Slow Boat to Minbar - Part 4
At noon, Roger was still asleep. Dorothy was loathed to wake him, especially after the headache he'd suffered; however, he did have to eat or he might end up getting sick. She thought she would give him another hour, then she'd wake him. Just as she'd decided, there was a knock at the door. Racing to the door, Dorothy had it opened before the second knock fell. She found herself facing the Centauri proprietor they'd met yesterday. In his arms a very large white box rested.
"Ah, fair lady, I..." Dorothy shushed him and he brought his voice down from Centauri volume to a creditable whisper. "I bring you your gown for the dance. Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. I will be at the waltz this trip. Usually I don't bother, but I think I'll make an exception this time."
Dorothy gave him a little smile. "Thank you. You're very kind, Lord...?"
"Ah, I'm no Lord, young lady, just a humble shopkeeper."
"I would invite you in, but..."
"Ah, no, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll see you at the waltz, unless you wish to visit my shop again." Taking her hand, he bowed over it, handed her the box, then strolled back down the corridor towards his shop.
Dorothy easily hefted the clumsy box, laying it on the coffee table. Emerald green taffeta slid through her fingers as she inspected the dress.
"Very pretty."
"I was going to wake you in an hour, Roger."
He wrapped his black robe around him as he sat down on the couch. "I almost had a nightmare and I didn't want to see what would happen if I had one in hyperspace."
"That is prudent."
He rubbed one eye sleepily as he touched the dress delicately. "It looks lovely. You'll be the belle of the ball."
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Most ships could reach Minbar in a few days, but part of the allure of travelling by a cruiser was the chance to stop and observe celestial phenomena, the chance to wax nostalgic about older, more civilized days. Eating fancy food and drinking fancy drinks and leisurely playing games and dancing long hours into the night. Roger and Dorothy were invited to the Captain's table every night, even if the Captain himself was not often seen there. Dorothy covered her lack of eating with girlish comments of having to "watch her figure". Days passed pleasantly, slowly.
Roger tried to make sure that his exercise times fell when most people weren't there. It was bad enough that the security people got nervous seeing how strong Roger was. They, at least, had some idea that he wasn't quite the man he appeared to be.
Most of the passengers they saw were middle-aged and older. They watched the young couple with envy, remembering days when they were as beautiful and in love. Days when they held hands and saw only each other and nothing else. They heard many comments about how striking a couple they were - the petite redhead and the mysterious man. They went to two of the plays and enjoyed the string quartet at every opportunity. They avoided the lounges whenever anyone was playing. On the sixth day, the ship had stopped at one of the nebulas for several hours. Dorothy and Roger stood for a long time, watching the lovely colors swirl in the intricate forces of magnetism, arms around each other.
By far, though, they enjoyed dancing. Dorothy had brought dresses suitable for ballroom dances. However, they avoided the kinds of dances that would require Roger to lift Dorothy any great height or for any prolonged amount of time. They also shunned anything where they didn't recognize the type of music. Although the body slammers and robot dancers intrigued both of them, they figured it'd be a bad idea if either of them joined in.
On the 7th day, Roger took the bathroom as Dorothy dressed in the bedroom. She didn't need the mirror to apply her makeup or shrug into her gown. The emerald green taffeta whirled with her as she spun in practice twirls. The garnets Roger bought her sparkled around her throat, ears and wrist. She had had faux hair plaited with her own so that she could wear it tonight piled on her head in a sophisticated twist, a strand of industrial diamonds woven through it. Bright red lipstick accentuated her rosebud lips. She was dressed in minutes.
Roger appeared an hour later. He was dressed in pure black, the shirt a plain black silk with no ruffles. The cut of the tuxedo was far more popular back home which made Roger appear even more exotic. To Dorothy he looked like the hero of an old movie. Roger preened a little as she smoothed down his lapels and twitched his tie a little to lie flatter.
Roger tugged the front of the tux jacket down, then offered his arm to her. Admiring glances followed as they swept down the halls to the biggest ballroom on the Heinlein. It was lit with the simulated light of chandeliers. There were already quite a number of people there, including the Centauri who had made Dorothy's gown. He sat alone at a table towards the front where he could keep an eye on the floor. As Dorothy bowed her head in his direction, he saluted her with the glass of brivari. Roger steered her over to his table.
"I'm glad to see you here."
The Centauri smiled as Roger pulled out a chair. Dorothy sat gracefully, declining her head genteely as he offered to pour her a glass. Roger took the glass proffered.
"Mr. Smith, I wouldn't miss it for anything. I've created a number of dresses for a number of lovely, and not quite so lovely, ladies, but I think yours is one of my best works so far. It is a joy to create a work of art for a lady who is one."
Roger choked a bit on his brivari. Not that the Centauri could possibly know, but that was hardly the first time Roger had heard Dorothy described in very similar words. They had been very careful not to let anyone know that Dorothy was an android on this trip. Both of them preferred the attention they received was due to themselves as a striking young couple, not as a side show at a carnival.
Roger looked around the room at the other couples. Most of them were older. A couple of the women were still very striking, regal presences among the over-dressed, over made-up, preening sychophants. The men ranged from the aristocratic to the downright crass. Two of the couples seemed almost shabby, but there was a quiet dignity about them that Roger found touching. They seemed to be friends, sitting at a back table talking quietly.
A few minutes later the first chords started and Roger stood, offered Dorothy his arm and they headed onto the floor. They squared off and Roger bowed gallantly as she curtsied. He enfolded her hand in his. They drew close, a little closer than the absolutely "proper" distance, but not enough to scandalize any of the other couples. The couples began an easy dance across the faux wood floor, taffeta whispering, shoes scuffing softly as they whirled around.
Roger and Dorothy were surprised at how many of the couples seemed quite comfortable in the old-fashioned dance. Even hundreds of years later, it seemed the waltz had not completely lost its allure. At least to the older couples. There was only one couple younger than they appeared. After all, they really couldn't be younger than Dorothy, but no one else needed to know that.
The waltz started easily, slowly, with tunes familiar to all. The footwork was simple. Roger kept to the outer circle, knowing his steps were a bit bigger than most of the others. A few of the others began to move with their speed and stride. After 4 straight dances, a few of the couples headed to the tables to refresh themselves as those with more stamina kept moving.
Roger and Dorothy did not speak much, choosing to have their conversation telepathically rather than risk being overheard. Not that they'd discuss anything remotely private, but Roger liked the orderly flow of Dorothy's mind. Neither of their minds moved too far from the rhythm. Their passes were impeccable as well as their footwork. They smiled and moved in increasingly intrinsic patterns, switching partners and sliding in and out of various groups. Appreciative murmers followed them as they gracefully manuevered the dancefloor.
A few hours later, they fiinally decided to take a break. They headed back to their table only to find the shopkeep had gone, but had left them a bottle of chilling champagne. Roger popped the cork and spilled the bubbles into the flutes. He handed her one.
"A toast," he smiled. "To the most beautiful woman in this or any other universe."
Dorothy's eyes widened. "Truly?"
"I mean it." He took her hand in his, rubbing small circles in her palm, as he downed the glass. She sipped a little, but it was never prudent for an android to drink too much alcohol. It tended to play havoc with certain systems, not to mention its corrosive properties. Both of their gloves blunted the sensation of his strokes, but she could feel the love he projected. It was warm, gentle, but she could feel his doubts still haunting him.
Roger...
He put down the flute. He caressed her cheek with his hand. Only you, Dorothy. I've cared for other people, thought I loved a few, but I know the difference. I love you.
She experienced a strange sensation. There were no lies here, no half truths. In this place where their minds met and meshed, he couldn't have been more open. Her mind felt strangely slow and numb. Time ticked in quiet, leadened measures. She looked into the black eyes of the man who was her protector, her employer, her friend. He was the most powerful man in Paradigm City, no matter what Alex Rosewater thought. Cast in the name of God Even he had no idea what those words meant and why he was the only one at home who could control the power of old.
And he loved her.
She hadn't been sure of her own feelings for him at first, but she had realized it long before he did that something was happening between them, no matter how much he resisted. It was as if they had been made to be together, brought together by forces neither of them understood. She had heard of the term "soulmates", but until that moment she had never understood it. She felt her face falling into astonishment. She had a soul. She was a machine, but something inside of her told her she was much more.
So much more, Dorothy.
Part of her wanted to cry. Part of her was glad she couldn't.
"Dance with me, Roger." She stood and held out her hand to him.
And the whisper of taffeta swept through the room for the rest of the night.