Chapter Seventeen
Sassinak had made extensive preparations for her meeting the next morning with Captain Cruss. Unless he had illegal Fleet-manufactured detectors, he could not know that a full audio-video hook up linked her office to Ford’s quarters and the bridge. Currald had furnished his most impressive heavyworld marines for an escort through the ship, although Sassinak had chosen Weft guards for her personal safety. She wanted to see if Cruss would overreach himself.
When Currald signalled that Cruss was on his way, she watched on the monitor. The five men and women that sauntered across the grid between ships were unpleasant-looking, even for heavyworlders. They had not bothered to put on clean uniforms, Sassinak noticed; even Cruss looked rumpled and smudged. She glanced briefly at her white upholstered chairs, and muttered a brief curse to rudeness ... no doubt they would do their best to soil her things, and smirk to themselves about it. She knew too many fastidious heavyworlders to believe that they were innately dirty.
By the time they reached Main Deck, Sassinak had heard comments from observers she’d stationed along their path. They had argued about leaving their hand weapons with the guards; Captain Cruss carried a small, roughly globular object which he insisted he must hand-carry to Sassinak himself. She signalled an assent. They had made snide remarks to Currald and the heavyworlder escort, and pointedly turned away from the Wefts. They had lounged insolently on the grabbar in the cargo lift, and commented on the grooming of ship’s crew in terms that had the reporting ensign red-faced. And of course they were late ... a studied discourtesy which Sassinak met with her own. When Gelory ushered them in with cool precision, Sassinak glanced up from a desk covered with datacards.
“Oh! Dear me, I lost track of time.” She could see, behind the heavyworlders, Currald’s flick of a grin: she never lost track of time. But she went on, smoothly and sweetly. “I’m so sorry, Captain Cruss - if you’ll just take a seat - anywhere will do - and give me a moment to clear this.” She turned back to her work, quickly organizing the apparent disarray, and tapping the screen before her with a control wand. Arly, by prearrangement, appeared in the doorway with a hardcopy file, and apologized profusely for interrupting.
“It’s all right. Commander,” said Sass. Arly’s eyes widened at this sudden promotion in rank, but she had the good sense to ride with it. “Are those the current status reports? Good - if you’ll relay these to Com, and tell them to use the Blue code-book - and then ask the Chief Engineer to clear these variations, that will be all.” She handed Arly a stack of datacards and the hardcopy that had just spit from her console. With a quick glance at the file Arly had handed her, she thumbed a control that opened a desk drawer, deposited it therein, and returned her attention to Cruss and his crew. “There, now. We’ve had so much message traffic, it’s taken me this long to sort things out. Captain, I’ve spoken to you - and this is your crew - ?”
Cruss introduced his crew with none of the overused, but filthy, epithets of the day before. They glowered, uniformly, and stank of more than Ireta. Sassinak wondered if their ship were really that short of sanitary facilities, or if they preferred to smell bad.
“May I see your ship’s papers - “ It was not really a request, not with the Zaid-Dayan’s weaponry trained on the transport, and her marines on board. Cruss took a crumpled, stained folder out of the chest pocket of his shipsuit, and tossed it across the room. One of the marines turned to glare at him, and then glanced to Sassinak for guidance, but she did not react, merely picking up the distasteful object and opening it to read. “I’ll also need your personal identification papers,” she said. “Crew ratings - union memberships - if you’ll hand those to Gelory - “ They knew Gelory was a Weft; she could tell by the subtle withdrawal, as if they were afraid a Weft could harm them by skin touch. Sassinak went on reading.
According to the much-smudged (and probably faked) papers, transport and crew were on lease to Newholme, one of the shabbier commercial companies licensed by the Federation Colonial Service to set up colonies. Stamps from a dozen systems blotched the pages. Entry and exit from Sorrell-III, entry and exit from Bay Hill, entry and exit from Cabachon, Drissa, Zaduc, Porss . . , and Diplo. Destination a heavyworld colony two systems away, which Sassinak thought she recalled had reached its start-up quota.
With hardly a sound, Gelory deposited the crew’s individual papers on Sass’s desk, murmuring “Captain,” and drifting back to her place. Sassinak made no comment, and turned to these next, ignoring the squeaks and grunts of her furniture as the heavyworlders shifted in bored insolence, as well as their sighs and muttered curses. With the heavyworlders safely installed in her office. Ford should soon have Varian and Kai - the co-leader she hadn’t met - in his quarters nearby, where they could see the interview without being seen. Until then, she intended to pore over these papers as if they were rare gems.
Luckily they were about as she’d expected, justifying a long examination. Captain Cruss, it turned out, had no master’s license - just a temporary permit from Diplo. He had been a master mate (and what land of rank was that, Sassinak wondered . . . she’d not seen that before) on an ore-hauler for eight years, and second mate on an asteroid-mining shuttle before that. Newholme had granted a temporary waiver of its usual requirements on the basis of Diplo’s permit - that looked like a bribe.
First-mate, senior pilot Zansa, on the other hand, had had a master’s license and once worked for Cobai Chemicals - which implied that her master’s license had been legitimate. But it was stamped “rescinded” in the odd orange ink that nothing could eradicate completely - and with a notation that Zansa had become addicted to bellefleur, a particularly dangerous drug for a ship captain. Sassinak looked up and found Zansa, who bore the characteristic facial scars of a bellefleur addict, though they were all pale and dry.
“I’m clean,” the woman growled. “Been clean five years, and next year I can retake the exams - “
“Shut up,” said Cruss, savagely, and Zansa shrugged, clearly not intimidated. Sassinak went back to the papers. So ... Zansa was the expert, and Cruss the cover - though she wondered why they hadn’t found a legitimate master. Surely they could have done better than a recovering bellefleur addict.
Second pilot Hargit had had a checkered career, with rescinded visa stamps all over his records: charges and some convictions for petty theft, assault and battery, and “disturbance.” That was from Charade, which usually had a pretty tolerant attitude towards disturbances. For the past five years, he’d piloted a cargo hauler between two heavyworlder planets, apparently without incident.
Lifesystems engineer Po was the largest of the five, a gross mass of flesh that escaped his shipsuit where the fastenings had strained from the cloth. He had a toothy grin that made Sassinak want to reach for a stunner - the kind of grin she remembered too well from her days as a slave. He had also been cashiered from the Diplo insystem space militia. She wondered how many of the hopeful colonists in coldsleep on the transport would have a chance to wake up with this . . . person . . . watching over their safety. He’d given up the fight to maintain traditional heavyworlder fitness on shipboard, but Sassinak did not doubt his strength.
And last was the “helper,” Roella. Her papers listed a variety of occupations, in space and on planet, including “entertainer” - which, for someone of her appearance, meant only one thing. She’d also been jailed twice, for “disrespect” - but that was on Courance, where unlike Charade they were very picky indeed.
Plenty of questions to ask, but nothing she wanted to pursue too far, not now. A light came up on her console; she ignored it, and went on reading, rolling the control wand in her fingers. If they were clever, these heavyworlders, they would realize what it was - a stun-wand, as well as a link to her computers. With their backgrounds, they’d all had intimate experience with a stun-wand, somewhere. She finished turning through Roella’s ID packet, and sighed, as if deeply pained by all this. Then she looked up at the tense, angry faces across from her.
“Yes, yes. Captain Cruss,” she said, pouring all the smoothness she could into her voice. “Your papers do seem to be in order, and one cannot fault your chivalry in diverting to investigate a distress call ...” What distress call? For they’d have had to receive it many light years away, the way they’d come. Of course they didn’t know they’d been followed.
But Cruss was explaining, or trying to, that it had not been a normal distress call. Sassinak pushed her own thoughts aside to listen. A homing capsule, intended for the EEC compound ship which had dropped both the Ryxi colony and the exploration team. It had gone astray, somehow been damaged, and been found just beyond the orbit of the outermost planet of this system.
Not bloody likely, Sassinak thought grimly ... it would be like someone in an aircraft happening to notice a single small bead on the end of the runway as they landed. Nothing that size could be detected in FTL flight, and it was more than a little unlikely that they’d come out of FTL on top of it by accident. She was surprised when Cruss stood up, and deposited the battered hunk of metal on her desk with insolent precision. So - that was his surprise - and he had a homing capsule, or part of it. Stripped of its propulsion unit and power pack, it was hardly recognizable. She refrained from touching it, noting only that engraved ID numbers were just visible along one pitted side.
She was not convinced of his story, even when he generously offered to let her extract the capsule’s message from his computer, but she had no intention of arguing with him at this point. She doubted he knew that the Fleet computers had their own way with such capsules - and could extract more than a faked message implanted therein. But all that would come out at the trial. Now she smiled, graciously, and explained her reasons for confining them all to their ship, but with permission to trade for fresh foodstuffs with the locals. Cruss surged to his feet with another stale curse, and his companions followed. Sassinak sat quietly, relaxed: behind them the two Wefts had shifted to their own form, and clung to the angle of bulkhead and overhead. The marine escort was poised, hands hovering over weapons.
“I hope your water supplies are adequate,” she said in the same conversational tone. “The local water is foul-tasting and smells.” Cruss actually growled, a rumble of furious denial that he needed anything, from her or anyone else. “Very well, then,” she went on. “I’m positive you’ll wish to continue on your way as soon as we have received clearance for you. The indigenes will have all the help we can give them. You may be sure of that.” She stood, tapping the wand against her left palm, to watch them leave. Cruss made a motion toward the capsule, but Sassinak lowered the wand to forestall him.
“I think that had better remain,” she said calmly. “Sector will wish to examine it - “ His eyes shifted angrily. Guilty, she thought. What had they done to that thing? And where had it been sent? Surely not all the way to Diplo - - at the sublight speed a capsule traveled, that would take years. His muscles bunched; Sassinak flicked a finger signal and the Wefts reassembled themselves beside him. He flinched, his expression shifting from barely controlled fury and contempt to alarm.
“Good day. Captain,” she said easily, despite a mouth suddenly dry as the crisis passed. Of the others, only Zansa looked longingly toward the pile of personal documents on her desk - Sassinak avoided her eyes until she’d turned to leave.
As soon as the door slid shut, Sassinak relaxed back into her chair and turned it to face the video pickup. Ford quickly hooked their video into her screen, so that she could see them. Varian looked much better today: a vividly alive young woman who reminded Sassinak of herself, with those thick dark curls. But Varian’s eyes were a clear gray, today untinged by the pain or stress that had clouded them the day before. Kai, on the other hand, looked nothing like an expedition leader. Slumped in his seat, pale, a padded suit protecting vulnerable skin . . . and his voice, when he spoke, revealed the strain even this much activity placed on him. He seemed harried, nervous - in a way more normal than Varian, for someone who’d been through a mutiny and forty-three years of coldsleep. Plus whatever had attacked him. She chatted with them, trying to assess Kai’s condition and Varian’s wits. Neither of them had any idea what the Thek presence meant, although Kai told her about the existing cores, found before the mutiny. She was still digesting that when Kai turned formal, and asked if she considered her presence to be the relief of the expeditionary team. “How could it?” she asked, meanwhile wondering why he’d give her such an opening. Did he want to be removed from command? Did he distrust his co-leader? Varian seemed as surprised by his question as Sassinak. Sassinak filled out her quick answer, explaining her understanding of their entirely legitimate position, and reminding them again of her willingness to give them any assistance. Varian accepted this happily, but Kai still seemed constrained. Either he was very sick still, from all that had happened, or something else was wrong. After she’d turned them over to Ford, who would take Kai down to sickbay for Mayerd’s diagnostic unit to work on, and Varian to supply, she sat for awhile, frowning thoughtfully at the screen that had held their image.
She put the ID papers of both transport and crew in a sealed pouch, and stored it safely away for later examination. Dupaynil came in, with two Com specialists, to take the homing capsule’ away. He asked if she wanted to watch them extract the message, but she shook her head. At the moment, she’d take a break from the day’s craziness, and discuss the evening’s menu with her favorite cook.
When the call came in from the survivors’ geologist, one Dimenon, relayed through Com, she collected the Iretan heavyworlders and the expedition co-leaders. Mayerd shepherded Kai, clearly unwilling to let such an interesting case out of her sight, and Ford brought Varian. Dimenon had had a good reason for contacting the cruiser - not only a video of twenty-three small Thek, but an interaction between them and the creature that had attacked Kai. Sassinak had already viewed the tape once, and now in the re-run watched Kai’s reaction to these odd creatures - fringes, they called them. The man was positively terror-struck as the fringes advanced on the Thek, his breathing labored and his skin color poor. He had not moved well, coming into her office, but she thought if a fringe appeared in real life he would somehow manage to run. Pity and disgust contended in her mind. Had he always been like this, or had events overcome him? What did Varian think? Sassinak glanced at her, and realized that she, too, was covertly watching him, her expression guarded.
Sassinak distracted Varian with a question about the fringes, and Mayerd, bless her perception, kept the conversation going thereafter . . . although Kai’s answers, when he spoke, tended to cause a sudden rift. Then the Iretans began to ask their own questions, about the Thek, and their place in the Federation. Sass’s opinion of Aygar’s intelligence climbed another notch. He could think - and, it seemed in the next exchange, he even had a sense of humor. For when Sassinak asked him what weapon his people used against the fringes, he said, “We run,” in a tone of rich irony.
A slight easing of tension, and the conversation continued: fringes and their habits, the aquatic fringes the expedition had observed before the mutiny. Aygar was surprised by that . . . and Sassinak was just wondering how she could shift the conversation to the reptiloids when Varian, answering a question, mentioned the word. Dinosaurs. Fordeliton leaped on it with such eagerness that Sassinak half-expected Varian to recoil suspiciously. But apparently she thought it was natural for a grown man, a Fleet cruiser Executive Officer, to leap into an argument about whether anything resembling a true Old Earth dinosaur could have evolved in such a different world. Varian reeled off a string of names. Ford gaped, and then brought Aygar into it.
Sassinak let the excited exchange continue a minute or so, then put a halt to it with such pointed lack of interest for anything but the political situation that she knew they’d erupt again when her back was turned. So much the better. By the time she ushered the Iretans out, Varian and Kai had practically adopted Ford. She had no trouble persuading them to take all six of the short-listed specialists . . . Varian, in fact, was openly gleeful. She wondered if Mayerd had found out anything from Kai, besides the nature of his injuries and illness, but the medic had spent all her time on physical symptoms.
“It’s no use asking why he’s depressed and nervous until he’s no longer in pain, feverish, and numb in places.”
“I should think numbness preferable to pain,” said Sassinak tartly. “How can he be both?”
Mayerd gave her a look which reminded her she hadn’t eaten on time, and suggested they take a short break. “Eat a bit of that chocolate you keep hidden around here,” she said, “and I’ll have a cup of tea, and we’ll all keep from biting our heads off, shall we?”
“Don’t mother me, Mayerd. I’m not old and decrepit.”
“No,” said Mayerd shrewdly, “but you’re about to meet a fourth-generation ancestor who’s years younger than you are, and for all you know a raving beauty who’ll steal Ford’s heart away and leave you withering in the blast of dead passion.”
Sassinak whooped, and her tension dissolved in an instant. “You - That’s ridiculous!”
“True, O Captain. So are some other people. Done grieving for Huron yet, or are you still feeling so guilty you can’t enjoy your many admirers?”
“You’re making me blush. None of your business, I’d say, except it is, since you’re my physician. Well, yes, I have enjoyed normal - or at least pleasurable - involvement in the last few weeks.”
“Good. About time. That boy Tim’s in awe of you, by the way, so I hope you’re going to let him back into your good graces sometime.”
“Already done, fairy godmother, so let me be.”
“Back to Kai, then. The toxin destroyed nerve tissue, so he’s got sensory deprivation on some areas of skin - nasty, because he doesn’t know when he’s hurt himself. Where the tissue’s not destroyed, it’s stimulated - just like pain, but the brain can’t register constant stimulus like that, so he just gets these odd stabs and twinges, and a general feeling of something very wrong, very deep. His blood count’s off, which probably causes the exhaustion you noticed, and he’s not sleeping well, which doesn’t help. I offered to slap him in one of the big tanks, and let him sleep it off until we got him to Sector, but he refused. Which, in this case, took considerable guts, despite that display while you ran the tape.”
“Umm. It bothered me, particularly in someone in his position.”
“That Varian’s got enough bounce for two,” said Mayerd; Sassinak could detect the faintest trace of distaste, and knew that Mayerd would always prefer a patient to a patient’s healthy friend. With that in mind, she suggested that Mayerd visit the survivors that afternoon, when the diagnostic unit had finished meditating over Kai’s condition.
“I’d already thought of that. They’ll need clothes . . . you were planning a formal dinner, weren’t you?”
“To show off, yes.” Sassinak chuckled. “You mind-reader: people will think you’re a Weft if you keep that up. Raid my closet, if you need anything I’ve got - there’s a red dress that might suit Varian.”
“I’ve got a green that will be perfect for Lunzie,” said Mayerd smugly. “And all Kai’s measurements, so I’ve already located something for him.”
By the time Mayerd stopped by to show Sassinak what she’d chosen, on her way to the sled, the stewards were giving Sassinak sideways looks that meant they’d like her to clear out so they could set up for dinner. She had elected to serve in her office, a more intimate setting than the officers’ mess.
“I’m going, I’m going,” she said, grinning at the cook as he came to survey the room’s layout, with an eye to planning service. She stopped by the bridge, where everything seemed to be under control, and discovered that most of them knew about her ancestress . . . after all, she hadn’t told Ford or the others to keep it a secret. She worked through the day’s reports, noting replies to some queries back to Sector, and some pending - she’d hoped to have more information for Kai and Varian tonight, but apparently not. Something might come in any time, of course. Finally Arly caught her attention and pointed to the clock. Time to be getting ready - but she’d cleared most of her work, and would start the morrow only slightly behind.
As she went to her cabin to clean up, she found she could not quite analyze her emotions. Lunzie ... another Lunzie. No, not another Lunzie, but the Lunzie. That hardly seemed fair to her little sister - but then nothing had been. She wouldn’t think about that, she told herself, and poured another dollop of shampoo on her hair. Thank the gods that the cruiser didn’t have to use Iretan water!
But what would she be like? What could she be like? More like someone her elapsed age, or more like an old lady ... a very, very old lady? She had the file holo ... but that told her little. Her own file holo, the still one, didn’t tell a viewer that much. Movement was so much of a person - she thought of this, wringing out her hair, and flipping it into a towel with easy practiced gestures. No two people even bathed alike, dried themselves alike . . . and what if her ancestress turned out to be prudish about sex? That thought brought a blush to her cheeks. She looked at herself in the mirror, thinking of Mayerd’s teasing remarks. What if she wasn’t . . . what if she had Sass’s own casual attitude . . . and after all Ford was very good looking. No. Ridiculous. Here she hadn’t even met her, and already she was thinking of that kind of rivalry with her great-great-great-grandmother?
Besides, Mayerd would be back before then, and could tell her - if she would, because doctors did stick together - and would it be worse, Sassinak asked herself suddenly, to lose a family because of long coldsleep, as Lunzie had certainly done, or gain one because someone down the line was alive when you awoke? She eased into the long black slip that fit under her formal evening dress uniform, and began assembling it: the black gown, skirt glittering with tiny stars, and the formal honors winking on the left breast of the bodice. Somehow the formals, jeweled as they were, seemed more remote from the events that earned them than the full-size medals that jingled softly on a white-dress suit. This was the first time she’d pinned the formal rank jewels of Commander on the shoulders; the last time she’d worn this outfit, she’d been a Lieutenant Commander at Sector Headquarters, on duty at a diplomatic ball. The long, close-fitting black sleeves were ringed with gold: the captain of the ship, even in evening dress.
A last look - the merest touch of color on her lips - and she was ready. The proper twenty minutes before the guests would arrive, and there was Mayerd, also ready, and Ford. They grinned at each other, and Sassinak resisted the temptation to check on her office. Ford would have done it. She congratulated Ford on the increased “coverage” of his chest... he had picked up more than a few impressive medals, in the years since she’d seen him last. Mayerd wore her Science Union badge, and the little gold pin that meant honor graduate of the best medical school in the human worlds. They chatted idly, waiting at the head of the ramp, and Sassinak was very aware that both were watching her closely, to catch her reaction to Lunzie. They’d said nothing except that her relative would “suit” her.
“There it is - “ Ford gestured, and Sassinak caught a moving gleam in the darkness. Hard to see which was which, with so many bits of light shifting around, but Ford, as usual, was right. A four-seater airsled settled gently near the foot of the ramp, and the honor guard jogged out into place. Sassinak wondered, suddenly, if she should have gone quite this far without warning them . . . civilians, after all ... but they seemed to understand what the shrill piping whistle meant. And the crisp ruffle of drums.
Varian and Lunzie, long skirts swirling in the wind, led the way up the ramp past a rigid honor guard. Sassinak could tell they were impressed, though she had trouble keeping her eyes off Lunzie’s face: she hadn’t wanted to stare like that since she was a first-year cadet. Instead, she pulled herself up and saluted: appropriate to the planetary governor and her staff, but they’d all know it was for Lunzie. Varian gave a quick dip of the head, like a nervous bird, but Lunzie drawled a response to her greeting and offered a firm handshake.
For a long moment they stood almost motionless, then Lunzie retrieved her hand, and Sassinak felt a bubble of delight overcoming the last bit of concern. She would have liked this woman even if she hadn’t been a triple great-grandmother - and she’d have to find an easier way to say all that. They had too much to say to each other! She grinned, cocking her head, and Lunzie’s response was too quick to be an attempt to mimic - it was her natural gesture, too.
From there, the evening went quickly from delight to legend. Whatever chemistry went into the food, the drink, and the companionship combined into a heady brew that had Lunzie making puns, and Sassinak reciting long sequences of Kipling’s verse. She noticed, as she finished a rousing version of “L’Envoi” that Lunzie had a speculative expression, almost wary. On reflection, perhaps she shouldn’t have accented “They travel fastest who travel alone” quite so heavily, not when meeting the only member of her family she’d seen since Myriad. She grinned at Lunzie, and raised her glass.
“It’s kind of a Fleet motto,” she said. “Convince the youngsters that they have to cut free from home if they want to wander the stars ...”
Lunzie’s answering smile didn’t cover the sadness in her eyes. “And your family, Sassinak? Where were you brought up?”
It had never occurred to her that Lunzie wouldn’t know the story. She felt rather than saw Ford’s sudden stiffness, Mayerd’s abrupt pause in lifting a forkful to her mouth. No one had asked in years, now: Fleet knew, and Fleet was her family. Sassinak regained control of her breathing, but Lunzie had noticed; the eyes showed it.
“My family were killed,” she said, in as neutral a voice as she could manage. “In a slaver raid. I ... was captured.”
Varian opened her mouth, but Kai laid a hand on hers and she said nothing. Lunzie nodded without breaking their gaze.
“They’d be proud of you,” she said, in a voice with no edges. “I am.”
Sassinak almost lost control again . . . the audacity of it, the gall . . . and then the love that shone so steadfastly from those quiet eyes.
“Thank you, great-great-great-grandmother,” she said. A pause followed, then Ford leaped in with an outrageous story about Sassinak as a young officer on the prize vessel. The others followed with their own wild tales, obviously intent on covering up the awkwardness while Sassinak regained her equanimity. Mayerd and Lunzie knew the same hilarious dirty rhyme from medical school, and rendered it in a nasal accent that had them all in stitches. Varian brought up incidents from veterinary school, equally raunchy, and Kai let them know that geologists had their own brand of humor.
As they lingered over their liqueurs, the talk turned to the reports Kai and Varian had filed on the mutiny. Sassinak noticed that Kai had not only moved better, coming up the ramp, but seemed much less tense, much more capable, during dinner. Now he described the details of the mutiny in crisp, concise sentences. Mayerd had said she’d begun a specific treatment for him, but had it really worked this fast? Or had something else happened to restore his confidence?
They were interrupted by Lieutenant Borander, who was still, to Sass’s eyes, far too nervous in the presence of high rank. But his news was rivetting: the heavyworlder transport had tried to open communications with the Iretan settlement, and had not received an answer. Sassinak’s party mood evaporated faster than alcohol in sunlight, and she noticed that the others were as sober-faced as she was. Lunzie pointed out that they had nothing to answer with - no comunits could last forty-three years in the open in this climate. But Aygar, Ford said, had not asked for communication equipment. Yet, when they all thought about it, the Iretans had been in contact with the transport before it landed. How?
“On what frequency was Cruss broadcasting?” asked Kai. Sassinak looked at him: whatever had happened, he was clearheaded and alert now. Borander answered him, and Kai gave a wicked grin. “That was our frequency, Commander Sassinak . . . the one we used before the mutiny.”
“Interesting. How could he have learned that from the supposed message in the damaged homing capsule? It doesn’t mention any frequencies. He’s well and truly used enough rope ...” She called in Dupaynil, after a little more discussion, and the party broke up. Sassinak wished they’d had just a little longer to enjoy the festive occasion. But the time for long dresses and fancy honors was over - an hour later she was back in working uniform.