Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  The two Unicorn Palace guards were armed with bulky medium duty laser pistols. My shield generator wouldn’t be of any use, and my current attire offered virtually no protection. I thought about my duty coveralls compactly folded into the satchel as one of the security men signaled me forward.

  I nodded once and stepped through the arch, looking up and around as if I hadn’t been through one before. It gave a plausible reason for not looking either of the security officials in the eye. It took a little longer for the floor ribbon to signal green than it did for the businessmen who preceded me. Maybe because I carried a large shoulder satchel. Maybe because of what it held, or what it concealed on my hip.

  “Your purpose tonight, Mr. Deering, sir?” one of the security men asked.

  In a straightforward voice, I answered, “An extended evening of personal entertainment.” I shifted my gaze from one security man to the other, then to the green ribbon on the floor.

  With a grin and shake of his head, the older of the two said, “Move ahead, and enjoy your extended evening.”

  I mumbled, “Thank you. I believe I will.”

  Beyond the thick sliding doors I found a dimly lit room about fifty-feet-wide and half that deep. Scattered mostly to the left were twelve tall circular tables. Half had one or two men standing at them, along with a scantily clad hostess cradling a computer clip. I wasn’t sure who had more teeth showing, the smiling hostess or the grinning men staring at the holographic images that appeared on the tables, slowly rotated a full 360 degrees before shifting to another image—different women of widely varying proportions. One distant table had a male lawyer observing holographic images of other men, again of all varieties—muscular, thin, dark-skinned, bearded or clean shaven, and more. One table had an elderly female business executive examining the same selection of holographic males, and attended by a muscular, topless male host.

  Along the right-hand wall were what I guessed to be full-sized images of what the Celestial Unicorn Palace’s customers were examining at their individual tables. Prominent were the nearly eight-foot voluptuous blondes from the commercials, enticing visitors with the slogan: Come be a stallion on our range. There were also women of every conceivable size, shape and color. The most disgusting holographic image appeared to be a little girl—but her figure suggested she might be a midget.

  Thinking about what that meant turned my stomach. I looked around with a glare that was anything but friendly. A powerful urge to just turn and leave set in. At that moment I might have left, no matter the consequences, except for the dark-skinned, brunette hostess with a sincere look of concern approaching me.

  She was about as tall as me, which was a little on the short side for an I-Tech woman. But what she lacked in height she made up for with overflowing cleavage. It threatened to burst free from the skin-tight white shirt under her open black jacket. She carried an oversized computer clip under one arm and maintained eye contact as she stopped in front of me.

  I glanced away, remembering my contacts. The room’s darkness probably masked their distortion, but better to be safe. I could’ve stared at her cleavage, something she was probably used to. Instead I looked around, pretending to be distracted by the sights and activity.

  “Hello, I’m Brandi, your hostess.” Her voice remained light and bubbly as she continued. “May I direct you to a table?” She gestured to her right. Her smile revealed straight teeth whose whiteness captured and reflected the room’s purple and turquoise fluorescent advertisements.

  When I didn’t immediately respond, she added, “There we can begin crafting your experience with us.”

  I nodded and looked toward a table that wasn’t adjacent to any of those occupied. Hostess Brandi took my meaning and led the way. Her stride was both businesslike and playfully seductive, until that moment something I didn’t think was possible.

  Once at the chest-high circular table, one which rested on a dull metallic post that matched its surface, she extended her hand toward me. As we shook, she asked, “Is this your first visit to the Celestial Unicorn Palace?”

  Her handshake was firm and assured. As I released from the hostess’s grip I noticed the smoothness of her skin. Her training probably directed her to recognize what I’d find appropriate, what would put me more at ease.

  Before the shapely hostess could go into her spiel, I asked, “Is Colossra available?”

  The hostess’s eyebrows rose. Somehow I’d caught her off guard. Then her face transformed one of questioning contemplation.

  I briefly met her eyes and nodded. “Might she be available?”

  Brandi tapped her oversized computer clip, prepping the table’s hologram program. While she did so, she took in a deep breath. Somehow the synthetic fabric held.

  “Are you sure, Mr. Deering?”

  Realizing her deep breath had been a test to see if it’d draw my attention, I kept my voice low and even. “I believe so, Miss Brandi.” It made me wonder about my request. Instead of assuming Colossra was one of the buxom blondes I’d seen in the advertisements, I should’ve gotten more information from Segreti. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t request Colossra, Miss Brandi?”

  “Brandi is fine,” the hostess said, tapping a few places on her computer clip’s screen before resting it on the table.

  I wanted to suggest she call me Virgil, my cover’s first name but, based upon my experience of business executives, even mid to low level ones, that would be out of character. Besides, in my experience as a security specialist, formality and titles felt more natural. And I wanted to appear natural.

  “No, Mr. Deering.” She flashed her wide, teeth-shimmering smile. “We’re trained to provide our visitors with options, guiding them toward an enjoyable experience.” She shrugged. “You’re a challenging client to read.”

  I wanted to ask why, but could guess. My lack of eye contact. An R-Tech trying to blend in as an I-Tech. Instead I shrugged.

  “Your initial profile doesn’t match her usual clientele.”

  They couldn’t have had much information on me, with a fake ID. All they had was observations. It made me wonder about Colossra. Was she a midget? Was Colossra not a she, but a he? My mind raced, trying to recall. I did refer to Colossra as a ‘she’ and Brandi hadn’t disputed or in any way indicated that assumption was in error.

  I took my own deep breath, realizing I’d discover the mystery of Colossra soon enough.

  Hostess Brandi escorted me from the entry to a waiting area filled with several plush white couches and intricately carved end tables. Being someone skilled in working with wood, creating carvings, it was easy to tell that what the imported furniture was expensive. String orchestra music played in the background. Otherwise, it was quiet, especially since we were the only ones in the room.

  Brandi offered me a seat and sat next to me before attempting small talk. Rather than continuing to provide evasive answers, I questioned her.

  “Has the war interrupted business?”

  “Here, at the Celestial Unicorn Palace?” It was her turn to be evasive. When I nodded, she continued, saying, “There’s been some interruptions, mainly due to travel difficulties encountered by some of our regular clientele.”

  “How do the owners of the Celestial Unicorn Palace view the colony here in the 70 Virginis system declaring independence?”

  “An interesting question, Mr. Deering.” She smiled tightly. “As long as it doesn’t affect business and our ability to please our clientele, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Do your employers have faith in the Troh-gots? How will professed neutrality serve them if humanity loses the war?” I immediately regretted asking the questions. A hostess wouldn’t have such knowledge, and even if she did, wouldn’t reveal anything of interest to me. “I apologize,” I said. “Forget I asked.”

  Another moment of silence reigned while the hostess checked her computer clip. She offered a nervous smile, demonstrating her discomfort. Something she probably wasn’t used to.

 
I ran a hand across the end table next to me, its polished top etched into leaves and roses. “Beautiful cherry wood.” Brandi leaned forward as I slid the table around. The thick carpet offered some resistance. I pointed to the legs, depicting thorny vines climbing them. “They appear to be hand carved by an expert.”

  She nodded in appraisal. “Your company deals in woods and furniture?”

  “No,” I said. “In my youth I carved busts in authentic wood to help pay for schooling.” It was a half-truth. “I couldn’t help but notice.”

  She nodded, her confident grin returning. “We here at the Celestial Unicorn Palace spare no expense to provide a positive experience for our visitors.”

  A small corner of her clip’s screen flashed yellow, then green.

  “Your escort will be with us in a moment.”

  We both stood. After I slid the table back into place, Hostess Brandi directed me to face a door to our left. She leaned close, her chest lightly pressing against my shoulder as she whispered in my ear. “If your choice is not what you expect, don’t hesitate to share the fact with Colossra, or any member of our staff. The sooner you do so, the more satisfying your experience will prove to be.”

  I slid a few inches away. “I will be sure to do so, Hostess Brandi, should it be necessary.” I returned my focus on the doorway so that I wouldn’t have to maintain eye contact. “I appreciate your concern, but I believe Colossra as my choice is the proper one for my needs…and desires.”

  “The client is the boss,” she said with a hint of smugness. That worried me.

  Chapter 19

  The door, apparently to an elevator, slid open and out stepped a mound of muscles masquerading as a woman.

  She wore a single-strapped, shimmering bronze dress that stopped mid-thigh with matching bronze-studded heels. Everywhere bulging, rippling muscles stretched the dress tight. The Celestial Unicorn Palace’s escort put every weightlifter I’d ever met to shame. Her biceps and triceps were so large she couldn’t rest her arms comfortably at her sides, and the bulk of her thighs and calves caused her to walk with a more masculine than feminine gait. Whereas the hostess’s fluid walk reminded me of a seductive rippling stream, the approaching woman’s stride reminded me more of a raging river, one barely contained within its boulder-strewn banks.

  The shape of her eyes and her long, straight black hair suggested an Asian bloodline. Her brown eyes sparkled as much as her inviting smile.

  “Segreti, if I ever see you again,” I mumbled, but finished the thought to myself: You’re gonna pay for this.

  “I beg your pardon?” the hostess standing next to me asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, and stepped forward, extending my hand to who I assumed was Colossra.

  “I’m Mr. Deering,” I said, “Virgil Deering.”

  The name Colossra certainly fit. Her grip was bone-crunching, even though I gripped far up along the web between her thumb and forefinger.

  “The bronze fingernail polish,” I said, wincing, “with silver roses is a nice…touch, Colossra.”

  She was only a little bit taller than me before the shoes, allowing me to maintain eye contact without craning my neck too much. A slight tightening of her grip before she released told me she’d been holding back.

  With a smile on her lips she brought her left hand up and around. Before it could collide with my shoulder, I brought my arm up to interpose my satchel. The maneuver gave me a chance to duck under her arm while grabbing hold of it. She shook me off before I could place her in an arm lock.

  I stepped back, out of reach, making sure my sidearm remained concealed under my jacket.

  The hostess nodded to me with a contemplative look across her face. “Enjoy your extended stay, Mr. Deering.”

  Offering the hostess a brief glance, keeping most of my attention on the brutish hulk of a lady in front of me, I said, “I’m anticipating a span of time not quite like any other I’ve experienced before.” Although I had no intention of following through, I’d apparently demonstrated aspects of foreplay the hostess expected.

  Colossra said, “I shall do my best to see to that, Mr. Deering.” Her voice was smooth and feminine, and stood at odds with her size and strength. Despite her excessively muscled frame, feminine beauty lurked in her face and demeanor, echoing what resonated in her voice.

  Hostess Brandi retrieved and handed me my satchel. “Thank you again,” I said to her before offering my arm to Colossra. Nodding toward the elevator door I said to my escort, “I take it you know the way, and possibly what I’m about?”

  Flexing her bicep after taking my arm, she replied, “Rest assured, Mr. Deering, I’m prepared to cater to your needs.” She laughed as we strode forward. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “Hmph,” I said, certain the hostess could still hear. “That’s reassuring.” I looked up at Colossra, her jaw clenched in determination. Sliding my chit card into the computer access panel next to the elevator, I hoped my escort knew what I was really alluding to.

  Chapter 20

  Instead of using gravity plates, the levels or disks that made up the Celestial Unicorn Palace generated artificial gravity through spinning. Relic technology, and a type that resulted in significant energy savings. It also meant the central shaft housing the elevators lacked gravity. By properly orienting to correlate with the direction travelled along the shaft, movement offered some gravity, until slowing to a stop. Then, the floor or ceiling mounted—depending on your direction—foot and gripping straps proved their value. I imagined the Relic technology used offered a minor exotic experience, but nowhere near what any zero gravity activities might.

  My tie and satchel floated up a bit, as did my jacket. Unlike Colossra, who was pretty solid all around, some of the Palace’s escorts could emphasize their floaty parts in zero gravity, making such rides…interesting.

  My result was Colossra observing my holstered revolver.

  She made a kissing motion with her lips and winked. I smiled nervously, and checked again for signs of surveillance cameras. I hadn’t seen any, anywhere, which surprised me. With the somewhat antiquated scanning equipment at the entrance, and the outdated gravity generation system, signs of such equipment should be obvious. Fiber optic lenses are small, and not necessarily visible, but walls, panels and lighting offer hints. A structure’s layout points to where such lenses might be mounted to obtain full, unobstructed surveillance.

  Microphones could be mounted out of sight and still gather sound, down to minute levels. Low energy sonic scanners could be mounted behind panels and provide outlines and data on movements, but such setups offered inferior detail when compared to proper optic lenses.

  The elevator reoriented before its door opened to deposit us on a limited area grav plate. I politely declined my escort’s offered arm, preferring not to be entangled. Exiting an elevator provides an excellent opportunity to be ambushed. While Segreti might vouch for Colossra, it was better to minimize the risk and be free to react.

  Nobody was lying in wait. Instead, the narrow hallway bathed in soft blues, pinks, and deep purples held two Class 2 Security bots. The model resembled an old-time globe resting on a squat aluminum podium. Their lights flashed yellow, meaning they were in standby/observation mode. They’d been painted deep purple to match the décor, including their tracked wheels and four-pronged appendage arms. They were an offshoot of the models often found in trendy establishments and in medical facilities. The spherical portion could spin and rotate to bring weapons to bear, from CO2 fired needles laced with knockout drugs to ports for light duty lasers. Advanced models mounted a stun net with the launch mechanism hidden behind a body panel.

  Automatically searching for security sensors and identifying the sec-bots reminded me how out of my element I’d ranged. I was a trained security specialist, not an Intel agent. I’d proven to be an effective soldier fighting against the Crax. Posing as a mid to lower level business executive, a Virgil Deering, originally posing as a personal guard named B
leys. I thought I’d settle into the varied roles of an Intel agent, but that wasn’t happening.

  Agent Vingee suggested surgery to alter my looks. But even that wouldn’t have kept me out of trouble on the orbital colony. I recognized Falshire Hawks, despite his plastic surgery. He’d have ID’d me just the same.

  Then, entering the Celestial Unicorn Palace, an establishment for rich and high-powered executives to play out fantasies with unique, if not very peculiar prostitutes? It felt like playing quarterback in old-time American football, getting sacked by the entire defensive line, and then having the linebackers pile on.

  Colossra was already a step ahead of me and she slowed down so I could catch up. “My suite is around the corner. I believe what I have to offer will prove beyond your expectations, Mr. Deering.”

  Her voice wasn’t as deep as I’d expected, and now it carried a mischievous lilt. That concerned me, even though she smiled reassuringly.

  “They’re security robots,” she continued. “I don’t think they’ve ever moved from their positions since I’ve been here. Except for cleaning and maintenance.”

  The sec-bots could record persons and conversations. It’s what I’d have them do, in addition to disabling intruders or troublemakers. I didn’t mention that as we turned right at the T intersection.

  Several yards down the hall, we stopped at a pair of doors placed across from each other. The lighting and colors transitioned to deep violet, almost like black lighting and continued down the corridor and then doglegged to the left. Colossra waved her right forehand in front of the access panel the door on the right, the wider of the two doors. It clicked and slid open.

  “What’s across the hall?” I asked.

  “My personal quarters,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing for me to enter.