A HOLOGRAM SHIMMERED midair over Ilanya Eva’s desk, projected from Teo’s visor-mounted holocaster. It revealed a red-robed clone with long white hair slamming a shorter woman violently against the wall of a hallway, pinning her there, arm across her throat. The view was foreshortened from the spyfly in the ceiling corner, but the actions were clear enough. As were her actions a short while later, tormenting a black-haired woman to tears in her room.
“That’s our girl.” Eva gave a small smile. “Glad to see she remains true to form.” She tilted her head to one side. “Hard to tell if that’s consensual or not, what those two are doing. Looks brutal enough from here.”
“From earlier recordings, I would assume that passes for lovemaking between them,” Teo offered.
She motioned the hologram off. Her matasai cut the recording and raised the room lights a notch. “No spyeyes in her playroom, you said?”
He shook his head. “Unfortunately. Too risky. They run counter-surveillance heavily in the play spaces: apparently, certain clients try to record their sessions now and then, and sell them to various entertainment nodes. It’s in violation of house licensing, so they especially guard against that. Other areas are much easier to infiltrate—as you see.”
“Good. At least we can monitor things. Obray tells me Janus is back. When he shows up, we’ll know when she’s with him. Should be interesting to watch the aftermath of that.”
“Yes.”
“And when does he see her?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Perfect. Everything’s on track.” Ilanya allowed herself a smile. “Let me know when it’s time. We can monitor the site together.”
WHEN COMMANDER OLNIKO gave Eva a routine update a short while later, she was unhappy with what she heard.
“Overflights show nothing, Domna,” he reported. “No sign of a vehicle down. Nothing unusual picked up on mass detection instruments. They must have done as you surmised, flown somewhere unauthorized. We still don’t know where.”
Ilanya spoke over her shoulder to her matasai. “Issue a planetwide arrest order for everyone unaccounted for.”
“Full biometrics?”
“On everyone but the clones. Same reason as before. And, Teo? Amend that order. Clones are armed and dangerous. Orders are shoot to kill.”
“Isn’t that a bit premature?” asked Olniko.
Ilanya turned back to him. “Not at all. The others we can question. If there’s criminal intent at play here, we can determine that at our leisure and deal with it as necessary. But the clones? We can’t have remnants of a classified military experiment on the loose. I want them out of play before their existence raises awkward questions. Especially if they’re linked to the domina at Tryst.”
Olniko bowed his concurrence and called the jungle search teams back to base.
LINING THE STREET directly opposite Tryst was a series of bars and hostess dance clubs, a furor of intoxicants and music that kept partygoers on the street at all hours. Midway along that strip, one man leaned unmoving against the wall between Briyo’s Bar and the narrow service window of a spice-noodle vendor. The early evening crowd was already thick in this part of the Shelieno, but no one in the masses jostled against the solitary figure with the synthflesh patches on his throat. They gave him a wide berth instead, sensing he was not one of them, was not there for entertainment or pleasure. And they were right about that.
Franc studied the house of domination across the way. He could walk in, but even if no one recognized him, he wouldn’t get past their Mix lounge without a prior appointment or approval by the Dosan. That wouldn’t work. Helda would guess why he was there, and that would be the last time he set foot inside.
His eyes ran up the side of the building, one in a block of many, sharing rooftop gardens and the hidden courtyards that were the private world of the shigasue. That was a route no one would expect him to take. The rooftop access pads weren’t keyed to his biometrics, but he should be able to overcome such a minor hindrance.
File that away as one way to reach his quarry.
He watched a businessman leave Tryst, then a couple, man and woman, go in. The house’s traffic was sparse, compared to less exotic establishments, but it would continue all night, probably. And, once inside, people tended to stay for hours, shelling out big creds for the privilege.
How often do the dominas get out? Franc brooded. That’s what I want to know.
He rocked back and forth, heel-toe, heel-toe. If he waited long enough, she would have to come out at some point. In full regalia like before, he probably couldn’t touch her. It would be too public, too obvious. But they had days off, didn’t they?
He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t in his nature to dance attendance on someone else’s schedule, not unless that someone was the boss. Sure, it would be easiest if he could catch her out walking, shopping, partying, whatever those ball-breaking bitches did when they weren’t playacting the dominant with those sorry saps they called clients. If he could catch that vost on the street, she’d be his the instant he had her down an alley and into a back room somewhere.
And if she didn’t come out sometime soon?
He gazed at the rooftop greenery.
There was more than one way to fuck then kill that bitch.