Part 2 (1/2)

”It's a Chalcopyritic finish. Twelve Plank model, isn't it? Made on Amropolus? With the Yhu Hive tuner?”

”That's right.” Rachael brightened, turned in her seat. ”Do you play?”

”No.” The man sounded apologetic. ”Wish I did.

I'm afraid my musical abilities are pretty nonexistent.

But I know enough to be able to appreciate a skilled performer when I hear one. However briefly.” Again the l.u.s.trous grin.

”Is that so?” Rachael's tone was turning from cool to coy. ”I can understand when you say you know tal- ent when you hear it, but it seems to me you're doing more looking than listening.”

”I can't see talent, no,” the man replied. He seemed uncomfortable, shy, yet unwilling to retreat into silence.

”But sensitivity and emotional flexibility, those I think I can see.”

”Really?” Rachael responded, flattered and pleased.

”Are you trying to flatter me?”

”I am flattering you, aren't I?” he said with disarm- ing directness. It was honestly a question.

Rachael controlled herself a few seconds longer, then broke into a high, girlish giggle that contrasted strikingly with her normal husky speaking voice.

”All right, I suppose you are.” She eyed him inter- estedly. ”Next you're going to ask me to please come over to your place and play something for you.”

”That would be nice, yes,” the man replied openly.

Just in time he added, ”But I'm afraid I can't. I don't even know where I'm going to be staying on Cacha- lot.”

Rachael stared at him. ”I think you mean it. About just wanting to listen to the music.”

”That's what I said, wasn't it? If we do meet again, my name is Merced. Pucara Merced.”

”Rachael Xamantina.”

”Tell me,” he said, s.h.i.+fting in his seat as they skipped a light b.u.mp in the atmosphere, ”on direc- tional projections, can you change keys and limbs simultaneously?”

”Sometimes,” She sounded enthusiastic. Cora stared resolutely out the port. ”It's hard, though, when you're concentrating on the music and trying to produce the matching neurologic responses in your audience. It's so difficult just to execute those properly, without try- ing to worry about physiological orientation, too.

There's so d.a.m.n much to concentrate on.”

”I know.”

”Would you like me to play something for you now, maybe?” She swung the lyre-shaped instrument into playing position, her left hand caressing the strings, the right poised over the power controls and projector sen- sors. ”In spite of what my mother says, I don't think the pilot would mind.”

”It's not a question of the pilot's minding,” he said.

thoughtfully. ”I know you can keep the level down.

But it wouldn't be courteous to our fellow pa.s.sengers.

They might not all be music lovers. Besides,” and he smiled slightly again, ”you might accidentally put out the lights, or drop the temperature thirty degrees.”