And then he saw the redhead.
There is never much point in describing a really beautiful girl. Each man has his own ideas of what it takes for a girl to be “pretty” or “fascinating” or “lovely” or almost any other adjective that can be applied to the noun “girl.” But “beautiful” is a cultural concept, at least as far as females are concerned, and there is no point in describing a cultural concept. It’s one of those things that everybody knows, and descriptions merely become repetitious and monotonous.
This particular example filled, in every respect, the definition of “beautiful” according to the culture of the white Americo-European subclass of the human race as of anno Domini 2087. The elements and proportions and symmetry fit almost perfectly into the ideal mold. It is only necessary to fill in some of the minor details which are allowed to vary without distorting the ideal.
She had red hair and blue eyes and was wearing a green zipsuit.
And she was coming toward the table where Mike and Dr. Fitzhugh were sitting.
“... such a tremendous number of elements,” Dr. Fitzhugh was saying, “that it was possible—and necessary—to introduce a certain randomity within the circuit choices themselves— Ah! Hello, Leda, my dear!”
Mike and Fitzhugh rose from their seats.
“Leda, this is Commander Gabriel, the Engineering Officer of the Brainchild,” said Fitzhugh. “Commander, Miss Leda Crannon, our psychologist.”
Mike had been allowing his eyes to wander over the girl, inspecting her ankles, her hair, and all vital points of interest between. But when he heard the name “Crannon,” his eyes snapped up to meet hers.
He hadn’t recognized the girl without her parka and wouldn’t have known her name if the SP ensign hadn’t mentioned it. Obviously, she didn’t recognize Mike at all, but there was a troubled look in her blue eyes.