He hadn't wondered what had prompted his choice, hadn't even wondered why he had so deviated from his normal 'type' of brown-haired, brown-eyed and athletic. He and the girl, who it turned out was the crew chief of an AI-freighter, had a good time together. They hit a show, had some dinner, and by mutual agreement, wound up in the same hotel room.
He still hadn't thought about his choice of company; then came the moment of revelation.
When, in the midst of intimacy, he called her Tia.
He could have died, right then and there. Fortunately the young lady was understanding; Bet just giggled, called him 'Giorgi' back, and they went on from there. And when they parted, she kissed him, and told him that his 'Tia' was a lucky wench, and to give her Bet's regards.
Thank the spirits of space he didn't have to tell her the truth. All she'd seen was the CS uniform and the spacer habits and speech patterns; he could have been anything. She certainly wasn't thinking 'brawn' when she had picked him up, and he hadn't told her what he did for the Courier Service.
Instead of going straight back to the ship, he dawdled; visited a multi-virtual amusement park, and took five of the wildest adventures it offered. It took all five to wash the embarrassment of his slip out of his recent memory, to put it into perspective.
But nothing would erase the meaning of what he had done. And it was just his good fortune, and Tia's, that his partner hadn't known who Tia was. Brawns had undergone Counseling for a lot less. CS had a nasty reputation for dealing with slips like that one. They wouldn't risk one of their precious shell-persons in the hands of someone who might become so obsessed with her that he would try to get at the physical body.
He returned to the docks in a decidedly mixed state of mind, and with no ideas at all about what, if anything, he could do about it.
Tia greeted her brawn cheerfully as soon as he came aboard, but she left him alone for a little while he got himself organized, or as organized as Alex ever got.
"I've got the passenger roster," she said, once he'd stowed his gear. "Want to see them, see what we're getting for the next couple of weeks?"
"Sure," Alex replied, perking up visibly. He had looked tired when he came in; Tia reckoned shrewdly that he had been celebrating his shore leave a little too heavily. He wasn't suffering from a hangover, but it looked to her as if he'd done his two-day pass to the max, squeezing twenty-two hours of fun into every twenty-four hour period. He dropped down into his chair and she brought up her screens for him.
"Here's our team leader, Doctor Izak Hollister-Aspen." The Evaluation team leader was an elderly man; a quad-doc, as thin as a grass stem, clean-shaven, silver-haired, and so frail-looking. Tia was half-afraid he might break in the first high wind. "He's got four doctorates, he's published twelve books and about two hundred papers, and he's been head of twenty-odd teams already. He also seems to have a pretty good sense of humor. Listen."
She let the file-fragment run. "I must admit," Aspen said, in a cracked and quavery voice, "there are any number of my colleagues who would say that I should sit behind my desk and let younger bodies take over this dig. Well," he continued, cracking a smile. "I am going to do something like that. I'm going to sit behind my desk in my dome, and let the younger bodies of my team members take over the digging. Seems to me that's close enough to count."
Alex chuckled. "I like him already. I was afraid this trip was going to be a bore."
"Not likely, with him around. Well, this is our second-in-command, double-doc Siegfried Haakon-Fritz. And if this lad had been in charge, I think it might have been a truly dismal trip." She brought up the image of Fritz, who was a square-jawed, steely-eyed, stern-faced monument. He could have been used as the model for any ortho-Communist memorial statue to The Glorious Worker In Service To The State. Or maybe the Self-Righteous In Search Of A Convert. There was nothing like humor anywhere in the man's expression. It looked to her as if his head might crack in half if he ever smiled. "This is all I have, five minutes of silent watching. He didn't say a word. But maybe he doesn't believe in talking when it's being recorded."
"Why not?" Alex asked curiously. "Is he paranoid about being recorded or something?"
"He's a Practical Darwinist," she told him.
"Oh, brother," Alex replied with disgust The Practical Darwinists had their own sort of notoriety, and Tia was frankly surprised to find one in the Institute at all. They were generally concentrated in the soft sciences, when they were in the sciences at all. Personally, Tia did not consider political science to be particularly scientific.
"His political background is kind of dubious," she continued, "but since there's nothing anyone can hang on him, it simply says in the file that his politics have not always been those of the Institute. That's bureaucratic double-talk for someone they would rather not trust, but have no reason to keep them out of positions of authority."
"Got you." Alec nodded. "So, we'll just not mention politics around him, and we'll make sure it's one of the forbidden subjects in the main cabin. Who's next?"
"These are our post-docs; they have their hard science doctorates, and now they're working on their archeology doctorates." She split her center screen and installed them both on it at once. "On the right, Les Dimand-Taylor, human; on the right, Treel rish-Yr nahLeert, Rayanthan. Treel is female. Les has a Bio Doc, and Treel Xenology."
"Hmm, for Treel wouldn't Xenology be the study of humans?" Alex pointed out. Les was a very intense fellow, thin, heavily tanned, very fit-looking, but with haunted eyes. Treel's base-type seemed to be cold-weather mammalian, as she had a pelt of very fine, dense brown fur that extended down onto her cheekbones. Her round, black eyes stared directly into the lens, seeing everything, and giving the viewer the impression that she was cataloging it all.
"No audio on the post-docs, just static file pictures," she continued. "They're attached to Aspen."
"Not to Old Stone Face?" Alex asked. "Never mind. Any grad student or post-doc he'd have would be a clonal copy of himself. I can't imagine any other type staying with him for long."
"And here are our grad students." Again she split the screen. "Still working on the first doctorate. Both male. Aldon Reese-Tambuto, human; and Fred, from Dushayne."