by S. H. Jucha
Sam had selected their next residence for its discretion. The differences between the sleephold and the new location were glaringly obvious. First, the new residence had a lobby. Second, it had two receptionists. Third, it didn’t reek of old food.
“May we be of service?” a female Lemgart inquired.
“Reservation,” Candace replied and waved her slate over the panel embedded in the counter. Her information was transferred, without the receptionists seeing the data.
“Your suite has been prepared for you,” the male receptionist replied, eyeing the reservation. “Will you need assistance with baggage?”
“Complications arose,” Candace replied cryptically.
“Our condolences,” the female receptionist offered solicitously. “If we may be of further service, please don’t hesitate to contact us. Someone is always on duty.”
A notification on Candace’s slate confirmed access to her suite and directed her to it.
“There’s a story there,” the female at the counter said to the male after Candace had left.
“She pays, in advance, for a suite for seven cycles, but she dresses and smells like she’s been living in Hoorat Town,” the male replied. Both grimaced and shivers ran through their luxurious fur at the thought of living in the poorest part of the capital.
In the suite, Candace stripped and recycled her clothes. They wouldn’t be of any further use. Then she used the facilities, testing the multiple fragrances until she found one she liked.
Afterward and dressed in a simple sheath provided by the establishment, she contacted the costumers who Sam had identified. He’d already been in touch with them, and they had been waiting for her call.
“Would you be so kind as to stand in front of your suite’s monitor and disrobe?” a tailor asked.
Candace self-consciously stepped out of her sheath and stood in front of the monitor. As she turned, lasers scanned her body.
“Thank you,” the tailor replied, when the scan finished. “I find no details about your order. What is it you seek?”
Donning her sheath, Candace sat at the desk that supported the monitor. “I’m in need of five Pyrean outfits of quality ... all pieces.”
“Do those include boots?” the tailor inquired.
“They do,” Candace replied, and she stuck her bare foot up for the monitor to scan.
“Thank you,” the tailor replied again.
Candace didn’t recognize the species handling the order, and she wondered if it wasn’t a projection. If so, it was an extremely good one.
“Is there anything else that we can help you with?” the tailor asked.
“Yes, I need several outfits to attend Torque,” Candace replied.
“One moment,” the tailor replied. Then that generic face was replaced by a female Lemgart. Her beautiful fur cascaded in streams of silver and cream around her head and neck.
“I’m Myseth mya Jaknas,” the Lemgart said. “Your order will require further communications. In addition, my assistants will be required to dress you for each evening that you attend Torque. Does this inconvenience you?”
“Not at all,” Candace replied.
“I see we have your measurements,” Myseth said. “We’ll be able to provide your Pyrean outfits this evening. How soon did you plan to visit Torque?”
“Tonight,” Candace replied. “If that’s too soon for you, then tomorrow evening will be fine.”
“My apologies,” Myseth said. When she tipped her head, the fur swayed gently. “Orders for the capital’s elite clubs are delivered about sixteen cycles after receipt of the advance.”
“My business is pressing,” Candace replied. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement.”
Myseth’s short, sharp teeth were bared. She tipped her head and said, “Accommodations are always possible for customers who understand the ways of business. Would you need to know the details?”
“No,” Candace replied, “but I expect service and quality for my credits.”
“And it shall be given,” Myseth said. “May we discuss the appearance that you’d like to take for the club?”
While Candace and Myseth engaged in a lengthy conversation that threatened to overwhelm Candace’s imagination, Sam packed up their sleephold. There wasn’t much to gather — two duffels and a pair of shock sticks.
Sam followed Candace’s route to cross the capital. When he arrived at the new establishment, he strode across the lobby with authority.
The male receptionist expressed a welcome, but the extremely robust human merely swept his sleeve slate across the panel, received access to his suite, hefted his baggage, and exited the lobby.
When the female receptionist returned from a break, the male said, “You missed it.”
“What happened?” the female asked.
“An enormous human arrived carrying two bags,” the male replied. “He uttered not a word. Made the customary arrangements like he’d stayed here before and then went to his suite.”
“Another human and another suite?” the female inquired in disbelief.
“No,” the male replied conspiratorially. “Another human and the same suite.”
“They’re together?” the female queried, and the male nodded. “How big was he?” she suddenly asked.
“Not like a Pyrean at all,” the male replied.
“Omnian?” she suggested.
“Must be,” the male replied. “I can’t think of what else he could be.”
“The secrets we carry,” the female said, shaking her head and swaying her fur.
Few guests of the exclusive establishment knew that the receptionists were offsprings of the owners. Everyone who worked in the premier location was a family member. That’s how the secrets were kept, spurred by the generous profits shared among the family.
When Sam’s implant detected Candace, he sent,
“Nice,” Sam said, dropping the duffels and glancing at the accommodations.
“We’re spending enough of the outpost’s credits that they better be,” Candace remarked. “That’s my room,” she added, pointing. “Yours are through that door.”
“How are the facilities?” Sam asked, taking his duffel with him.
“Superb,” Candace replied, with a grin. “If you’re going to go out, you’ll need new clothes,” she said, following him.
Candace sat on the bed, while Sam used the facilities. “Do you mind if I recycle your clothes? They stink,” she called out.
“Not the boots,” Sam yelled back.
After getting clean, Sam dug through his duffel and pulled out a clean pair of coveralls. When he emerged from the facilities, he wore a contented expression.
“It’s hard to believe that the likes of Hoorat Town exist on an alliance planet,” Candace commented.
“There’s a reason that the Lemgarts aren’t a member of the Tsargit,” Sam said. “According to Kasie, they’ve been offered a seat with provisos. The Tsargit required the Lemgarts make major changes in their social order and their governing regulations. However, for whatever reasons, the Lemgarts fail to follow through.”
“Do you want an outfit to be able to walk among the locals without drawing attention?” Candace repeated.
“Do you think that whatever they create for me will disguise my origin?” Sam asked. He spread his arms to increase the size of his outline.
“Do you think the Lemgarts have ever seen an Omnian?” Candace inquired.
“They’ve probably seen images or, at least, have heard stories,” Sam replied. “How do I order?”
“Come with me,” Candace instructed. She sat at the monitor and connected with the tailoring shop. When the avatar appeared, she requested Myseth.
“Do you have another request?” Myseth asked.
“My companion needs a quality Pyrean outfit,” Candace said, indicating Sam, who stood behind her. She slipped out from behind the desk and indicated to Sam to ste
p forward.
“If you would disrobe, please, and stand before the monitor,” Myseth requested.
Sam glanced at Candace, who was smirking. He shooed her toward her room, with a frown, and she chuckled, as she obeyed.
When the lasers lit, Sam removed his coveralls and turned in a slow circle.
“Boots?” Myseth asked.
“Please,” Sam replied.
“Is this to be included with your companion’s order?” Myseth asked.
“Yes,” Sam replied, which seemed to please the Lemgart.
“Will you be visiting Torque?” Myseth asked.
“Negative,” Sam replied.
Myseth took note of the typical spacer response. Adding that to the size of the human, who must be an Omnian, she calculated that she was dealing with an influential individual. It wasn’t her intention to sell the information. Her reputation demanded discretion. However, she made certain adjustments. Her overcharges for accelerated delivery were reduced, and she intended to handle the delivery herself. It wouldn’t pay to have the Omnians or the Pyreans annoyed with her.
Sam received a notice of impending delivery time, and the call was ended.
While they waited, Sam and Candace ordered room service. They were surprised when a chef, a prep cook, and a server arrived, and the meal was prepared in the suite. Their exchange about the investigation was via implants, as they thoroughly enjoyed the fare and the exquisite service.
* * * * *
The female receptionist nudged the elbow of her sibling and cast her eyes toward the lobby’s door. Then she hurried from around the counter to greet the renowned Myseth mya Jaknas.
“You’re hosting two humans,” Myseth said, before the receptionist could speak.
The receptionist nodded, turned, and led the way to the suite.
Behind Myseth came her entourage — a stylist, two dressers, and several individuals drawing carts behind them.
When the suite’s doors chimed, Sam checked the panel. Seeing nothing but gloriously furred Lemgarts, he handed his shock stick to Candace to hide. Then, with his slate, he signaled the doors aside.
Myseth strode through the opening, and her entourage followed. “Your room?” she asked Sam. When Sam pointed, she turned to a dresser and imperially waved her on.
“Please,” Myseth requested of Sam.
The rest of Myseth’s attendees headed for the other sleeping quarters, and Candace followed.
Sam’s dresser requested he disrobe, while the clothes were unpacked.
The dresser was nonplussed by the challenge to clothe the enormous human. A short ladder was taken off the cart. Slowly and carefully, the dresser helped the human to don the new clothes. Small changes were quickly made to ensure the fit.
When the dresser finished, he made a flourish toward a huge mirror mounted on a wall.
Sam regarded his image. The fit was as well as Omnian-produced clothing. However, the style was Pyrean, and it gave him the air of a wealthy individual who could afford style. He looked at the dresser and tipped his head.
The dresser beamed, baring his teeth.
Sam exited the sleeping quarters and waited for Candace’s appearance.
Candace felt impotent. She could do nothing but stand there, while a stylist and a dresser worked on her. Clothing was laid on the bed and stored in the expansive wardrobes.
Interestingly, Candace noted that she’d been turned away from the room’s mirror, while she was worked on.
Myseth quietly walked behind her employees and occasionally whispered to them.
Finally, the stylist and the dresser stepped back, and Myseth examined the results.
Candace felt like a product coming off the assembly line.
Myseth nodded once and indicated the mirror.
Candace turned and her mouth fell open. She was clothed in a wrist-to-ankle sheath that clung to her. It shimmered and had a second subtle tone that wove through the sheath and snaked around her body. Her face was a collection of delicate hues and appliqués, and her blonde hair was piled high and accented by a collection of various fragile items.
Myseth stepped forward and indicated two tiny controllers under the left wrist. She held down one and then the other. First, the sheath’s silver tone faded to near transparency, and then the snaking light gold did the same. When Myseth finished, Candace, for all purposes, appeared naked.
Candace shook her head.
Then Myseth adjusted the gold insert until it became opaque. Then she returned a small portion of the silver’s transparency.
Candace examined the finished work, and she smiled. The examples she’d seen made her worried about appearing absurd, but Myseth had delivered a unique and superlative product.
“Come,” Myseth said, indicating the room’s doorway. She triumphantly led the way into the central salon, and Candace followed, taking small steps to accommodate the tight sheath.
Sam took one look at Candace, and his mouth fell open. “Black space,” he whispered.
“Is that a superlative?” asked Myseth, when her ear comm translated the two words.
“In this case, it’s a great superlative,” Sam said, smiling.
“Wonderful,” Myseth exulted. Turning to Candace, she said, “A vehicle is ready for you. It will accommodate your standing during the trip to Torque. My stylist and the dresser will accompany you to ensure your appearance at the club. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Candace replied, and she collected her slate. Walking slowly, she exited the suite.
Myseth stopped Candace in the hall and said, “You must inhabit your costume. Enjoy it; relish it.”
Candace took a breath and blew it out. Then she relaxed, took a small step, and let a hip sway. With each movement, she rolled her hips and let her shoulders follow.
“Yes,” Myseth commented. “That is the way you must enter and walk through Torque. Do not engage others on your account. Let them come to you, and spend no great time with any individual. That is how you will accrue influence and learn the information you seek.”
Candace eyed Myseth, and her estimation of the Lemgart’s wiliness rose. Myseth had deduced the reason for their masquerade, and she was offering advice. Clearly, the Lemgart was currying favor.
In the lobby, Myseth presented her bill, and Candace transferred the credits. Then Myseth led her entourage out of the establishment.
Outside, a vehicle with a tall structure behind the cab waited, and a Lemgart stood beside an open rear door with a ramp.
The stylist and the dresser carried small satchels for any last-minute touches, and they walked beside Candace to help her navigate into the vehicle’s interior.
Inside the transport, Candace found a soft structure that allowed her to stand while it enclosed her. The ramp retracted, the double doors closed, and the interior lit. Then the two companions sat in seats, and the transport smoothly drove off.
6: Torque
During the ride to Torque, Candace reset her thoughts. The costume, makeup, and adornments were artifice. The mission was to connect to Fystal jer Hathwa and uncover incriminating evidence to support the commander and Sam’s assertions that the Usaanans were undermining fair competition.
When the transport halted, the driver opened the door, and the enclosure released Candace.
“How do I order this transport again?” Candace asked her companions. She received an icon on her slate.
“We’ll be waiting here for your return,” the dresser replied. “This is part of the service.”
Candace nodded, and she exited the vehicle. A moving entrance allowed her to stand while she was rolled into Torque’s interior. She was happy she didn’t have to walk. The club’s interior was overwhelming. So much was ongoing that the senses were assaulted on every level.
Two Lemgarts offered their hands to help Candace exit the mover. Then she kept walking. She was greeted continually by one word, Pyrean, and she replied in the same manner. No one asked her name or stopped to talk, and Cand
ace recalled Myseth’s advice.
Candace’s implant was providing invaluable data. A facial ID app identified the race and supplied her with a name. As part of her security training, she’d studied alliance races. But, under the circumstances, with the extent of the crowd, the individuals were coming too fast to allow timely recall without the internal aid.
The nature of Torque’s club members surprised Candace. She’d expected mostly Lemgarts with a smattering of other races. The opposite was true. Most of the Lemgarts were present as staff. The bulk of the club members represented nearly a quarter of the alliance’s races.
Another instance of Candace’s facial ID app was running. A single image was held in the repository — that of Fystal jer Hathwa. As Candace casually scanned the room, the app searched for a match.
While the majority of the club’s attendees seemed content to mingle, a significant portion were seated or stood around small tables. Their heads were bent toward one another, and they participated in earnest conversations.
The purpose of the club dawned on Candace. This was a meeting place in which the elite conducted business. Moreover, the costume and preparations that Candace wore identified her as one of them.
A server approached Candace and inquired, “A drink, Pyrean?”
“Something refreshing. Nonalcoholic and nonstimulant,” Candace replied.
When the Lemgart hurried away, Candace thought, No bots here.
Candace observed three individuals meet. They represented three different races, and immediately they angled across the room and disappeared through a faux wall. She had to replay the recording in slow motion to note how the wall appeared solid, but the individuals had walked through what was a projection. Candace wondered how many sections of the room’s walls led to private meeting rooms.
The server returned with Candace’s drink. She dipped her fingertip in the drink and touched it to a sensor on the slate. The analysis revealed the concoction was safe for her to drink. She accepted the charge on her slate and the drink.
Sipping on the green concoction, which Candace relished, she continued to wander through the club. Within a half hour and with an empty glass, which was soon whisked away, she had scanned the entire crowd and not found her quarry.