Hoskin watched and waited. Some of the girls moved with frenetic fury while others barely moved at all, dancing lazily, occasionally glancing down at the men beneath their feet. There were a lot of girls from different Phyles. In one circle an onyx-skinned woman studded with tiny sensors danced hypnotically, her lights leaving little trails. She had no eyes or hair, but her body had a classical woman’s shape. In another circle, a “girl” made out of what looked like tiny wires moved listlessly, her fifteen eyes watching her customers. Multicolored smoke filled the room.
Hoskin stepped up to one of the bars. A grizzled bartender, with tight fiber optic dreads and an old fashioned prosthetic arm wrapped in pink plastic, said “whadda ya want?” The guy’s arm whirred as he put away glasses. A thin scar slashed through his lip.
“You seen this girl?” said Hoskin.
He held up his palm and a holo of Sakura appeared over it.
“Nope,” said the bartender.
“You haven’t seen her or you don’t know her?”
“Nope.”
“Right.”
Hoskin spotted the main stage, made of dark mirrors. A burnt orange colored tripodal girl was picking up her discarded clothes.
An unseen voice said, “All right, guys, that was the luscious Lydia-Z. Give her a round of applause and don’t be shy. She’s coming round now and available to you, so get those dances while they’re still hot. And if you’re gonna get a drink don’t forget that lovely lady next you. We’ve got a treat for you next. Comin’ to the stage now is the delicious Kee-yoooo-kooooo Asami.”
Sakura stalked from behind the red velvet curtain, the light tracking her body. Hoskin took a seat in a low-backed chair nearby. She wore holographic lingerie that made it look like curling smoke clung to her body. The smoke flowed perfectly with her movements, keeping her secret parts hidden, for now. Hoskin noticed immediately that she had no more fetish genesculpting on her stomach.
The music came on hard and heavy, a thunderous, pulsing rhythm, and she moved violently. Men came to the stage and took seats. She danced with a charged energy that magnetized them to her. The lights swirled and flickered, caressing her as she whipped around the light pole in the center of the stage. She moved with a fierce sexuality that Hoskin hadn’t seen when they’d met before. This was a different woman on stage, confident, cunning. When she squeezed her tits or licked her lips it sent primordial fire exploding through men’s minds, and she knew it. Hoskin felt her surging sexuality. The feeling hit him unexpectedly and he buried it quickly.
Slowly the holo-smoke around her body disappeared. Luma-spray on her body glittered under the lights. Now she wore only jewelry that jumped against her skin as she prowled the stage. The money ring on her finger glowed brightly every time a man flashed a credit at her. It pulsed constantly as her dance picked up energy and power.
The second song ended with her hanging upside down on the pole. She slid down and the smoke appeared around her body instantly. With the trance broken, a few men stood as if just waking up. Most stayed rooted to their chairs. Sakura looked right at Hoskin, frowned, and then left the stage, disappearing into the red velvet.
Hoskin waited. Twenty minutes passed and she came out of the back and went straight for him.
“Did you like that, Detective?” she said.
“Not really my thing,” he said, “but sure.”
“It’s every man’s thing. You’re no different. So what do you want? Come to apologize?”
“I figured I’d come down and lay on more of the charm, see where it got me.”
“That what you call it?”
Hoskin changed tone, slowed down. “Look you needed my help, so I’m here. I’m sorry.”
She pouted for a minute, arms crossed. Then she smiled brightly, as if nothing had ever been wrong.
“Apology accepted. I knew you’d come,” she said. “It’s in your nature.”
“That right?”
“Yeah. Give me your hand. They gotta see me dancing or I’ll get in trouble.”
She turned and put out her hand behind her without looking back. Hoskin took it reluctantly and let her lead him to a row of chairs inset along a wall in the back. An artificial haze-wall obscured what went on behind it. Hoskin could see a few blurred figures moving.
“Let’s just get out of here,” said Hoskin. “I don’t need all this.”
“Sit down and shut up. I can’t leave until three.”
Hoskin sat in the chair and looked up with a frown. She moved slowly, looking at him with a wild delight playing in her eyes. He crossed his arms and looked her over. Tattoos covered much of her body. There were no traces of the assholes on her stomach. It was as if they’d never been there.
“What happened to your stomach?” said Hoskin.
“Old croaker cut me in on some smart-meds, got rid of ‘em for me. Popped a few pills. Poof. All gone.”
She laughed. The faux-smoke swirled. Tiny holographic flames erupted on her skin and crawled up her body. Her hair burst into blue and red flame, burning slowly, waving with her.
Hoskin studied her tattoos. They told the profiler in him a story. Right over her heart, in the middle of her chest, a mediatronic tat of a sunrise glowed over a bright yellow field of flowers. The field bent with the bubbled curve of her breast. Inside the flower the word “rage” blazed in red and white light. The flower shook softly in an imaginary wind.
She arched her body and threw her hair around. She reached down and gently uncrossed Hoskin’s arms.
Her tats danced and flickered as she moved for him. On her back were wings of light. Vicious dogs snarled out from her left rib cage, eyes murderous. Animated spiders crawled up her right arm and over her shoulder. On her thigh, an animated hand stroked a dark cobra, its tongue darting in and out, its hood extended.
Lines and false cuts sliced into the tattoos, like ritual scars. Geometric shapes and Cyrillic swirls wove them all together. Just over her belly the words “renmen” and “rayi” intertwined, surrounded by scorpions and butterflies.
“What happens when you pet a cobra?” she said, putting his hand on her thigh, over the snake tattoo.
“You get bitten,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “Look, what game are we playing?”
“We’re playing a game?” she said, her smile big and her eyes glittering.
“Looks like it.”
“And what game is that?”
“You tell me.”
“I wouldn’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” she said and touched her lips. “I thought you said you could help me.”
“You strike me as a woman who doesn’t need much help.”
“That may be true, Detective. But maybe I do,” she said, biting her lip with an exaggerated flourish, looking suddenly weak and helpless and innocent, before laughing wildly and sweeping it all away.
“And what can I do to help?”
“I don’t know. What can you do?”
“Not much,” he said. “What are we doing here?”
“I thought I was dancing.”
“You’re doing something else though.”
“And what would that be?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
“And you’ll just play along until you do?” she said, brushing back a strand of her strawberry hair.
Hoskin just stared at her.
“Relax, Detective. A little chase is always fun.”
As Hoskin watched it seemed her features shifted subtly. For a second her face looked hazy, and then it looked different somehow. Somewhere, Hoskin wondered how she’d done that, but the question bubbled to the surface briefly and evaporated. He suddenly felt sluggish, like he didn’t want to think anymore. Then an easy feeling of calm and relaxation just rolled over him. Her body’s built-in perfume flooded his nose.
“Take a deep breath, Detective. It’s all right.”
He looked up at her and fel
t the shift in his mind. He felt totally calm and clear, like all the noise and chatter of daily life melted away, and he was left with nothing but the center of his own mind. He looked at her and it was the first time he’d actually seen her. Her eyes glowed. And far away the thought drifted in that he might be drugged.
“Let your worry go. It’s just a Hypnotic,” she said softly into his ear. “Let your mind drift away.”
Hoskin could feel her hot breath on his neck. A part of him knew he should push her away, but he didn’t seem to care. He wanted to yank her body to him, not push her back. He just wanted to let it take over him, feel it, feel her power and energy. It couldn’t be just a Hypnotic. They weren’t this powerful, but it didn’t seem to matter. He couldn’t worry right now if he tried.
She looked at him and smiled. Her face went wavy and shifted again. More and more she looked just like his first wife, his childhood wife, a marriage of passion and frenzy and hope. Little bits of Hoskin’s sharp mind floated up for a moment.
How’s she doing it? Not a coincidence.
But before he could answer, the questions skittered from his mind. It was too much to think right now. His mind felt heavy. Hoskin was sucked in. He could see the quicksand, but he didn’t care.
“There’s nothing to do, or know or think about, except nothing — now,” she whispered.
The smoke around her body slipped away and she stood before him naked, looking down at him. Her face seemed suffused with soft light. Hoskin felt like he couldn’t get up. He didn’t want to get up. It felt fine to just lay there and look at her. He felt vaguely aware that his backbrain seemed to have just switched off.
She was stunning. Simply by standing there, absolutely still, a statue, her astonishing figure paralyzed him. Her hair haloed her head against the false sky of the haze-wall. Jeweled strands escaped and sunk down onto her face. She brushed them aside with a smooth flick of her fingers, neon fingernails flashing.
Her flaring eyes, lightning bright, deliquescent, composed of a billion delicate astral-atom strings of vibrating color, enlivened him. Lavish velvet lashes flittered and her lips were plump, so plump, pouting, etched with fine creases. She smiled at him, the coy, submissive smile of a geisha, the jewel of Asia. Sweat clung to her in beaded drops that prismed the hot light. Her skin scintillated. He watched her swollen breasts bulging, delightfully packed with pounds of yielding fatty tissue layers, a divine network of blood and lymph vessels hotwired to her nipples, those nipples circumsolared by burnished areolas. Her bellybutton was pierced with a heavy gold ring. His eyes slid down her tight, flat stomach and her delicately muscled legs.
She started to writhe, slowly, slowly, and then her hair went suddenly psychedelic and naked Sakura took to dancing again, laughing, her tits bouncing and rippling, her body hypnotic, oscillating to the hidden Empyrean rhythm that only she could hear, mesmerizing Hoskin, a cobra waving to the slow-winding strings of the sitar.
She whispered, an earwicker’s voice deep inside his ear.
“Let’s go,” she said.
The words came out slowly. “I thought you couldn’t leave?”
“I lied. They don’t give a shit as long as they get their money.”
Hoskin let her lead him to the side door. She flicked some credits at the big graft-muscle freak guarding it. He glared at her.
“You ain’t supposed to leave yet, girl,” said the muscle freak.
“Shut up. You just made more from me then you’ll make from the rest of these bitches combined all night.”
The bouncer tipped his chin at her and went to get her coat and bag. A minute later, he came back and slid the long, shapeless trench coat over her and opened the door to walk her out. She touched the coat and it knit closed and cinched at her waist. The bouncer carried her bag. It looked tiny in his big hand. The three of them stepped out into the slashing rain. She flicked on an energy umbrella and it hovered over them. The big man waved at a hovercab, and as it landed, its door popped open for them. The guy slid her in first and then let Hoskin got in after, as she scooted to the other side.
“You ain’t supposed to leave with customers either. That’ll cost ya extra,” said the bouncer.
“He ain’t a customer. He’s a cop. Now get out of here before I kill you.”
The guy grunted and went back inside. The door slid shut.
“Where to?” said the cab.
She turned and looked at Hoskin.
“I got nowhere to go,” she said to Hoskin. “They’ve been looking for me. Got no place of my own. Been staying at friends, or—in the park.”
She grabbed a bottle of water from the cab’s small bar and spilled some on her hand.
“Bottled water. A hundred five credits added to the total,” said the cab cheerily.
She rubbed the water on her neck and her makeup came off. Hoskin could see the bruises. She rubbed her arm and stomach and he saw more. Hoskin couldn’t seem to think right now, but he felt a deep empathy for her that swept up inside him like a tidal wave, and he touched her hand instinctually. Her other hand closed over his and she squeezed gently. He closed his eyes. They felt heavy. He noticed his HUD didn’t even show the time in the corner of his vision, but again, it didn’t seem to matter. Things could be fixed later. There was always later. Words didn’t seem important to him and wouldn’t form correctly, even though he wanted to say something. He was pretty sure he was offline too.
“Tell it where you live, sweetness,” she said.
Hoskin had to struggle to get the words out, but the cab got it after a few times and burst up into the air, the rain slamming the roof overhead. Hoskin could hear his breath, as if it echoed in his ear. He could feel her next to him, like a heat lamp spraying soft warmth. In fifteen or fifty-thousand minutes the cab touched down in front of his building, and they got out. Hoskin felt woozy.
“Come on, let’s get you upstairs,” she said. “Get you out of those wet clothes.”
Upstairs, she led him to the bedroom and laid him down on the bed. She undid his shoes and slipped them off.
“Get this shirt off,” she said and he did with her help.
He just wanted to lie down and let the swirling good-feeling in his mind take over him.
“Up,” she said, as she pulled off his pants.
He raised his lower body to let her slide his pants free.
He could only focus on her. She mesmerized him. Every other thought had disappeared. His life, his cases, his identity, his mind, all gone and far away.
“Just stay there for a minute. Gonna take a shower.”
She came out of the shower five minutes later, followed by a burst of steam that seemed to cling to her. She wore nothing, not even a towel. In the low light spilling in from the city, Hoskin was very aware of the outlines of her body as she moved. She crawled on top of him and Hoskin felt her energy in his tightened throat. Her eyes blazed.
“What’s it like to be free?” she whispered.
He couldn’t understand what she was saying. She moved hypnotically, as if under a strobe light.
He heard only fragments of what she was saying for a moment. “…not connected…your own person…like you…when you’re around…others…I always wanted that too…”
“I don’t understand,” he said. For a moment, his mind came back and he struggled out “we—shouldn’t,” before his voice withered away.
“Ssssshhhhh,” she said, putting a long fingertip to her lips. Her hair fell on his face.
“Every man is the same. Just let go and let me take care of you for a little while.”
The Mouzi Lihuolun
2408 Orthodox Western Calendar
5106 Universal Chinese Calendar, Year of the Tiger
Illuminated Avenue, Snowstorm Clan Roving Starship Settlement
“Hello father,” said a seventeen-year-old Venadrik.
“Huh? What’d you say, kid?” said the handsome man at the table. He was dressed
in an animated business toga, birds slowly gliding around on the fabric.
The man’s redheaded companion looked uncomfortable. Her hair waved and flowed around her head, driven by an unseen style bead. The man had flipped off his personal energy bubble so he could talk to the redhead and Venadrik had used the opportunity to make his approach.
“Get back,” said an armored tripodal guard. He had dark armor under a black business toga and dozens of eyes so he could see in all directions.
Venadrik looked at the guard with disgust. “Nobody was talking to you, guard.” He turned back to the man. “I said, hello, father.”
The man put down his crystal wine goblet and stared at the intruder.
“Look, kid I don’t have time—” said the man.
“Um, maybe I should just come back—” said the girl, already turning away, unconsciously throwing her shoulder up like a barrier between her and Venadrik. Her smart-glass dress showed her whole body, except where the mist-cling lingerie blurred her most delectable parts.
“No you stay here, hun. It’s fine,” said the man, smiling brilliantly. He turned back to Venadrik and his smile collapsed. “I’m trying to have a nice quiet dinner. Just get out of here.”
An elegant restaurant servo saw the commotion and edged closer. A few diners took notice and turned to look.
Venadrik smiled brightly at the redhead.
“Look dear, my father and I were just about to have a wonderful reunion. Won’t you sit down and join us?” said Venadrik.
He pulled out a chair for her.
The girl looked at the chair, unsure if she should sit down.
“I said, get back,” said the guard, pressing forward.
“Enough,” said the man. “Look, what’s this all about? I’ve never seen you before in my life, kid.”
“That’s true, but you are my father. Dynasty genes are published with great fanfare and pride, and my genes are your genes.”
“Is there a problem here, sir?” said the humanoid restaurant drone, sweeping off its hat like an old gentleman.
The Scorpion Game Page 11