LordPeter List Literary Contest

Accepting her drink, she observed that the majority of dancers in the room were dressed in the styles of late 19th century Earth. It had not struck her before, how invariable men's fashions had been in that distant age: even allowing for the limited resources of a non-galactic society, the black and white palette of most of the males in attendance were in striking contrast to the rich red-and-blue parade of house uniforms she was accustomed to encountering at the balls back home. The women's costumes, however, were every bit as gaudy, variable and impractical as the velvets and embroidered silks she'd seen at Imperial functions.

For a moment, she felt dizzy. "No matter how far we travel, do we still end up in the same clothing?" She forced herself to focus on the actual figures of the women, in doing so realizing that the costumes were indeed illusions, creations of liberal expenditure rather than old-fashioned tight-lacing. She let out a hiss of relief, murmuring to herself: "They're acting, just like you are. Tomorrow they'll be shipmasters and bodyguards and analysts. They'll insist on uterine replicators when it's time. I wonder if any of those bustles conceal a stunner holster?" The Countess's dry voice echoed in her brain: "Oh, you won't get a man among them to admit it, but it's just an elaborate game."

-- Sylvia Marriott

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