Merrie Dawn

by Chris

  Merrie Dawn

  By Chris Andrews

  Terrence looked at the scrap of plaspaper again, reading the handwriting by the nearby glow of an illuminated wall. Merrie Dawn, Centerian Complex, Corivan Road – after hours only.

  His breath frosted in the air as he studied the brightly lit building across the street, a sense of despair settling over him.

  He coughed, grimaced, and then wiped a spot of silver-flecked blood from his lips.

  The sign read: Merrie Dawn's Relaxation Chamber. "This can't be right," he muttered.

  A whorehouse.

  He crushed the plaspaper in his palm, shoved it into his trouser pocket and walked away in disgust.

  His friend, Narrenden, must have written it down wrong. Must have. There's no way an empath would or could work in a whorehouse.

  The emotions would be overwhelming. Then again, perhaps the empath didn't have a choice; some whores were rumoured to be slaves.

  He pulled the note out and read it again. It wasn't in Narrenden's hand.

  The Ophelian contact must have written the message and passed it through intermediaries.

  And, it was all he had to go on to save his daughter's life. Biogerm infection and the treatments used to combat it were killing his baby daughter, Shaunen.

  She'd already had a liver transplant, and now her kidneys and lungs were failing. He'd been told she only had days at best.

  An empath, though, could reduce Shaunen's suffering – take the tension from her body and hopefully give her some strength.

  In a few more weeks the next generation of anti-virals would be available for human testing, and he could get her on the program.

  He pulled off his coat with its Federation sigil and hid it between two parked transports, then slowly worked his three marriage bands from his fingers and placed them in a trouser pocket.

  With any luck his jacket would still be there when he returned. Tension made his legs weak as he crossed the street and stopped before the door.

  He looked around to ensure no one was about, and then slipped inside.

  Low, sensual light illuminated the foyer in warm reds and yellows. Secretive shadows helped hide and selectively reveal the curving architecture, alcoves and throughways.

  Human and Ophelion men and women lounged in preparation for customers, ignoring him. Most were naked except for the colourful ink decorating their bodies – a popular attraction among many of the peoples of this sector.

  An older Ophelion female, the hostess, approached him. She wore a long blue gown of very expensive liquid nenfit.

  Terrence resisted an urge to back away. The nenfit was toxic to human touch. The dress clung to her curves and reflected light on what was supposed to be the sensual parts of her bony body.

  Some humans found Ophelions attractive. Exotic.

  They reminded Terrence of the whippet-like pigs he'd hunted on Aarenos IV.

  "What services are you requiring?" she asked in a naturally husky voice.

  "Uh," he hadn't thought this far. He couldn't just ask for an empath. He'd be lynched. "Uh, a human. Female." He hoped the empath was female.

  Sixteen human women moved from various alcoves and drifted toward the centre of the room.

  They'd been chosen for their beauty. He studied their faces, features perfectly balanced, all young, yet nothing alike.

  Their hair varied from blonde to black, with skin in various shades of pale to ebony. He had to remind himself they were probably debt-slaves or at best received payment for their services in accommodation and food vouchers.

  And he was married.

  He frowned. He'd once seen a crewwoman beaten in the street after openly asking for directions to an empath. "I'm looking for a gentle girl," he said.

  She pursed her grey lips, as if smiling. "All our girls are gentle, should you wish it. Anything else?"

  He fought an urge to run fingers through his prematurely greying hair. "Uh, I want a full night." He glanced at the slave girls. "Massage, conversation." His ringless fingers suddenly felt naked. "Sensuous pleasure, perhaps."

  The hostess smiled, careful not to display her short tusks before a prospective human client. "Of course," she said.

  She waved her arm toward the girls. Two drifted away, returning to their positions by the walls and alcoves. The others obediently formed a line, all smiling, some suggestively, some coyly.

  "Anything else?"

  His palms began sweating. "Not really," he said. Asking for someone who radiates an aura of calm wasn't going to help. "Friendly, perhaps…"

  His breathing was beginning to feel constricted again, but if he coughed now, showed any sign of illness, they'd throw him out just on the suspicion he had biogerm infection. He took a deep breath and let it out softly.

  "Insightful," he finished.

  The hostess nodded. "Our girls are trained in all the finer arts, including relaxation therapies and substances, conversation, music, dance and specialised performances." She waved toward the remaining women. "They are all friendly and insightful. Please, choose."

  Only one girl caught his full attention. She had dark hair, olive skin, and a dimpled smile he found irresistible. Much like his wife before biogerm ravaged her vitality.

  As he met the girl's eyes, she looked away. Teasing. Good. He couldn't afford to choose someone he felt attracted to. He made to turn from her, but noticed the gold and silver tattoos decorating her breasts and crotch. He stared. Not ink. Biogerm tattoos.

  She should be dead.

  "Her," he blurted.

  The hostess smiled. "Of course. No man can resist Merrie Dawn."

  Terrence blinked. "Merrie Dawn?" His fingers brushed the pocket with the handwritten note.

  Merrie Dawn looked up, her smile failing to touch her eyes as she studied his face in return. Terrence pursed his lips.

  She stepped forward, welcome abruptly radiating from her posture and expression as no doubt she'd been trained to show.

  He tried to return his attention to his hostess, but the gold and silver of Merrie Dawn's biogerm tattoos distracted him. He had to question her about them.

  "A wise choice." The Ophelion hostess held out a recscan. "Please confirm our transaction with your credit slip. Full fees will be charged prior to any services being provided."

  He balked at the amount, more than he earned in a week. He could lose Federation-funded medical treatment, not to mention his position, as well as face the possibility of criminal charges if he went ahead with this. For the chance to save his daughter though…

  He swallowed, and with a shaking hand paid with an anonymous slip.

  "Thanks," he said, and then wondered why he was doing the thanking.

  The hostess smiled, forgetting to hide her tusks. "Merrie Dawn, please accompany our new guest to your chamber."

  He followed Merrie Dawn up an old-fashioned flight of stairs, brushing his fingertips against the invisible shielding used to prevent customers falling from the edge.

  He needed to touch something to calm his nerves. Gold and silver biogerm dragons ran up the backs of Merrie Dawn's legs, gold on the left, silver on the right.

  He wondered if she'd known the risks when her masters had forced them on her. Incredible. She must have had major reconstructive neural surgery and a host of new organs along with an extensive rebuild of her nervous system.

  She waited for him at the top of the stairs, then took his arm and led him along a circular corridor. He stiffened at her touch, but forced himself to relax. She couldn't still be toxic – the tattoos looked like they'd healed a while ago.

  "What's your name?" Merrie Dawn asked.

  She had a soft voice, youthful, though he couldn't determine her age. She was prob
ably augmented in every way conceivable.

  He couldn't resist dropping his eyes down her front. The bodywork biogerm tattoos on her breasts looked like dragons, each about to bite a nipple.

  At her crotch, another biogerm dragon offered oral pleasures.

  He looked away, reminding himself he was married. "Terrence. My name's Terrence."

  "First time?" she asked.

  His heart skipped a beat. "Pardon?"

  "First visit to a Relaxation Chamber on Ophelia?" she asked.

  She stopped, and a door decorated in flower motifs slid open.

  "Is it that obvious?" he asked.

  Gods, she was beautiful with those dimples. If he wasn't married, or a Fed staffer…

  "You seem nervous. Embarrassed, even. I take it you're from a world with standards that frown upon my trade?"

  He cleared his throat. "Something like that."

  She smiled, slipped her hands behind his neck and stood on her toes for the briefest of kisses. Peaches. His wife, Kirrin, tasted like peaches.

  He stiffened and pulled back, but she'd already moved to the door. He touched his lips, wondering if the kiss had been enough to infect her with biogerm. He looked up and found her watching him carefully.

  "Enter," she murmured, leading the way in. He suspected she'd been about to say something else.

  As soon as she turned away, he let himself breathe again.

  Of all the cursed luck…

  He looked at the doorway. Just a simple step, but oh so significant. He cleared his throat to avoid a cough and touched his ring fingers, then stepped into an open and spacious room.

  "Are you okay?" Merrie Dawn asked.

  She was watching him again. Studying him.

  "Fine," he said. "Low blood pressure." The truth, at least.

  "You look pale."

  "Just a little dizzy. It's nearly passed."

  Discreet lighting brightened the chamber as he wandered toward the centre of the room.

  A large four-poster bed dominated the far side, while real, old fashioned curtains of red and gold cloth decorated the walls.

  "Expensive," he whispered.

  "What were you expecting?" Merrie dawn asked as he stopped before her.

  "Uh, to be honest, I don't have a clue. Images? Sensory equipment? I don't know. Mirrors maybe?"

  She smiled. "All possible, should you ask."

  She brushed her fingers across his shoulders as she circled him, stopping close enough to kiss him again had she been on her toes.

  He met her eyes. If a slave, she put on a very good act. He almost thought she wanted this more than her customers.

  She took his hand in hers and gently caressed his fingers. "I take it you're after something your wife can't give you?"

  With a jolt, he snatched his hand back, the shock ramping up his heart-rate. His rings had left pale impressions on his skin, and she'd noticed.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He should have expected it. He swallowed hard and stepped back slightly. "Can we just talk for a little while? We've got all night, after all."

  A secretive smile spread across her face, and she raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Of course."

  She walked slowly to the bed, her naked body moving sensuously. "It's your money."

  She touched a flower motif on the bedpost. Energy hummed. She leaned forward and slid into the air, floating above the bed.

  Surprise replaced his annoyance. He gave a low whistle. "The service industry must be profitable for you to afford gravity displacement generators."

  She smiled. "The joys of being on a trade world. Trade is booming."

  She pulled several pins from her hair and let the dark mass float free.

  "Despite the fact Ophelia's been implicated with the spread of biogerm?"

  "Yes." She rolled over and gave him a long, penetrating look. "I thought Federation personnel were forbidden to visit Relaxation Chambers?"

  He stared, his body stiffening. How…? "I assume I'm not the only one to break the rules?"

  He met her eyes but she gave nothing away.

  A smile finally played across her lips and flirted with her pale blue eyes. "Perhaps," she said, pausing dramatically. "Ophelia's not yet a member of the Federation. Fortunately. We're not legally required to turn anyone away, or to ask."

  "Despite the risks?" He was thinking of biogerm, not politics.

  She smiled and ran her fingers over her biogerm-decorated breasts. A momentary sense of paranoia made him wonder if she knew what he was thinking. It didn't help that he found watching her floating above the bed extremely erotic.

  "The rewards are worth it if you know what to look for."

  "Rewards? I don't follow."

  She rolled over in the air again. "Obviously," she whispered.

  He crossed his arms and looked down. "So what's your story?" he asked. "Refugee?"

  When she didn't answer, he looked up. She was watching him like a predator.

  He shivered.

  She changed her position once more and slid to the edge of the gravity field, gently using the post to pull herself free of its influence. She approached and slowly circled him.

  Terrence remained still, trying to disguise his discomfort.

  Gentle fingers brushed him, caressing his back, his chest, sending pin-pricks of erotic excitement along his skin.

  "Relax," she said.

  He felt flushed. Breathing seemed difficult, and it wasn't from his biogerm infection.

  "I need to know something," he said. "Are-"

  "Am I an empath?"

  He twisted from her arms and turned to face her, backing away. "How?"

  Her dimples deepened as she smiled like a fox. She took a step forward, forcing him to move back again. "I allowed you to meet me. I take it the tattoos were the giveaway?"

  "You're the Ophelion contact Narrenden spoke to?"

  A secretive smiled showed off her dimples, but she didn't answer.

  "So you're screening me for someone else then?"

  She raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to save your daughter?"

  He looked around the room for surveillance equipment, suddenly sure he was being set up. "I'm leaving."

  "Walk out that door now and your body won't ever be found," she said.

  He stopped, disbelief keeping him momentarily speechless. He met her eyes, and saw she meant it.

  "If you have something to tell me, then say it."

  "Why would a lab technician with federation-funded medical benefits risk everything to find an empath?"

  "An empath might be able to help my daughter."

  Merrie Dawn gave him a steady look. "And you'd trust one, knowing what harm their perversions can do?"

  "Shaunen'll be lucky to see out another day or two without one. I have no choice."

  Merrie Dawn raised her chin slightly. "There's a sampler by the door. Place your hand on it and let it confirm your identity, then give verbal permission to record this session."

  He shook his head. "Not a chance. I won't leave any court-permissible evidence."

  "I thought so. I've had it with you Federation spies. Get out."

  His jaw dropped. What had he stumbled into? Empaths were reviled, not spied on.

  "I'm sorry. I've come looking in the wrong place, obviously." He turned and headed for the door.

  "If you're telling the truth about who you are, give my sympathies to your wife for the loss of your daughter."

  Terrence stopped by the door, rested his head against it, and sighed. If there was any chance she could lead him to an empath, he needed whatever help she could offer.

  "What do you get from this?"

  Her dimples returned with the smile that flirted on her lips. "I'm taking a gamble. This has nothing to do with your daughter."

  "What then? My position as an assistant biogerm researcher?"

  "Let's just say that some people
like things the way they are."

  "You're talking about a cure, aren't you? If you have one, then tell me. If it works it could be distributed across the entire Federation within a year."

  "If that were true there wouldn't be a biogerm problem, and I wouldn't have to keep my identity hidden behind the name of this business."

  She had a cure! "What is it you fear? Exposure as an empath?"

  She shook her head. "I'm not an empath, at least not in the traditional sense. I'm not a 'sensitive'."

  "Then why the elaborate set-up?" He gestured at the room angrily.

  "I need to keep my secrets close. I have to be certain of who you are. Your intentions."

  Resentment clashed with fear and hope. "Tell me. Please," he whispered.

  "Touch the sampler by the door or this goes no further. If you're concerned about a record I'll erase it as soon as the sampler confirms your identity. No recordings, I promise."

  Another risk, but he'd come too far to back out now. He clenched his jaw and touched the sampler's node. He felt the tingle and removed his hand when it finished.

  They waited several seconds before his official file appeared as a hologram in the middle of the room. An image of him turned slowly while statistics screened through the air.

  The only thing missing was his positive biogerm status – something he'd so far managed to keep off his official record.

  The end of his file displayed holograms of his wife and daughter and their biogerm status – type silver. The display stopped there, and after a few seconds winked out.

  "Erase the last query please," Merrie Dawn said.

  Done, a feminine voice responded.

  Merrie Dawn looked at Terrence. "Happy?"

  He frowned. "Are you?"

  "I'm far from happy to be risking exposure, but I'll disappear after our meeting. Can't take the chance you'll reveal my presence."

  "You want something from me. What is it?"

  She raised her eyebrows. "Many things, and none."

  "You think you can blackmail me? You want access to Federation research?"

  "No. The biogerm treatments you help develop are the problem, not the solution."

  That implied only one thing. "Sabotage?"

  "No," she said softly, almost under her breath. "All I can do is help you take life to your daughter, if you think the risks are worth it."