Tales of the Symbiont Safety Patrol (SYMBIOSIS)

by Samuel King

  "But it didn't work out the way ya thought."

  Dennehy shook his head. "She found me, and before I knew it, we were right back in that booth again. She said she felt safe with me, and I believed her. Still do. I've been going to see her once a week for the last four years, and I swear to God, Doherty, the twenty minutes she spends with me is the closest thing to friendship that kid ever had."

  He lowered his head. "Even so, I didn't stop feeling like a pervert until last year when she turned eighteen… For these and all my sins, I am truly sorry, Father."

  His nervous chuckle occasioned the same from Doherty, who made the sign of the cross and said, "You are forgiven, my son. Now, for your penance, I want you to do ten Hail Mary's and five Our Father's."

  "And don't you think I won't do them," Dennehy said. "I've been wanting to confess this for the last four years. Just too damned embarrassed, I guess."

  He fell silent after that, refusing to meet Doherty's eyes. After a minute, he rose and began to stare out of a nearby window. Only when asked an innocuous question about his career, did he break his silence. It seemed he had no shortage of stories about his days on the "job". To keep him talking, Doherty confessed to his own checkered past, a confession that amused the retired policeman and launched a lengthy discussion of their varied perceptions from different sides of the law. Only after ten minutes was Doherty able to bring the conversation back to the Pleasure Palace.

  *

  "So why do they call our girl ‘Old Lolita'?"

  Obviously reluctant to say anything more about the place, Dennehy's contented smile evaporated. "Because by the time I came back the second time, they had already replaced her with an exact copy, a new twelve year old. They started calling her Lolita and our friend ‘Old Lolita'. Three years later, they made another copy and called the second girl ‘Middle Lolita'. It's all so goddamned sick."

  "I wonder what they'll call the second girl when they make another copy in a couple of years?" Doherty wondered aloud.

  Dennehy's face went dark, "Probably ‘Old Lolita'. I think they'll probably get rid of our friend. Ship her off to S&M or something. She's not nearly as popular as she used to be. Seems her profile works better for younger girls."

  "‘S' & ‘M'?"

  "Well mostly ‘S' for the girls. I can't imagine that the freaks that go in for that type of thing are letting the artificials hurt them."

  "You can't be serious."

  "I wish I wasn't. And that's not the worst of it." Dennehy leaned forward on the sofa, and adopted a confidential tone. "They got a goddamned dungeon in that place, Doherty. A dungeon!"

  "Christ."

  "Yeah. And once a girl goes in there, she never comes back out. Nobody knows what goes on. You have to be a special member to get access, and those that have it, don't admit to it. Some real sick shit."

  Another protracted silence followed, during which Doherty thought about his friend and all the other "decent" men who patronized the Pleasure Palace. He wondered how it was possible that they could all be blind to the horror. A fuckin' dungeon, for Christ's sake.

  "I need a drink," Dennehy said, rising from the sofa. He padded across the living room to a small bar in the corner, and after filling a large glass from a decanter, he asked, "How about you?"

  "Make it a double."

  The old policeman poured a second drink and brought it to Doherty before returning to the sofa. "Here's to ‘Lolita'," he said, raising his glass. "All of them."

  Doherty raised his own glass then began to drink, stopping only after he'd consumed half its contents. "I needed that," he said, gulping. "The thought of that poor kid bein' hurt makes me sick to m'stomach."

  "Join the club."

  "Can't ya buy her or somethin'?"

  "They don't sell any of the actual girls. I suppose you could convince them to if you were some kind of special member and had more money than God. But about all they'll sell to a general member like me are her configuration specs, and I can't even afford that."

  After taking a healthy sip from his glass, he added, "Not that it would do our Lolita any good."

  "No, it wouldn't, would it," Doherty replied.

  Dennehy set his drink on the table and folded his arms. "Shit. To tell you the truth, I couldn't keep her even if I could buy her."

  "And why is that?"

  "I met a woman about a year ago, and we've gotten pretty serious."

  "Yeah?"

  "Uh-huh. Real serious, and I'm putting it all at risk every time I go to that damn place, but I can't bring myself to stop."

  "You must care a lot about her."

  "I worry a lot about her." Dennehy lowered his head and covered his face. "I know how sick it sounds, but sometimes I think of her like she was my own kid. Can you believe it?"

  "Of course I believe it. Everything's crazy there."

  "Every week I wonder if I'm going find her or not."

  "‘S' & ‘M'?"

  "Or the dungeon. Once they move her off the main floor it could go either way. Depends on what they need at the time."

  "Jesus."

  Denney finished his drink then returned to the bar and poured another. "I've thought a lot about that happening," he said.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah, a lot." After draining his glass in one gulp, he slammed it on the bar before approaching Doherty. "The thought of her in that hell hole drives me crazy. I just couldn't allow it."

  "What the hell would you do about it?"

  Red faced and angry, Dennehy leaned over Doherty's chair. "I'd burn that place down," he answered.

  "C'mon."

  "No, I'm serious, Doherty. As serious as I can be. I won't let her suffer like that."

  Doherty flinched, wondering if the retired lawman was capable of such a feat. "That's not such an easy thing ta do, ya know."

  "I can get the job done. You don't spend a career in law enforcement without making contacts."

  "Yah?"

  "Yah. I can put my hands on military grade thermite in an hour."

  The two men stared at each other for several seconds before Doherty drained his own glass. "I almost think ya could actually do it."

  "Not could, would," Dennehy spat. Drawing even closer, he said, "Make no mistake, my friend, the day they take her off the main floor is the day I burn that place."

  ****

  Doherty gulped when the obsequious doorman greeted him, "Welcome back, Mr. Doherty."

  His mind racing, he said, "Pardon me? My name is O'Reilly, John O'Reilly from New York."

  "Have you been here before, sir?"

  "No, can't say I've had the pleasure."

  The doorman cursed. "Damned security system's always giving us trouble." He swatted at the monitor and added, "Not exactly state of the art."

  "What's the problem?"

  "Oh, for the privacy of our clients, we maintain our own private database, totally separate from the national identity system. Unfortunately it's not always accurate—the price of privacy, I guess. You're being ID'd as a James Doherty from Boston."

  "Well, it's got the Irish part right. Maybe it thinks we all look alike."

  The doorman laughed as he furiously worked the keyboard. After several seconds he said, "There. All set now, Sir. Sorry about the mix up."

  "That's okay." Having recovered from his oversight, he paid the thousand dollar cover charge and entered the main floor of the Pleasure Palace with a yawn. A long night of drinking with Dennehy had preceded a fitful sleep and a dreadful hangover. He massaged his temples, his thoughts turning to Kate and the many ways she had to cure whatever ailed him. His return to Atlanta that evening couldn't come soon enough.

  He ambled across the floor to the bar, taking care to avert his eyes from the sickening spectacle of ‘Young Lolita's' torment. After ordering a beer, he began his search for her "older sister". He found her eventually, emerging from a booth with a young, twentyish man who looked less than pleased. The man exchanged a few angry words with her then walke
d away in a huff, and as Doherty approached the young woman, her fear was readily apparent.

  "Hello, there," he said, smiling. "Remember me?" The question seemed absurd on its face, considering her never ending stream of clients, but she surprised him.

  "Yes, I do." The fear melted from her face, but only to be replaced with a palpable sadness. "You're nice."

  "Can we talk, now?"

  The fear returned to her face, and she draped herself over him, nibbling on his ear. "Please," she whispered. "We're watched all the time."

  He wrapped his arms around her and initiated a lingering kiss which she responded to with considerable passion. What the hell? "It's important," he told her afterward.

  "Can you pay extra?"

  "Sure."

  "Tell them at the bar, you want more time with me."

  "It's okay to do that?"

  "It costs a lot, but it might even help me. That last man wasn't happy… I don't even know what I did wrong."

  He took hold of her hand and proceeded to the bar, where she promptly kissed him. "Hang on, darlin'," he said, laughing. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

  The bartender scowled at the young woman, before asking, "What can I do for you, sir?"

  "I'd like to spend some… quality time with this young lady; if ya know what I mean."

  The bartender's attitude changed at once. Smiling broadly, he said, "Yes, sir, I do indeed." He pointed to the rear wall and a series of small rooms, roughly three times the size of the adjacent booths. "I can set you up with one of our honeymoon suites," he offered. "Both privacy and comfort."

  "How much?"

  "That's a thousand an hour, sir… twenty-five hundred for three."

  "Well, why don't we start with one," Doherty said, handing him his transfer chip. "We'll see if I've got anything left after that."

  The bartender laughed and accepted the chip. After inserting it into his register, he slid the small verification pad to Doherty, who promptly paced his thumb on it.

  "Oh, I think you'll do just fine," the bartender said, returning the chip. "She'll take good care of you." He leaned across the bar and lowered his voice. "Actually, you've made a very wise choice. She's one of our more experienced girls; been with us for seven years."

  His gut churning, Doherty winced, and for several seconds he forced himself to bear witness to the humiliation and rape of twelve year old ‘Young Lolita'. Afterward, he stared in disbelief at the nineteen year old girl standing next to him. Seven fuckin' years.

  Staggered by the enormity of the crime, he took hold of her hand and started for one of the "honeymoon suites" unable to shake the feeling that he too, was a perpetrator. It helped little that she was beautiful and not only willing but desperate to please him. In the end, all that mattered, all he could think of, was seven fuckin' years.

  When they reached their assigned suite, he said, "Now, at least we can talk."

  She gripped his hand with surprising strength, whispering, "We are always being watched."

  "Always?"

  She nodded gravely, as they entered the suite, and promptly directed him to the queen size bed. After removing his clothing, she slipped out of her own flimsy dress, took a seat on the bed and began to fondle him. When he reciprocated, she responded with yet another surprising display of passion.

  Confused, and more than a little troubled, he asked, "How many girls—"

  She interrupted him with a kiss then ran her fingers through his hair, whispering, "Always." He fell back on the bed with a gentle shove, and she mounted him with expertise years in the making. For a few brief minutes she emerged from her shell and made love to him with a powerful urgency.

  When they finished, he was at once stunned and mortified, emotions that were, apparently, all too obvious. "I can't help it," she said, scurrying off of him. "They made me this way."

  As if on cue, her expression changed. The passion melted away, replaced by the perpetual sadness and timidity. She attempted to cover herself.

  "Christ almighty." He embraced her like an older brother, running his hand up and down her back. After a minute, he whispered, "I want to help."

  She pulled away from him, her eyes wide with surprise. Her mouth moved wordlessly for several seconds as a solitary tear emerged from each of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "Short… questions," she said, finally—the words separated by several seconds.

  *

  For the remainder of the hour he extracted what information he could, especially concerning the wretched souls in the Special Entertainment section. Communicating in two and three-word questions and answers, they made love intermittently, a "duty" he enjoyed far too much, and after each encounter, he was filled with shame, as was she.

  Despite the many pleasures of the hour, its end brought relief. Not so, ‘Old Lolita'. Though she never voiced the sentiment, she clearly wanted him to stay. Like Dennehy, the time spent in his arms was apparently a blessing, and as they emerged from the "honeymoon suite", she adopted a brave face. "I'm lucky," she said. "I have two friends. Most of the girls don't have any."

  Her simple declaration buckled his knees. Seven fuckin' years. In the end, all he could really do for her was to put a big smile on his face and give the bartender a "thumbs up". Maybe it would make up for her previous failure and she'd avoid punishment. Maybe.

  As they approached the main entrance, she threw her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest. "Please come back," she said, quietly.

  He struggled to maintain his smile, assuring her he would, and though she seemed to find some solace in that, it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.

  Against his better judgment, and at the risk of endangering her and exposing their plans, he gazed into her eyes. "I promise ya, it's gonna be okay," he said, softly. "You just need ta have hope."

  ****

  The report of Doherty's second visit to the Pleasure Palace evoked even more outrage than his first. The tragic history of ‘Old Lolita' proved particularly wrenching, and by the time he had finished relating it, the determination to take the place down was heartfelt and unanimous. Even Helen voiced her complete support.

  Kate was incensed at all he had been required to do for "the cause" until Helen reminded her they had all done similar things. Readily acknowledging the truth of Helen's assertion, Kate seemed at first chastened. Still, the thought of Doherty's intimacy with ‘Old Lolita' troubled her, and she repeatedly stole furtive glances at him throughout the meeting.

  Based on what he'd learned, Doherty estimated there were an additional fifteen girls assigned to Special Entertainment, for a total of fifty-five. That meant fifty-five neural arrays to prepare for travel, fifty-five neural arrays to be carried out to waiting get away vehicles. No fewer than ten humans were required for the task: the array extraction team.

  A five-man internal team would bring the arrays from the Palace's holo system to the main entrance, where a five-man external team would carry them to the vehicles waiting in the roof-top parking area. Two additional humans, a technician and an enforcer—one comfortable with weapons—were also needed.

  The job of recruiting the humans fell on Freeman's shoulders, and he enlisted his two ablest and most trusted associates. They set about building the team using talent from out of town as these recruits were easily kept ignorant of their employers and the true nature of the operation. The same could not be said of Freeman's associates however. Of necessity they formed a secondary cadre, and in an afternoon, the group grew from six to eight. While the expansion posed a significant risk, it was one they all agreed had to be taken.

  The de facto addition of Dennehy in absentia proved to be more contentious. So taken was Doherty with the ex-cop's concern for ‘Old Lolita', he told him he knew of plan's to liberate the women. An excited Dennehy begged to be included, assuring him of his access to thermite and other weapons, but the con man had professed only limited knowledge of the plan. Initially incensed at the disclosure, Joel backed down only when Doherty vigorous
ly defended his actions.

  The plan also called for ten artificials to secure the main floor, controlling the patrons and employees while separating them from the women to be rescued. Joel recruited them from amongst the growing number they had liberated. Like Freeman's associates, they too became part of the secondary cadre.

  The original six lamented the development, but none of them harbored any doubts about the operation. Indeed, all but Cynthia wanted to exact retribution, and in the end, only constant agitation on her part kept the plan free from violence, a source of particular vexation for Doherty. His first hand experience had instilled in him a burning hatred of the club's customers and proprietors—one that demanded vengeance.

  For three weeks they planned, organized and assembled the necessary resources: humans from the west coast, artificials from across the country, vans, neural array transporters and other equipment, even a limited supply of weapons. Including the six of them, twenty-eight souls would take part in the raid, human and artificial alike.

  ****

  Twenty-three days following Doherty's promise to ‘Old Lolita', the group's humans assembled in an abandoned building on the south side of Philadelphia. The artificials joined Joel, Helen and Cynthia at the group's safe house where they spent an uncomfortable hour crammed into the small apartment. At 21:00 hours that evening the humans set off for the Pleasure Palace. The artificials gathered around the safe house's holo system, waiting for their own call to action.

  The twelve recruited humans and fifty-five array transport units arrived at the site in the back of two vans. The first, piloted by Freeman, landed flawlessly in the roof-top parking area. After the second van, piloted by Kate, landed awkwardly, Freeman ran up to it, laughing. "And you thought being a deliveryman didn't give me any useful skills."

  Kate cursed him, while Doherty shrugged with a casual smile and exited the vehicle. He opened her door and extended a hand, a gesture that might have seemed absurd, given the circumstance. Not to Kate. She seemed grateful and accepted the hand willingly, her eyes never leaving his.

  Freeman, dressed as a doorman, continued to chuckle as he retrieved a "Temporarily Closed" sign from his van and carried it across the parking area. After setting it down next to the door, he folded his arms and adopted an official posture, ready to ward off any arriving patrons.