by Amber Jayne
Virge, in her effective guise, heard wild theories being bandied about among the other citizens of the town. The Guard were after stolen firearms, a whole truckload of them. They were here to stop an illicit drug racket, which was why they’d burned the laboratory. They had uncovered an illegal salvaging ring.
This last was particularly stupid, considering how many miles away this town was from the Safe’s border. Nobody, though, knew anything about Urna, the wayward Weapon. Word of his escape hadn’t gotten out. Yet.
Virge hid her surprise at how convincing Yola’s work must be. Though Virge called no attention to herself, several times people she knew well from around the town wandered past her without a glance. The local population was large enough that an unfamiliar face didn’t draw any interest.
Most amazing, though, was when the Guard had ordered everybody into rows, and stern-faced uniformed personnel had gone down the lines checking each civilian against photographs of the woman they were looking for. Those pictures had no doubt come from Virge’s past interrogations. They were useless now, it seemed. A black-clad man strode by her, eyes flashing from her photo to her face, without pausing. Apparently she wasn’t worth even a second glance.
Yola Skott stayed with her, though the two women said little as the day dragged on.
Finally it was over. The Guard issued a few fines and even made a few arrests, surely for contraband discovered inside the houses they had searched, but it didn’t seem to be anything serious. More likely, the uniformed bullies were just frustrated. They’d expended a lot of effort here, brought in a great deal of manpower and vehicles. It had gotten them basically nothing. Virge snickered silently.
She looked for Vika or one of Bongo’s other comrades in the crowd as everyone was brusquely dismissed from the square. She saw nobody. It brought up another question she’d been loath to confront too directly—what now for her? She couldn’t go back to her house, obviously. Her lab was gone, a fact which still hurt, badly. Where was she supposed to go right now?
Yola touched her elbow at that instant and provided the answer. “You can come with me.”
The two women started on their way, out of the town’s public square, jostling among the many grumbling citizens. The Guard had done nothing for their popularity today. Not that the Guard gave a shit about that, Virge noted.
“Hold it,” Yola was suddenly whispering into her ear. “This’ll be quick.”
A lone female Guard member was standing at the edge of the square, leaning against a lamppost, apparently bored. Her eyes ticked automatically over the departing crowd, then focused sharply as Yola approached her. Virge lingered behind. She couldn’t guess what the young makeup expert was up to, but she feared for her. Don’t do anything stupid, Yola, she thought urgently, eyeing the Guard’s rifle slung over her shoulder.
Yola was saying something to the Guard or asking a question. Either way, when the Guard responded, Yola burst into laughter, a sprightly, infectious sound. The Guard even cracked a smile on her hard-looking, darkly complected face. Yola leaned closer, said something else, laughed again. Finally she retreated, and Virge fell in once more beside her, burning with curiosity but refraining from asking anything until they were well away from the square.
Walking the street together, with no one else within earshot, Virge at last said, “What the hell was that about?”
Yola shared a mischievous smile with her and murmured, “You think my only talent is painting faces?”
“I suspect you’ve got lots of talents,” Virge replied.
Yola turned her wavy-haired head. “Oooooh, I like that.”
Virge felt the heat of a blush brush her cheeks. She ignored it for the moment. “Come on, tell me.”
“When we’re inside.”
They were indoors a few minutes later. Yola lived in a hulking, aged building that had long ago been divided up into many separate living units. Yola’s was on the top level, at the end of a hallway floored with a ragged strip of carpet. The door creaked when she closed it behind Virge. It was a single room, neatly kept, despite the stacks of jars and containers that lined the walls. Yola removed her dark cloak and hung it from a hook on the back of the door.
“Okay,” Virge said. “Now tell me.” Her inquisitiveness hadn’t abated. Surely this girl had had a purpose in accosting that Guard.
Yola smiled. “Don’t you want to have a look at yourself first?” She gestured toward a full-length mirror on the far wall. The glass was chipped here and there, but its surface gleamed in the fading light falling through the window. It was late afternoon. The fruitless search had taken much of the day.
Virge wouldn’t have thought she could be diverted. Nonetheless, curiosity about her appearance overrode other concerns for the moment. She stepped up to the mirror. And stopped. And stared. And could barely believe what she beheld.
“Fuck,” she finally breathed after a moment. Her eyes stood wide. No amount of staring, it seemed, could quite make her brain accept the reality depicted in the mirror.
Behind, Yola tittered. “Ah, another success,” she said, pleased.
The image Virge saw was and was not her. At first the alterations had seemed extreme, even outrageous. She simply hadn’t recognized herself—at all. Now, however, she was starting to appreciate the subtle artfulness that had gone into the process of transformation. Her nose was different, but it was only that the bridge had been changed, made wider. Her whole jawline appeared reconfigured, but the prosthetic piece molded over her chin accounted for that. Minimal application had been used to maximum effect.
Drawn lines somehow elongated her eyes. Dark freckles mottled her forehead. As Virge continued to study her reflection, she realized that there was no single adjustment she could pick out which would explain how total the metamorphosis was.
She continued to gaze at the stranger who was herself. It was no wonder nobody had recognized her.
“Done admiring your lovely self yet?”
Virge’s eyes shifted, saw Yola in the mirror. “It’s…amazing.”
“Thanks. I have to agree. But that’s just what you look like. Don’t you want to know who you are?”
Virge turned, frowning. Yola held up a laminated rectangle. A picture was imprinted on it, along with some official-looking text—as well as the classic symbol of the Guard, a white circle on a black background, meant to represent the Safe.
“What—” Virge started to ask.
“Guard ID. Your new name is Cawd Delfel. That’s a dreadful name. But it’ll do.” Yola handed her the identity card. “Take a look. Tell me that’s not you—or it will be after I make a couple more adjustments.”
Finally understanding why Yola had paused to chat with that Guard, Virge looked at the photo. She and Cawd Delfel did have similar features. Same basic cast of eyes, almost identical cheekbones. Virge’s new freckles didn’t match, but those could be easily removed, she assumed. In fact, with a few minor changes—ones she was confident Yola could effect—she would bear an uncomfortable resemblance to this female Guard.
Although, her hair…
“It’ll have to go,” Yola said with some sympathy, as Virge raised her hand unconsciously to touch her lustrous locks.
She looked mournfully at the younger woman. “But—but—” Her eyes fell to the ID again. “She’s practically bald.” Maybe that was overstating it a bit, but only a bit. Cawd Delfel had a typically severe Guard haircut.
“You’ll just have to live with it,” Yola said. “Or without it, actually.” She had already lifted a box from the floor and was rooting around among several different pairs of scissors.
“Wait a minute!” Virge said. She loved her hair, its fullness and shine, but that wasn’t foremost in her mind just now. “Tell me something first. Why exactly do I want to look like this woman? You pickpocketed her with something specific in mind, unless I miss my guess. I—what?—I’m going to infiltrate the Guard. Is that the plan? Toward what end? Why—”
“To
get you out of town,” Yola said flatly. “Who can travel as they like? The Guard. Staying here isn’t safe for you. I’m good at what I do, true. But your makeover won’t stand up to indefinite scrutiny. Sooner or later someone is going to recognize you. I don’t doubt the Guard have a reward out for your ass by now.”
Virge was shaking her head even as she tried to absorb it all. “I know the Guard have freedom of movement. But they’re an organized force. They have etiquettes and code signs and all that shit. I don’t know any of it. Somebody’s going to ask me what unit I belong to. And what about my clothes?” She swept her hand to indicate what she was wearing. “The Guard don’t dress like this.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can get a uniform.” Yola gave the scissors in her hand a fast, neat snip. “Shall we get started?”
With frustration in her voice, Virge said, “You haven’t heard a fucking word I’ve said.” From the floor below voices rose, then quieted. Beyond the wall behind the mirror she could make out the sounds of a male and female grappling in passion. An old building, probably not originally constructed for mass residency.
Yola lowered the scissors and took a step nearer. She raised her hand and brushed her fingers over Virge’s cheek. “I hear you, Virge. I do. But this is the only way. You can’t hide here, though—I don’t mind saying—I’d enjoy your company. Somebody would hear you in here eventually, questions would be asked, and it wouldn’t end well. I know it will be difficult to bluff being a Guard member. But having this ID and matching the picture on it ought to give you a serious advantage. You’re smart. You’re resourceful. And if you don’t let me kiss you right now I think I’m going to stick these scissors into my thigh.”
Virge’s eyes went wide again. Her breath caught momentarily. Then she felt a smile play over her lips. She leaned forward and put her lips against the girl’s mouth.
Her mouth was warm, inviting. Her lips moved in a sensuous manner beneath Virge’s. The kiss was slow, even languid. Despite the urgency of these circumstances, there was still time for this. So Virge told herself as first Yola’s lips, then her own, parted. She met the younger female’s tongue, accepted it, explored it. She took the taste of Yola’s mouth into her own, savoring it.
When the kiss broke Virge shivered at the tickle of breath, which touched her wet lips. Yola’s pixie face hovered before her. Fingers grazed Virge’s cheek again.
“Want to come to bed? I can fix your hair and do the makeup alterations in a matter of minutes. And you probably shouldn’t make your move until nightfall.” The sun was sinking in the sky beyond the window. But it wasn’t down yet.
Virge gave the woman a nod, feeling a rush of excitement and expectancy.
They didn’t have far to go to reach the bed. It fairly dominated the small room despite being jammed into a corner. Virge shed her coat on the way. Yola started peeling away her own clothes, revealing her slender but exquisitely proportioned body. Her limbs were narrow. The tautness of her modest musculature was evident. She had a small, firm ass, inevitably reminding Virge of ripe fruit. Her breasts were maybe a measure larger than she would’ve expected, though they didn’t look ponderous.
With a series of quick tugs and unfastenings, Virge Temple stood naked, then hurried toward Yola and the bed.
They tumbled together onto it, mouths gluing to one another again. Virge pulled the lighter woman on top of herself, crushing those breasts upon her own. Yola’s tongue swirled in her mouth and her hair rained down over Virge’s face. Virge’s hands roved the taut back, sliding over the pronounced spinal ridge. Her hands groped lower, caught at the sweet swells of her ass. Yola’s limber form bucked atop Virge as she sank her fingers into the flesh.
The girl ground her crotch against Virge’s pubic mound, making a rhythmic humping of it. Already the scent of aroused femininity was upon the air.
On the other side of the wall, Virge was vaguely aware of the sounds of sex still going on. She heard a man’s bass grunting, a woman’s answering cries. And the smack-slap of impacting bodies.
Yola’s face rose, lips glistening. Her eyes were ablaze with excitement. “Those two go at it practically every hour,” she rasped.
Virge’s breasts lifted and fell. Her heart was beating a fast tattoo. “Must be entertaining,” she said inanely.
A smile dimpled Yola’s cheeks. “Gets me insanely horny sometimes. Or else just makes me lonely.” She paused to skim one of Virge’s stiffened nipples with a fingernail then closed a hand over the mound. She said with sudden solemn frankness, “I wanted to fuck you from the first moment I set eyes on you.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Virge asked, her hands still roaming the younger female’s bare flesh.
Teeth appeared in Yola’s smile, making a grin of it. “Not quite,” she said. “Here—let me shift—lift your leg—”
Obviously she had something specific in mind and Virge complied, the rising urgency in her body insisting she go along with whatever this girl intended, so long as it resulted in orgasmic fulfillment.
Yola was now lying in the opposite direction on the bed. Their legs were spread, interlaced, their pussies flush against each other. Fullest possible contact. Virge felt Yola’s carnal heat, her promising wetness. Virge’s own cleft was seeping and slick.
It wasn’t the most familiar female-to-female sex she’d had, though surely she must’ve tried this method at some point, probably when she was younger, like around Yola’s age. The ten or so years Virge had on the girl seemed to make no difference. They both wanted this.
She watched as Yola’s hips moved, a tight, deliberate swiveling, as fluid and practiced as the gyrations of a professional dancer. The move rubbed her pussy hard against Virge’s and the shock of pleasure was incredible. There was a wonderful exposure to this act, a vulnerability, even. It was straightforward, utile.
Virge returned the grinding pressure and the two women fell immediately into a conducive tempo. Virge’s clit was stimulated again and again, and when she came into direct contact with Yola’s own swollen needy bud it ignited a jolt of sexual energy that jumped from one woman to the other and back.
Yola seized one of Virge’s scissoring legs. Virge pushed off from the wall above the bed, so to increase the pressure of contact. Somewhere behind the full-length mirror, male and female were yowling their way to what certainly sounded like mutual crises.
Virge didn’t envy them, not a bit. A great, frantic rapture was rising within her. It was almost frightening in its promised intensity. Yola was wriggling wildly, smearing and burnishing herself deliriously against Virge’s flowing folds. She made no effort to be quiet about it. Rather, she out-cried the couple in the next room, howling her climax for all to hear. Maybe there was a little retaliation for all the sex she’d had to listen to in that triumphant shriek.
And Virge was adding to it, calling out in the same maddened language, wordless, ecstatic, as the pleasure finalized, taking her, wringing the bliss from every part of her, pouring out juices to mingle with those of the younger female.
Eventually, limply, they came stickily apart and sat up on the bed, and smiled and kissed.
“I never asked,” Virge murmured, “but are you a…mage? Are you with the Maji?” Bongo had mentioned the name before.
Yola sighed a soft laugh. “Do I believe in magic, in all those little rituals? No. Never saw any evidence of magic. Even if I did I might not believe. I’m just not wired that way. But,” a grave tone crept into her voice, “I do believe in resistance. In fighting the Guard, the Lux. Even if just in small ways.”
After a time Yola got up to fetch the scissors. Virge nodded, prepared now for the surrendering of her hair.
* * * * *
The news came to him at a bad time. Not that there could have been a good time to receive such dissatisfying information, but this moment in particular was ill-suited.
Aphael Chav had granted an audience to a trio of highly ranked members of the Order of Lux. In truth, granted
might, for once, be overstating it. These three had fairly demanded to address the Toplux. He could have refused. Such was the prerogative of power. But the Lux had power of its own, independent of its topmost figure. The three present in the long, columned chamber had substantial financial holdings. All controlled important industrial enterprises. Collectively or even separately, they could make things difficult for Aphael if they wanted to. After all, Topluxes had been overthrown in the past. It was, essentially, how he himself had taken the paramount office.
He had been successfully maintaining a cordial and attentive manner. Though his guests weren’t dressed in the ridiculous finery of a conclave, they still exuded airs of importance. They had grievances to vent and Aphael Chav listened. They were upset about the recent Guard activity in the Lux city, as well as with the handling of a few other less immediate matters.
But when the aide entered and hurried toward him, Aphael felt a premonition (a Lux, the Lux, feeling a mage’s magical foreboding? Hah!) of bad tidings. The Toplux was not occupying his raised ornate seat. A group of plush chairs had been brought in, contrasting with the pink marble-floored austerity of the space but providing comfortable and level seating for all.
The aide crept around and whispered in Aphael Chav’s ear. He had specified that only certain interruptions would be allowed during this meeting. The visiting trio fell silent, apparently put out by this servant’s intrusion. By the time the aide had finished imparting the news, Aphael had nearly forgotten the others’ presence. Certainly he no longer cared anything about their delicate sensibilities and inflated sense of status.
“You will have to excuse me,” the Toplux said, his voice a dull murmur, disturbing in its utter lack of intonation.
He was vaguely aware of heads turning, glances exchanged. The Lux members didn’t yet know what to make of this, it seemed. “Pardon, my Toplux?” one of them asked.
His eyes came back from the middle distance to which they had wandered. He gave his guests a piercing look. “You have to leave,” he said, stating it more clearly, though with no more emotion than before. He felt an awful stillness inside. A dangerous calm. It wasn’t going to last, he realized.
