ship.”
(Part VI)
“Yes, dear. I like you just fine,” Ezra Kendall said and slipped into a pseudo-silk robe. It was the truth. He did like her just fine. His fondness for her or lack thereof had nothing to do with his inability to finish the job. Mayor Kendall eyed the prostitute’s bare breasts. They were the real thing. He was sure of it. A prostitute with real tits was not something you found every day, Kendall knew. Even that fact hadn’t helped him finish the job. He looked at her face now. He could see that she had been pretty once. That was fairly certain. Now, a scar ran from her chin to her left eye, the cornea was milky and malformed; the blemish detracted from her looks. But, she was a real woman. I’m too uptight lately , Kendall thought. Might be that I’ll just have to try again later. He went to the small, oak bar that stood along the far wall of his bed chamber and looked up at the framed LCD suspended there. The shimmering pixels showed a super-station floating over a backdrop of stars; two rings glittered as they rotated on a shared axis. The portrait was a vision of Crescent—Kendall’s vision of what the station would look like, were it to be completed. One of these days, he vowed, he would finish the construction that was halted so long ago. And soon , he reminded himself.
“My money?” the girl said in a voice that was almost a whisper. It was like she was afraid to ask for her payment. If there was one thing that Kendall appreciated, it was making good on a deal. He filled a snifter with a brandy that was as genuine as her breasts.
“You’ll be paid on your way out. I’m old fashioned. I’d rather not be part of the money exchange. Understand?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I believe I do.”
The bed linens whispered as she slipped from between their soft confines; the sound was followed by the clack of heels on the hardwood. She click-clacked her way to the door; it hissed open. She clacked through, the door hissed shut, and Kendall was alone again. He lifted the snifter to his lips and inhaled deeply. Yes. Real was the only way to go. Snifter cradled in one hand, Kendall padded barefoot past the antique mahogany sleigh bed and drew open the curtains that hung above the headboard. A circular viewport showed a toss of stars, snaked with faint wisps of nebulosity. He placed his hand on the glass; it was cool to the touch. Kendall depressed a finger beneath his ear and there was a click.
“Taylor, please have Catlier and Raney go retrieve Ms. Griffin. Officer Griffin. I will meet with her here.”
“Right away, sir,” Taylor’s voice crackled over the cochlear implant.
(•••)
The door slid open on its track; Kendall still stared out the window, enjoying the lingering taste of the brandy. The glass was empty now. He’d have to see about that.
“You wanted to see me, Mayor.” There was the slightest quaver in the alto voice. She probably didn’t even know it was there—most wouldn’t notice it—but he did. It was like blood in the water; Kendall licked his lips.
“Yes, Officer Griffin.” He moved from the window and settled into an antique, cushioned chair; the plastic and metal frame creaked as it adjusted to his weight. “Your first name is Marisa, is it not?”
“It is,” she said. She was in her uniform; fitted, blue sleeves tapered to hands that were at her sides. Her hair was piled atop her head in a tight bun. She was a pretty girl. Fetching, even. Perhaps a little old for his taste. Kendall preferred his females young. According to her personnel file, Griffin was approaching thirty. Even still, exceptions could always be made.
“May I call you Marisa?”
“I don’t see the harm in that.” Marisa smiled. The gesture was forced. Kendall appreciated the effort.
“Sit down, Marisa… sit down, please.” Kendall gestured to the tousled bed. Was that a little blood on the sheets? Marisa hesitated, but only for a moment; she crossed the
(Part VI)
“Yes, dear. I like you just fine,” Ezra Kendall said and slipped into a pseudo-silk robe. It was the truth. He did like her just fine. His fondness for her or lack thereof had nothing to do with his inability to finish the job. Mayor Kendall eyed the prostitute’s bare breasts. They were the real thing. He was sure of it. A prostitute with real tits was not something you found every day, Kendall knew. Even that fact hadn’t helped him finish the job. He looked at her face now. He could see that she had been pretty once. That was fairly certain. Now, a scar ran from her chin to her left eye, the cornea was milky and malformed; the blemish detracted from her looks. But, she was a real woman. I’m too uptight lately , Kendall thought. Might be that I’ll just have to try again later. He went to the small, oak bar that stood along the far wall of his bed chamber and looked up at the framed LCD suspended there. The shimmering pixels showed a super-station floating over a backdrop of stars; two rings glittered as they rotated on a shared axis. The portrait was a vision of Crescent—Kendall’s vision of what the station would look like, were it to be completed. One of these days, he vowed, he would finish the construction that was halted so long ago. And soon , he reminded himself.
“My money?” the girl said in a voice that was almost a whisper. It was like she was afraid to ask for her payment. If there was one thing that Kendall appreciated, it was making good on a deal. He filled a snifter with a brandy that was as genuine as her breasts.
“You’ll be paid on your way out. I’m old fashioned. I’d rather not be part of the money exchange. Understand?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I believe I do.”
The bed linens whispered as she slipped from between their soft confines; the sound was followed by the clack of heels on the hardwood. She click-clacked her way to the door; it hissed open. She clacked through, the door hissed shut, and Kendall was alone again. He lifted the snifter to his lips and inhaled deeply. Yes. Real was the only way to go. Snifter cradled in one hand, Kendall padded barefoot past the antique mahogany sleigh bed and drew open the curtains that hung above the headboard. A circular viewport showed a toss of stars, snaked with faint wisps of nebulosity. He placed his hand on the glass; it was cool to the touch. Kendall depressed a finger beneath his ear and there was a click.
“Taylor, please have Catlier and Raney go retrieve Ms. Griffin. Officer Griffin. I will meet with her here.”
“Right away, sir,” Taylor’s voice crackled over the cochlear implant.
(•••)
The door slid open on its track; Kendall still stared out the window, enjoying the lingering taste of the brandy. The glass was empty now. He’d have to see about that.
“You wanted to see me, Mayor.” There was the slightest quaver in the alto voice. She probably didn’t even know it was there—most wouldn’t notice it—but he did. It was like blood in the water; Kendall licked his lips.
“Yes, Officer Griffin.” He moved from the window and settled into an antique, cushioned chair; the plastic and metal frame creaked as it adjusted to his weight. “Your first name is Marisa, is it not?”
“It is,” she said. She was in her uniform; fitted, blue sleeves tapered to hands that were at her sides. Her hair was piled atop her head in a tight bun. She was a pretty girl. Fetching, even. Perhaps a little old for his taste. Kendall preferred his females young. According to her personnel file, Griffin was approaching thirty. Even still, exceptions could always be made.
“May I call you Marisa?”
“I don’t see the harm in that.” Marisa smiled. The gesture was forced. Kendall appreciated the effort.
“Sit down, Marisa… sit down, please.” Kendall gestured to the tousled bed. Was that a little blood on the sheets? Marisa hesitated, but only for a moment; she crossed the
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