The Unincorporated Woman by Dani Kollin, Eytan Kollin Page A

DijAssist notification would have been too unbecoming—and a few minutes later, the other was gratified to see Dr. Gillette emerge from behind one of the many richly embroidered velvet curtains that separated the waiting room from the private areas.
    His face beamed at the unexpected surprise. “My dear Ms. Herman,” he exclaimed, “what on Mars brings you out here? Is everything all right?”
    Her mouth formed an awkward smile. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, sir. Dr. Harper tells me how much you enjoy this time to yourself.”
    “Ms. Herman,” he confided, inviting her over to some open chairs by the fireside, “you took me away from a game that had lost my interest.”
    “Because you were winning?” she asked.
    “Actually,” he said with a rueful grin, “I was being roundly thrashed by a player so much better than I that the only thing I was learning was abject humility. Inasmuch, I am now humbly ”—his bushy eyebrow shot up as he stared at her—“in your debt. How may I be of assistance?”
    The other feigned concern, slipping over her words. “We … I … um, I suppose we should use a good privacy booth.”
    “That will not be a problem, Ms. Herman. There are many good ones here. I’ll just—”
    “I was thinking someplace,” she interrupted, biting her lower lip as her eyes darted about nervously, “less conspicuous, please. If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”
    “I see.” Dr. Gillette’s amiable mood was replaced by appropriate concern. “Did you have someplace in mind?”
    “The orport seems like a good place to get lost in a crowd, and … I—” She looked around nervously once again, then said in a tone so low, the doctor had to tilt his head forward to hear, “I think that would be best.”
    “If you don’t mind my asking,” he whispered back, “what’s this about?”
    “I … I think,” the other replied , matching his tone, “that Dr. Harper and the … the President may be—”
    Dr. Gillette put his hand on her shoulder and with a conspiratorial look indicated that she stop talking. “Let’s wait till we’re at the orport, shall we?”
    “Of course, sir.” The other allowed him to take the lead. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
    “No reason why you should be, Ms. Herman.” The doctor gently lifted her elbow prodding her to stand. “You were an electronics technician, if I recall … who became a military trauma revival specialist, yes?”
    She nodded too eagerly, almost as if confessing to a crime.
    “Well, then,” he said with a reassuring glance, “I hardly see how this would equip you to the life of a spy.”
    The other smiled gratefully and stood waiting patiently as the doctor went and checked out his coat and an umbrella. When he returned, they headed out the door, where a taxi was already waiting. The flight over to the Burroughs Interstellar Orbital Port took about fifteen minutes. The orport, though new, was typical in its design—a large dome through which hundreds of tubes pulled in and shot out transorbital pods of various shapes and sizes.
    As the other and the doctor entered the main lobby, they quickly located and then headed toward a row of dedicated privacy booths used mainly by the corporate class to conduct business on the fly. The other was fully aware that the entire area was under surveillance by the Internal Affairs Ministry but also knew that by the time anyone bothered to review the images, she and her precious cargo would be long gone. She and the doctor walked past the booths marked BUSY and were about to pass another when a man carrying a small yellow bird in a cage suddenly emerged directly in front of them. He apologized, straightened himself out, and moved on. The other pointed Dr. Gillette to the booth fate seemed to have handed them.
    Gillette entered the room first but stopped short when he saw a standard UHF military suspension unit parked inside. He was just about to turn around