's in it, my curiosity will never be satisfied." Halidee removed the letter and scanned it.

"This is so exciting! I've never had any hard mail myself. I get all my deliveries through the netmail." Fluttered Shima, in an attempt to ward off the deadly silence emanating from Muse. "My last roomie, Solanj, got one once when the Board of Occupation notified her about an examination she took."

"...to inform you that the cruise liner Starlady ... promotional tour including stops at Taurus Haven, Jewel and Lucus! Muse! Model a designer wardrobe ... shopping sprees and a quarter million in consumer credits! MUSE!" Halidee looked up. "It says here you're leaving on the 14th...today is the 12th. That's terribly short notice. You're supposed to report in tomorrow. Muse, did you know about this? Muse?" Halidee's exclamations ran down in the face of Muse's glare. In the silence, the Mechomeal burped a ready signal and extended the fragrant, steaming puffpot from a serving orifice.

"Muse! Talk to me, Muse. What about this award?" Halidee's exasperation was audible. Muse deftly transferred the hot ramekin onto a tray containing a beverage pac and a spoon. She turned to Halidee, "I don't want it. Take it if you like." Picking up the tray, she headed for her room.

Halidee sputtered, uncharacteristically incoherent.

As she passed him, Quilban put his hand on Muse's arm and asked, "What would you do with all that credit besides pleasure in it?"

Muse pulled sharply away from his touch, nearly upsetting her dinner. "I'd trade it all for housing credits," She said softly, "and buy the privilege to live alone."

In the shocked silence that followed, she made her escape.

The silence did not last long. As soon as Muse's thin door closed behind her, she heard the talk resume.

"Not exactly sociable."

"How do you live with that?"

"It's not easy, since she won't participate. I've requested a change more than once, but the psychs tell me they quartered us together because Muse needs my socializing influence. It's a compliment, they say. Frankly, I'd rather have the cruise. Call it a reward for dealing with that sullen mouse."

Muse placed the tray on her desk. Slipping an audio cube into the player socket of the roomcomp, she tapped up 'Gray Fugues' by Varrion Clee. Soothing as a foggy day, the texture of Varrion Clee's melody filled the austere room. Checking the netmail, she found an electronic version of the letter which included the phrase, "mandatory acceptance". It was more strongly worded than its predecessors and accompanying it was a posting from the Board of Occupation stating that due to an excess of recreational and consumer credits, Muse was no longer eligible for employment. Below this was her credit listing which showed a recent deposit labeled, "termination credit".

Muse sucked her breath in and blew it out with a small grim smile. Her successors at Information Retrieval Services would have a difficult time unraveling the knots she'd left in the datanet, searching for lost files.

Her spoon bit through the cheesy crust of the puffpot as she considered the possibilities. Around her, the melody sighed and rhythms shifted from phrase to phrase as Muse savored each creamy spoonful and made her plans for an unwanted vacation.

A day in the Library sounded good, wandering the familiar maze of stacks, breathing the quiet dust and fragrance of bindings, paper and ink. Muse made a game of climbing ladders and looking behind rows of shelves, seeking the most forgotten, dust covered book in the Library. Then she would read it to find out why. As a child still small enough to fit between the shelves, Muse would climb to the top and elude searching authorities from the primary educational center that had taken charge of her socialization. Once, she had lived in the Library for five days before she was discovered. Her mother, an Archival Assistant at the time, swore she hadn't noticed Muse hiding in the stacks but somehow left credit discs for food service units where Muse could find them.
After her mother had graduated to Archivist and been transferred to Carnegie Prime, Muse was forced to become more resourceful and her visits to the Library were less extended.

Muse discovered several interesting (but not forgotten) volumes in the course of her day. When the Library closed, she returned to her quarters. The door hissed open and Muse entered before she noticed the three white suited psychwardens waiting quietly in the common room. Behind her, the door closed with a snap. Muse froze.

"We are here to escort you aboard the Starlady." A blond giant spoke as a dark muscular man moved behind her. "It's time to pack."

"Here is your carryall." The third psychwarden was holding out a medium sized blue duffel. "It is late and we need you to hurry."

Finding another option, Muse crossed the room and programmed a puffpot.

"Will you come with us?" The blond giant's voice was less patient.

Muse placed a beverage PAC and spoon on the tray. The blond giant put his hand in front of her face. Before Muse recognized a dispenser dome of Zombine, it puffed. In a breath, she stood passive, unwilling and without her will.

The grating shriek of laughter that woke Muse did not come from Hallidee. A metallic taste in her mouth brought the bitterness of Zombine to her memory. Once the shadows cleared, Muse remembered packing her four books and some comfortable gray garments while the Mechomeal repeatedly signaled the readiness of her abandoned puffpot. When Muse obediently followed the psychwardens out of the apartment, Halidee's triumphant laughter could be heard behind the closing door.

Muse's new accommodations seemed to bulge with excess; padded and textured and cluttered with color, the decor offered no more rest for her eyes than the constant whistling roar of an operating starship gave her ears. The room was part of a suite shared with an officious woman whose name Muse decided not to remember. Since her books were not in sight, Muse left the bed and began a search for them. Unaccustomed to the exaggeration of movement which occurs within the translight drive field, she bounced a bit, fell over a foot stool, slammed a drawer and rapped her knuckles, drawing blood. Beyond the wall, a conversation with laughter stopped. Moments later, an imposing woman wearing a glowing magenta dress made her entrance.

"Good, you're up. They've been waiting to measure you for the wardrobe. Put this on." Still sucking her knuckles, Muse made no effort to take the cheerful yellow robe offered her.

"Do you remember me? I'm Rietta Loumen, your tour coordinator. The psychs said you'd be able to meet this morning's schedule, but you've already missed a Media Brunch and the designers are getting impatient. They have their own schedules to keep." Rietta dropped the yellow robe on the bed as she circled Muse with a speculative eye. "You're small, but I imagine we'll be able to fit you. Once you're measured, we're off on a shopping spree and then we'll see if there is something we can do about your hair." Rietta turned toward the door.

"Where are my books?" Muse demanded in a low voice.

"Well, she speaks!" Rietta did a turn to look down at Muse again. "They're in your carryall on the closet shelf. I didn't unpack them. You won't have much time for studies while you're with me. Your handcomp is on the desk. I've inserted your schedule of activities and appearances into the memory." Rietta made her exit and the door closed behind her.

Locating the foot stool, Muse carried it carefully to the closet where she discovered a blue duffel tossed back on an upper shelf. Finding her treasures slightly rumpled but undamaged, she stroked the pages flat and sniffed the bindings affectionately. When the door opened again to admit Rietta leading a clutch of designers and their assistants bearing sonotapes and handcomps, the only escape Muse could see was the hygiene chamber. She left her books on the stool and fled to the privacy it offered.

Knocking, Rietta announced her visitors. Muse's silence was not encouraging and the designers left to keep other appointments.

Rietta was sitting alone with the books when Muse emerged. Rings on her fingers glittered rhythmically as Rietta drummed her nails.

"The psychs told me you might be difficult at first; you worked too much - some people do - don't know how to play. But this," she slapped the books, "isn't work. It's waste. This dictionary is archaic. Any handcomp has a better one, and current. I imagine this is supposed to be poetry", she took a slim volume from the stack and opened it with distaste, "but it doesn't make sense and it doesn't rhyme. Here's a book of children's stories and this one is blank. Empty. Not a word. At least the other rubbish carries information, this one says nothing at all. Where is the value in it?"

Muse took a baggy gray oneser from the closet and stepped into its legs while Rietta spoke. Shrugging her arms into the sleeves, she absently ran her hand up the front to fasten it. Her eyes never left the books. Once dressed, she claimed them from Rietta and cradled them close. With a look of disgust, Rietta snatched the books to drop them unceremoniously on the desk. Grabbing Muse's wrist she nearly dragged her out into the spiral maze of corridors, gardens and malls which fill a cruise class starship.

During the next measured eternity, Muse was fitted, feted and fed in public. Rietta dressed her, groomed her, arranged and orchestrated the dance of days into a mindless numbing blur. The eyes were the worst part. There were always eyes looking at her. Muse recognized this was due more to Rietta's choice of clothing for Muse than any personal charm she might have developed. There was an endless parade of fashion which Rietta required Muse to view and choose from, always with advice bordering on insistence.

On Jewel, it had been a toxic yellow skinsuit littered with kinetic swirls of sparkling blue beads. During the stopover on Taurus Haven, Rietta had been impressed by a brief sporting set which vibrated in sunset tones. She had told the shopkeeper to wrap it while Muse was still objecting. Every shopping trip Muse could not avoid aboard the Starlady, she found herself laden with similar monstrosities and her credit balance accordingly smaller, while Rietta rhapsodized about the bargains they had made.

This time, Rietta was strongly enthusiastic about a purple and chartreuse ensemble being modeled for them in the salon of Nightside Designs. As a plump model bounced along the in the light gravity of Lucus, every bangle and bead fringing from the seams and hem of the dress rattled against another.

"It's brilliant!" Rietta laughed at her own joke. "The room light charges the dress to shine in the dark. I've never seen the like."

Muse was bored and nauseated. She had skipped breakfast to evade another interview with Rietta telling one more media rep about Muse's struggle with the disability of shyness. Muse was discouraged from speaking during these interviews after she had ventured her own version of her situation. She looked at the lurid horror that Rietta was praising and spoke for the first time that morning.

"Since you like it, Rietta, why don't you buy it for yourself?"

Rietta paused and blinked, as though trying to gain some perspective on the direction Muse was leading. "I couldn't do that. It's your shopping spree and you should have the best we can find."

Muse smiled. A real smile, not the grimace she found on Taurus Haven when Rietta produced a green dome of Zombine, puffed Muse and ordered to dress, smile and model fashions on the stage like a good girl. Muse smiled a real smile and it was so unexpected that Rietta reached for the palm sized green dome in her pocket.

"Since it is my shopping spree, I would prefer the wessersilk robe we saw earlier." Muse's voice was clear and audible, surprising the media reps and attendants who had become accustomed to Muse's mumbling.

"Wessersilk? Muse dear, it's quite expensive." Rietta looked around for support, no one met her eyes. "It has no color, no accessories. Where would you wear a plain thing like that, anyway?"

Muse stood and spoke to the proprietor. "I'll take the gray wessersilk. Send it to the hotel. And send along that bangled Niteglo thing for Rietta. It suits her." Muse headed for the exit.

"Muse! Wait!" Rietta, dispenser dome in hand, stumbled into a chair and shoved her way through the entourage she had arranged for this occasion. Muse vanished into the mass of shoppers entertaining themselves at the mall before Rietta reached the door.

Muse was relieved to find puffpots on the menu of a food service along a side corridor. She pulled a universal credit disc from the ID bracelet starship passengers were required to wear and inserted it into the vendunit, programming her meal. When it was served, she took her tray to an unoccupied corner table and sat facing the mirrored wall, her back to the room. It was the first meal she had eaten alone since the psychwardens escorted her aboard the Starlady. Although the puffpot filled her empty stomach, she did not find the comfort she associated with the warmth of her favorite food. The peace of her meal was marred by the cold certainty that Rietta would find a way to make Muse pay for this act of independence.

Rietta was talking at the communit when Muse returned to their shared suite at the hotel. "...and after she upset the Nightside show, she walked out. I've told you people before, she is dangerously rebellious and uncooperative, not at all what you lead me to believe... What if she becomes violent? I won't be responsible for her if she gets away from me again... If I use the Zombine constantly, the media will notice. Besides, now she knows I've got it she won't let me near her. You've got to do something about her, this tour is booked solid, she's not producing and the media are getting restless."

Muse slipped into the room Rietta had chosen for her. There were two glossy black packages from Nightside designs on the bed. The larger one contained the purple and chartreuse dress in her size, with accessories, including instructions for programming controls (in the right shoulder pad) to make the dress flash in any of several sequences or on synch with the audio controls (in the left shoulder pad). It landed on the floor with a crash when Muse dropped it to open the smaller box.

A sweet fragrance rose from the box.
An entire garment spun of a single thread, without seams or hem, a wessersilk scarf was a common luxury. A seamless hooded gown which hung to her feet was an unimaginable rarity, and Muse owned it. Kicking aside the turquoise bubble suit Rietta had picked for her to model while shopping, Muse drew the scented robe over her head. The wonder of wessersilk enveloped her. It flowed around her as she moved and seemed to embrace her, caress her skin. Muse found pockets at the sides and felt profoundly satisfied. Rietta entered to interrupt her pleasure.

"Have you ever seen the crawly beasts that spin those things? Nasty vermin with too many legs, they eat everything that moves including each other. They're so stupid they need a loom to spin on. I can't imagine what possessed you to buy such an ugly, smelly sack." Rietta's hands were not in view. "Erod at Nightside gave me a special deal on it because they it's been in stock for so long, so I got the Cycling Niteglo for you, too. Couldn't let it go at that price. Where did you disappear to?"

Muse moved away, checking the distance to the hygiene chamber behind her. Rietta didn't wait long for a response.

"Oh. Now you've had your little fling, I expect you to settle down and participate in the entertainment. You are here to smile and laugh and speak pleasantly." Rietta displayed the green dispenser dome, "I am authorized to use this if you cannot see your way to cooperate. Have I made myself clear? Good. There is a reception at Farghil's this evening, with a galaxy of stars and big names. The new Niteglo will be a sensation. Wear it."

Rietta triggered the lock as she swept out the door. The supple wessersilk sighed as Muse removed it. The rigid Niteglo nightmare clattered and jangled as she fought her way into it and struggled with the complex arrangement of fasteners. Staggering briefly before finding her balance under its weight, she laughed a small laugh. It could not be heard over the clangor of the dress as Muse entered the hygiene chamber to see if a hot bath would improve the stiff garment.

Muse knew Rietta was in the room without opening her eyes. She had known it without waking up. Rietta's booming voice had developed a whine as she repeated her explanation to anyone who would listen.

"...an accident. The dress was heavy and she lost her balance while she checked her bath... It was an accident, she tried the dress on and it was too heavy. It was an accident..."

"You may give that story to the media if you like, but we both know it is not true." The deep liquid voice had needles of ice in it. "You were given the responsibility for bringing her into society and you drove her to a suicide attempt."

"She's awake." A precise voice with no emotion.

"Muse, you can stop pretending." The liquid voice was warmer, almost tepid. "You've been unconscious for two days, Muse. We need to talk with you." The words were measured and bland.

Muse sighed and opened her eyes. A bone thin psychwarden in white stood beside her bed. He nodded to a tech watching the medcom, who left the room. He faced Rietta as she inhaled to begin her commentary.

"Rietta, if you wish to remain here, you will be silent."

Rietta swallowed her opinion as the psychwarden turned back to Muse.

"Why, Muse?" He waited silently.

"I thought it would improve the dress."

"Vandalism!" Rietta sputtered. The psychwarden scowled at her.

"Did you consider, given the properties of the dress, that you might have been killed?"

Muse considered.

"It would be an alternative to wearing it." She didn't quite smile.

Rietta lost control. "That dress is a work of art! The highest fashion! A technological achievement!"

"Rietta!" The liquid voice solidified with sharp edges. He spoke to Muse, blunting his tone, "I see we've made some mistakes with you. Rietta has been one of them."

Rietta huffed loudly and left the room.

"We have this to propose." He slipped a cube into Muse's handcomp and offered it to her. "Credit compensation for the remainder of the trip, unused credit from your shopping sprees, the quarter million, and of course, what you bought is yours. There will be a cruise ship cabin back to Mendez Three, or elsewhere if you prefer not to return to your old position. See...here, we've made changes in your wage rating with more housing credit and a corresponding adjustment in recreational credit..."

Muse scanned the contract scrolling on the handcomp. The psychwarden leaned over her, pointing out specifics and details, pressing her for a decision in a liquid honey voice. She activated the cube and registered her thumbprint. The tingle lasted a moment, then she copied the cube into the memory.

"My books," Muse returned the handcomp, "where did Rietta put them?"

Rietta was summoned and produced the books with no comment, but disapproval twisted her face. The psychwarden received and inspected them before passing them to an impatient Muse, who caressed the spines intimately rather than putting them aside. She lay back and turned away from her visitors, closing her eyes. The psychwarden guided Rietta out of the room.

"Rietta, while Muse remains with us there will be no interviews, no public meals and limited media exposure. Until her replacement is available, her activities are restricted..." The door closed behind them with a whisper and Muse fell asleep.

"That dress will not do for today."

The wessersilk shadow enfolded Muse as she sat on the bed reading. She did not allow Rietta's entrance to distract her from the poet, alone in a drifting scout ship, waiting for his reclamation unit to fail. The slim volume of poetry that had cost Muse half a year's consumer credit, was all Iyon Harrach had lived to write. Rietta pulled the book from Muse's hands and tossed it across the room.

"Erod's forgiven you for destroying his creation and he even repaired it, worked out the problems, made it lighter. It was just delivered. You'll wear it to VillaDamore this afternoon." Rietta deposited a large black box on the bed while Muse scrambled after her book.

"Take my replacement."

"She'll be here in three days. You thumbed a contract saying you'll perform until then."

"I'll wear the wessersilk."

"You can't wear the wessersilk to VillaDamore!" There was an unfamiliar note of panic in Rietta's voice. "That robe was commissioned for Annasi, Henry Burgoine's wife. The crawlies took so long spinning it that she died first. It would be tactless to wear it at The King's home. We'll be introduced to Burgoine, himself, at a reception there. He took his wife's death hard, no telling what he would do if he recognized the dress. The Niteglo, definitely." Rietta opened the box and lifted the pulsating purple and chartreuse dress from it.

"How sweet, he charged it for you." Her voice got hard. "Put it on."

The hygiene chamber was beyond Rietta, the bed between Muse and the door. Rietta held out the dress. Muse cringed away from it, looking again at the door beyond the bed.

"Don't try it." Rietta dropped the dress on the bed as she lunged to grab Muse's arm. "I'm not going to miss this opportunity to meet Burgoine the Groin, and you're part of the show." She snatched the front of the wessersilk gown, "Take it off before I tear it off. You will cooperate, this once, on my terms." Rietta began yanking at the wessersilk to pull it over Muse's head. Resistance seemed pointless so Muse complied.

The shining black eye of the telelens rode beside the right ear of a pudgy balding media rep. The control pad on his left wrist held his attention as he adjusted the focal range. The eye winked and leered at Muse, reflecting the bilious glare of her dress in the private carrier provided for official guests at VillaDamore. Rietta rattled on.

"...of course there are no hard feelings. Accidents happen, after all. She has a difficult time expressing herself, with this problem shyness, but I know she loves the dress and couldn't wait for an occasion to wear it. Isn't that so, Muse?"

Muse looked out the window. She and twenty or so official others were trapped in the carrier with Rietta's persistence, waiting for release at the end of the ride. A young, buxom, uniformed tour guide recited an announcement that the tour of VillaDamore and the H.L.B. Biographical Museum would include Annasi's bedroom, preserved as she left it, a collection of The King's stage costumes, and a look into Burgoine's private kitchen in the New Wing, where his personal cook might be seen preparing a meal from the soil grown foods that Burgoine preferred. The tour would end at the house theater for a private showing of the documentary "This Is The King", followed by a premier viewing of the latest LTL (larger than life) vid staring Henry Leroi Burgoine. The promised conclusion for the evening was a rare reception with The King himself available for questions.

Although Muse stood well away from the tour group and made an effort not to move unnecessarily, the dress flashed and shimmered and successfully clamored for attention. Rietta frowned at her when Muse chose a seat near the back of the theater, but lost interest when the show began. When her dress started to throb with the music, Muse became queasy and found her way to the fringed velvet draperies across the back wall of the auditorium. To get the dress away from the music and herself away from lewd dance sequences, Muse ducked behind the deep red velvet curtain where it parted to expose the glass tech booth.

An open doorway marked with an exit sign waited an arm's length away. Muse investigated, discovering a hall, well lit to indicate the destination expected of most travelers there. In the other direction, a mysterious, inviting darkness drew Muse. At its end she found another deep red velvet curtain. Behind her, she could hear the grinding thump of Loins Burgoine's most popular numbers. Her dress kept time with the bass. She moved the curtain aside.

In the glow of her dress, Muse could see a hand wide gap in the corner where the ISISS (Internally Supported Interlocking Structural System) panels did not meet. Fingering the heavy velvet she studied the empty blackness beyond the crack. She looked over her shoulder, back toward the light, then worked the edges of the flexible ISISS panels a bit farther apart. With a rattle and clatter and popping of bangles, Muse squeezed through.

The new diagonal wing intersecting the original structure created a wedge of forgotten space, now filled with a wavering green light radiating from the Niteglo dress. The space was empty, except for dust. Muse sighed in contentment as she sat on the floor of this hidden paradise and removed her shoes. Later, she heard the theater empty in the distance and knew the party was progressing toward the refreshment area to be fed and lubricated and eventually launched homeward. Muse saw no reason to join them, and luxuriating in the solitude, she drifted off to sleep.

It was the light that woke Muse. A splash of yellow washed the ceiling from another gap, this one at the top of an ISISS panel behind her. There were sounds of liquid being poured from bottle to glass and Muse remembered where she was. As she shifted her position, the dress made itself known. She paused unbreathing until she was certain that the parties in the illuminated room had not noticed the racket. Then carefully, wincing over each rustle and click, she unfastened the noisemaker and eased it to the floor. Her undergarments glowed white in the reflected gloom. Muse discarded them as well and waited. In time came the sound of a glass being rinsed, a door being closed as the light went out, leaving Muse in the flickering twilight of the fading Niteglo. Long moments later she heard the distant sound of another door closing.

Ear to panel, Muse heard the silence of an empty room.

Her body was beginning to make demands which would eventually become urgent. It was necessary that Muse abandon this secret haven. Cross members in the back of the ISISS panels provided toeholds and finger grips until Muse could hook her elbows over the edge and squeeze across to look into the closet below. One side was a wet bar, the other, nearly total shadow, seemed to have a jacket or coat hanging under the shelf.

Up and over the edge, Muse set a foot on the corner of the wet bar while she nudged the door open with her other foot. She was rewarded by a heart stopping flood of light as the bar light snapped on automatically with the opening door. Muse caught her breath in awe. A whole room full of books! Burgoine the Groin had a private library. Muse smelled the fragrance of leather and wood and paper, printed and bound. She saw no sign of a roomcomp, but every shelf was heavy with the gift of Gutenberg. Room lights responded to Muse's movements as she inspected the contents of this hidden treasure. Too soon her body asserted its needs again, overriding curiosity.

Muse carefully eased the door open and found a corridor outside. A few steps away, a narrow metallic ring around the hall marked a security field. The hand pad that controlled it sat facing away on a small ornate table just beyond the field ring, convenient for The King and his household staff to pat as they entered the private sections of the mansion. Past that, Muse saw signs indicating lounges containing hygiene chambers around the corner.

She slipped from the room and into a shadow. A furtive blur intent on invisibility, Muse crossed the hall and crouched behind a large potted plant.

No sound but her heart.

No motion but her breath.

With a leap she cleared the security field and dashed toward the lounge. Her journey from the locked safety of the hygiene chamber back through the theater into the refuge was less strenuous, more stealthy and equally uneventful. But necessary. Muse had plans and they started with disabling the marching band on her only available dress.

The existence of Henry Burgoine's private library fed her imagination while she worked. The task was barely finished when the first group of pilgrims entered the theater to be entertained, informed and enlightened by "This Is The King". She found the Niteglo easier to wear with the modifications she had made and joined the crowd as it left the auditorium. The public carrier that served VillaDamore left its passengers in the hotel district. The Niteglo nemesis was beginning to absorb a charge from the daylight and the contrast between the purple and chartreuse became deeper. Muse hurried to the shared hotel suite.

Outside the door she hesitated, squared her shoulders, and reached for the security pad. An angry roar shook the door from inside. The liquid voice of the thin psychwarden was a deluge of fury. Rietta whined and shouted in response. Retreating from the storm, Muse sought the drop shaft, intent on finding a food service.

There were no dark corners in the ground floor food service. There were no dark corners. The Niteglo prevented any place Muse went from being dark. Removal of the rhythm section had damaged the circuitry and the dress pulsated erratically as Muse programmed and ate her puffpot. From a public communit nearby, she called Rietta in the suite above.

"Rietta? I'm at the ground floor food service." In the screen she could see the psychwarden looking over Rietta's shoulder, "Would you come down here, please?"

"Where did you run off to? What happened to the Niteglo!" Rietta stopped when the psychwarden said something Muse could not hear. "Yes, we'll be right down. Don't go away!"

Rietta and the psychwarden did not see Muse rising in the lift shaft as they dropped to the ground floor to meet her. Muse moved quickly to her room and stripped off the Cycling Niteglo. She put the gray onsers on, one over the other and topped them with the wessersilk. The smaller books from her library went into pockets under the gray robe and the largest one fit into a beaded accessory bag Rietta had forced on her. She hesitated briefly over the handcomp and clipped it to a loop on a oneser. As an afterthought, she removed the ID bracelet, stripped it of credit discs and hung it with the tattered hulk of the Niteglo. With soft black slippers on her feet, she rode the drop shaft and started across the lobby. Rietta's strident tones reached her before Muse got to the door, but Rietta was not searching for a hooded wessersilk shadow and so Muse escaped her notice.

Later, on the public carrier, Muse inspected the purchases of a shopping spree without the benefit of Rietta's advice. A skin lamp designed for wilderness camping, the membrane generator that powered it folded into a case slightly larger than a handcomp and could be crammed into the accessory bag with the blank book. The lamp part broke down into two pocket sized pieces. A visit to a small expensive shop specializing in soil grown food and imported gourmet delicacies provided her with a variety of cheeses, a package of crackers and some dried fruit. With ingenuity, Muse managed to find places to carry it all. Carrying larger items could be a problem, but an eleven bedroom mansion should have bedding to spare and food service units to feed the staff. With discretion, Muse decided, she could meet her needs.

When the carrier arrived at VillaDamore, she merged with the tourists, paid her admission to the H.L.B. Biographical Museum and made her way into the theater where "This Is The King" was in progress once more. No one noticed her slip behind the curtain at the rear. Muse knew her way through the door and toward the darkness. She paused briefly to assemble the skin lamp; slipping the membrane over the frame, making connections.
A light flared.
Pulling aside the final curtain, Muse went home.