Nos Faux Ratu Ch. 01

"I told her that you were a security director for CNN Telecommunications. I figured that you know enough about the media and security operations that you could pull it off, and it's a highly classified position, so you would not need to explain much."

"You already said that I would show up, didn't you?"

Nigel shrugged. "I said that I saw no reason that you wouldn't be able to make it."

Jenna looked away, staring across the street as the high school children got out of class and headed home or to the school transports. "I really wish you had asked me first."

"If I had done that, you would have said 'no'. It's much like that old saying about forgiveness and permission." He followed her gaze, and decided to ask the other question on his mind. "Why this particular Starbucks?"

She smiled, wondering how long he had wanted to ask that question. "It's as good as any other. The bakery down the street smells nice, and . . . and it's nice to see people walk by, mostly oblivious to the world around them. It must be nice to feel that safe." She sipped her coffee. "This thing with April . . . it means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Just one dinner, complete with polite conversation. Think of it this way, you'll be able to make up stories about our friendship. That would be suitable revenge, would it not?"

"Fine, fine. Just the one dinner. Then you'll have to tell her that I was killed in some bizarre industrial accident or something."

"Thank you. I'll make this up to you somehow."

"Don't mention it. Please." She looked away again, running her fingers through her hair. 'How bad could it be?'

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That night . . .

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If Nigel were not her only friend, she would have killed him. Right then and there. Over the Mu Shu pork. Apparently, he had not only told April that he had a friend, he had told her that Jenna was single. So the casual get together had turned into an ambush. The ambush's name . . . Irwin.

Irwin was a nice enough man, an economics teacher at the same school April worked at, was slightly balding, above-average intelligence . . . and he made Jenna's skin crawl. Not that it was his fault. Almost everyone made her skin crawl.

"So this kid claims in his paper that 'trickle down' is a weather condition," Irwin said, his laugh genuine but nasal. "I don't know where they find these kids or why the send them to me."

Across the table from Jenna, Nigel was contemplating escape routes. He had not known about the blind date attempt, and would have done everything in his power to stop it. Jenna did not like people, and it was a testament to their friendship that she had shown up for this at all. And he knew she was probably plotting his death. He was fairly confident that she would not actually enact a termination solution, but not so sure that he was not going to get his ass kicked.

"Jenna, you haven't touched your food," April said, breaking into the woman's homicidal reverie.

"Sorry," Jenna replied stiffly. "Work has been exhausting."

"You know what might get you going?" Irwin asked. "There's a karaoke bar down the street and --"

Nigel did not hear about the rest of the suggestion, as it took all his concentration to avoid showing pain as Jenna dug her heel into his toe.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice not betraying the supreme irritation and unease she felt. "I'm going to the lady's room."

"Do you want me to go with you?" April asked.

'Why do women go in packs?' Jenna thought. "No, I think I can handle this." She got up and walked away, making sure not to touch anyone as she maneuvered through the restaurant. 'This was a huge mistake,' she thought. 'I should be at home. I should be cleaning my guns, running the course, prepping for the next mission . . . not this shuttle wreck of an evening.' She pushed her way into the restroom and stared at the mirror.

She barely saw the reflection looking back at her, as was often the case. She mostly just wanted a moment to catch her breath. She hated being in a crowd, was not good at socializing, and she never ever dated.

"Date can't be goin' well," came a soft, lightly accented voice from the doorway.

Jenna actually jumped a little, and she quickly scolded herself for it. She had not heard anyone come in, but that was no reason to jump like a rookie who heard a snapping twig. "Excuse me?"

A woman stepped out of the shadows of the doorway, and she was the kind of woman who got noticed. A lot. She was maybe five and a half feet tall, with ruby-red hair that cascaded around her shoulders in soft curls. Her curvy body, the type that young men saw depicted in the holo-vids that that they did not want their parents to see, was barely contained by what appeared to be red leather. That was impossible of course, as leather had been outlawed for a century, but it was a good facsimile. Her lips were wickedly cherry red, and her eyes twinkled green. Even her freckles seemed to conspire to make this woman drop-dead beautiful. It was about then that Jenna realized she was staring.

"Your date putting you to sleep?" the woman asked innocently, but going by the quirked corners of her mouth she knew was being gaped at.

"He's very nice," Jenna said, quickly composing herself.

"A passionate bit of approval if I ever heard one," the newcomer said, turning and checking her lipstick in the mirror. She bent forward a little bit, letting the too-tight pants emphasize her ass. "Not your type at all."

"I don't mean to be rude, but you know nothing about me or my 'type.' Do you always accost strangers in bathrooms and discuss dating habits?"

"More often than you might think." The woman smiled, the lines of her lips showing her amusement. "Nice usually equals 'dull,' though there are much worse things to be. I don't see you as dull."

"Again, you know nothing about me." Jenna then asked herself, 'Why am I even having this conversation?' She wanted to leave, but felt a strange desire to not give up her ground to this interloper.

"You move like an athlete and you notice everything. You look at the people around you and automatically determine their strengths and weaknesses. A person like you . . . a woman like you, she doesn't go for high school economics teachers, no matter how nice."

Every nerve in Jenna's body was suddenly activated and her brain was firing on all synapses. This woman had been watching her much more closely than she should have been. And to make matters worse, Jenna had not even noticed. She rapidly closed the gap between the two of them and pressed the redhead against the door of the bathroom.

"This is more like it," the woman said with a throaty chuckle. She did not exactly sound afraid, though she should.

"Who are you and why are you spying on me?"

"Spying? Moi? I just have good hearing."

"You weren't at any of the tables nearby. I would have noticed."

"I have really good hearing?" This time, it sounded like a condescendingly innocent question.

"Tell me who you are and why you're watching me."

"The 'who' is easy. My name is Nessa, but that's all you're getting for free. As for what I want, well, let's just say that it depends on my mood.

Jenna was suddenly very aware of her opponent's body and how the woman's curves were pressed against Jenna. The woman still did not look afraid, despite being held off the ground by a very angry opponent. She looked . . . entertained. Jenna knew the smart thing to do would be dispatch the woman, but she had no real cause to yet, and it would be hard to cover up.

"You're strong," the woman said, running her hands up Jenna's sides. "I like that."

Jenna stepped away, planning serious mayhem. No one touched her like that. No one touched her without her permission, and she didn't give permission. To anyone. "I think you should leave," she whispered heatedly.

"Or what?" the woman replied. She stepped forward, causing Jenna to step back in a defensive stance. "Maybe I will go then." She opened the door and stepped through it, but before it closed behind her, she had one last thing to say. "I'd hate to make you really mad and have you toss ME out of a fortieth story window."

Jenna's eyes narrowed, and she went into full combat mentality. Her identity had been compromised, but how? No one could possibly have been able to identify her last night, but somehow this woman had. Or was it just a lucky guess?

'There's no such thing as luck,' she though, grabbing the door and sliding out into the main room. The woman was gone. 'Impossible,' Jenna thought, 'No one moves that fast.' Then she saw a flash of red outside the restaurant's front window, and she quickly moved outside, ignoring the surprised looks of patrons and staff alike as she moved a bit faster than she should in public. Down the street, she saw the woman in red climbing into a stretch hover. Before the woman disappeared into the vehicle, she looked back and blew Jenna a kiss.

Jenna was in a quandary. She could probably run the hover down, but to what end? Rip it apart on a crowded street in front of witnesses? Her own vehicle was in the other direction. 'How did she get down there so fast?' Jenna felt a sick realization growing in her stomach. 'She could have disappeared completely. She wanted me to see her one last time. She wants me to chase her.'

She started to calm down. It was obviously a trap, and not one she was going to let herself fall into. She got the ID Tag number from the hover's rear bumper. 'We'll meet again,' she promised the vanishing redhead. 'And next time, I'll be the one doing the surprising.'

The door opened behind her and Nigel stepped out. "Jenna, what's going on? You're freaking everyone out --"

"Tell them that I'm not feeling well and have to leave." She looked at him. "I may have been compromised. Ditch your date and meet me at the TACCP ASAP."

Nigel shifted quickly from would-be dater to Death in the blink of an eye. He asked no more questions, as he had been given his orders. It was time to go to work.

Down the road, Nessa lounged in her transport, laughing giddily as her friend and relatively constant companion sighed in exasperation.

"You just had to push her buttons, didn't you?" Anabella said, accompanying her words with her best glare.

"Oh, she's a firecracker. I absolutely MUST play with her for a while."

"Nessa, the Council be needin' some answers and needin' 'em quick. Stop lolly-gaggin' around an' get to work."

"But m'lady, I have in fact made my job so much easier tonight."

"Mind s'plainin' that to me?" the white-haired beauty sitting across from Nessa asked.

"I have ensured that SHE will come looking for ME." Ignoring further glares from her friend, she pushed a button that rang the driver. "Avery, I'm feeling peckish. Take me somewhere that I can grab a bite. I'm in the mood for Italian. Or maybe Greek."

"When ain't ya in the mood for Greek?" Anabella said, her mouth finally breaking into a smile. Nessa was so vibrant and fun-loving that it was difficult to stay mad at her.

Nessa patted her firm behind. "Rarely if ever." She grabbed a glass of wine from the fridge and sipped it as the vehicle slipped through the crowded streets of New Atlanta and the night she loved so much.

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A few hours later . . .

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"She is not showing up in any of the databases. All we have is a description, and I think the computers are laughing at me after that last search," Jenna said irritably.

Nigel was looking over her shoulder, and he knew better than to smile, especially since she was still angry at him for the unexpected social outing. "Well, you should have expected you would get results like that if you entered 'large breasts' as a search criteria."

"You are on very thin ice," she said, her voice flattening out. Most people sounded angry when they were angry. Jenna sounded eerily composed. "Do not test me."

"Of course not. Do you want to take this to the Fool?"

"We need to. This is a breach of security. I screwed up and need to be taken out of active service."

"I think that would be a mistake," Nigel said.

Jenna met his eyes. "Why?"

"If she were a spy or whistle-blower, we would have heard the repercussions by now. Also, why would she have approached you personally?"

Jenna leaned back. "Blackmail?"

"To what end? She made no demands and no threats."

"She was attempting to rattle me. Again, to what end?" Jenna was talking to herself as much as Nigel. The two of them were alone in computer lab at the TACCP, with a few Minor Arcana standing guard and the Fool off doing political maneuvering. "She wanted me to know about her. Almost like she wants me to pursue her, and she was simply letting me know the hunt had begun. Unfortunately, she and whoever she represents seem to have an advantage."

"I find it incredible that she, or anyone, could be so completely off the grid. Our engines should have turned up anyone who has been born in the last forty years with those physical characteristics. Of course, anyone who looks like the woman you've described has probably had any number of enhancements --"

"No," Jenna said with conviction. "There was nothing fake about her."

"How can you possibly know?"

"Physical enhancements and cosmetics have a distinct odor. She didn't have any makeup on. Not even perfume, though --"

"Though what?" Nigel asked. Whatever she said at that point, he knew better than to doubt. When the DOD took "volunteers" for the Nightwalker program, they had start bioengineering and did not stop until each participant had reached their pain threshold. The longer they could hold on, the more advanced their abilities and physical characteristics, and the higher rank they became. Out of the entire 78 cards in the combined Minor and Major Arcana only the Fool and the Hanged Man outranked the Empress.

"Something from one of the sensory sample packets," she murmured, her brain processing everything that she had afflicted her sensory organs for the last decade. "Smoke," she said at last "Cigar smoke . . . and the scent of whiskey."

"Cigar smoke? No one has had access to cigars since the HMO Alliance's war with the Tobacco Syndicate."

"There's a black market for everything," Jenna said. "We just need to find out where she shops."

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Elsewhere . . .

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"Dammit woman, this is the fourth place tonight. Can't we just hit one of yers and be done with it?"

"Trolling at one of my own clubs? Where's the sport in that?" Nessa threw her coat into the transport and looked at the line to get into Sanctuary, a trendy if pretentious club in the old underground district.

"Nessa darlin', ain't real huntin' for you anyhow. More like jumpin' at the ground. Ain't much chance yer gonna miss."

"Anabella, you really are a boost to my ego."

The blonde woman smiled, her alabaster skin almost glowing under the tacky neon of the club district. "Yeah, yer ego really needs the help. I'll be sittin' at the bar if ya need me."

"You could find yourself a dance partner," Nessa replied. While Annabel was shorter and just a bit stockier, she had that look of warm merriment sprinkled with a dash of potential mayhem that always managed to draw her fair share of suitors. She reminded Nessa of the quintessential barmaid. And Annabel did love the bars.

"Nah. I think I'll keep my eye out for that lady you ticked off. And drink some synth-bourbon. It'd be askin' too much of this dump to think they'd have the real deal."

"When we get back home, I'll let you raid my stash."

Annabel gave her friend a hug. "You just made my night."

"Don't I always?" The two of them linked arms and walked towards the door, ignoring the line and the indignant stares of those waiting. The bouncer, a large side of beef in a black shirt and black slacks, looked like he was considering stopping them, so she grabbed his hand and put it directly on her red-leather vest, causing his hand to squeeze her tit. She let out a pleasurable gasp, then chewed her bottom lip as she looked him in the eye.

"You girls have a good night," the man stammered. Women throwing themselves at him was not uncommon. A woman like Nessa doing what she did . . . that was unusual.

"Slut," Annabel muttered.

"You can stop with the compliments. I already told you that you can have some of my bourbon." Nessa started her scan of the room as Annabel peeled off and made her way to the bar. She let herself experience the noise as it boomed from the speakers and bounced off of the walls. Most people barely took the time to listen, much less truly appreciate what music was. A complex interaction of instruments, voices, and sometimes of the stomping feet of the revelers combined into an electricity that recharged the spirit. And places like this, as tacky as the décor was, were the most alive on earth.

'Let the corporations and the Chamber of Commerce own their boardrooms and banks,' Nessa thought. 'I rule here, and my kingdom has value that they cannot even begin to comprehend.' Not even halfway across the floor, she was be propositioned by those who wanted attention, a dance, or often something more. The smart ones wanted all three, and those were the ones she pulled around her like a cloak. They touched her and she let them. They moved with her, and she wore them like a second living skin.

They plied her with drinks and promises, hoping that she would grant them a slow song, a kiss, or a moment alone. She hated to choose . . . so many young bodies and willing minds. But there was a pair of dark-haired neo-goth boys who were lean and pretty and just to her liking. They smelled of sweat and longing, and the heady mixture made Nessa choose them. She put one finger under each of their chins and drew them from the dance floor and towards the side exit underneath that promising neon glow. On her way, she made eye contact with Annabel and they smiled at one another. Annabel had a drink in each hand and a tab at the bar. She would be just fine.

"Where are we going?" one of her dark-haired escorts asked as they flowed into the human traffic of the sidewalk.

"Not far," she purred. "A short trip," she added huskily, "for a long ride." Both young men grinned in response.

The short trip ended at one of the few "questionable" hotels left in New Atlanta's downtown district. She actually kept a room here for just such dalliances. The hotel manager was one of her biggest fans, seeing as her monthly contribution kept the hotel in operation and he remained employed. Her only request was that he not upgrade. She wanted a place off the radar that she could go, a low-class establishment for low-class activities.

One of the young men (in her mind, his name was now "One") decided to play it aggressive, pushing her head to the side and kissing her neck while she put her thumb on the entry pad. She let him play it any way he wanted, as long as he played. His hardness was clearly detectable as it was pressed against her ass and lower back, and she ground herself against it before pushing the door open.

She took a few steps and then flung herself onto the bed, flipping onto her back as she watched One and Two enter her lair.

"You're almost too good to be real," Two said.

"Who says I'm real?" she replied huskily. She was laying it on a little thick, but that tended to work with neo-goths, who tended to go for the dramatic and eerie. "Tonight, I'm fantasy."

One began to disrobe, pulling his shirt up over his lean torso, exposing the Grim Reaper tattoo juxtaposed to the black cross.

'Kinda pretty,' she thought of the skin art, 'though not really original.' She had no tattoos or piercings of her own. She loved her body just the way it was. And they seemed to like her body too, the way they were ogling her.