The Prefect

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Thalia Ng felt her weight increasing as the elevator sped down the spoke from the habitat’s docking hub. She allowed herself to drift to the floor, trying to judge the point at which the apparent force reached one standard gee. Thalia hoped this was not one of those habitats that insisted on puritanically high gravity, as if it was somehow morally improving to stagger around under two gees. Her belt, with her whiphound and polling-core-analysis tools, already weighed heavily on her hips.

“Thalia,” Dreyfus said quietly as the elevator slowed to a halt, “try not to look so nervous.”

She tugged down the hem of her tunic.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re going to do fine.”

“I wish there’d been more time, sir. To read up on House Perigal, I mean.”

“You were informed of our destination as soon as we left Panoply.”

“That was only an hour ago, sir.”

He looked at her, his lazy right eye nearly closed.

“What’s your speed-reading index?”

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