As soon as the trio left Dylan's office, Rommie said, "Mom, you have three people waiting for you in your office. My AI explained that you were being delayed."

"Looks like I'd better run then," Meaghan said. "Thank you both." Then she raced away down the corridor.

Charlemagne was looking at Rommie quizzically. "She has a perfectly good name, why do none of you use it?"

The avatar considered a moment. "When she first got here, of course, she didn't have a name. Harper said she looked like his cousin, Meg, and she liked it so that became her official name. 'Mom' just sort of happened. And she does tend to mother people."

"Not me, she doesn't," Charlemagne remarked bluntly.

It was the avatar's turn to scrutinize the Nietzschean. "Maybe because you're the only male of her acquaintance who's never treated her as a curiosity or a parental figure, but simply as an attractive woman."

Charlemagne stopped in his tracks. "Surely not," he protested. "She's.., exquisite, charming and extremely feminine. How could a man not notice?"

"I'm afraid that's outside of my field of expertise," Rommie admitted. "May I ask a question?"

"I suppose so." The Nietzschean eyed her a bit warily. "I won't guarantee an answer."

"Have you considered what it will do to her when you leave the ship?" the avatar asked bluntly. "Not for the conference, but when you go back home."

"What makes it any of your business?" Charlemagne snapped.

"I.., care about her." The android turned and looked him in the eye. "And I think that Meaghan is falling in love with you and that when you leave it will break her heart." She turned abruptly and left him standing there.

"What about my heart?" said Charlemagne softly, to no one at all.

&&&&&&&&

Meaghan raced through the rest of her day at break-neck speed. Things just seemed to pile up faster than she could get to them. When she finally wound down, she realized that she was very late for the evening's activities. She changed hurriedly and nearly flew down the halls to the observation deck.

Tonight was more or less a repetition of the first night's reception, most of the evenings were, it was simpler and it afforded something for everyone. There wasn't really anything more extensive until the last night before they started dropping the delegates off on their respective planets.

She circulated around the room chatting and being pleasant, and desperately looking for Charlemagne while pretending she wasn't. She finally caught a glimpse of him, playing go with Dylan, and somehow, that satisfied her, just knowing where he was.

She continued to mingle, but stayed away from the dance floor tonight. She was in the middle of a conversation with the ambassador from Vespas, when Charlemagne sauntered up.

"Please excuse us." He made a short bow to the ambassador. "But I believe that the lady promised me a dance, and I'd like to collect."

The ambassador smiled genially at them as Charlemagne practically dragged Meaghan onto the dance floor.

"What was that all about?" she inquired, as the Nietzschean twirled her around the floor.

"I'm sorry, were you enjoying yourself?" he asked coldly. "I'll let you go back to him if you like."

"I was doing my job," she replied with some asperity. "You know, mingling, setting people at their ease, that sort of thing."

"And that's all it was." He sounded like he didn't quite believe it. "You seemed to be having a good time."

Understanding dawned. "Are you jealous?" she asked incredulously.

"Of him?" Charlemagne made a derisive sound. "Not likely."

"Then why are you acting this way?" Meaghan inquired.

"Where were you earlier this evening?"

"I got held up," she explained, with just a little heat. "With my job. I had work to do, and I wasn't free earlier. Was there anything else, your grace?" She deliberately threw his title at him.

"I guess there isn't," he snapped, releasing her. "Thank you for the dance, my lady." He released her and walked away.

&&&&&&&&

Meaghan sleep-walked through the rest of the evening, polite and pleasant on the outside, but inside, she was utterly miserable. She stayed very late, until all but the last die-hard gamers, the ones that would stay all night, were all that was left.

She remembered her promise to go to Charlemagne's room that night, and wondered if it would be worth the effort, or if it would just be to receive another figurative slap in the face. In the end, she felt that she had to see him, even if it was to endure another rebuff.

She buzzed the door to his room, and stood there trembling with trepidation. It seemed to take forever before he answered, and she was on the verge of leaving several times.

Charlemagne had obviously been just about to retire for the evening, to judge by his attire. He stood there a moment, just staring at her coolly, not moving, saying nothing.

Meaghan wished he would say something, anything, when the doubt, tension and all the annoyances and grievances of the long day welled up and spilled over in the form of a single tear, trickling down her cheek.

Charlemagne, on his part had thought he had turned her away from him forever, and he had mixed feelings about the whole thing. It was some considerable surprise to him when she appeared at his door. He was furious at her for seemingly enjoying being in the company of other men, and even more so with himself for acting in such a juvenile manner. An uncharacteristic fit of indecision gripped him, and so he just stood there, mute, looking at her. Then, when that lone, wayward tear ran down her cheek, it left him feeling like the lowest crawling thing in the galaxy, an unpleasant and totally unaccustomed feeling. She slowly started to turn away to leave, and suddenly he couldn't bear it.

"Meg, wait," he rasped. "I'm sorry, don't leave me."

Meaghan turned and threw herself into his arms.