Precious

Journal of Rowana, daughter of Rowetha
18 / 02 / 2120 of the Fourth Age

In a tunnel, a leaden beast waits
It can only bite when it leaves.
What is it?

The door glowed neon silver in the dark space, the seemingly-solid bonds of light were flowing streams of Elf-script.

"A bullet," I spoke, and the voice became text, the words flowed out of my brain as a series of electrical signals, down through the neural jack, into the cheap cyberdeck hooked into the satellite uplink. The door opened, and I stepped out.

For a moment, I saw the whole of the Matrix. A gleaming grid, clusters of data arranged in a simulation of Arda, the bright clusters of the White City, Rivendell, Dale, and Edoras connected by huge flows of information that streamed between them constantly. From here, it looked serene and perfect. Down below, in the local networks, it was different. Porn ads on every surface in some networks, teeming hordes of users, virtual casinos, digital museums, online banks and colleges...a whole world outside this Middle Earth. Some entire sectors were Goblin nets, illegally patched in, selling goods and services you couldn't get elsewhere; the Dwarven networks were mostly isolated from the main net, the digital holds storehouses of billions of credits, guarded by intrusion countermeasures that went far beyond easy riddles.

Or so I'd heard.

My lips moved as I subvocalized the number of the long-distance call. My virtual avatar, a simple humanoid shape, rough and Man-like, surged along the connection to the Shire AgriCorp's portal, a round door set in a virtual hill. It opened as I approached, my software subscription granted instant access to customer service.

Another humanoid shape appeared in the room, a cartoon female Hobbit, broad smile, tight green corset, and hairy feet lovingly detailed and animated in high resolution. The user behind that avatar might be anything; Dwarf, Goblin, a Man of the Reunited Kingdoms or Rohan or even Far Harad. Call centers had been globalized. Yet the Shire remained, appearances had to be kept up. People expected Hobbits.

"I'd like to schedule a delivery," I said.

"Of course," she said, all freckles and curled ringlets the color of hammered copper. "Let me just synch up and check your data."

I held up my hand. She slid her hand into mine. I couldn't feel it, exactly; the deck was cheap, an Umbar Special Lite, stripped down to bare minimum interfaces, but with no software subscriptions or hidden upkeep fees. The kind of deck that wouldn't win any awards, but would work anywhere. Data streamed between us as she accessed the data from the geomarkers, the ground-penetrating radar. Complex calculations ran in the background, and after a moment she said.

"Delivery zone seems clear. We can schedule the cargo hauler to be there in three days. As this is an off-the-grid location, you will need to handle hook-ups yourself. Please authorize..."

A window appeared in mid-air. I fought the instinct to read through all the legalized, pressed my left thumb against the correct panel, to apply my digital signature. With that authorization, the hidden mechanisms of the world went into effect. On the outskirts of the White City, pre-fabricated buildings were scheduled to be loaded into a freight dirigible, drone-piloted to GPS-provided coordinates. The funds were transferred from my account, leaving me about enough for groceries but not much else.

The Halfling slid her hand out of mine as the window disappeared.

"Will there be anything else?" she asked, all green eyes and button nose.

"No, thank you," I said, and logged off. For a brief moment, my avatar was drawn out into a silver streak, back up to the satlink, down into the deck. Then I faced the door again, with its riddle awaiting the password. Nothing that would stop a serious hacker, but the bare minimum security. It was all I could afford.

My fingers found the back of my head and I jacked out. Blinked rapidly as the mathematical certainty of the Matrix was replaced by yellows, browns, and greens. Azzie squatted near me, watching with fierce interest.

"Three days," I said. "House will be here in three days."

She grinned. Her eyes went half-lidded. Smooth hands, bright green from all the sunlight, touched my shoulders.

"However shall we occupy ourselves until then?" she said with a sultry smile.

I sighed. "Well...first, I need to teach you how to shoot."

I had been given my first .22 Squirrelslayer when I was twelve. Learned to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. My dad had always seen firearms as tools, not weapons. It was something the recruiters and trainers appreciated when I'd left to join the army, the practicality of my approach. Guns weren't intended as status symbols, or for posturing. You used them to kill things. On the farm, that put meat on the table and kept the varmints out of the vegetable garden. In the army, it killed your targets. That's what guns were for.

One of my instructors had tried to teach me the philosophy and mysticism of gun-fighting. Said that if I became one with my gun, I'd be faster, smoother, more accurate; on top of my wired reflexes, he said I'd be a riflemaster. Yet I couldn't bring myself to be supernatural enough. I'd heard of the Valar all my life and never seen one.

"I see it," Azzie said, one eye closed, the other fixed on the optic. She held the rifle steady, good cheek-weld.

"Let out your breath. Grip the trigger. Squeeze, don't pull," I said.

The gun barked, barrel jumped a little. Eighty yard away, the hare's neck jerked roughly, and it fell.

"Nice shot," I said, as I stood. "Safety on. Let's go get it."

Azzie grinned fiercely up at me.

She was a good shot. I didn't like to call anyone a natural when it came to shooting, but she had sharp eyes, followed direction well, and didn't even blink when the shot went off. If she'd been a recruit, a drill sergeant would have fast-tracked Azzie for the sharpshooter program.

The second lesson for the day was how to strip and clean the hare. I gave her my skinning knife, not the Elf-blade, showed her where to slice, how to pull out the innards and spit the carcass over the fire. She cleaned the knife before we buried the refuse and washed up in the creek. The smell of roast meat filled the afternoon air. It would be a nice change of pace from MREs.

"I want to go with you," Azzie said as we stripped the meat from the bones with fingers and teeth.

"I came up here alone. Someone's going to find those two in the car," I said. "You stand out. They see you with me, it'll be a no-brainer what happened. Best to lie low, at least for a while. Let them become a distant memory. Besides, you're SINless. Unless I can work something out with Bardur, you can't buy anything, might not even let you in the door. Just hang out here tomorrow. I'll be back with beer and food, and the day after that the house will be here. Then..."

I hadn't really thought past that, to be honest. There was going to be a lot of work to set up the house, to clear more land for the pipe-weed plots, the planting itself, digging out the steps to their root cellar. Azzie would help with that, I was sure, but we hadn't really talked about it. I cursed myself for not having laid out the plans, been more open about what we were going to do. Communication was important, after all. I couldn't just plan things without getting Azzie's input.

"Then," Azzie said, as she dropped a bone in the fire and stood up. "I will fuck you in every room of your new house."

"Our new house," I corrected.

She unbuttoned her pants, and the loose-fitting garment fell down to her knees. One green hand ran through my hair as she brought her pussy close to my lips.

"But you must come back to me," she whispered, as she gently pulled my head in to nuzzle her crotch.

"Okay, Precious," I said, before I kissed her soft green netherlips. Her juices were tangy, and my tongue slid out to run over them. Two weeks, and she hadn't had her period yet. I didn't know if she had periods, or an implant that took care of that, like I did. Standard army issue; no one needed to get pregnant or experience cramps during a mission.

One more thing I needed to ask her.

"Yessss," Azzie hissed, and the last dying light of the sun made the ring between her breasts glow like fire for a moment. My hands came up to grasp her buttocks and really dig in, the way I'd learned she liked it when she was in the mood. The strong thighs quivered as I kissed and sucked, tugged at her labia with my lips over my teeth, ran my tongue from her bitter taint all the way up to that sensitive little green nub that made her squeal.

Three days. Then we could do this in our own home.