There was a girl at the information desk. An exceptionally attractive
girl. She was well within the limits of acceptable standard, and her
features were even enough, and her hair a middle blonde--but she had
something else. Hard to describe. It was a warmth, a buoyancy, a sense
of life and intense animation. It didn't exactly show; it radiated. It
seemed to sing out from her clear complexion, from her figure, which
even a tunic could not hide, from everything about her.
And if I were to state my business, I would have to tell her my name.
I almost backed out right then. I stopped momentarily. And then common
sense took hold and I realized that if I were to go through with this
thing, here would be only the first of a long series of embarrassments
and discomforts. It had to be done.
I walked up to the desk and the girl turned to face me, and I could
have sworn that a faint smile crossed her lips. It was swift, like the
shadow of a bird across one of the lawns in one of the great parks
topside. Very non-standard. Yet I wasn't offended; if anything, I felt
suddenly and disturbingly pleased.
"What information is desired?" she asked. Her voice was standard--or
was it?
Again I had the feeling of restrained warmth.
I used colloquial. "I want to get the dope on State Serial
designations, how they're assigned and so forth. Especially how they
might be changed."