Morgan Selwood 3: A Victory Celebration Read Free

waited on the
pavement with the others while Bella paid the driver. A group of girls, their
hair curled and striped in colors to match their short, tight dresses, minced
past them.
    "They'll be on their way to pick up a fleeter,"
said Madra, the lass from Catering.
    Leila sighed, gazing after them. "I
wish we could dye our hair in the Fleet."
    Bella snorted. "It would cost you a
fortune, especially if you went for yellow. Let's go eat." She led the way
up the stairs, talking as she walked. "I looked up a few reviews of this
place. It’s won all sorts of prizes for food and wine and the service is meant
to be the best."
    An attractive young man wearing a dark red
suit led them up the stairs to a private balcony on the first floor. A slight
breeze stirred the potted plants, bringing with it the smells of food, perfume,
foliage. So different from scrubbed, space ship air.
    "Why don’t we do the tasting menu?"
Bella said. "I haven’t eaten this world’s food before. Has anybody else?"
She looked around the table.
    "That sounds like a great idea," Leila
said. "Little bits of everything with matching wines."
    Bella glanced through the wine list. "Everybody
okay with white to start with?" She beckoned the hovering waiter. "We’ll
have one of those," she said, pointing at one of the entries.
    "Here’s to us, ladies," said
Nali, raising her glass when the wine had been poured. Morgan remembered she
was from logistics. Everybody raised their glass and drank. The wine was
pleasant, fruity and fragrant.
    "Is there wine where you come from?"
asked Nali.
    "Oh, yes," said Morgan. "Our
cultures are similar in many respects. I’m looking forward to trying the food."
Many, many respects. She rested her chin on her fist, remembering dinners
shared with Makasa, and her good friend Carissa. She wondered where they were,
what they were doing? Had Makasa found someone to replace her? Had Carissa made
captain yet? She deserved to.
    Morgan sat back and listened to the women
talk about boyfriends and clothes and home worlds, so normal, so human. The
sound of the city murmured a muted accompaniment, now and then highlighted by
the whine of a vehicle passing by. All the while, the food came, small
servings, exquisitely presented, with a different small glass of wine. Each
time a new morsel came it generated discussion amongst the group, comparing and
rating the food, deciding how it was prepared. Morgan drank moderately,
conscious of the fact that they were going dancing later, and drank lots of
water. The others did the same.
    They split the bill between them, each of
them transferring their share to Bella’s card so she could pay. It had been a marvelous
meal and, as the reviews had said, the service had been wonderful, attentive
without being obtrusive. Bella asked the house master to organize a taxi for
them, thanked him and left a generous tip.
    "We're going to Trimpathi's ,"
Leila said to the driver when the women had settled in the taxi. The fellow
nodded, then entered the location into the skimmer's control. "It's a top
dance club," Leila explained, "and uniforms are not allowed."
    Morgan grinned. "Sounds good to me."
    The taxi stopped outside an ornate
pavilion, a spectacular concoction of curves and arches all glowing with color
that rippled like water. The name Trimpathi's flashed and danced, letter
by letter, across the arch. Very large men wearing beautifully cut suits stood
discreetly near the doorway. Morgan was about to step forward when Bella caught
her arm. "Hang on. Let's not get involved in that."
    One of the doormen placed a massive hand on
the shoulder of a uniformed fleeter approaching the entrance. "No
uniforms. Sorry."
    "What, d'you mean we can't go in?"
The sergeant had had more than enough to drink, slurring his words.  
    "See the sign? No uniforms."
    "Get your hands off me." The
drunk squirmed, trying to shrug off the doorman's grip, his face contorted with
effort. Without the big man seeming to do more than flick his