"Computer-controlled," Leppid said at my elbow. "Hidden cameras keep track of your eye movements. You can watch all day and the little buggers will never be where you're looking."
"Could get bloody irritating after a while," I said.
"If it were done badly," he shrugged. "But it's not." And even though I was not kindly disposed towards the Doctor3 at the time, I had to admit he was right. The work had a subtlety and a sly naturalness that made it both haunting and haunted.
"Who's the artist?" I asked.
"Vavash," he answered. "Earth mother type — long straight silver hair, shapeless tie-dyed dresses, would rather wear glasses than have corrective surgery... a textbook classic. One of the First Colonists, of course. They're what make Crèche what it is. Since the Rediscovery, a lot of lesser lights have settled here to bask in reflected glory, but no one of any stature. Most of the new immigrants are... well, the group at the Vac/Port were typical. Black Velveteers."
"We'll stick to the First Colonists," I said hurriedly.
"I thought you'd feel that way," Leppid grinned. "I've set up a visit to their retreat tomorrow morning. It's in the Upper City — poshly Spartan. Entirely state-supported too; the other colonists treat the Firsties like royalty. Not much interaction between old and new, except at official ceremonies. It wouldn't hurt you to be a bit deferential around them."
I gave him a look that was intended to wither his fat-beribboned carcass right in its pointy-toed shoes. He laughed and slapped me on the back as if I'd told a joke.
My internal clock was scarcely in the sleeping