Chapter 6
As he shoved through the door into the LoL office, Ledderik found himself running through the recent events, yet again. He’d only just made the deadline, though Tewel didn’t appear too fazed.
With this being the façade of LoL, little of the nuts and bolts were visible. Out back, through the double glass doors would be the lines of beds where bodies were drained of personalities and memories, and the matching more ornate rooms and private beds where people took out loaners. Those doors showed a looping ad for virtworlds – battles and castles, space stations, forests with farms, and dragons.
Of course, dragons.
At the end of each ad loop the standard LoL shtick displayed:
Love, kill, and build forever. No boundaries. Anything, anyone, anywhere.
Tewel was a rounded alien of a species rarely seen, the Pogs. His head was up inside a helmet. His eight limbs were busy keying info into devices, adjusting the holoscreens wrapped around his office hole, and administering some steaming beverage to what could be seen of his mouth via a straw.
When Ledderik collapsed onto the waiting area couch, Tewel muttered, “Almost late.”
The squashed cushions whooshed out air. The couch was surprisingly comfy and clean. He’d seen the back of these places and they tended to be less pretty, less tidy. Who needed culture when it all happened in the mind?
“You can go through.” Tewel waved one gray limb in the vague direction of the doors. “Contract is finalized.”
Led pretended not to hear, instead he stared out through the front full-length window with Smorg sheathed and across his lap.
The window was translucent, projectile-proof plasglass but the silhouettes of people walking by outside showed well enough. Big people, small people, strange shapes he couldn’t identify, pets on leashes – also big and small. The colors were muted. He couldn’t hear their talk or their steps. The smells of the street were absent – whooshed away by the efficient air filters in the office the moment he’d stepped inside.
The glow of his eye was reflected back to him if he stared at the plasglass directly opposite.
Smorg said nothing. Sometimes the creature was quite empathic and intelligent.
Empathic. Was that how she did it? Had she cast some mind-spell on them all?
He pushed around the facts of the day. Something was after her, and weapons had only been employed at the start. She wasn’t a normal s’kar. She had this naming ceremony coming soon.
He checked the event on the starwebz – it would start in a short while.
What if her enemies turned up at the ceremony? Assuming they were her enemies. The molloks had been a bit confused on that part. The bear was nothing important, or nothing that he could see or feel. Maybe there’d been some code imprinted in the arrangement of its fur, or even in a single strand of fur?
Espionage made use of many methods of conveying information, and there was no way he could be certain with such a cursory examination. She could be oblivious and still be carrying with her the design of a planet-killing weapon.
Though the bear would surely have been passed on by now?
“What are you thinking?” whispered Smorg.
“Stuff.”
The sword grumbled, and he absentmindedly patted it.
“You know patting does nothing for me? Now if you were to sink me into the innards of a dalk again, that I could get on board with.”
“Ready, now?” Tewel asked again.
He rose from the couch with Smorg in hand. No point in slinging the sword over the back of this body. Unless...
“I want more time in my body. How can I buy that?”
“What? Buy?” Tewel slipped his head out from under the helmet. Gray and sparsely haired, his scalp would win few beauty contests. There was always the chance some planet a long way away would love him, though. “You can’t. Your body is booked. I have a client who adores the idea of using a cyborg body at a ball tonight. Your muscle memories go with it, you know. Some of the deeper sub-routines and skillsets stay with it.
He hadn’t known that. “My kill skills?”
“Of course. The best hook ever, those. Who doesn’t dream of being the next Bond 0000007?”
“Hmmm. Missed that in the fine print.”
Tewel smiled. “Signed and done. Since you migrated to a synth brain a century ago this will be fast and simple.”
He couldn’t go back. The penalties for breaking LoL contracts were perma-death and loss of your body anyway.
“Then...” He shifted Smorg to his other hand. “Loan me someone else. I need tonight.”
“You have no money.”
“I’ll pay in LoL time.”
“Ahhhh.” Tewel thought for a few seconds. “Half your time in exchange for twenty-four hours. I can give you a perfect assassin in return. You’ll love his body. Thrassian. Good health. Must not be damaged, and I need it back in time to go to another planet. Deal?”
Fuck. Half his LoL time? Criminal exchange. He opened his mouth to bargain.
“Best I can do. No bargaining,” the creature snapped. “Reselling your LoL time is stupid but really to me it’s worth spit. I’m being thoroughly generous.”
“Deal.”
He had to see her again, even if it was just to kill someone for her.
“Doing well,” Smorg whispered. “I was cheering for you.”
He cocked a brow at the sword. “You’re that sure I’m bringing you with me?”
“You? Not bring me? I’m laughing. Not good at actually laughing but I am, symbolically.”
“Listen, Smorg I’ve appreciated your loyalty, in some respects. Not many but some. I will leave you with a s’kar tonight, if I can find someone deserving.”
“Oh. Wow. Um.”
He smiled grimly.
“Swords can’t tear up either, but...thank you.”
“Enough with the chitter chatter,” Tewel interrupted. “Out the back, bed sixteen. Good luck and if you put a scratch on this body, he will probably pull out your entrails and eat them. Wait, no. I will make your LoL time into a never-ending torture scene. Okay?”
“Understood. Tell me, do I know this assassin? Why is he being a loaner? LoL also?”
“No. Don’t ask. I don’t know why. He’s Fellen Zed. He wants, he gets. Go.” He jerked his head.
Fellen Zed? Just the most famous mercenary in this solar system. Well now. A thrassian?
“Wait. You’re not aiming to do anything likely to harm the body tonight?”
“Going to a naming ceremony. The s’kars. Totally safe.”
“Good.” Tewel hummed, regarding him. “Say, with your skills, if you feel like extending, he wants his body transported off-planet. Low key. No fuss. Most destinations will qualify. Do that and I’ll give you tonight free. The LoL site on any planet will take it, give you your virtworld time,”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He slipped on the helmet.
*Thrassians are great lovers, I hear.*
He couldn’t help grinning at Smorg’s observation. Ledderik pushed through the doors, let them swing closed behind him. Cleaner than expected. Very white walls.
“Well, I know they have big dicks.”
*Same same.*
“Uhhh.” He was not sure the logic path was correct on that one.
He drew a breath, held it.
Time to lose this body and become someone else. Fellen Zed, a thrassian with more scales than skin, with possibly a big dick. He never feared. Never. Refused to. Cyborgs did not fear.
His steps down the corridor dragged, as if some monster tried to pull him down and through the floor.
* * * * *
When he woke, he was...different. It took a little getting used to, but he was cyborg. Okay, he had been cyborg? This was confusing. His hands were red and gray-tinged and had smooth scales. His feet and legs, similar. He could assimilate this. I must give myself time.
Ledderik sat up on the bed, turned so he could plant his feet on the floor, and he breeeeathed.
I am Thrassian, I am sort-of reptile.
No hair on his arms but he had hair – very stiff hair that stood up in bristles. When he bent a piece to bring it before his eyes, it was black. His ears...felt weird, a little too small, too rounded. His hands were large, with claws that popped out when he tensed a certain odd muscle a certain way. Snick. Could cut a throat with those, He looked down, could tell what was there through the cloth.
I have a fucking big cock.
*Told you*
Shut up.
The sensation down below was thoroughly different from the sxsynthcock and he sat and explored what it was like to be inside a body that had never lacked for cock. Integral. It moved when he shifted and he could tell where it was to within microunits. Every morsel of skin felt something. If he thought of Thorn, it felt that something even better and began to swell.
Led placed his hand over his groin, palming his cock through the skintight brown pants this Fellen Zed wore... Nice. If only he had time to use this version of male appendage.
This Zed liked fancy fashion. His pants fly fastened with golden snaps.
There was an accessory part above the main cock. He poked about with his fingers, undid his pants and reached in. Not balls, more like a mini-penis. His balls were where humans had them. What did it do? Ever since the cataclysm virus ate through a big chunk of the databases in the galaxies, some data had been missing. His thrassian info had gaps.
He could guess what the tiny cock was used for.
Giving up the rest of his LoL time might only give him two hours more in this body, then it would be death, perma-death. Unless he signed up for the transferal of this body to another planet? Any planet? The more he thought about that job the fishier it smelled.
Fellen was a merc. Fishy was probably his middle name.
He could end up perma-dead before his time. Worth it just to try the cock out on some sweet innocent girl like Thorn? No.
Still, imagining this cock going into her, and her spread the way she was on the rooftop, that idea sank into him all the way to his newfound balls. Like a monster arising from the depths of an ocean, his cock erected.
No, no, and more noes. He slid off the bed and fetched Smorg, slung him across his now very broad back. The ornate buttons and buckles running down the front of his faded yellow shirt caught the sword’s belt. While he unstuck the belt, he noted his muscles. Lots of them. Fellen was either into weightlifting or his species came gifted.
He would rival a Dalk for bulk. Led felt all over his torso, his legs, the base of his thick tail. Unlike Thorn’s it was much thicker at the base and only gradually narrowed. He could swat people across the room with it.
Borrowing bodies could get to be addictive.
On arrival at the stadium where the naming ceremony was taking place, Led purchased entry and sidled on in, as much as a thrassian known as a killer could do so. His tail kept getting in the way. How the fuck any thrassian avoided being stepped on...
But he managed.
He felt like an armored mobile-weapon carrier. His tail and fists were weapons by themselves. A secretive and furtive spy? No. A great big thumping machine? Yes.
People cringed as he walked by.
A seat in the front row could’ve become his merely because he stared, but he had bigger aims.
The s’kar were meticulous, but he was a pseudo celebrity in this solar system, and they didn’t bother checking for his true ID. Half the audience was non s’kar. The LOANER tag printed in black across the back of his neck would have given him away but few looked at those. It was a flaw in the system.
He had the body and DNA of Fellen Zed and his own mind.
Because he wanted it to be so, he found his way backstage and leaned against a wall where he could watch the candidates be called onto the stage where they received a name and an award.
Thorn was to receive a captaincy? Those appeared to be few. Of course they were. Starships weren’t petty items.
He could see her, lined up with many others.
And the night wore on, and many were called but not her. She looked lonely, especially when the second-last candidate was called up, leaving her by herself. Trying for nonchalance, he walked over and sat a few chairs down, grateful for the strength and width of the chair.
At least she wasn’t doing the male attraction thing.
“Hello, Led,” she said out the corner of her mouth, before looking at him.
“How did you –”
Thorn shrugged, making the white bodice of her fresh uniform push together her breasts. An embroidered snake undulated down the front of her tan pants, following the curves. He’d swear her breasts were fuller, from what he could see of them past her now plain red coat. The birds were gone – she’d reset the design. And, holy tongue unrolling, though the broad belt low on her hips and the daggers strapped to her thighs would be fake and only pixels on fabric, the effect worked for him.
Worked fine. Killer badass.
His hard-on had a double hard-on.
“The sword on your back was a big clue. Hi, Smorg.”
“Greetings, Thorn,” it answered formally.
Suspicious, Led cocked an eyebrow.
What was it playing at?
“Also you just smell like you.”
Impossible. “Smells come with the body. I should smell completely thrassian.”
Her shrug was brief and he read despair in the slump of her shoulders.
“Something wrong?”
“I’m...the last person and I think they’ve forgotten me. My ship has been given to another, to Baldor. I...” She swallowed, paused. “Seem to be nameless.”
The sinking feeling in his stomach was uncalled for. Why should it matter to him?
He didn’t know. It just did.
“Why are you here, Led?”
“Good question. I...” He opened his hands. They were a pinker hue of scale on the palms. Not his hands. The dislocation from body to body blurred his vision for a second, and the chair creaked under him as if about to collapse. “Why am I? I’m curious, for one. I wanted to cheer you on.”
The sound she made was scornful. “We don’t know each other.” She hurried to add, “In spite of everything that happened...between us.”
Time for him to scoff. Why did she not say sex?
“You don’t believe me?” He didn’t get a chance to fully explore her question. A tall male s’kar walked in from the stage and stopped in front of Thorn.
A pretty-boy s’kar, with a head of hair as full and golden as a mane on an old-Earth lion. His tail completed the picture. The s’kar had feline heritage.
“Baldor.” She nodded, her mouth bearing a weak smile. “Congratulations on winning the Jocelyn.”
“Thank you, Thorn. You are graceful in your thanks but we’ve no time for politeness. The Hierarchy of S’kar sent me...unofficially. You have to leave the planet. You’re in danger of arrest, or worse.”
Worse?
Here we go again. This female was a magnet for trouble.
He went to crack his knuckles but wasn’t sure a thrassian could do that – he might spike himself – and contented himself with smiling inside, where no one could see.
“Goodie,” whispered Smorg.
“Yes. Trouble.”