“I do not.”
“Yes you do. You drown yourself after sex. Why?” Kymberlynn asks.
“Smerth off.” Amye spins around and grabs the pirate. “You’re not who I want gone.” She uses both her hands to grip her jumpsuit in order to expose herself to her midriff.
He reaches for her despite her tantrum.
“They’re bigger.” He grips the underside of each breast lifting them up.
“They do that sometimes when properly stimulated. You made me soak my pants with just my nipples. I’ll bet they’ll be swollen for a while.”
“Someone has been here before me?” He holds up her left breast.
“No, that’s a birthmark.”
“It looks like a bird.”
“You admire it as long as you want or you…” She pulls his face between her tits.
“You’re one crazy girl.”
Bite.
Electricity surges through her before she faints from the pain.
REYNARD’S ELBOW CATCHES the cloaked figure under the chin. The powdering of a bottom tooth grinding into the upper jaw makes him wince.
Teeth pain.
No matter how tough he is, the thought of the drill to fix teeth bothers Reynard above measure—and it wasn’t even his tooth.
Before the attacker impacts the ground, Reynard has him by the throat, his knee against the attacker’s chest.
Five minutes ago they were shopping—pretending to shop—when a simple pickpocket sent them into the brawl.
The long corridor of glass windows allowing onlookers to peek into operating rooms are not only so people can witness the surgical procedures, satisfying any medical voyeurs, but also to display the ease at which body modifications are made. Most are illegal on most planets, or the procedures prevent certain employment or sports participation. The kinds of people seeking this place are on criminal watch lists already.
As long as a person has credits, the establishment offers a form of protection in that the casino offers a neutrality. It’s short-lived—as soon as the patron leaves the building to return to his ship, at point they have been rearmed. One thing Reynard has yet to discover is anyone offering energy weapons.
He and JC watch a woman get knife blades installed in the tips of her fingers. Once fitted the small knives pop on command, and she has an instant weapon. Each razor extends about an inch to an inch and half—enough to hurt and damage an attacker and long enough to cut throat arteries of a victim.
“She’s one step away from getting Wolverine claws.”
“Who?” JC asks.
He keeps forgetting his cultural references are lost on his crew. “Osirian super-human. Claws would grow from his hands on command.” He notes the confused look on JC’s face. “Doug would understand.”
The next observation bay has a multiarmed computer moving the eyeball of an alien. Medical personnel clip tethers to the exposed nerves.
“Looks painful.”
“Optical implant. If it’s successful, vision reaches into ranges of the light spectrum they couldn’t naturally. Many species want ‘night vision.’”
“Seeing in the dark’s useful.”
“This person has no telepathic tendencies. Eye nerves can strongly affect the reading. No telepath could be optically enhanced.”
“What do eyes have to do with reading thoughts?”
“It’s the nerves and how they are directly wired into the brain. They attach computer chips to the brain. No matter how good a surgeon is, synapsis will experience damage and destroy an empathic connection.”
The subsequent window displays an Osirian on the operating table. A laser cuts open his calf, and the multiarmed robot peels back the flesh, exposing the muscle. Other arms attach what at first looks like a metal rod, which grows into the muscle, becoming a part of the body.
“We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better, stronger, faster.”
“What are you mumbling?”
“Osirian television show. About a man damaged in a spaceship crash and the robotic parts used to rebuild his body. They turned him into a secret agent,” Reynard recalls.
“You people should have focused less on this bizarre entertainment and more on preparing for the Iphigenians, or another invading force.”
“Faster reflexes?”
“My guess is he’s a merc. Mecat pilots who live long enough opt for the procedures to enhance aging reflexes.”
“But not many.”
“You buy a Mecat cheaper than this procedure.” She snaps at him, “I don’t need my telepathic abilities to know what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t do it. There’s no mandated medical trifurcate to report to if they mess up your body.”
Reynard moves to the next window. He notes two hooded figures following them.
The woman inside the next observation lab has a hole in the side of her neck.
“Computer Jacker implant,” JC says.
“And Doug’s the only Osirian with one?”
“They drive humans insane. It also prevents a deep telepathic link—only surface thoughts.”
“You’re unable to read Aus’s, Ki-Ton’s or Doug’s thoughts. I wouldn’t want to read Scott’s. What about Joe?”
The hooded figures inch closer.
“I’ve not tried a Calthos warrior before, but as he trains his body he works on controlling his entire nervous, circulatory, and muscular systems. He lowers his heart rate to nothing, and he empties his mind of thoughts in order to meditate. I bet he could regulate what I saw in his mind. It would take more than one telepath to breach his control.”
“Legally, you’re unable to read Amye or me…at least you’re capable of piloting a Mecat.” Reynard brushes his hand over the pouch on his gun belt. He won’t get the DNA implant, so he carries hard credit chits.
His reflexes are quick without enhancements. He has a hold on the wrist of the thief, the money pouch still in his hand.
A quick twist and elbow to the jaw. Reynard spins holding his attacker.
The other assailant grabs JC’s armband. The inhibitor rushes faster through her blood stream leaving her lightheaded. She loses track of who she is.
The second assailant finds the cold edge of Joe’s blade draw across the supple neck skin. All of his training inches the blade to sever arteries, but Joe holds back until ordered
