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Since the stern, disapproving facade reminded her of Summerset, she didn’t see how it could work.
“Resident Powders logged in at oh-three-thirty. He has not since logged out.”
“Okay then.” Eve turned toward the elevator.
“You are required to log in.”
Eve didn’t bother to glance back. “You scanned my badge. That logs me in.” Stepping on, she ordered the fourth floor. “Why can’t they use humans?” she complained to Roarke. “Droids aren’t nearly as much fun to screw with.”
“I don’t know. I found it mildly entertaining. And it did look considerably put out.”
“Maybe, but it’s already moved on.” Hands in pockets, she rocked on her heels. “A person would probably sulk or stew about it for a few minutes anyway. That’s more satisfying.”
When the doors opened, the noise slammed her eardrums, and made her eyes throb. Music—clashing styles, volumes, lyrics—pumped out of rooms with their doors propped open. Voices mixed with them, some raised in argument or debate, others singing along. People, possibly under the influence of pharmaceuticals and in various stages of dress, wandered the hallways.
A couple twined in deep kiss/grope mode just outside a closed door. Eve wondered why they just didn’t go inside and finish the job.
She stepped in front of a girl sporting two nose rings and what might have been a tattoo of a honking goose on her left shoulder.
“Darian Powders? Where do I find him?”
“Dar?” The girl flapped a hand behind her while giving Roarke a long, slow, smoldering study. “Straight back, last on the right. Door’s open. I’m over that way,” she said to Roarke, “if you’re interested.”
“That’s an offer,” Roarke said pleasantly. “But I’ll be going this way.”
“Bummed.”
With a look more of wonder than annoyance, Eve watched the girl stroll off. “She completely eye-fucked you.”
“I know. I feel so cheap and used.”
“Shit. You got off on it. Men always do.”
“True enough, which is why we’re so often cheap and used.”
She snorted, then heading down the corridor glanced in rooms. She saw a jumble of possessions and people, smelled very old pizza and very fresh Zoner. Peace Day signs lay scattered among snoring bodies and bottles of brew, which were probably as illegal as the Zoner.
“Does anyone actually study around here?”
“The ones with the doors closed, I imagine.” Roarke shrugged. “And it being the end of a holiday weekend, I’d think most are still in the mode.” He looked as she did at a couple curled up together on the floor in front of a blasting vid screen. “Or simply unconscious.”
Eve could only shake her head. “The droid’s useless, and they know it.”
She stopped at the open door at the end of the corridor. Inside ten young people sprawled on big colorful floor pillows or slumped on a small red sofa. The source of the music here was a comp game blasting on screen. The two remaining people seemed to be dueling on stage. Their icons, outfitted in the pinnacle of trash rock gear, held guitars while their counterparts played the air version and sang at the top of their lungs.
She considered shouting, but judged it a waste of air and effort. Instead she walked in and shoved her badge in front of one of the sprawlers.
It was just a little disappointing that no one scrambled to conceal or dispose of illegals. The boy she badged, scooped a hank of red and black hair out of his eyes and said, “Whoa! What do?”
“Turn it off.”
“The what?”
“Turn the game off.”
He gave her saucer eyes. “But it’s like the final round, and dead heat. Dar could maybe lose his title.”
“Heart bleeds. Turn it off.”
