She held the dress against herself, not a crinkle or fold to be seen, even though she’d just pulled it out of her suitcase in a tightly rolled ball.

“How do they do that?” asked Dan, who was almost as interested in the answer as he was in copping another look at Julia in her stockings and underwear.

“Nanonic manipulation of the silk fibers,” she said. “It’s the same sort of process they use to make body armor, except with a few twists you get a cocktail dress that feels like air on your skin.”

“Well, you look a hell of a lot better than some jarhead.”

“Better than Lieutenant De Marco?” she asked with an arch of one eyebrow.

“Hey, I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . .”

Julia burst out laughing.

“Chill out yourself, Daniel. Word gets around. I hear all of you primitives get one look at Gina De Marco and the blood rushes right to your pants.”

Julia drew the dress over her head and let it slide down into place. It seemed to flow down her like black oil. Dan thought that was almost as good as watching it come off.

“Don’t panic, Lieutenant,” she said. “That Marine Corps chicky-babe is a hottie. I’d probably fuck her myself after a couple of drinks.”

Dan didn’t know whether to be excited or horrified by that revelation. In his embarrassment, he opted to change the subject again.

“Julia, why is it okay for you to call her a chicky-babe, but it’s akin to a federal crime for someone like me?”

“Well, for one thing, I am a chicky-babe, so it’s cool.” She smiled. “And also, I say it with a sense of irony. Work on your irony, Dan. If you want to hang around with my gang, you’re going to need it. You want to know a secret about us modern chicky-babes?”

Dan handed her a clutch purse as they headed for the door.

“Sure,” he said.

She stopped by the door, leaned over, and kissed his ear while whispering, “A boyish grin and a sense of irony will carry you through almost anything.”

With that, she bit him, ducking quickly out of the door as he yelped in surprise.

Captain Karen Halabi had nobody to joke with as she buttoned up her dress whites. She was in no mood to dine with Admiral Spruance. Acting in Kolhammer’s position had drained her of any desire to do anything other than drive a missile boat. The politics of their situation were starting to get to her. She’d spent the entire day hosing down brush fires, dealing with the aftermath of the riot, sorting through the double homicide, and juggling what felt like a thousand other competing problems.