“I’m not ignoring it. Just shifting her to the back burner.” Reynard’s eyes follow a reptiliod spotting a white sequined jumpsuit and dark human hair. “No way.”
“Did you spot the Tibbar?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure I know what happened to Elvis.”
“You and your outdated cultural references,” JC rolls her eyes.
“It works both ways. I’ve no idea what most references you guys make other than the Twin Suns.”
Even with constant observation, the perpetual sporadic flashing of all the game lights on the casino floor make it impossible to track every alien that could be a threat to them. Other distractions draw his attention as well. The nearly naked Aurulent slaves serving drinks have lost their appeal as eye candy. Reynard reconsiders as his eyes shift from a pair of exposed breasts to a blaster barrel. He follows the barrel to a man who, if he didn’t know better, he would swear was an olive-skinned Snake Plissken—down to the eye patch. The man sports reptile skin pants and a vest that looks like Tibbar hide. Most mercs would choose to wear something woven with the plasma reflective fibers; however, Tibbar skin comes with it an impressive natural barricade accepting hits from many lower-powered blasters.
“Weapons aren’t allowed in here.” Reynard gives his best lost tourist whine.
“I caught your performance in the arena. Osirians make poor operatives.” He jerks the gun, motioning Reynard to move away from witnesses.
“You look Osirian,” Reynard snaps.
“He’s not. I’m unable to read his mind.” JC scans the area he leads them into. It seems to be an unobserved corner where a gaming machine was removed.
“You’re inhibited, witch.” He shifts the gun barrel toward JC. “But you couldn’t even if it was off.”
“It’s off. You going to report me with your hand on a gun?”
“A sense of humor to go with your assets.” He waves the gun at JC’s nearly exposed areolas. “You’ve your tricks and I’ve mine, but the distraction of a practically naked female loses its appeal here with so many to choose from.”
“Distracting men with cleavage doesn’t require a woman to be telepathic to read their mind,” she grins.
He laughs.
“Are you going to mug us or what?”
“You’ve so much to learn, Commander.”
JC notices, “You’ve lost an eye since your vignette was issued.”
A low growl accompanies his speech, “If the bounty on me’s been activated, it’s a signal the Admiral’s been taken.”
“No one could kidnap a vice-presidential admiral from the UCP,” JC protests.
“I would agree, at least without the onset of an inner planetary war. But our fearless leader likes to oversee many of his black bag operations personally. He hates sending people to do the dirty jobs necessary to keep the UCP safe unless he’s willing to get dirty himself.”
Reynard deduces, “No one knows he’s missing.”
“I doubt it. He arranged for this bounty ploy, so his trusted agents could find each other and him if he were to disappear.”
“I doubt he counted on the Tibbar accepting such consignments,” JC remarks.
“This is all well and good, but how do we trust you? How do we know you’re the real Hauser?” Reynard asks.
“You should be quicker in asking such a question, Commander. You’ve a lot more trust than an Osirian should in this business.” He flicks the wrist of his unfilled hand, and a credit card appears.
Reynard snags it and slips it to JC.
“Activating this bounty was Maxtin’s way of activating his employees, notifying them he’s seized while he’s off the grid.”
JC examines the card, “If someone took a vice-presidential admiral from the UCP, the Subspace Netscape would explode with news and speculation on his capture.”
“Not if he wasn’t taken from UCP territory. You’re such newbs. Maxtin’s unable to stay away from the trenches, kiddies. He has to be involved in the action. He was undercover and off-world when he disappeared.”
“How do you know this?”
Hauser waves the gun inviting them to follow. He marches down the corridor, his back to Reynard leaving him vulnerable to attack.
Reynard considers this an act of trust from Hauser.
Hauser leads them past room after room of aliens in the throes of depraved sexual acts with other aliens not of their species. Just like Doug explained with the jackers, these humanoids seek pleasures forbidden on their home world. Reynard’s not sure what some of these humanoids are doing that’s abnormal other than fornication with a different species. Even with so many humanoids congregating with each other across the known galaxy, many are still intolerant of Osirians and interspecies mating.
On his own world the drive for political correctness and sparing of feelings removed the term half-breed from many people’s vocabulary, but the expression brings disdain upon many. Making these seemingly normal sex acts so taboo and taboo brings excitement. So as long as no half-breeds are conceived these people harm no one.
JC’s eyes roll back into her skull as her face melts into pure ecstasy. She experiences every moment of pleasure from so many of these aliens that she moans in a moment of climax.
Reynard shoots her a concerned look and realizes his companion’s unable to stop the overwhelming flood of emotions soaking into her brain.
Hauser leads them to the only closed door in the chamber of forbidden pleasures. He takes the card back from JC in order to open the door.
Once inside he locks it. “I don’t care how off-the-grid this place is. I still wouldn’t use my DNA card. Some genius hacker could still find you.”
Flushed, JC falls into the legless chair suspended from the ceiling by wires. She fans her face with her hand. “Too many minds surging with pleasure thoughts. I couldn’t keep them all out.”
“The reason I hid them here,” Hauser explains.
Reynard shoots JC a curious glance, unsure what the mercenary means. It reminds him of exam day and he didn’t know there was a test or even a class he should have attended.
Hauser mashes the door release on the closet and two bound and gagged humanoids in UCP cadet uniforms slump to the floor. “I found these two on Summersun.
