The Spare Man

by Mary Robinette Kowal

There was something magical about being anonymous.

Despite Shal’s efforts to protect Tesla from the public, hiding the information about her identity from the ship would have meant hiding it from border patrol, and that would have been illegal. It was better to save the illegal shit for the times when you really needed it. A honeymoon wasn’t that.

Piper ignored the shipboard announcement as if she had become so inured to Excessive Capitalization in a Jovial Tone that no she longer heard it,

Leigh Osbourne de Monchaux was fluttering his luxuriously long lashes as if either he was the biggest flirt or he was consulting a hundred different virtual menus. Given the set of his jaw, probably the latter.

There were an astounding number of bald white people, and they honestly all looked alike.

The elevator music tried to be upbeat and calming at the same time and was doomed to failure.

As promised, the Irish pub—O’Shenanigan’s—had an overabundance of green, from the cushions to the menus to the random green bowlers the servers wore cocked back on their heads.

EXTRA-DRY MARTINI 2 oz gin Stir over ice. Say the word “vermouth.” Strain into martini glass.