Xero repressed the urge to roll his eyes and sigh. The woman across the aisle on the maglev had seen his replicantâ€™s sigil, a broad tattoo of the symbol for Gemini on the back of his left hand. Sheâ€™d also seen his impeccable dress and the parcel heâ€™d retrieved from the spaceport. Sheâ€™d put two and two together and now she wanted to talk.
â€œI am an executive,â€ he replied, setting down the display screen for his book.
â€œWhich is another word for butler,â€ the woman said.
Xero would have slapped her if she hadnâ€™t reeked of money, but the ostentatious garnish on her purple dress suggested it was straight off some Euro runway.
â€œYou are new to Luna, maâ€™am?â€ he asked her.
â€œI pick up on such things,â€ Xero said.
â€œYouâ€™ll bet what, maâ€™am?â€ asked Xero, even though he knew.
â€œBut do you–do you, you know?â€ the woman asked.
â€œAnd what about him?â€ she asked.
That shut her up for a moment and Xero almost got back to reading the latest chapter of his favorite serial when she piped up again.
â€œHow large is your household?â€ she asked.
â€œAbout average for Copernicus,â€ he replied.
Xero set aside his bookâ€™s diamond case.
â€œTwo of us, the three wives, the pool girl, the plumber, the gardener, five different Intelligences, two sponsored children, and maybe three entertainers on contract. Thatâ€™s everyone who lives in the quarters, at least,â€ he said.
â€œThatâ€™s average?â€ asked the woman.
â€œNo, but the option is always there,â€ said Xero.
Xero glanced at his darkened book. He sighed and opened his mouth anyway.
She raised an eyebrow at him, not understanding.