“I’ve always liked azure,” Megan replied with calculated interest.
“Yes,” the man said, smiling as he packed up his case. “Many do; it’s like the colors of a bright new day.”
It’s a bright new day, Megan. In her memory her father was patting her hair, as he did every morning he was home. Time to wake up. Either Paul had her father and was testing her… no, that made no sense. If Paul knew she was Joel Travante’s daughter he’d act upon it, not test her. And there was no reason for them to know that phrase, even if her father had been captured. It had to be a contact.
“Well, let’s talk about that next week,” Megan replied, handing back the slip of paper folded so the name didn’t show. “You’ll be here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, his brow furrowing.
How to reply without giving myself away?
“You understand that I’ll have to do a forensic analysis of your materials?” Megan asked.
“Of course,” the vendor replied. “I could expect nothing less.”
“Paul is very fatherly towards us,” Megan continued. “But if something happened to one of the girls at the very least I would expect that there would be a thorough investigation. The repercussions would be unpleasant.”
“I understand,” the man said after a pregnant pause. “I look forward to meeting with you again.”
“I’d like to add something,” Megan said, looking at him sternly. “You will not discuss this with anyone. That is very important. Am I absolutely clear about that?”
“I don’t discuss my customer’s business, Miss Sung,” the vendor replied.
“Not with your partners and not up any sort of corporate chain,” Megan said, firmly. “Paul will hear. And we don’t want that to happen, do we?”
“Madame, I assure you…”
“And I am assuring you,” Megan replied. “Your new line will go nowhere if you pass around that you’re in contact with Paul’s… friends. He will hear about it. And he won’t respond pleasantly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, gulping. “I understand. Completely.”
“I’ll see about arranging a seminar,” Megan continued. “The girls would like it, that’s for sure. Until next week,” she said, standing up.
“Until next week.”
Martin St. John was a happy man. He had been a thief, a con artist and a murderer before the Fall, in an environment where all three were, to say the least, difficult. After the Fall he simply shifted his techniques, finding the basic methods and thought processes the same if somewhat more sanguine.
That was until he’d fallen astray of Brother Conner. He and Conner had been in the same society of professional ne’er-do-wells prior to the Fall. Somehow the bastard had tracked him down and blackmailed him into heading an expedition to the Southern Isles to break up the potential alliance of the mer and the UFS. And that had gone so well that he had ended up stranded on a desert island, starving to death.
That was until a friendly fisherman had picked him up and brought him back to town. Back in town the “friendly fisherman” had turned out to be none other than Special Fisking Inspector Joel the Bastard Travante who knew exactly who the “stranded merchant” on the island was. And who had had heavies waiting to ensure “Martin” didn’t disappear in the Caribbean darkness.
So Martin had been given a few unpalatable choices. He could stand trial for various war crimes; the ixchitl, kraken and orcas that he had commanded had not been particularly nice. In which case, if convicted, he would be sentenced to either hard labor, which he abhorred, or death, which he abhorred even more.
Or. There was always an “or.” Or he could, of his “own free will” accept a loyalty geas and go to work for the UFS. Plying his skills, so to speak. Back in Ropasa where Conner was Joel the Bastard Travante’s opposite number.
Nobody said the “or” would be a good “or.”
Let’s see, guaranteed hard labor, probably death. Or, probably death.
But. There was always a “but” too. But if he took the job, and did it well, he would be fisking over Conner. Conner, the bastard, who had left him to die on a burning ship. It was that that had tipped the scales. The chance to really stick it to Conner. He’d never liked him anyway.
Now, though, lord did he have information. Joel Travante, the man he hated second in line after Conner, was about to find out that his daughter was spreading her legs for Paul Bowman. Glorious revenge. And all he had to do was follow his loyalty conditioning. Lovely.
But he had to be careful. If he failed to deliver the information, or if it got picked up by New Destiny, Joel the Bastard would pull his life like a plug. And he couldn’t deviate from routine one iota or, more than likely, Conner’s internal security goons would pick him up with similar results. But, fortunately, he’d set up a hard contact method in advance.
Whether Megan the Harlot knew it or not, she was immured in a castle in the middle of Stayorg City. And no more than two days away by fast coach was Iruck, where his next meeting was to take place. And in Iruck…
Martin tried not to whistle in glee as he strode through the nighttime streets and tapped on a discreet door in an alleyway. A small slot shot back and a grim face looked him over then unbolted the door.
The lamp-lit interior of the room was decked out in red and various females lounged around in practically nothing. Martin tried not to grin again as he looked at the girls, most of whom were slightly Changed. There was a tiger-girl and two wolf girls and one that was a bit too much cat. The girl even had a tail. But what he was looking for was upstairs.
Very few people in the brothel knew that Martin owned it. And the reason he owned the brothel was on the top floor. He knocked on the door and entered at a whistled reply.
The girl in the dimly lit room was enormously tall with what appeared to be hugely outsized breasts. They were, in fact, flight muscles, for Joie had been one of the rare individuals, pre-Fall, to have herself Changed so that she could achieve true flight. Her arms flexed normally but the bones of her pinky fingers had been hyperextended into flight bones. Those bones, and all the rest throughout her body, were a hollow honeycomb of advanced fibers and her skin was covered in a fine down that was both aerodynamic and warm. She stood nearly two and a half meters and her wings at full extension stretched for seven and a half to either side. Between the enormous “breasts,” angelic face, long, downy legs and her beautiful carriage she was incredibly popular with those men who had money to spend on the truly exotic. But it was the ability for fully powered flight that had attracted Martin and caused him to spend Joel’s money like water to purchase her. Because she could carry a message all the way across the continent in a single night.
“Hello, Joie,” Martin said, smiling.
“Hello, Martin,” Joie sighed, sadly. She was reclined on a long, narrow bed. “Let me guess, you want me to play the fallen angel again.”
“I’d love to, frankly,” Martin grinned. “But you’re not going to be playing with me, or anyone else, unless you want to. I need you to do me one more service and then you are free.”
Joie sat up on the bed and turned up the lamp, looking him in the eye coldly.
“Don’t play with me, Martin,” she said, her face working. “Do not do this to me. I don’t care what geas you have on me, I will kill you.”