She sighed, finished her drink and went below.

The Out of the Shadows boasted a state-of-the-art computer system, complete with satellite link. It hadn't when Sharon first picked it up, of course; that had been the first of many modifications she'd commissioned for the graceful craft. She slumped down at the keyboard, idly logged on and requested a list of any electronic mail she'd received.

There was only one message. No originator ID.

Curiosity piqued, she ran a back-trace. No real problem. The sender had suppressed his or her ID, but hadn't buried it too deeply-as though he/she wanted Sharon to be able to run the trace if she wished.

As the information appeared on the flatscreen, Sharon sat back and smiled.

The transmission was from Cheyenne-from Falcon. She chuckled as she read the message.

A really hot run was shaping up, it seemed. Starting in Cheyenne, but maybe spreading back up into the UCAS and Seattle. Falcon had gotten a team together, but there was still one slot open-for a drek-hot decker. If the "lady of leisure" could fit it into her busy social schedule, would she consider it?

Sly shook her head slowly. I'm retired, she told herself.

But then another thought struck her. Retirement isn't doing nothing, she realized, it's doing only what you want to do. That was a new concept.

A broad smile spread over her face. May, she thought. I wonder what the weather's like in Cheyenne?

Copyright.

end.