The Last Dancer | Page 7

stood, a little uncertainly. "Thank you for talking with me. I--never mind. Thank you. I appreciated the opportunity to know you a little better."
A look of distant incomprehension flickered across Alaya's features, was gone. Alaya said with real compassion, "I'm sorry you have to go. But it's only normal for you to grieve for the life you leave behind. If Goddess Home has not been everything you wanted, it has still been your home."
Jasmine stood still a beat. Then she said, simply, "Thank you," and left.
She caught the 9:15 Bullet with twenty seconds to spare.

2.
At speeds surpassing those of aircraft, the Bullet sped eastward through an evacuated tunnel beneath the surface of Earth.
Jasmine had paid for passage to Atlanta, Georgia. Fifteen minutes before the Bullet was scheduled to stop in Dallas she rose from her seat and went to the bathroom. In the bathroom she stripped off her jumpsuit and her boots. Standing naked before the mirror she flicked through the settings in her makeup key; her skin, tuned black to match the jumpsuit, changed colors rapidly, a brief storm of rainbows, and then stabilized on a dark shade of gold. Her lips and eyelids turned a pale golden green; a speckle of faint silver stars appeared immediately beneath her rather high cheekbones. Jasmine considered contact lenses for her eyes, decided against it--her makeup implant was almost ten years old, and she had never had it updated. Unlike the more recent makeup implants, her skin did not glow and the implant had not even touched her eyes. If she wanted to change the color of her eyes, contact lenses were her only option.
She shook her hair out as it changed colors to a shade of strawberry blond, then changed the part and tied it into a long ponytail. From her bag Jasmine withdrew a pair of sandals and a yellow sundress and put them on. She tapped the ID key on her handheld twice, waited a moment, and tapped it a third time. The handheld said quietly, "Which ID do you wish?"
There were three IDs in the handheld; Denice Daimara, Jasmine Martinez, and Erika Muller. The first was the name they had known her by in Public Labor, when she was nine years old; the last two identities had been programmed for her by Trent the Uncatchable, the last day he had ever spent on Earth, before beginning what newsdancers had called the Long Run.
Jasmine said softly, "Erika."
The handheld said, "Enabled."
In Dallas the rain poured down out of the black night sky.
At Dallas Interworld Spaceport Erika Muller stopped at the TransPlanet booth, still slightly wet from the rain outside; the Bullet debarking station was separated from Spaceport Gate A-8 by thirty meters of empty space. When she spoke her voice had picked up a slight but noticeable New York accent. "I'm here to pick up my ticket. Muller, Erika."
The 'bot at the counter said politely, in a voice strongly reminiscent of sensable star Adam Selstrom, "Yes, 'Selle Muller. Please identify."
Erika touched her handheld to the payment strip; it lit green. Adam Selstrom's voice said, "Thank you, 'Selle Muller. Your semiballistic leaves from Gate A-11 at 1:05 a.m.; it arrives at Unification Spaceport, New York, at 4:12 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. Thank you for traveling with TransPlanet."
Her ticket specified a window seat. Once launch boost ceased, the slim, short man who had been seated next to Erika Muller tried to start up a conversation. "What are you going to New York for, anyway? I've got a sales meeting myself--I sell high-speed molar memory products. Capitol City's no fun but the rest of New York is still good for--"
The clouds beneath her were a pale ocean that nearly hid the Earth from view; patches of blue and brown peeked through the cotton white. The curve of Earth grew visible as she watched. Without looking at the man at her side Erika said, "I don't want to talk to you," and then turned her head away from him and looked out the window, at the sphere of the Earth, the rest of the way down to New York.
She did not think she had been followed after leaving Goddess Home.
At least not in Realtime--and if anyone had attempted to follow her through the Crystal Wind, Erika thought that Ralf the Wise and Powerful would surely have stopped them.
At 4:48 a.m., on Friday, June 29, Erika Muller touched her handheld to the cab's meter, waited for the meter light to go green, and stepped from the cab as the canopy swung open.
The dojo sat in the heart of Greenwich Village in lower Manhattan, on the third story of an ancient five-story brownstone walk-up; Robert owned the upper three stories.
The building had no maglev; Erika used the stairs.
On the third floor the stairs let out onto