We want to see it. See her suffer.
The hallucinatory numbers filled his mind again. They came on intensely, blue nines, gold sevens, white threes. They exploded across his vision and rained down over the room.
That’s when the girl started streaming him her scent and one second image flashes of her getting ready. He stood and said, “I’m checking out here. Need some rest.”
Gilead looked at him with a hint of disappointment. He obviously wanted his friend Casteggio to stick around until everyone else left so they could have another tête-à-tête, but Venadrik knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach it.
“Just do what needs to be done, my friend. Don’t hold back,” said Venadrik, putting a hand on Gilead’s shoulder.
“Good night, brother,” said Gilead. He smiled.
Venadrik stubbed out the carcass of his cigar, clapped Gilead on the back and headed for his room, his head and heart hammering now. He felt almost drunk, knowing what was coming. He wanted it more and more with each step.
Back in his room he changed into a red silk evening robe with nothing underneath. In the mirror he saw himself, his robe hanging open. He had no tattoos. Proud he’d kept his body pristine and unmarked, he smiled and grabbed his kit: ropes, clamps, fish-hooks, wax, a fission knife and most importantly sense pills. He pulled out the small bag of anti-nano powder and hung it over his shoulder with the strap for easy access.
He thought about finding her in the house, but Starliner security, like mansion security, was invulnerable. He wouldn’t be authorized to get to her room. She’d have to come to him. He knew she would.
The girl had dialed up her scent and the flashing images of her became more insistent, pulsing: her in the shower; her turning up her makeup. She’d layered in physical sensations with the images, but he’d screened them with his personal firewall to keep the excitement in check. He hadn’t killed or hurt someone in almost three months and he was so hungry for it.
When she finally tapped on his door, his mind was electric, buzzing, his heart on fire, his temples thundering, his throat filled. A storm of chemicals flooded his body.
He opened the door. The girl was there, her holographic dress turned to holographic lingerie, which made it look like a cloudy mist surrounded her body, barely blurring her best parts.
He pulled her inside.
“Who told you about me?” said Venadrik.
“Jocelyn. Jocelyn Du Vel.”
She giggled.
The name didn’t click for him, so he pulled up some images and ran a search.
“Ah Jocelyn. Of course. Wonderful girl,” he said.
Jocelyn was one of the most dynamic young whores in the Gilead cabal. She’d reached marriage age and been given to one of the top princes in another Dynasty’s stable, but Venadrik fucked and tortured her the night before she’d shipped off to her new husband’s world. The surgery bay barely had time to fix her before she blasted off.
He looked at the girl now, his head tilted, a wolf’s smile plastered on his face. He needed more followers and she would probably do.
“Come here, girl.”
“Okay,” she said.
The false mist clung to her, obscuring her body the way a steamed up shower pane would. She wore only the choker. Its center jewel danced with dark S&M images, no more Deos saints. She moved like a minx now, unashamed.
“What’s your name?” he said.
“Lilivata.”
“Little Lilivata, do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
“Jocelyn told me everything. She was my best friend.”
“I’m not sure that she did.”
He looked at her closely. She stood there, proud and sure of herself, a prancing pony. She looked right into his eyes, something few people could do when he really stared at them.
The hunger was there, but under control now. This was easy prey. He felt the hunger like a storm outside his body, its thunder and fury rioting but muted. He could hurt her and she would enjoy it, mostly. Most importantly, he could tell she would keep quiet. When he’d first danced with the rich, he wasn’t able to tell. Some of the girls seemed so willing and then they would squeal. He’d burned a number of identities that way. Now it was obvious. He could abuse this little bitch and she wouldn’t say a word to anyone, including her friends. She’d probably even keep a scar or two as a badge of honor, even after the others were quickly repaired to hide their games.
“I will hurt you,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “I want you to.”
He looked at her some more. She was unsure now, afraid, but she wanted to try it anyway, to experience the fantasy. He blinked and the room’s walls turned to mirrors.
“She said you used to give her something, so she could feel what you feel.”
“Maybe she did tell you everything. Take this,” he said and opened his hand to reveal a red pill.
She took it without question and blinked off her lingerie. The mist swirled and disappeared slowly, and she stood before him naked. She had no tattoos either. For a moment he almost liked her. It was so rare now. Everyone had some mark.
He looked her body over. Up close he could tell she’d spliced her sweat glands with perfume. She smelled like honeysuckle and stargazers.
“Do you like pain?”
“I want you to make me take it,” she said.
“Do any of your boyfriends punish you like I will?”
“They’re all afraid of me. They treat me like gold. I hate them.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t treat you like gold.”
He opened his other hand and a small glowing ball floated from his palm. He signaled it and it blasted up and exploded overhead in a shower of purple. It would screen off the room, cutting off any sounds, even if someone pressed their ear to the door. He pulled out another stick and jabbed the door. It rewired the door’s internal nervous system with a custom security program he’d written. Few people in the world could hack that door now. Nobody was getting in and no sound was getting out.
He opened his robe. She stepped forward and reached down to caress him.
In a minute the pill did its work and his mind had linked to hers on an encrypted stream. She was seeing through his eyes now, feeling what he felt as he looked at her. He’d walled off his thoughts though. Nobody was allowed to touch his mind, but she would see and feel what he felt as he abused her. As the pill kicked in she started to get disoriented. She shook her head. It was always that way, as their vision disappeared and changed to his. She was looking at him looking at her and she lost her footing. His hand slashed out and grabbed her throat. She gasped.
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into little girl.”
Her eyes went wide with fear and excitement. He squeezed. She clawed at his hands, digging in with her nails. He barely felt it because his mind was on fire, alive, burning. She tried to scream but it came out hoarse and long and low.
“Good. Good. Fight it.”
She was losing consciousness now and he knew that all she could see was him choking her. He let go and she fell to her knees, gasping.
He wrenched her up and slammed her against the wall. He was already hard. He reached down between her legs and his fingers came away wet. He jammed inside her and fish hooked her mouth. She bit down. Blood flowed. He yanked his fingers from her mouth and grabbed her silver hair, staining it red.
“Is this what you wanted?” he said in her ear.
“Yes,” she said.
He laughed. “No it isn’t. It’s not what you expected at all. You thought you were a big girl, but you’re just a dumb little whore playing with fire.”
“No,” she said, her eyes filling up.
“Shut up.”
He pulled out of her and dragged her over to the bed. He slapped her viciously then he’d blanked out her vision to disorient her even more.
“I can’t see anything,”
she whimpered.
“You see what I want you to see.”
He picked her up and smashed her down on the floor. He called to his bag. It unstealthed, leapt up and flew to his side. He yanked out some ropes. He cranked her arms behind her back, pulled open her legs and bent her knees.
“Stay just like that. This is what you like isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said crying.
“It’s just what you like, isn’t it you filthy whore?”
“Yes. Yes,” she said softly.
“Answer me.”
“YESSSSSSSS,” she screamed.
“Stay just like that.”
He went to work, tying her hands, tying her feet. In no time he’d trussed her up like a pig. She was disgusting. All of these rich little whores were, playing games they didn’t understand. They did nothing, made nothing, contributed nothing. He spat on her.
He stood up and looked down at her. Now the real work began.
From his hack kit, he yanked nerve wires and jabbed them into her neck. They dug deep, piercing her blackbox. Numbers erupted in his mind again. Gold sevens, tiny black sixes, towering blue nines. He could see them in long pulsing patterns.
Over the years the numbers told him how to write new kinds of programs. The one he was trying today should break open a blackbox much, much faster, in months, not years, maybe even weeks if it found the vulnerable spots in the quantum crypto chains. Some of his attacks, like the ones on Senator Turnbull and Gabriel Gilead, had run continuously for the last two decades, slowly chewing through layers and layers of encryption. Even since he’d wormed his way into their lives, his mites had slithered into his victims minds and gone to work.
He was patient, but sometimes his programs got discovered and killed, wasting years of work. At times he’d broken into the boxes instantly, with exploits, but the rich had good security and they got patched often. Even his zero-day exploits didn’t work consistently, as people’s backbrains adapted and fought back to the novel attacks. It was long, slow work.
This new program was better. Like a good virus it was slow and careful. He’d evolved it constantly for years and years, altering it as he saw new patterns in his cascading hallucinations. Now he would try the latest iteration on this whore. He couldn’t start his real work until he broke into all his victims’ minds anyway, so this slut would have to do.
He attached the other end of the nerve wires to his array and linked it up to his private grid. If this new program worked, he would know everything about these people much, much faster and punish them with their own truths before they knew what hit them. He’d expose them to an angry public and then wipe out their lives, erase them permanently.
For now he’d have to settle for punishing this whore. He pulled wax jars from his bag and twisted them. They started to heat up.
He pulled out a series of small hooks and big hooks.
“Now it really gets good,” he said.
He loved the sound of her soft crying.
And the Sun Goeth Down
2458 Orthodox Western Calendar
5156 Universal Chinese Calendar, Year of the Dragon
Childress Dynasty Orbital Mansion, Snowstorm Clan Roving Starship Settlement
“I thought you said there was only one murder? This is a fucking massacre,” said Hoskin.
Hoskin, Daniels and Quinlin were standing in Childress’ son’s room. There were six bodies in the massive room, three of them in the “pool” in the center that was the size of small lake, two in the bed and one by one of the doors. Techs worked the room, moving in precise lines with arrays of floating forensics scanners fanned out around them.
“There was only one. Barrotes was a Polymorph,” said Daniels.
“So these are all Barrotes?” said Quinlin.
“Yes, Detective. Morphs classify as a single murder,” said Daniels. Hoskin noticed Quinlin quickly opening and closing his hand over and over. And he was talking too fast. He’d taken a lot more drugs than usual the last few days.
“Listen, get your fuckin’ mind right. Keep it together,” flashed Hoskin to Quinlin. “I need you on this.”
“I know. I got it. I got it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Come on. Let’s do this.”
Quinlin’s hand stopped twitching. Hoskin stared at him for a minute and then looked down at the two bodies nearest them. They looked different, but Morphs didn’t have to look the same, so it was no surprise. He turned to Daniels and said, “and it only counts as one murder at the Federal level. In the city this is six homicides.”
“You’re right,” said Daniels. “So do you want to stand around talking semantics or figure out what happened to my friend’s son?”
“What I want is accurate information when I get to a crime scene,” said Hoskin. “Look, I realize Childress is your friend. But I don’t have a lot of time for this back and forth, so can we drop the verbal warfare for five fucking minutes and focus on what needs to get done?”
Daniels nodded. Hoskin’s head was pulsing. He rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep soon.
“Never mind me. Are you all right?” flashed Quinlin to Hoskin.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” flashed Hoskin.
They stood on the black sand at the edge of the pool, the seven-story gold-stained waterfall pouring down the lichen-covered boulders, a constant rush of white noise, a gush of gold. Hoskin felt the mist on his face. The artificial sun streamed in through the No-Glass ceiling. He wiped his forehead.
“I’m betting not a lot of people knew he was Morph,” said Hoskin. “Still a ton of stigma surrounding that.”
“New Phyles always face increased discrimination and hatred,” said Daniels. “He had not come out about it.”
Hoskin flashed Quinlin. “Start running a search on the Dynasty dark nets. See if it was well known the kid was a Morph.”
“Already on it.”
“How many people knew?” said Hoskin to Daniels.
“Apparently only his father, a few of his brothers and sisters. Us now,” said Daniels.
“Somebody else knew,” said Hoskin.
“Probably true. Although being Morph is easier to hide than some of the more radical looking Phyles,” said Daniels.
“Yeah, but so far we got no forced entry, which means he probably knew the killer,” said Hoskin. “Nobody got in here that Barrotes didn’t want getting in.”
“Or out,” said Daniels. “Except that he did. With mansion security turned way up, there was no way the killer should have gotten out of here.”
“But he did?” said Hoskin.
“Yes,” said Daniels. “But we never see him leave. I’ve been all over the feeds from the house. Unfortunately, there were no cameras in this room. Barrotes refused to have anything watching him.”
Hoskin flashed the forensics spiders crawling the room. The room was roughly a half mile in both directions with about thirty ways in. They flashed back to him in rapid fire. All the doors’ nervous systems and defense barriers were still online and undamaged.
“Maybe a lover?” said Hoskin. “A lot of people go Morph for the sex possibilities.”
One of the bodies lay naked and face down in the black sand at their feet, a pool of blood spread out around his head. An energy bubble surrounded this part of the scene, and the three men stood inside. Hoskin noticed the victim’s head was caved in and half turned to the side. He’d been struck from behind with a brutal blow.
“Looks like he was trying to get away from someone. Notice the two sets of prints that lead here. They’re stretched out and smeared, which means they were running,” said Hoskin. “And there’s signs of struggle all over this beach.”
There was a huge hole in the kid’s neck.
“Blackbox cut out,” said Hoskin. “Probably carved out after with a fission knife.”
“Yes, I thought the same,” said Daniels. “And notice these cuts and burns on his lower bac
k.”
Daniels pointed.
“These have got to be back-up boxes,” said Hoskin, pointing at the smaller holes.
“Most likely,” said Daniels.
“Expensive. Most people don’t got those,” said Quinlin.
Hoskin squatted and looked closely at the victim’s head wound. He blinked shots of the damage into his backbrain and ran a search for similar wounds from the Wound Man database. He squinted. His eyes zoomed in tight. He called to the forensics spiders who’d examined the body and brought up their analysis. It arrayed over his vision: nothing foreign in the wound; no metals; no bits or pieces of anything; not an energy weapon as there was no cauterization. He blinked the spiders’ work away. The conclusion was obvious. He let the search keep running, but he backgrounded it, already knowing the answer.
“No weapon,” said Hoskin. “See here? The killer hit him from behind with a hammer fist. Coming down like this.”
Hoskin stood up and demonstrated, swinging his fist in a high arc and smashing down into his other palm. He squatted again and pointed. “Bang, hit him right there. Lights out. Which means he’s augmented or the blow wouldn’t have opened his head like this.”
Hoskin stood up. His lower back hurt a little and he rubbed it. He’d work out hard tonight, he promised himself. If he ever got home again. He was starting to see double.
“Let’s check the bodies in the bed,” said Hoskin.
The three men walked towards the wall of the energy bubble and it irised open to let them through. The house birds hanging around the edge of it scattered into the air and began circling.
A hover pod unfolded in front of them and they hopped on for the journey to the bed. It took a minute before the bed was in view. When they were almost there, Hoskin could see someone had forgotten to put the energy bubble up around the scene and birds were all over the bed, chewing on the victims. He leapt off the platform before it stopped and started running at the birds, waving his arms wildly and shouting. They took off fast, wheeling into the sky.
The Scorpion Game Page 14
