Rogue-ARC

  “Let me first say, ‘wow.’ Then let me say that, while I’ve had a sex life with some variation and experimentation, it’s going to take serious work for me to lead you on a leash through a spaceport without flushing red or bursting into laughter.”

  “Our lives depend on it.”

  She closed her eyes and said, “That’s sufficient motivation. I’ll still have to work at it.”

  “You can do so while you shop.”

  “Um . . . yes.” She flushed red at once. That was not a good sign.

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “I suppose I need to open up,” she said.

  A part of my brain thought, so to speak.

  “Yes?” I said. “Does it help if I admit to using node fora, anonymous friends and some really good sensual programs for most of the last decade? Except for a very sweet escort aboard the Caroline whom I hammered into submission while dosed on CNS?”

  She smiled slightly. “Yeah, that helps.” She leaned back, took a breath, and flushed. “Okay, I can do women but I like men. A little open air teasing or foreplay or nudity I’m fine with. I’ve used the usual toys both ways, and I’ve even done some restraint. I’ve scened my share of things in private, including interrogator play with a manfriend from security branch. I’m passingly familiar with the toys used for D/s, but the thought of being a domme in public in costume, with a sub in tow, especially someone with your background, especially you, is an entirely new level.” She took a breath. “And I guess I’m down to smiles from giggles.”

  “Hopefully you’ll be over it by the time you’re done shopping.”

  “Or much worse, but I’ll see what I can do. Back soon,” she said. She faced the screens, pulled an address, blocked a transit route, grabbed her coat and was out the door in under one hundred seconds.

  I spent the time keeping alert for threats on our scanners, and looking for any further signs of Randall. He was good. I’d never admit it to his face, but he was good.

  I twitched when she unlocked the door. I had the webgun out, and she stared at it, and me, then smiled.

  She dumped the purchases out on the bed.

  I had second thoughts about going through with this.

  There was a head and eye mask in violet stretch vinyl with feathers, shorts built around a jockstrap with restraints built in and an attached pony tail, S-curved heeled boots, a half-shirt and a half-cape of black vinyl.

  “That is utterly ridiculous.”

  My second thoughts were about me keeping a straight face, even if my life depended on it.

  “I asked the clerk to keep the outfit consistent between culture fetishes. Said I was new at it. We also need to wear bandanas with specific colors and knots to indicate our availability and orientation.”

  “Doesn’t anybody just do a nice double penetration with sheep anymore?” I asked.

  We both convulsed in hysterics.

  However, staying alive has always been a good motivation for me. I pulled on the briefs and half shirt that hid my arm damage, wrapped the shoulder cloak around and fastened it, sat down and pulled on the boots, put on the hood and stood so she could fasten the collar around my neck.

  “Well done on the boots,” I said. “They’re heeled enough to fit the outfit, low enough I can still run.”

  She burst into helpless peals of laughter.

  “Running in that outfit. So very discreet,” she said.

  I choked for a moment myself, but got it under iron control. I tapped her cheek with fingertips to get her attention.

  She snarled, “Show some respect, slave,” and then lost it again.

  Dammit, this was not going to be easy. I snickered myself.

  She continued, “Perhaps you should sleep on the floor until you learn proper respect.”

  “Will that stop you laughing?” I asked.

  That dropped her jaw again.

  “Yes. It does. I think I’m just squicked enough at the idea of treating someone like that, that it’s no longer funny.”

  “Well, good as it goes,” I said. “So let me undress for now and we can get a few hours sleep in shifts. I want one of us awake and both of us in work clothes for now in case we have to bail.”

  She’d also bought some contact paper, and printed out copies of various travel stickers, which we distressed against the carpet and our shoes. She had more throwaway accessories for costuming, and those went into the bag.

  Four hours before departure time, we were ready, and gradually getting over the snickers. Something that helped me was that she looked spectacular in a high-hipped fake leather leotard. Too spectacular, even with the fitness fetish common in that community. Very few people on Earth have muscle tone like that, and certainly not in the urban supersprawls. I was a bit older, so I could mask it a bit better. But we did stand out. Hopefully, the disguise was so blatant no one would be able to mark the discrepancies.

  Feeling ridiculous, and very nervous because I had no weapons or decent clothing, I opened the door and preceded her into the hallway. She carried a doccase in one hand. I carried a rolling bag in my left. I let her take the lead and get a gentle tug on the leash.

  That was strictly a costume piece. She’d stitched it with a breakaway fastener, because if it came to a fight, the last thing I needed was either a collar or a rein.

  There are two ways to evade notice. Either be so drab you’re invisible or so blatant no one notices anything except the distraction. This was that. At each turn or change or floor, Silver made a light tug on the leash, and said, “Come, boy,” or, “Stand here, boy.” It was way out of my character, of any military or police guideline, and our faces were masked enough we shouldn’t show. We had fresh tourist ID. My concern was her accent. I was better, but an expert would know we were Freeholders. I was betting on both discomfort for the security; D/s is not uncommon, but public presentation is, and makes a lot of people squeamish. If they were fascinated, same deal. The ID had codes and stamps for previous visits, so we could present as ex-pats.

  There was a train station in the sublevel. I paid us through with a cash card, made a point of handing it back to my “mistress.” We boarded, I stood, she sat, and no one said a word for the duration of the trip. They even left room around me, though not her. She managed it well, but I could tell she wasn’t thrilled with Earthies rubbing against her scanty outfit.

  Her outfit was more elaborate than mine. The leotard had a built in corset with boning and cups, scintillating bars running up the outside, with bright metal highlights. As I was more visible than she, though we were presumably both wanted, she stood out more. I was merely a muscular sub in a mask, half-shirt and shorts. With glitter on my chest.

  It worked. We passed several cameras and walked right by a police stand. No one twigged, no one came for us. The male cops eyed her up and down and ignored me completely. The two female cops glanced at me, shrugged and grinned. One looked embarrassed, the other amused.

  We debarked in a gaggle, both of us keeping tight hold of our luggage and personal pouches. Petty theft was so common on Earth it wasn’t even reportable. No one carried enough to even bother with insurance claims.

  Port security was still a madhouse of silliness. There were cameras, sniffers, penetrating sonar, chemical sensors, the works. We passed through each stage, being eyeballed and scanned and directed around. It certainly felt as if they were thorough. They never once actually looked at our ID, though, or even asked about the masks. Social “culture” meant hands off. They even had a warning about a known enemy from a high-G planet, and chose to randomly harass an ancient lady in a powered chair in front of me instead. Utter waste of resources.

  One of them asked Silver, “Where are you bound, ma’am?”

  “A resort on Govannon. A gift from my uncle.”

  “Nice,” he said, sounding impressed. He was discreetly ogling her cleavage as he interacted. Some fetish crowd appreciated being looked at, and her bandanna was apparently folded for that. She smiled
and leaned slightly.

  “How long is that?”

  “Only a couple of weeks, then we move on.”

  “I’ve heard it’s expensive.”

  “Ten thousand a day, and that’s not one of the groulier places.” She handled the slang well.

  He cringed.

  “Trif. Have a good trip.” He handed our card back.

  “Thanks,” she said, and then, “Forward, boy.”

  In the Freehold, someone might say, “Slave.” Not here. It wasn’t illegal per se, but it was certainly impolite. Not that this type of thing had a lot of market in the Freehold, at least not in public. There was no shock factor to be gained, and the public display was of little cultural value.

  Then we were through, into the port proper, and only had a few thousand wandering goons to worry about—facility security, line security, port police, local police, regional police, UN police, drug inspectors, contraband inspectors, information inspectors. Ordinarily I’d have one questionable item for them to seize as a precaution, with a pro-forma objection. This time, we were the questionable item and walked right past them all.

  If we played this right, we could transit completely out of the system without ever talking to another person. We’d been inspected, detected, stamped and approved, and no one cared anymore. There were cameras here, too, but of much lower priority than at the gates. If someone reviewing data made us in the outfits, I wanted to be out of them and go to the other end of the spectrum: completely mundane.

  We found a family friendly restroom, which should only have an emergency camera, and went in. Again, normal for the subculture. The sub went with the domme. Some even helped each other with toilet functions. I found that disturbing in the context of pleasure. For a casualty, sure. For fun? Yuck.

  I was a bit concerned about someone seeing us come out, but if we took a few minutes, it shouldn’t be obvious. Silver changed into a business suit in black, pulled her hair back severely, oiled it down and put on dark lipstick and broad eye shadow past the eyebrows. I threw on slacks and a coat and iridescent shades of the newest type. I slapped the well-distressed travel stickers over the bag, we swapped, and out we went.

  However, bad security didn’t mean no security.

  We’d cleared train, station, a section cordon, and were approaching the controlled area for departures when some kind of message came down. Several extra personnel came out into the security lines, and started asking travelers for ID. Then I saw them have another off-worlder pull out his chip and physically show it them, while they scanned it. They were on to us. We couldn’t use the ones we’d come in with, and if I handed them a phone with a fake, that was it.

  “Divert,” I said softly, and Silver nodded.

  We stopped and talked for a moment, about nothing. She pointed casually, I nodded, and we walked into a vid store. We perused, bought a vid that was in the popular rack, Best of Sik Pranks, and left. We walked back the way we’d come, took a turn, took a slide and headed for the exit. It was easy to get out toward the trains, and there was a substantial crowd. However, someone had seen us. There were cops coming into the area.

  I had the doccase that was largely a prop, filled with meaningful looking docs and notes that would yield nothing. There was text, pictures of various buildings, and contact numbers at semi-random. It would keep them busy and distracted for a bit while we tried to formulate other plans.

  At this point, I simply wanted them to misinterpret our intent. Walking would indicate a local destination, so we walked.

  The cops were on to us. They had a good cordon set up and I could see them closing in. They weren’t as good at stealth as they thought they were. However, they were close enough to negate any public transport. We’d have to E&E on foot, and meet up at our agreed point.

  I gave Silver a brief nod, which she interpreted as a command of preparation to bail. We reached a corner, I found a likely person, meaning the first one who made eye contact with me, and I shoved the case into his hands. He looked surprised, and Silver and I pivoted, took two steps in different directions, then sprinted.

  I didn’t watch but could hear. A cluster of cops dogpiled the poor bastard, turning him into another innocent person abused by the system. It wasn’t going to hurt the system. It probably hurt him. I wondered how long it would take for him to be released.

  However, I had my own issues. Someone stepped up to me and took my injured arm. It was still weak, hurt after the fight with the cop, and caused me to be a little less than graceful. I kicked his knee sideways in a fashion designed to be effective even through flex-armor, disengaged and kept going.

  It would have worked, except they’d correctly decided it was worth a large response to get me. A drone package whipped overhead and dropped a sticky net over the entire corner. In seconds I was surrounded by more than a squad with heavy stunners and obviously twitchy trigger fingers.

  I hoped Silver was free.

  CHAPTER 24

  Earth cops know how to arrest someone.

  I was immobilized in a field, and when the effect went away, I was out of the web, shackled with hands to a belt, strapped to a dolly with a blindfold and mouth bit. “For the detainees’ protection,” they insist. They don’t explain why.

  The process actually was rather fast. They wheeled me into a vehicle, I was driven around somewhere with three other detainees; I could hear their breathing and smell them. We stopped, they undogged us, rolled us inside. When I didn’t read on their implant scanner, someone pulled the gag and asked, “Passport.”

  “Left chest pocket,” I said.

  He replaced the gag, too. Bastard.

  It probably wasn’t over thirty minutes, but felt forever in those restraints. I was released under immobility, and when it stopped, I was in a cell. At least I was alone this time.

  I had nothing, though. They’d stripped every item from every pocket. None of it would be suspicious, but a lot of it was useful.

  As there was nothing else to do, I lay down and waited.

  The clock/vid/scheduler on the wall kept time. I ignored the sports and shock shows. I just didn’t feel like putting on any particular act. Nothing is harder to read than no act at all.

  When they finally came for me, four hours later, there were no restraints. Two guards and I were locked through section by section, until I was left alone in an interview room. I took a seat. A few minutes later, with a camera indicating recording in progress, a man came in.

  “Good day,” he said. He didn’t mean it. He wore a plain but expensive suit and obviously had money for biosculp.

  “Hello,” I agreed.

  “From your DNA and image, you are a certain individual wanted for some activities fifteen years ago. Do you mind if I am not specific at this point in the conversation?” It was the voice of a viper.

  “I don’t mind.” Oh, shit. I was going to die. Shock trickled through me, icy in my fingers and toes, and my balls shriveled up along with my ass.

  He sat down and stared at me. “You are definitely confirmed as that individual. This is problematic from both a public relations and an international relations point of view.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Good. I must have positive confirmation of your intentions on Earth, or there will be problems.”

  “May I ask who you are?” I asked.

  “Here,” he said. He took out ID and laid it on the table, using his hand to shield it from the camera.

  Deputy Director for Foreign Intelligence Vandler. I thought back to their hierarchy. This was the number four person in the UN intelligence apparatus.

  “I see,” I acknowledged.

  “I don’t have your name,” he said. “I don’t really need it. Who you are and what you did is on record. I really do need that information.”

  I appreciated that he was treating me as a fellow professional. What he was saying was, “Either you assure me you’re not here on business, or you don’t leave this room alive and the file
gets scrubbed. Believe it.”

  “I am here on tangentially related business,” I said. I might actually live through this. I’d need to talk carefully.

  Oh, did that get his attention. He started sweating.

  “I need you to elaborate,” he said, fingering his phone.

  Okay, he was who he said he was. No one could fake that reaction if they hadn’t studied what I did.

  “I am not here to cause trouble on Earth. That was a long time ago, and no good could come of revisiting it.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. He still fingered the phone, ready to make that call . . .

  “One of my former subordinates is here to cause trouble. He’s why I was leaked. He did it. He implemented that incident yesterday. I’m here to stop him.”

  He clearly had someone feeding him audio. He paused, nodded and said, “We require that you move that activity out of Sol space. Immediately.”

  “That’s up to him, and you,” I said. “If you order me to leave, I will. I was trying to. He’s killed two people, though, and probably plans to kill others. Likely high enough to create a major incident. You are obviously aware that you can’t stop him.”

  That got his teeth gritting.

  I said, “Rothman, Lee, Janich, Lenz, Roberti, Rosencrans, Boulain, Groom. That’s him.”

  “It could as well be you, trying to distract attention.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll remain here until the next assassination if you like. I hope after that you’ll give me all the intel you have to help chase him down.”

  That seemed to register.

  “Will you come with me peacefully? Where we can discuss that in greater detail?”

  “I would very much appreciate that,” I agreed. “The information will be useful.”

  “This way, then,” he said, and stood. He never took his eyes off me. He gestured for me to go first.

  They didn’t do badly. There were armed guards in enough angles to make any firefight lethal. I’d probably get most of them, but I’d be unlikely to get all. They had lethal and nonlethal weapons, and their armor was head-to-toe, so they could blaze away at a melee.