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The intricate necklace tattooed on her lean neck and chest distorted under here sleek muscle tone as she shifted the drive sticks and corrected course to cause minimal disruption when the guidance system kicked in. She felt as if the tattoo had always been there, but she’d had it inked so other could see it last year, just before signing on with Kincaid Industries. Its symmetry and use of her skin tone as light lines resembled the back of an old fashioned deck of cards. Her skin was tanned from working in the drive core. The radiation had a tendency to do that though it never gave off lethal doses. Some men thought she was sexy; others that she had spoilt her looks by covering herself in black ink. Tail preferred the prior anyway. Tatts filtered out the soft, especially in her industry. She had greasy blonde hair pulled back tight in a short pony tail and her Ukraine features were angular, giving her the look of a young ballbreaker. There was no crew to break the balls of though. Her cargo and the clandestine nature of the drop meant minimal staff was requested. Also, an un-split pay check bought Tail closer to getting off this shit detail. She had once hoped to get out before it got to her. Too late. Now she just wanted to cash in, get more tattoos and fuck sailors who came into port on the small pacific island she would retire too. She was one lucky job away from achieving that simplistic goal.
Tail looked over the console of the Raven class Transport and made her final checks as she approached the perimeter of the Satellite trading Post, Ghetto. Ghetto was located in a Polar orbit of Pluto, right above its weak North Pole. The dwarf planet and its moon Charon represented the edge of Earths solar territory. The Kuiper belt and the interstellar space beyond remained the equivalent of international waters, only on a stellar scale. Ghetto was a city of steel, tungsten and tin hives built by the Centuri’s as a contact point for the human race. Seemingly built far out to allow Humans to control their solar system without the interference of a more advanced race, but really far enough out to prevent unwanted traffic. The lack of gloss and polish space dreamers of the past had envisaged was of no importance to the Centuri’s. They had built the outpost as a dropping of point for the Human’s to trade resources from their solar system to the Centuri’s. Distant operations were expensive. Better to get the third world systems to do the work and cash in on the unreplaceable bounty. In exchange for Helium 3, heavy and rare earth minerals the Centuri’s trickle fed the Corporations of earth technology from the Universe at large, not enough to allow them to expand further into the Galactic Community, but just enough for them to improve the standard of living on earth and become very wealthy to keep the trade route viable.
“Ghetto tower, Captain Tail of Earth Transport Adelaide requesting permission to dock at bay 41.” Tail double checked her safeties and trajectory. She had done this run a dozen times and each time it gave her the chills to hear the Centuri’s speak to her in English.
The voice, though distorted by the static of Pluto’s weak magnetic field came back to her, an eerie mixture of base and shrill vowels. “Transport Adelaide we have you on Lidar. Docking bay 41 is clear. Please state cargo for log.”
“Ghetto Tower, nature of cargo is sensitive.”
There was a pause. Obviously the traffic controller knew what she was referring too, he/she/it probably hadn’t bothered to load her ship data up at his console. A hidden section of the station was dedicated to Tail’s cargo. “Just give me something for the log Transport Adelaide” the unwanted voice stated.
Tail bit her lower lip. “Livestock.” She said. She felt the pang at the back of her mind that had once been guilt, but had turned to irritation at culpability. She had signed on for a dozen runs. Twelve transports and she would retire on enough money to live out the rest of her days on a beach in the Pacific. She could have sworn she heard the Centuri tower operator giggle.
“Understood. Activate inertia dampeners and cut engines. We’ll guide you from here.”
Tail flicked the series of switches into the off position. The jolt of the tractor beam focusing on her ship kicked in and she slid the Captain’s chair back and turned away from the mangled hunk of tungsten she was being guided towards. Even if something went wrong she wouldn’t be able to do anything. All that remained was to do a final check on the cargo.
She flew naked except a pair of black cotton panties. Life support and the deflection field were essential to keep her alive and prevent micro particles from cracking through the hull, but pleasantries like the cooling through the air filtration unit would overtax the already antiquated electrics. The Adelaide still housed a copper skeleton of wires instead of beryllium alloys. It meant the wires could burn out if too much juice ran through them. Not a problem for a car or boat, but a serious issue when you are flying through space, sling shotting off Jupiter and Saturn to pick up speed. She had a couple of minutes. She put on her cargo pants and black singlet. The fabric instantly became drenched with her sweet. It wouldn’t be a problem when she signed over the cargo and picked up payment. The Centuri’s loved the smell of woman sweet. It was in fact one of the reasons for this trip.
Tail put her boots on and walked the cargo section. Forty-eight incubation chambers housed young human females in cryogenic sleep. She whipped the condensate from one and inspected a sleeping redhead girl no older than twenty. Tail didn’t let herself feel onus. The Centuri’s used the young female to extract a variety of natural compounds. Pheromones, endorphins, hormones. Some were even given doses of medication to make them lactate to provide rare and exotic delicacies. The forty-eight woman on Tail’s ship would be harvested like cattle for by products that gave the Centuri’s a narcotic high. They had obviously attempted to chemically synthesise all these compounds in their labs, but the market and enhanced effects of the substances from a natural source made the trade in human females viable, though highly illegal. When the girl’s glands and tissues could no longer produce the desired substance the girls were either sold off as intelligent pets, or sold off for exotic sex puppets. There was even a rumour that some Centuri’s had taken a liking to human females as ingredients for alien meals. Though Tail had only heard rumours she knew the Centuri’s thought of humans as humans thought of pigs; filthy but useful and delicious in so many ways, there intelligence not worth a note. The people she worked for disguised her manifest and Tail knew better than to ask where the girls came from. She didn’t check all the others visually, but went to the service panel. All Forty-eight cyrotubes were functioning perfectly. Now all she had to do was unload, collect her receipt and head back to earth to be done with this shit forever.
“Maybe the Cook Islands.” She said to herself. “Hawaii?” She pondered.
A large clash burst through the ship like a focused earthquake. Tail found herself falling back onto one of the incubation chambers. “Fuck!” Tail shouted and ran up the deck to the cockpit. Already the blinking red lights told her she had struck something on the way in. The Control Tower still had control, attempting to pull away from the tractor beam would tear the hull open. Tail switched off all systems, except for the cyrotubes, even life support. She would have enough air to dock, she needed everything down less something overloaded. “Tower, what the fuck was that?” She said into her radio and put her harness on.
More giggles, but from a Centuri that could be the sound of embarrassment. “Sorry Adelaide. Minor Malfunction.”
“Minor malfunction? I just hit something.”
Again, giggles. “Nothing important. An emergency pod malfunctioned a came into your trajectory.”
“Visible damage?” Tail needed to know if she had to eject.
“The pod is destroyed. Is cargo intact?”
“The pod?! Who gives a fuck about the pod? Is my ship damaged?”
“Is cargo intact?” The Tower repeated. They didn’t give a fuck about Tail or her ship, all they wanted was forty-eight more bitches to harvest and keep the flow of narcotics coming.
Tail knew they wouldn’t give her anything unless she told them what they wanted. “Cargo is intact.”
There was a pause. “You have some aft damage. Better get it looked at.” The giggling noise came over the two-way again.
“Christ.” Tail said. “This was your fuck up Tower.”
“We know. We’ll run a maintenance suite once you dock. You may…” the Centuri in the tower giggled for almost twenty seconds. “You may be here a while.”
Tail switched off the radio. “Anteater Cunts!” she exclaimed. The Adelaide was only a priority until the cargo was delivered. Once they had unloaded it could take weeks for them to get around to fixing her ship. She had to hope the needed the dock. Tail again slid back in the Captain’s chair. She went to her locker and removed her leather jacket and put it on. Before she buttoned it up she took her Tesla stun pistol and placed it in her inside pocket. As the docking clamps came down and fastened the ship in dock she quickly slid a slender blade into the inside of one of her ex-army boots. Ghetto was no place for humans and she didn’t have any friends here. Her best bet was to find out where the Ore freighter crews, or Marines, hung out and lay low.
Chapter 1.
Tail was pissed. She hit the aft cargo realise and walked down the gangplank into the cold metallic docking station. As she walked down, boots clanging and cold misting air replaced the recycled oxygen she headed past the two Drill storemen and their version of a forklift. The Drill were the equivalent of migrant workers on Ghetto. They were short but strong round creatures with three thick, brown and wrinkled fingers that grabbed at thinks like tendrils. Tail ignored then, but walked to the side not getting in their way.
“Fuck-nuts.” She called to the Centuri with the data pad. He was the head storeman and Tail needed to exchange signatures.
The Centuri, a large upright anteater without the hair, stood seven feet tall and peered at her curiously. Beneath the long protruding nose was a small round mouth with linked shark like teeth. The Centuri’s had wiped out all large herbivores on their home planet a millennia ago and lived on small scaled rodent like scaly creatures. They had no natural predators so hadn’t evolved any defensive attributes. Clearly he did not understand the significance of the term “Fuck-nuts.” He looked back at the data pad as the Drill confirmed each cyrotubes integrity remotely.
“Fuck-nuts, my ship.” Tail could now see the damage to the rear of her ship. The hull hadn’t been breached, but she was lucky her engines were cut. One of the three rear thrusters was completely mangled and she wouldn’t be able to power it up… Wouldn’t have enough air to get home if she ran on only two.
The Centuri ignored her till she got close. As the smell of her sweet beneath the cargo pants and leather jacket reached him he gasped and nearly dropped his data pad. The hand he used to confirm the Drills inspections report dropped to his peni and he rubbed them enthusiastically.
Tails anger was curtailed by three things. The obviousness of the Centuri’s nudity, the norm amongst there species; the stiffing of the twin peni that now protruded like a double penetrating rubber sex toy; and the realisation her pheromones were getting the Store Managers high and highly aroused. The last thing wasn’t a problem.
As Tail moved within feet of him he moved closer to sniff her. Tail put up her hand to prevent him. His nose attempted to close the short distance between them. He stood a foot and a half taller than her, but they were not strong creatures having fed on tiny herbivores until they expanded out into space.
The Centuri gasped again and tried to get a hold of himself. “Hot flight?” He said regaining some composure.
“Old ship. No cooling.” Tail replied and applied force on the Centuri’s smooth round belly to prevent him from getting too close. “I need repairs.”
The Centuri’s tiny head stretched out on its short neck and the elongated nose rose and its nostrils pulsated hungrily trying to get as much of her salty smell as possible. “Not a…” The Centuri increased the pace with which he stroked his double shafts, “…not a priority.”
“Make it one.” Tail said.
“For a sniff.” The Centuri requested.
Tail glared at him. Her anger had no effect. He was lost in her smell. “Two minutes and you make it a priority.”
“Two minutes.” The Centuri said in acquiescence and Tail dropped her arm allowing him to envelope her with his weak velvet arms. His nostril explored her neck and arm pits whilst he held her close. Even through her leather jacket Tail could feel his peni pulsate. Squeaks and giggles came from the alien and start to ply Tail’s jacket off.
Tail suddenly pushed him back. A snail trail of yellow Centuri come ran down her leather Jacket unnoticed. The Centuri’s didn’t come at orgasm. A steady, weak flow of ejaculate came from the peni during arousal. They could impregnate without prolonged intercourse, but evolution had seen fit to make sex so pleasurable for them that they engaged in marathon sexual encounters that meant fertilization was a given.
“You said two minutes.” The Centuri exclaimed interrupted from his act of self-gratification.
“One minute now, the second when my ship is fixed.” Tail said firmly. Despite this being the Centuri’s station and Tail being the same species they were buying as cattle, Tail had the advantage that the Store Manager didn’t know this was her last flight, nor could her ship lay dormant on a busy docking bay. If her ship didn’t return her company couldn’t send another shipment.
“It will still take some time.” The Centuri said composing himself. He stopped rubbing his peni and went back to his data pad. “The office will issue you a temporary Visa and Comm unit. We will call when the ship is ready.”
Tail moved past him and away from her ship. She didn’t want to see where her cargo was being taken. “How long will that be?” The potbellied, bald alien obviously had a schedule as he did not engage Tail again.
“We don’t have parts for human ships. We’ll have to inspect to see what need to be fabricated.” The advantage of being on Ghetto meant there was raw material and shops to rebuild or build damaged components. “Look Fuck-nuts”, Tail used the term freely. It was an obscure insult the Centuri would not pick up on. “No ship. No more cattle.”
The Centuri was clearly already aware of this. “Understood. Please move to immigration.” He looked away from the data pad and gave Tail one last inspection. “And you still owe me one minute.”
Chapter 2.
The Centuri’s never did any lifting. The Drill at the counter inspected the temporary Visa to see the black light ink had printed correctly and then placed it in Tail’s passport. Even from behind the glass Tail could see the Centuri immigration officer sniffing at her, trying to catch a scent of her.
She needed to shower as soon as possible.
As the Drill slide her passport back under the Perspex glass Tail took it without thanks. The Drill then passed through a small Comm-boy, a curved square with a button and speaker. It could not send calls, but would beep when they wanted to speak to her. Tail looked at the Drill and it small black eyes. “Where do the Humans hang?” She asked and didn’t realise it was the first time she had spoken to one of the Drill’s.
The Drill startled and looked around nervously then looked back to his Centuri supervisor. The Supervisor was working away, but his noose was curved around to smell Tail. There was an awkward silence and Tail realised language was clearly an issue, or perhaps the Drill wasn’t allowed to speak. After an awkward pause which indicated Tail wasn’t going away until she knew where she was headed the Centuri Supervisor turned his head. Tail realised along with sniffing he was running his tongue back and forth over his triangular teeth. “Go to Level 191. That should be safe.” The Centuri rose and walked towards the glass. Instantly Tail could see her scent had aroused this Centuri as well. Twin erect peni pointed at her. This Centuri seemed to have the decency not to stroke them in front of her. “Avoid Level 13 at all costs and don’t go above the Hive. We need you to fly the ship out of here.” The Centuri took a long slow look at Tail. The Hive was the Tungsten industrial section of the station. A small cone sphere at the upper levels was called the Spire. It was where the Centuri lived and their crap flowed down into the station. He stared coldly while still cleaning his teeth. Tail started to feel a little anxious and so turned quickly and took her leave. The Centuri’s eyes followed her as she headed to the elevator shoot. An advantage of not going through customs was that Tail still had her Tesla and blade. The makeshift immigration office of the freighter decks funnelled into a single hall leading to the lift and only exit. Tail walked with haste.
“Level 191”. She said to herself. It was a side effect of solo flight that you started talking to yourself. Monotony could easily wipe your memory and fixating on a piece of information could have it repeat over and over, boring them into long term memory. Tail could still remember the cool down rate of the matter shields of the first ship she had flown. Countless useless numbers clogged her brain. As she waited for the lift she turned back and saw the Drill out the counter peering down the hall after her.
She gave him the finger.
He leaned back out of view. The lift didn’t chime. Centuri could feel vibrations from there evolution hunting rodents in burrows. Her only indication the lift was at her level was the door silently opening. She stepped in alone and was grateful not to be stuck in the lift with a Centuri. She needed a shower that meant making a friend with a shower.
Chapter 3.
Kincaid Industries did not have an office on Ghetto. They had a cubical in Cyanide Corps building. The Centuri at immigration had been true to his word, level 191 was populated solely by humans with the exception of a few alien vendors selling knock-off tech and foods Tail wasn’t even sure humans could digest. Marines on leave from assignment walked in groups through the laneways and building that seemed to be constructed of tin and aluminium. The cheap metals were reserved for the humans. Only the Corp buildings were ceramic, chrome and steel. She checked in at Kincaid cubical. Cyanide Security took her Tesla but the steel buckles on her boots concealed her blade. They weren’t interested in handicapping her and after a brief report to a tired and dodgy clerical officer she left and was handed back her weapon with a dirty look. She walked to the bar directly opposite.
She couldn’t get a bunk with a Marine, they weren’t permitted company outside their units. She was a pilot and knew the unwritten law that favours only counted if they could be collected on. The Corp staff all had hermitically sealed quarters, her best bet was to ask one of those for a shower and a couch she could crash on. From the looks she was getting there weren’t a lot of women on Ghetto. Those she saw offered there services for credits, obviously bought here for that purpose alone. This meant she had the advantage of being a rare commodity, but meant her sex would be considered valuable and might be expected for the favours she sought.
A neon sign over lit bar indicated a stable supply of power. It ran off a Corp Substation which meant it was a Corp. Bar and had Corp patrons. She headed across the street. A group of about six Marines all followed her ass as she walked past them.
“Baby!” One of them said to grins from his comrades. “Hate to see you go; love to see you leave.” Not even drunk and an ass. Only the poor and the dumb signed on for extra extra-solar tours. Humans were used as second wave’s soldiers because they had five fingers that could pick up fallen enemy weapons. We were only a couple thousand years out of being preyed on by predators, we hadn’t evolved soft yet. Making us soldiers meant the Centuri’s had to give away weapon technology, the good stuff, not the crap VI consoles and antiquated spaceware the housewives of the First world all had to have.
Tail walked past the Bouncer posing as a Cyanide Corp security guard and realised she was the only non-working woman in the bar. This meant a lot of looks. Her sweet matched the greasy brows of the clientele. The human level had most likely grown too quickly for the climate system to adjust. It was humid on this level. Tail wondered if a shower would save her for more than a couple of hours, but couldn’t think of a better plan. She bee-lined for the bar and sat on a stool with vacancies either side. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was sitting next to them just yet. The bartender came up. His barber cut hairstyle was fresh, but the cuts on his clean shaven face meant that luxuries like razers were in short supply to the working class. Tail gave him points for effort and ordered.
“Whisky.”
“On the House.” The bartender replied and poured her a shot.
Tail frowned. He obviously wanted to keep her in the bar, tattoos and all, she was something soft to look at. Tail didn’t like the thought of being soft.
As he slid the glass forward Tail leant in. “I need a nice guy with a shower.”
“Centuri’s giving you a hard time?” He questioned. “They come down for the working girls at the end of their nights when they’re dirty. They make more getting sniffed than they do turning tricks.”
“I’m not a working girl. I would really not like to have to deal with that.”
“What Corp you with?” He asked.
It hadn’t occurred to Tail, but the bartender was gaging her response. A woman on Ghetto would be the best corporate spy imaginable. Even if she was steeling information a clerk might not send her away least he be without an essential service. She didn’t see the harm in being honest. “Kincaid Industries. Only an industry by name. It’s a chicken shit operation that has found a niche. Small cargo’s, big pay-offs.
A greasy Chinese suit leant on the bar next to Tail.
“Fuck off.” She said and a trace of a long lost accent pricked on her words.
The man’s smile faded and he slinked back to his cubicle defeated before having spoken.
The bartender seemed to regret given her the free drink. She wasn’t going to make the patrons compete for free sex. “Try Hemmingway over in the corner.” He nodded to a man in a suit, nicer than the others in the bar, reading a tattered copy of ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’. He comes in and reads. Buys a drink every chapter then goes home to a deluxe suite. You want a place to crash away from the Centuri’s, you should try your luck with him.”
The advice was to get her away from the bar before she rejected anyone else. Tail took the hint and head over to the pressed suit in the corner hiding his eyes behind water stained leafs of printed text. She pulled out the seat opposite him. He didn’t look up.
Tail saw a glass of a brown liquor in front of him. She leaned forward and took it. As the book came down and a relative handsome man who had access to fresh razors looked at her with minor distain Tail put the glass to her lips and drank it. Cognac. She smiled. She looked quiet pretty when she smiled, but the symmetrical ink on her arms and neck gave her a lived quality at conflict with the mildly attractive conservative who liked to read in a public bar.
Tail put his glass down and in politeness rare for her said, “I need a shower from a man who’s not going to try and to have sex with me.” She had his full attention.
None the less, “Get a room.”
“They charge by the hour I imagine.”
“Then pay by the hour.”
“I get a shower. You get to walk out of this bar with the only, non-prostitute, female on this level.”
“I don’t need an ego boost, you have no leverage.” Typical middle management on his way up. Probably a non-violent psychopath.
Tail frowned. “Isn’t it pretty to think so.” Tail both quoted Hemmingway and hinted at the reality that she was perhaps something to have a conversation with that didn’t charge by the hour or practise how to assemble a pulse rifle in thirty seconds.
Now the man frowned. “Who do you work for?” Could have been caution, or an accusation.
“Kincaid Industries.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Cubicle on the third floor of your office.” Tail informed assuming he was with Cyanide.
The man smiled seemingly placing the company. “Did you know that your clerk has the only working stapler in the building?”
“How much are staples going for these days?”
“Two tokens for the vending machine or a sealed bottle of water.” The man mused.
Tail changed tact having established repour. “I just don’t want the Centuri thinking I’m Viagra.”
“I sympathize.” He looked around. The attention he was receiving for having a live talking woman had the effect of pulling up to a red light in a Ferrari. “You can have a shower in exchange for dinner.”
“Just dinner.” Tail informed, making it clear.
The man smiled and opened his jacket to put his book away. He didn’t mark the page. When new books were unavailable re-reading wasn’t a problem. “This way Captain…?” He said having guessed Tail’s occupation.
“Tail. I’m monoymous.” Tail tried something. “I’m just going to call you Hemmingway.”
The man took it as flirtation. “My name is…”
“No. We’ll stick to Hemmingway.”
He rose and started out of the bar. Tail followed. It was the first conversation the man had had with a woman, who was either enlisted to a regiment or governed by a pimp, in nine months. It was the first conversation Tail had had without saying the word fuck in nearly twenty-three years.
“How old are you?” The man queried as they left.
“Twenty-five.” Tail replied.
Chapter 4.
A deluxe suit consisted of a hermitically sealed apartment with bedroom, study and ensuite. Tail was only interested in the ensuite, maybe the study floor as a place to sleep. Hemmingway’s bed was between single and queen-size, probably as big as they got on Level 191. Hemmingway stayed in the study that also served as living room as Tail stripped off her sweet soaked clothes and stepped into the ensuite. The problem that hadn’t occurred to her was that she would have to place the clothes back on, unless… She opened a cupboard. Sure enough it was a compact chemical laundry. She dropped her clothes in and set it on ‘Clean & Sanitize’. The climate control kept the apartment cool and as she stepped into the ensuite she saw the Goosebumps freckle her ink. Flight rations left her lean, but kicking the gravity to 1.1 of earth’s gravity meant her muscles were tone; waif bellied with graceful legs and arms. Tail admired herself for only a moment and then stepped into the shower. It was not ideal. Water rations meant only a fine jet came out and a digital timer announced her daily allowance. She was face with the conundrum of screwing with Hemmingway and taking the long shower she needed, or being conservative and leaving him enough to wash himself. Tail didn’t like anyone, but didn’t know how long repairs would take so thought leaving him some might permit an extra night’s stay. She found soap and lathered using it to wash her hair also. Once she clicked the water off on the digital pad there was a moment as the coils above her heated, then the sealed shower became an air tunnel with warm air passing over her body, drying her. She stepped out of the shower and back into the bedroom.
Lying on the bed was a satin red dress and a pair of red pumps. Tail’s eyes narrowed. “Cunt” she whispered through her teeth at the thought Hemmingway had been in the room. He was trying to dress her in threads bought to polish his whores. She checked the chemical laundry unit. Her clothes were missing. Tail didn’t like being played. Her leather jacket had disappeared too, that meant no Tesla. She checked under the bed. In his haste he hadn’t collected her boots. The courtesy of a short shower seemed like a betrayed compromise. Tail, not shy, just pissed, marched into the adjoining study naked.
Hemmingway was at the extranet terminal, watching the financial report of earth’s economy. His eyes were immediately drawn to the tanned softness and dark tattoo lines of Tail’s skin. Tail dropped all manners and resumed her usual dialect. “Cunt-biscuit. Where are my clothes?”
Hemmingway remained cool. “You can’t go out to dinner like that. Well you can, but…”
His nonchalance pissed Tail of more. “What’s your game cunt-biscuit. The deal was dinner for a shower.”
Hemmingway played down his innocence and Tail’s figure. “Yes, and you can’t go out to dinner dressed like a freighter pilot.”
Tail’s head sharply turned to the side like a bird of prey examining an animal up close. “Come again?” It was rhetorical and a dare for him to repeat the statement. Tail wanted a low profile and not to be stained by the stench of Ghetto. Whatever Hemmingway had in mind was not what she wanted.
“I have to go to dinner in the Spire to talk contracts. The deal was a shower for dinner. You can’t go to the Spire dressed like a freighter pilot.”
“Fuck you.”
“I doubt I’ve made that kind of impression.” Hemmingway rubbed his brow. His attention to Tail’s lithe form was void of the attention of a cad. “I’m sorry. Even showered the Centuri I’m meeting is going to be so distracted by you, I’m going to make a killing. You want a place to stay without having to perform coitus then come to dinner.” Hemmingway now looked her up and down, stopping at her thighs and the light curly hairs above her sex.
His moment of human nature reminded Tail she was on Ghetto. “I am not a whore.”
“No sex. Just dinner and a safe place to stay on Ghetto.” Hemmingway responded resuming eye contact.
Tail said something Ukrainian. Something that couldn’t be expressed in English and turned back to the bedroom. She slide into the satin dress, but skipped the pumps in favour for the boots, retaining the slender blade at least. It was not obvious to her in her mood, but the intricate necklace of ink contrasting the red dress made her look exotic in the low cut dress. She walked back out into the study and Hemmingway smiled despite the combat boots.
“I get to stay her as long as I like.”
“With no advances I promise.” Hemmingway rose and walked over to her. “You don’t even have to smile, or talk, just sit and eat and then you crash here, eat room service and go whenever you like.” Hemmingway extended his elbow for Tail to take. She marched to the front door leaving him hanging and started down the hall.
Hemmingway sealed his apartment and called after her, “Wrong way. Elevators going up are this way.” Tail had her fists clenched in fists. Going up was a bad idea; this dress was a bad idea, but being on the Streets when the Centuri came down for the working girls was a very bad idea. Hemmingway pressed the button for the Spire gate level and the lift silently moved up. Tail opted for angry silence. Hemmingway, either out of discomfort, or anxiety spoke. “You’re going to see some things up there. These aren’t the types of Centuri you can insult.” He straightened his business suit. “We’re cattle to them, but we have things they need. Be polite and don’t speak unless spoken to…” He glanced back at Tail. “Even then, maybe just smile.” He was asking for things he’d said Tail didn’t have to supply. He was trying to see his reflection in the lift doors as they approached it. He wasn’t nervous, but this deal was obviously… a big deal. Maybe Tail could get more out of him if he was desperate.
The elevator as fast as it was silent gave the mild sensation of stopping. “No smiling.” Tail said as one last ‘fuck you’ before the doors opened.
The Spire was not like Level 191. The architecture was as alien as it was intricate and Tail immediately realised the lift did not go to the Spire, but rather to a check point all Aliens had to go through to get to the Spire. It was then she realised her Visa was in her leather coat. Hemmingway had taken more than her Tesla, he had taken her papers. In protest she remained in the elevator as Hemmingway stepped out. He turned around and frowned as if she was embarrassing him. Tail again narrowed her eyes on him. “What?” He said showing the first signs of impatience.
“My papers.” Tail’s expression came from the neck up and it was a very intricate neck. The patterns on her tattoo signed a complicated language as her head subtly tilted and turned.
“You won’t need them, we have an invitation.”
Tail liked this less and less as her deal evolved. What had been a plan to avoid as many Centuri as possible had turned into a business dinner at the Centuri’s home. Her Xenophobia had, since her first encounter with the Centuri and their Aliens servants, turned into a racism. Far be it for her to like a culture that saw them as cattle.
Hemmingway’s desperation for the deal started to show as the Centuri at the checkpoint took an interest at the scene. “Listen I can sweeten the deal.”
“Credits.” Tail said.
“Not a percentage on the deal, but yes; credits.” Though they had meet at a chance encounter Tail suddenly realised despite playing coy Hemmingway had a thin vale of hopefulness about him. The upper hand made Tail more confident.
“5000 Credits and a Cyanide Industries License.” A License meant she could sell items owned by Cyanide Industries. Since Apple at the turn of the second millennium Industries had taken to never selling items, but leasing them. It meant products could not be modified or resold, new ones had to be purchased to replace them. A Licence gave its bearer a reprieve from the lease and ownership to modify and resell products.
Now it was Hemmingway’s turn to frown.
“You said me as a distraction would help the deal?” Now Tails tattoo expressed a language of confidence.
“Fine.” Hemmingway said with haste. The game was exposed. Tail was the lottery. If Hemmingway had come up with a Marine or Working-girl he would have been looked down on by the Centuri. A free independent date meant he was a man of success and could obtain hard to get items.
Tail smiled. She walked out of the elevator with a strut and extended her elbow for Hemmingway to take. For a License she was in, she just hadn’t picked Hemmingway as desperate, a sign he was a good negotiator at least. As a couple in appearance, but really in mutual despise they approached the Security who had now lost interest in the couple after the short scene at the elevator. Tail even smiled as the intricate pattern in the digital invite was scanned. The Centuri on guard waved them through and they walked into the Elevator bay to go into the inhabited regions of the Spire. These elevators were translucent and polished. A Drill attendant was present to ensure the Centuri’s didn’t have to go to the effort of pressing a button. Hemmingway, not speaking Drill presented his invitation again and the Drill stretched up to the desired button. Though operated by Drill, the Centuri designed for themselves, as to pretend they didn’t need the other races. The lift started to go up through the thick ceramic ceiling and into a bright light of opulence.
Globes, not sold on earth, lit every corner and there were no shadows. No heat came from the light hinting at filaments from an alloy not shared with humans, or too expensive for them to fabricate. They only went up two levels, but as the glass of the elevator lift Tail could see the Alleyways of Level 191 were slums in comparison to the wide boulevards of the Spire. Plumbing and Cooling units were hidden and no Humans walked the street other than business men marching in the wake of a disinterested Centuri.
“Welcome to the Business District.” Hemmingway informed as Tail played her part. “The real Business District.”
Tail’s intimidation and fascination was not evident. Before her parents had made it to Australia as refugees, Eastern Europe had long been exposed to the Chinese onslaught. As Russia surrendered, Chinese soldiers swept into the Baltic Independents States and she had run from House to house under gunfire. The Chinese had a policy, if someone is afraid they have something to be worried about so her escape into Germany came by casually walking past Chinese soldiers as if she had nothing to hide. It was earth’s final resource war. Australia and Canada had survived, America had gone bust and Tail saw the Ocean for the first time.
Hemmingway lead them to a Silicon crystal Restaurant and for the third time showed his invitation. As the Attendant, a Centuri, scanned it Tail leaned in and whispered in Hemmingway’s ear, “You are such a cunt.” She wanted to remind him she was here against her will, though her favour had temporarily been bought, and may need to be maintained.
A Drill came out and gestured with poorly imitated human gestures for them to follow him. As they walked through the Restaurant to the seated Tail spied a naked girl, about the say age as those she freighted at the feet of a sitting Centuri. She was on a leash, her hand farnsened behind her back eating out of a chrome dish like a cat as if she hadn’t been feed for days. The Centuri who held the leash was running his figures down her back and then sniffing them. The final thing Tail noticed before Hemmingway guided her out of view was a chrome plate at the back of her skull, with her hair draped around it. It had a hole in its centre. Tail knew what it was for. The girl, the Centuri’s pet, was injected with Opium from Afghanistan then a vial was placed in the hole to collect the chemicals the girl’s brain produced to give her owner a smooth high. It was the reason Tail was able to retire when she got back to earth, she’d just never seen it before. Perhaps she had transported that very girl.
Her attention was immediately refocused as they approached a table with a Centuri already seated. He puckered his small mouth showing his teeth, a sign he was not happy. Tail’s protest at the elevator had made Hemmingway slightly late instead of punctual. “My apologies Steve.” The Centuri’s who did business with humans adopted business names humans could pronounce. They were still no-senesical, like calling a Rottweiler ‘Gaven’. “I had to let my date shower so she did not distract you.” Hemmingway sat in the seat and Tail was confused. She suddenly realised that it was intended she sit on the floor at Hemmingway’s feet. She hide her distaste and knelt down. She was getting paid for this after all now and she had done a lot worse for money. As her knees hit the ceramic plate that was the immaculate restaurant floor her anger kicked in. She rose, walked over to an adjoining table. It was vacant. She collected the smaller chair, the one suited for humans and noisily dragged it across to the table. Hemmingway shot her an angry look.
Steve seemed confused for a moment and then racked back in hic-cup like chuckle. Tail amused him. Steve was no longer interested in Hemmingway’s lateness. He peered down at Tail over his long nose. Though he was trying to be discreet his nostrils were flared as he tried to get her scent, or he already had it and wanted to savour it. Tail looked back defiantly. Steve extended his velvet fingers and reached for Tail. Though appearing passive, her right hand by her side drifted back to her boot and the blade hidden in it. The Centuri ran a finger across Tail’s neck, tracing her tattoo. It seemed to fascinate him.
“You’ve never seen one tattooed before?” Hemmingway said politely composed at Steve’s complacency at Tails sexual equality.
Steve did not answer, but drew his hand back and sniffed his finger. Despite her shower Tail could imagine his peni beneath the table grow hard. The Centuri’s eyes became softer. Hemmingway had exactly what he wanted, a distracted Centuri at a business dinner. He wasted no time. “Let’s get right down to it Steve. Earth’s moon has oceans of Helium 3, the problem is distance. It’s not economical to transport from the inner solar system so you don’t take Cyanide’s stakes on the moon seriously.”
Steve was listening to the pitch, but his eyes kept drifting back to Tail. Tail smiled at him, but the submission made her blush, not from shyness but anger. She was imagining beating the shit out of Hemmingway on the lift ride down and taking the key pass to his apartment.
“Our Marines have seen your long range drones fly in nukes as we bug out of snatch and grabs.” Hemmingway held up his hands passively. “We’re not worried about a few irradiated Marines, it’s what they signed on for. But, if you give us that long range VI drone technology and we can automate the Lunar harvesting of Helium 3. Delivery will be slow at first, but we are talking a big investment. Enough long range drones to keep a steady supply and if you invest, we can build more. More drones, more Helium 3.” Hemmingway was cut off by the arrival of a Drill waiter with menus. Steve barked something in Centuri at the Drill and he entered it into the data pad that went straight to the kitchen. Hemmingway took his time. Tail correctly deduced he would be ordering for both of them. Hemmingway scanned the menu for food he could digest. From his three options, he chose the one with some protein. He asked for two, but Steve yelled out in Centuri at the Drill waiter and he hastily changed the order. Hemmingway looked a little shaken, but then smiled. Tail realised the Centuri had ordered for her and didn’t like it one bit, less when he started to giggle.
“5000 Credits, a License and I’m definitely beating the shit out of Hemmingway in the Elevator”, Tail thought to herself.
Steve said almost nothing for the next quarter hour and Tail tuned out. Hemmingway’s almost autistic recitement of figures and projections from a small fleet of two tone Drones was boring and agitated her in the uncomfortable environment. Steve listened, but kept twitching his eyes back to Tail at her seat. Tail, not wanting to engage Steve at all took to looking around the room. Apart from the girl she had seen coming in she was the only human female in the restaurant. It occurred to her that the Centuri Culture was chauvinistic. No Centuri females were present in the Restaurant. In fact Tail couldn’t recall seeing one ever. The obscene display of their two peni told Tail that there must be a female of the species. All of the conversations were in English as if the Centuri were insulted by the pretence that a human could speak their language. Tail tried to listen into each conversation, none were going as well as Hemmingway’s, most had a plea to them and Tail realised just how desperate for technology her species were. It was like they knew when Sol’s system had no resources left to offer we would be left alone to fend for ourselves with nothing, yet they strived on begging for scraps, offering more and more for just a little taste of tech.
The Drill waiter, or another approached the table carrying silver flat discs with food on them. Centuri table manners amounted to eating the food in any manner. The only rule seemed to be never letting a scrap off the side of the disc. Therefore it was usual to eat the outer food first and work your way in, least you embarrass yourself. Steve was naturally given his first. Tail expected him to tuck straight into it, it was not like the Centuri to wait for humans. He sat back though and eyed Tail as if anxiously waiting for something. His thin tongue peeped out between his circular jaws of teeth and traced the serrated tips. Tail thought it best to look away, but that didn’t stop Steve from maintaining his stare. The Drill provided Hemmingway with his plate next, beans in gravy and rehydrated mashed potato. Tail glanced at the gravy as it crept out from the centre of the plate and risked coming over the edge. The logical this to do was pick up a utensil and scoop the gravy back into the centre of the plate, but Hemmingway could pick up a utensil until Steve did. Tail’s was the last to be served and she slowly closed her eyes and repressed the obscenities as a plate of steaming purple leaves was set before her. Instantly she smelled the zesty tang of the cooked alien plant followed by the smell of menthol.
‘It’s not even fucking edible for humans.’ She thought. How sick was this going to make her.
Steve seemed to be at excitements edge and Hemmingway, usually so calm clenched his fist as his gravy ran ever closer to the edge of his plate. With a twinkle in his eyes Steve leant back and picked up his utensil. Hemmingway quickly did the same and saved tarnishing his immaculate impression by successful pushing back the tide of gravy. Tail was naturally the last to eat, not with any mind to Centuri culture, but out of a distinct revulsion for the meal that lay before her. Had Hemmingway not started eating, or the silver flat discs could be picked up from the table with ease, she would have openly picked up hers and swapped it with Hemmingway’s. Her reluctance was noticed.
“Problem?” Steve said narrowing his tiny bead like eyes at her.
“Is there a problem?” Hemmingway followed with and rubbed his fingers and thumb together signifying money. The gesture was alien to Steve, but Hemmingway made it clear. His deal was going well, acquiescence from Tail at this point would mean greater payment; protest would break the deal. From what she had heard of the scope of the deal, her pay was chicken feed compare to the killing Cyanide would make.
Tail picked up her utensil and pierced a purple leaf with it. It was soggy and broke apart into a bight size portion. Tail played with it on her plate as Steve resumed eating. Hemmingway was watching intently still though as if to make a threat. Tail took the leaf to her lips and it tingled like chilling. She opened her mouth and placed the leaf inside. She chewed while breathing in through her nose, then lurched forward suppressing a gag. Chewing was a bad idea. Pushing aside her imaginations of what it would do to her gut she swallowed and immediately looked around for a glass of water. There was none. Hemmingway picked up on this and softly spoke to her without looking at her.
“There are no drinks for the first course of a Centuri meal.” He said in an attempt to prevent her from breaking the cardinal rule of requesting it. Tail found it difficult to swallow the saliva that pooled in her mouth. One bit was playing havoc with her senses. Almost instantaneously she felt hot and flushed. She knew she was about to start sweaty and her throat grew tight. Her discomfort started to outweigh her need to play along. She blinked rapidly and looked around at the other tables for a vacant glass of water. The now unstoppable reaction to the food broke down her dislike for Hemmingway and his manipulation. She hunched forward and whispered, in submission to win his favour.
“I need a glass of…”
“No.” Hemmingway calmly replied with.
“Hemmingway please.” She begged through a whisper not wanting to embarrass him in front of Steve. Something was very wrong and she needed his favour now. Tail felt like she has as she escaped the Ukraine. Small; weak; helpless. ‘Was that why you sold woman as cattle. To be safe.’ The voice was her own and it came from the back of her brain as if passing final judgement before… Tail realised she was about to pass out. She stood up suddenly, an action mirrored by Hemmingway, and took a step towards the exit. She needed to be someplace cool, someplace with humans.
As her legs gave way she turned and feel. Hemmingway caught her in his arms as if he’d dipped her in a dance. How many times had he performed this execution? Tail’s eyes looked up at him for help, or mercy, she couldn’t judge which.
“I’m sorry Tail. Just go with it.” Steve had finished his plate and slapped the table for the Drill waiter to return. Hemmingway held her cloth and shushed her soothingly. As the waiter came Steve pointed to the incapacitated Tail and barked something in Centuri. Tail was left looking at Hemmingway’s driven and desperate eyes. “Centuri meals consist of four meals, and I’m sorry, but you’re the main course.”
Tail couldn’t comprehend. She was weakly aware of her weight being shifted as she was carried by Hemmingway, led by the Drill waiter, towards the kitchen.
Chapter 5.
The hollow pucking sound of clashing grapheme pots woke Tail and the screeching abuse of a Centuri voice that followed and made her aware. The first thing she did was inhale deeply and realise the sickness of… however long ago had left her. The next thing she did was try to sit up on the chrome table she lay. She couldn’t move. A small ceramic device on her long, slender neck beeped and distracted the head chef, a Centuri, from yelling in his language at a clumsy Drill kitchen hand. He moved to the side of the table and peered down at Tail unwrapped from Hemmingway’s red dress. Tail stared up in horror, paralysed and exposed, at his circular mouth. Though his lips were closed the points of his teeth were still visible as their mouths never closed properly. A sickening feeling came over Tail and she got the distinct impression the circular lips were smiling at her malevolently.
“What the fuck are you playing at cunt?” Her paralysis was from the neck down and caused, Tail suspected, by the devise attached to her neck.
The Centuri chuckled and indulged in a momentary sniff of her naked body, letting his elongated nose trace her soft skin from sex to breasts. Tail tried to process her nudity as the Centuri Chef turned and barked some orders with stiffening members. Whatever had motivated his anger at the clumsy Drill slipped away as a priority. Tail had the uncomfortable feeling that her consciousness made her the centre of attention. The Drill waddled over carrying a white convex plate; one side lined with LED’s and a protruding handle with dials and trigger. The other end was metallic with holes like a shower head. Tail turned her head and watched the Drill nervously as he test fired it at some kind of alien produce. As the LED’s lit up in a pattern the fruit remained consolidated at first, but as he test fired it for the third time a steam like shimmer appeared above the fruit and its integrity failed. The Drill adjusted a digital setting as if he was fine tuning it for… what?
Tail was distracted from the scene of the perfectionist Drill as the Centuri returned and cracked open some kind of egg above her belly. There was no yoke, but the oily contents started to pool over her firm belly. As the Centuri chef took a brush and started to spread it over her tanned flawless tanned skin he made sound between a cat pouring and a man gurgling water. Tail didn’t know it but the Centuri was singing, an intimacy rarely shared outside their own kind. As the chef continued Tail became aware that despite being paralysed she could feel. She could feel the warm oil coating her bellies skin, she could feel the cold table below; and she would be able to feel… she looked back across at the Drill. As he touched a second fruit with the device and fired the strange pulse at it. The change was minimal. He now held down the trigger and it took a good thirty seconds before the vapour appeared above the fruit. He turned with no acknowledgement of his helpless witness and placed the device on the cold table beside Tail. She now knew what it was for.
Tail bartered. “I’m Captain Tail of the freighter Raven. Licensed under Kincaid Industries.” The Centuri was ignoring her applying a healthy coat of the oil over her sex. “If you cook me there will be no one to bring you cattle. You’ll run out of…” The Centuri placed his hands behind Tails neck and pinched a nerve. Her jaw burst open and she started to cry out. As if from practise the Drill hastily grabbed one of the alien fruits he’d tested the device on and plopped it in her mouth. The chef released one of his fingers and as Tail’s mouth bit down on the fruit he tapped a button on the device on her neck. Her jaw froze rigid, clasping down on the ornamental fruit like a suckling pig. She wailed, but her cry was muffled. The Centuri went back to singing and started basting her breasts.
Tail hadn’t cried for years, but as the Centuri finished basting her a single tear rolled from an eye. The Centuri placed the brush down and gazed at Tail making sure he had her attention. He made a double puck with his mouth and lifted the showerhead side of the device to her belly. Tail tried to vocalize a protest, but all that came out was a whimper, pitiful for her pride.
The LED’s on the device lit up, nothing at first, as Tail strained to see. She felt a tingle, a tickle, then her eyes burst wide with a sudden explosion as her belly erupted in searing pain. Had she mobility her back would have arched and her legs kicked. She found herself gasping for air but the contraction of her diaphragm echoed the pain of her belly. Somehow through the fruit she found the courage to scream. Rapid and muffled she wailed, as her screams started to subside the Centuri moved the device to a fresh, virgin, section of her flesh and the LED’s flashed again. ‘Jesus, fucker mother cunt, Christ. They’re cooking me alive.’ The dots were starting to be connected as the device shifted around her mid drift. Each pulse bought fresh pain and the intermittent tease between bursts from the device never gave her enough time to recover from the last.
The efficient two minutes, that seemed like hours came to an end and Tail finally panted weak on the table. It seemed to be over. The chef turned to a pallet of spices and with three radial fingers clutched at a blend of alien spices. He held his hand over Tail’s marinated and steaming belly and grinded them together, painting her skin with speckles of red and green spices. Tail closed her eyes, the pool of tears ran down her checks and she fought to concentrate through the linger pain throughout her abdomen.
The Centuri chef barked another order in his language, his voice less like a guard dog protesting proximity. Tail found the Drill and the Centuri grasping at her ankles and manipulating her wrists above her head. Tail’s mind went dull. ‘They’re going to eat you now.’ She realised. ‘Steve is going to eat you now.’ She tried to cry out again, but with her weakened belly the unsatisfactory whimpers were all the she could make. She was placed on a chrome flat tray. She could not see the manipulation of any controls but after some beeping her helpless form started to rise up as the tray started to hover. With a Gentle push the Drill pushed her along and the white ceramic wall ahead parted silently and the commotion and light of the restaurant returned.
The only thing more surreal than her situation was the total lack of interest any of the alien and human diners gave her. No one gave her a second glance, let alone a first. The Drill navigated the maze of tables towards Steve and Hemmingway. Steve had undergone a resurgence talking at length of the benefits to both parties of the deal, cemented by Tails sacrifice. The plates of the earlier courses had been removed. In desperation Tail stared at Hemmingway, alien fruit still in mouth. He fidgeted with the remains of his table settings, halting his pitch to allow Steve to eat. When he finally did make eye contact with Tail there was shame in his face. It could be no clearer to him that extreme ransoms of conduct had been paid. Humans were selling their own kind to barter for the advanced technology of the Centuri, and were they even the most advanced race in the galaxy, or just those with the proximity to exploit the human resource.
Tail’s wish of a plea to Hemmingway was cut short as Steve reached for a three pronged fork. Steve wavered the tiny trident over her belly as is wondering where to start. With a pure of Centuri song he darted at her belly. Tail didn’t feel the prick, but she saw Steve raise it back up with a tiny nibble of her flesh on the end. She whimpered again. The absolute nature of the situation bought resolute terror. Human’s had been at the top of their food chain since before history. Tail was a pioneer of a lost realisation. Steve took his first bit and shuffled excitably in his seat. He was savouring her.
Chapter 6.
With one hand Steve was caressing Tail’s neck in admiration of the art necklace on there. With his other hand he curled his fork to capture another portion of the divine meat from the cavity formed over her belly. Tail had gone cold, in a daze she stared up with Steve and his appreciative eyes. The process had not permitted Tail to go into shock, to have her heart allow her to escape her attendance at the table as dinner. Hemmingway sat back, watched politely in silence. As Steve started to relax further into the intimacy of eating a living human Hemmingway seized his chance.
“You’ve agreed to our deal, haven’t you Steve?” It was loaded question.
Steve was tipsy of Tail’s biology. Some of the hormones, and even amino acids, in her physiology were alien to Steve. They replaced those used in regular Centuri, they had an effect like heroine, binding to receptors and sedating the Centuri. Steve nodded not taking his eyes of Tail’s neck tattoo. To him the intricate pattern was dancing, the shapes playing with his Centuri perspective as he tripped on her flesh.
“Could I get your marker for the contract?” Hemming pulled a slim data pad, a tablet, with the contract noted on it. Steve left the beautiful tattoo and placed his equivalent to a thumb on the data pad. His DNA served as signature and he imparted it without reviewing the contract. No doubt Hemmingway had added unmentioned clauses prior to dinner. For once the humans were getting a good deal. With the momentary distraction Steve sat back, surrendering his meditation with his meal. He seemed dazed. The restaurant was closing and like a bar tender cutting of a drunk client the Drill came and activated the tray that Tail laid on. Again and less conscious she found herself being glided away from the table back to the kitchen.
As the wall silently parted again to consign Tail to the kitchens horrors she noticed more Drill. They were clambering about cleaning up for the evening. The one that had escorted Tail back in left his post and went to work, fighting for a position to clean pots. Tail, damaged and disorientated looked around to see her fate. The Centuri Chef appeared by her side, he’d been relaxing and watching whilst the Drill carried out the menial tasks. His eyes looked at hers as a human may look at a slaughter lamb. Tail cringed her face in anticipation of what came next. The Centuri relaxed. He picked up and popped a tin canister of gel. He poured the gel into the cavity created by Steve’s fork. Steve had not gone deep enough to harvest Tail’s organs and indeed they had been raw. The instrument used to cook Tail had been calibrated to only go as deep as her waif muscle on her belly. The Centuri, with no heed to sanitation spread the gel throughout the wound. Once spread he pulled a mat, segmented like the tracks of a tank and lay it over the cavity. Tail shut her eyes and expected a new pain. The flash of light like a photo copier ran back and forth between the mat and Tail’s eroded belly. The Centuri left his post and wandered about the kitchen leaving Tail alone. She opened her eyes. There was no pain. She started to feel a numbness in her gut, were the absence of flesh meant there should be no feeling at all. The numbness turned to a tingle; pins and needles; finally she felt the uncontrollable twitch of muscle. The Centuri returned and red a bar on the upside of the mat. Satisfied he raised the mat. Contrasted to the drive core tanned skin was a blotch of fresh white skin. The wound had been healed, new muscle and dermis generated from the gel. Tail panted in bewilderment, relief mingled with fear that this regeneration would allow another helping; another processed of being cooked and having to lay there as she was picked at with a tiny trident.
For once the Centuri did the lifting. He pushed Tail through the swarming Drill to another wall. This one opened after a click of a lock. Tail found herself in a white room with a shelf. Hemmingway’s red dress and her boots were on the shelf and the Centuri paused. Her reached over and gave a tap on the device on her neck. Tail lurched into mobility. Her immediate desire was to roll away from the Centuri. As he collected the device for another use she rolled of the hovering tray onto the floor. The force jarred her and though repaired she realized her belly was weak. The muscles were brand new and had no strength. With a gasp and a yell she spat the alien fruit from her now free jaws. “Mother fucking cunt!” She yelled at the Centuri as he exited the room like a zoo keeper placing a wild boar in an enclosure. Tail struggled to her feet and stood as the wall sealed behind him and the click signified a lock. She stumbled to the door, knocking the tray which hoovered into an adjacent wall of the small room. “Mother Fuckers”, she pounded on the wall. “Fucking Alien Cunts.” Her pounds turned to punches and she felt a crack in her hand as it smacked into the sealed exit from the kitchen. The pain in her hand reminded her of threat. She turned, leaning against the wall and slumped to the floor crying naked and alone.
After a couple of minutes she had the presence of mind to again worry about her vulnerability. The presences of a door on the opposite side of the room signified this was not a cell. Her clothes being returned to her confirmed she would walk out of her. She slipped on the dress. Only after the contrasting pale skin was covered did she touch her belly. She tried crunching her muscles. She couldn’t make her abdomen as hard and she knew the fresh muscles were weak. She checked her boots. The thin silver blade had been taken. There would be no weapon to commit an act of revenge with. She sat on the bench and placed the boots on. When she had finished she rose and with apprehension at what she would find walked out the exit. She came out at reception. On a row of chairs, too high for humans to sit on Hemmingway sat looking nervous despite the killing he had just made. Tail charged.
It was a blur for her as she ran. Hemmingway rose in shock, though he should have seen it coming. The first punch was from her good hand and it caught Hemmingway square on the nose with an appeasing crack. The second fist was aimed at his temple, but the pain from the injured hand bought back some level of awareness. Tail continued with a fail knee to the ground that landed on Hemmingway’s calf. His brief cries were situated with his logic. “You need me to get out!” Tail knew she should have cared. She bought her good fist down above his eye. “YOU NEED ME TO GET OUT.” Hemmingway insisted and his logic caused Tail to calm. She was perched above him as he lay on the floor. Beyond her anger Tail found the reality that she was in the spire. She was trapped in the Centuri’s home and if Hemmingway didn’t walk her out she would be a stray animal trapped until claimed. And for what purpose… Tail slumped back on the floor panting in anger and fear and trepidation.
Hemmingway picked himself up. Totalitarianism compelled him to be outraged at the attack. “Jesus Christ”, he exclaimed the name of the forgotten deity. “Do you think I wait for the whores I bring up here?” His hand went to his damaged nose; blotted the blood trickling from above his eye. “We fucking secured their drone technology tonight. Do you know what that means?”
Tail didn’t care. Now his anger meant a delay in leaving. She wanted off this level and out of this station. She almost felt regret at retaliating.
“We can modify them. Make contact with other races who aren’t going to exploit us.” Extra solar space flight in now an option.” Hemmingway got madder. “Not to mention we can now produce stellar transporters at a fraction of the cost.” Hemmingway had made a killer deal.
A passing Centuri caught a whiff of Tail’s scent. As he walked his nose crept of to the side and his peni started to stiffen in response. Tail didn’t care about the reasons behind Hemmingway’s ploy. She no longer cared about what he had done or what she had gone through. She just wanted to get off this fucking Station. “Just get me the fuck away from here.”
Hemmingway pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He tried to clean the blood from his face leaving a crimson smudge. “Yeah.” He said moving past the assault. “Come on.” As he walked past her the trembling Tail turned and walked silently by his side towards the elevator.
Prologue.
Even back on level 191 Tail didn’t escape the Centuri. They had come down to sniff the prostitutes on the streets corners, messy from their nights entertain the marines and corporates. Hemmingway walked close to her and as the fourth Centuri approached the pair with a credit stick Hemmingway’s stern refusal made some grounds for convalescence in her immediate need for security. They entered his building then his sweet. Tail’s trembling was yet to subside even behind Hemmingway’s locked door. Hemmingway was passive, sympathetic after his gain.
As Tail stood in the corner, back against the wall, he went to his extranet terminal and loaded up a cred stick. “Fifty-thousand.” He said holding it out to her. “More than the deal.”
Tail didn’t want to take it. She closed her eyes and prayed for a beach and palm trees; warm sun and simple locals she could abuse in English without them understanding.
“Take it.” Hemmingway imparted, a hint of sternness in his voice. He wanted it all tied up in a nice deal.
Tail chanced eye contact. Hemmingway had justification in his eyes. He truly believed the non-ethical conduct was permitted by the unparalleled gain. Tail snatched the cred-stick and immediately regretted it.
“And your license.” Hemmingway now extended a data pad.
Tail took it without checking.
Hemmingway lifted a cushion of his sofa and produced Tail’s original clothes. “You can take the bed. Hopefully your ship will be fixed by tomorrow.” Tail added then to the load in her hands hugging them close like a security blanket. Her belly twitched, the new muscles a reminder of what had happened.
As she turned to Hemmingway’s bedroom he called after her. “It’s not that different you know.” Hemmingway sat down on his sofa where he would spend the night. “Offering you up to the Centuri for a deal. It’s a lot better than transporting women for the same fate. At least I collected you.”
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