Requiem for a Ruler of Worlds Read Online Free PDF Page B

forever, he knew, but he often longed for the lost days when work could be done at home. Earthservice rationales spoke of the efficiency of centralization, and of socialization, but many nursed the unspoken suspicion that other reasons were the true concern. Authority and its trappings had to be displayed, and served.
    Floyt, immersed in these thoughts, almost passed her by without a sideways glance.
    "Excuse me, sir? Citizen?"
    She was standing near the cul-de-sac off a chuteshaft alcove where the large urbanplex map was located. She had a lost look about her and held a scrap of paper.
    The woman was a true heartpulse, taller than most men, tall as an offworlder, with coppery skin and swirling black hair in an arrangement that looked windblown yet artful.
    She wore sheer beige body swathings, glint anklets, minimal soleskins, and a high choker of tourmalines.
    He realized that he was gawking. After some initial fumbling, he got out, "Yes? Me ?"
    It could be no one else; no other pedestrians were nearby.
    "I'm more than a little turned around, I'm afraid. If you wouldn't mind … " She gestured vaguely at the map cul-de-sac.
    "Of course."
    Floyt felt an involuntary tingle of excitement as he entered the cul-de-sac with her. The map niches in the older plexes were rather secluded; he himself had kissed a girl or two in them as a young man.
    He got a grip on himself. She simply wanted directions. No doubt a woman so attractive was tired of flirtation, especially from middle-aged men who were out of practice. Don't make a fool of yourself, Hobart!
    Still, the exotic scent she wore made him giddy as he accepted the scrap of paper. After she'd thanked him, his gaze stayed on hers a half second too long, while he admired her clear green eyes and high-arched brows and full, glistening lips. He felt vaguely unfaithful until he remembered that his marriage was about to be terminated.
    He bent to the map. She was standing behind him; he couldn't stop himself from breathing deeply, inhaling her perfume. He was certain that she was an actress or dancer.
    He pointed to the map. "You see, we're right here. It's easy to get turned around in those lower interchanges, I know."
    He referred to the paper, eyes flickering for an instant's glimpse of long, beautifully formed legs that were bewitchingly posed. His glance returned to the map.
    "Now, you take a right turn here at the thighs, and then you—" He gasped in horror at his slip, turning instantly to apologize. It saved him. She had a medical styrette in her hand, poised to thrust home. She was so surprised by his sudden whirl, though, that she hesitated for a critical instant.
    Gorgeous, statuesque women do not lure strangers into out-of-the-way places to give them flu shots! He knew instantly that he was in danger, probably deadly danger. The Hobart Floyt who reacted to it was some entity of reflex with whom the conscious man was quite unacquainted. He threw himself back flat against the map and the styrette just missed his shoulder.
    Before she could recover, he shouldered past her, stumbling clear. She came after him again. He pulled over a recycling can, bouncing it into her path and scattering trash. She struck her shin on it, falling, but she'd nearly cornered him.
    He shouted for help as, evidently used to this sort of thing, she sprang up to cut off his escape. She didn't look unnerved by his yelling.
    "Stop! Get back!" he hollered as they maneuvered, he to evade or defend, she to close. "What're you doing? You've confused me with someone else!"
    "Come here, you damn groundling!" she said under her breath. He had no time to spare for being flabbergasted that she was an offworlder. She was the first he'd ever seen in person.
    A crumpled beverage cup bearing Antarctica's colors had left a puddle on the ground, and Floyt faked left, toward it. Countering him, the woman stepped into the spilled drink; her soleskinned foot slid.
    In the instant it took her to regain her balance, Floyt