Andrews - Merrie Dawn

Terrence looked at the scrap of plaspaper again, reading the handwriting by the nearby glow of an illuminated wall. Merrie Dawn, Centerian Complex, Corivan Road after hours only.

His breath frosted in the air as he studied the brightly lit building across the street, a sense of despair settling over him.

He coughed, grimaced, and then wiped a spot of silver-flecked blood from his lips.

The sign read: Merrie Dawn's Relaxation Chamber. "This can't be right," he muttered.

A whorehouse.

He crushed the plaspaper in his palm, shoved it into his trouser pocket and walked away in disgust.

His friend, Narrenden, must have written it down wrong. Must have. There's no way an empath would or could work in a whorehouse.

The emotions would be overwhelming. Then again, perhaps the empath didn't have a choice; some whores were rumoured to be slaves.

He pulled the note out and read it again. It wasn't in Narrenden's hand.

The Ophelian contact must have written the message and passed it through intermediaries.

And, it was all he had to go on to save his daughter's life. Biogerm infection and the treatments used to combat it were killing his baby daughter, Shaunen.

She'd already had a liver transplant, and now her kidneys and lungs were failing. He'd been told she only had days at best.

An empath, though, could reduce Shaunen's suffering take the tension from her body and hopefully give her some strength.

In a few more weeks the next generation of anti-virals would be available for human testing, and he could get her on the program.

He pulled off his coat with its Federation sigil and hid it between two parked transports, then slowly worked his three marriage bands from his fingers and placed them in a trouser pocket.

With any luck his jacket would still be there when he returned. Tension made his legs weak as he crossed the street and stopped before the door.

He looked around to ensure no one was about, and then slipped inside.

Low, sensual light illuminated the foyer in warm reds and yellows. Secretive shadows helped hide and selectively reveal the curving architecture, alcoves and throughways.

Human and Ophelion men and women lounged in preparation for customers, ignoring him. Most were naked except for the colourful ink decorating their bodies a popular attraction among many of the peoples of this sector.

An older Ophelion female, the hostess, approached him. She wore a long blue gown of very expensive liquid nenfit.

Terrence resisted an urge to back away. The nenfit was toxic to human touch. The dress clung to her curves and reflected light on what was supposed to be the sensual parts of her bony body.

Some humans found Ophelions attractive. Exotic.

They reminded Terrence of the whippet-like pigs he'd hunted on Aarenos IV.

"What services are you requiring?" she asked in a naturally husky voice.

"Uh," he hadn't thought this far. He couldn't just ask for an empath. He'd be lynched. "Uh, a human. Female." He hoped the empath was female.

Sixteen human women moved from various alcoves and drifted toward the centre of the room.

They'd been chosen for their beauty. He studied their faces, features perfectly balanced, all young, yet nothing alike.

Their hair varied from blonde to black, with skin in various shades of pale to ebony. He had to remind himself they were probably debt-slaves or at best received payment for their services in accommodation and food vouchers.

And he was married.

He frowned. He'd once seen a crewwoman beaten in the street after openly asking for directions to an empath. "I'm looking for a gentle girl," he said.

She pursed her grey lips, as if smiling. "All our girls are gentle, should you wish it. Anything else?"

He fought an urge to run fingers through his prematurely greying hair. "Uh, I want a full night." He glanced at the slave girls. "Massage, conversation." His ringless fingers suddenly felt naked. "Sensuous pleasure, perhaps."

The hostess smiled, careful not to display her short tusks before a prospective human client. "Of course," she said.

She waved her arm toward the girls. Two drifted away, returning to their positions by the walls and alcoves. The others obediently formed a line, all smiling, some suggestively, some coyly.

"Anything else?"

His palms began sweating. "Not really," he said. Asking for someone who radiates an aura of calm wasn't going to help. "Friendly, perhaps"

His breathing was beginning to feel constricted again, but if he coughed now, showed any sign of illness, they'd throw him out just on the suspicion he had biogerm infection. He took a deep breath and let it out softly.

"Insightful," he finished.

The hostess nodded. "Our girls are trained in all the finer arts, including relaxation therapies and substances, conversation, music, dance and specialised performances." She waved toward the remaining women. "They are all friendly and insightful. Please, choose."

Only one girl caught his full attention. She had dark hair, olive skin, and a dimpled smile he found irresistible. Much like his wife before biogerm ravaged her vitality.

As he met the girl's eyes, she looked away. Teasing. Good. He couldn't afford to choose someone he felt attracted to. He made to turn from her, but noticed the gold and silver tattoos decorating her breasts and crotch. He stared. Not ink. Biogerm tattoos.

She should be dead.

"Her," he blurted.

The hostess smiled. "Of course. No man can resist Merrie Dawn."

Terrence blinked. "Merrie Dawn?" His fingers brushed the pocket with the handwritten note.

Merrie Dawn looked up, her smile failing to touch her eyes as she studied his face in return. Terrence pursed his lips.

She stepped forward, welcome abruptly radiating from her posture and expression as no doubt she'd been trained to show.

He tried to return his attention to his hostess, but the gold and silver of Merrie Dawn's biogerm tattoos distracted him. He had to question her about them.

"A wise choice." The Ophelion hostess held out a recscan. "Please confirm our transaction with your credit slip. Full fees will be charged prior to any services being provided."

He balked at the amount, more than he earned in a week. He could lose Federation-funded medical treatment, not to mention his position, as well as face the possibility of criminal charges if he went ahead with this. For the chance to save his daughter though

He swallowed, and with a shaking hand paid with an anonymous slip.

"Thanks," he said, and then wondered why he was doing the thanking.

The hostess smiled, forgetting to hide her tusks. "Merrie Dawn, please accompany our new guest to your chamber."

He followed Merrie Dawn up an old-fashioned flight of stairs, brushing his fingertips against the invisible shielding used to prevent customers falling from the edge.

He needed to touch something to calm his nerves. Gold and silver biogerm dragons ran up the backs of Merrie Dawn's legs, gold on the left, silver on the right.

He wondered if she'd known the risks when her masters had forced them on her. Incredible. She must have had major reconstructive neural surgery and a host of new organs along with an extensive rebuild of her nervous system.

She waited for him at the top of the stairs, then took his arm and led him along a circular corridor. He stiffened at her touch, but forced himself to relax. She couldn't still be toxic the tattoos looked like they'd healed a while ago.

"What's your name?" Merrie Dawn asked.

She had a soft voice, youthful, though he couldn't determine her age. She was probably augmented in every way conceivable.