Carvedinstone's Saga - 09 / 02 / 2120

Carvedinstone's Saga
09 / 02 / 2120

"Are you, like, sure about this?" Vanessë asked.

"You'll be fine, baby," I assured her through the commlink. "You look sexy, and Quillian won't hurt you as long as you hold up your end of the deal. This is a good gig. She's one of my most dependable customers."

Through the hall camera, I could see Vanessë pout. She was Elfkin, one of those who believed they were the reincarnated souls of Elves—and who had access to enough cosmetic surgery to transform themselves into what they thought elves looked like. Pointed ears and almond eyes were popular, dietware and contour shaping to give themselves thin, willowy figures, all sorts of hair and eye colors outside the norm for Men.

Vanessë was taller than most of them, and her vision of herself included ripe breasts as spherical and unnatural as a pair of cantaloupes on her bony frame, and long, thin ears, silky transparent hair follicles and irises that she could independently program for a variety of colors and patterns. Even her vocal chords had been replaced with voltage-controlled myomer strands that expanded her vocal range by a couple of octaves.

The shimmery silver dress she wore was barely decent, leaving the lower part of her ass-cheeks bare, and flashed her panties with the merest twist of her hip. I wasn't sure if she'd always been a girl. Tits aside, she had opted for a fairly androgynous appearance.

All of which was expensive. That meant if she wanted the luminescent Quenya tattoos and advanced Elvish language courses, Vanessë needed money. This was the third "date" I'd set up for her as I showed her the ropes of how to be an escort for fun and profit.

Not that she needed to know this Dwarf had an ulterior motive, or another name.

The coffin motel was a block over from Daleman's apartment. My pod was six floors up and near one of the central spines. By removing a maintenance panel, my hair cables could plug into three different access points at once—a useful trick for being more than one place at the same time in the Matrix. One part of me watched Vanessë as she waited by Quillian's door. I switched between me other avatars, stationed at street-level cameras so I could track Mama Bear's approach.

The big woman was in a bad mood as she climbed out of the back door of the police cruiser. She loomed over the crowd, face set into a scowl above that oversized chin. Whatever case she was working had her stressed, I could see that in her stride as she pushed through the crowd toward her building. Teeth bared, the bear close to the surface. As she entered the apartment building, I switched back to the hallway cam. No audio, but Vanessë had left her earpiece on.

"Who the fuck are you?" Quillian growled.

Vanessë winced, swallowed, but gave her sultriest smile.

"I'm Vanessë. Lilja said you could use a date?"

The Beorning took the "Elf" woman's chin in her hand and stared into her eyes. At the moment, the eyes and hair were a soft, luminescent silver. Utterly strange and ethereal compared to the earthy brown of Quillian's close-cropped hair and narrowed eyes. Vanessë's waist was as thick as the Beorning's thigh. Quillian's other hand grasped one huge fake tit through the shimmery dress.

There was a brief, whispered conversation about rates. I told Vanessë what to say through her commlink, and she said it. An agreement was reached quickly, and Quillian set about unlocking her vault-like door and disabling the traps.

"Okay, baby, I'll leave you to it," I whispered. "Remember, just make her happy. She's a good tipper."

I cut the comm line and waited impatiently for the pair to disappear, beyond the reach of any camera I could hack. As soon as the door shut, I switched over to my fourth and most important access point.

The Morgul Vale Police Department system resembled a utilitarian gatehouse, inspired by Moon City's old city gates. With Quillian Daleman preoccupied for an hour or two, I could use her access code without arousing the suspicion that would come if we both tried to log on at once.

My avatar shifted, stealth program engaged as it mimicked the cops who entered and left the gatehouse-construct. I offered Quillian's account code, and the IC asked for its password.

We hurt without moving.
We poison without touching.
We bear truth and lies.
We are not to be judged by our size.

"Words," I answered, and slipped into the system.

In her apartment, I knew Quillian was unwrapping Vanessë like a child with a birthday present. I hoped, deep in my heart, that that Daleman wouldn't be too rough with the young whore. But that was out of my hands. The clock was ticking, and I needed to find what I could in the system.

"Show me," I whispered as I dug through the files. "The name of my enemy."