A Motive with a Universal Adapter 02

"Okay. You can do the interview, but our people will write the questions. We need you both on set by ten sharp or the deal's off."

"We'll be here," I assured him. Six hours wasn't a lot of time to find Lucidrine, so I was in a hurry to be on my way. As I was standing up, Laska stopped me.

"There is just one other thing." He slid open a drawer on his side of the desk and laid out a black satin blindfold in front of me.

"What's this for?" I asked with an unpleasant suspicion.

"Your cyber-optic, of course."

"Wha?... What cyber-optic?" I tried to feign ignorance, but even I could hear the tell-tale anxiety in my voice.

"C'mon, Abby," he chided with a smug grin. "You don't really think you're the first person to film candids with a cybernetic implant after you put your camera down, do you? Reporters have been pulling that trick since the first optic implant hit the market..."

He leaned forward and continued in a hushed tone with a wink. "Your OccuWerx cyber-optic embeds a digital watermark in all your recordings."

"Ah... I didn't know about the watermark," I confessed and tried to laugh it off. I suppose it may have been buried somewhere in the small print when I signed the user agreement at the clinic that installed it. There was no point denying it.

"Most people don't. You need the right equipment to read them. But almost every digital recording device embeds its serial number so the manufacturer can measure their market penetration," Laska explained, pushing the blindfold a few centimeters closer.

"You're a talented reporter, Abby," he said. "You could have a future here at ICS... But not everything needs to be recorded."

"So... You want me to put this on... and then?"

"The other consideration."

I wish I could say this was the first time a producer had expected special "considerations" to put my stories on the air. It wasn't. It probably wouldn't be the last time either.

Someday I'm going to shine a light on all the abuse and the lechery in the media. But in order to get that story I need access to the evidence. I need other women willing to risk their careers and go on the record. I need enough fame and credibility to be taken seriously. I don't have that yet.

So I added Murray Laska's name to the list of gonks I'm going to expose someday, and I put on the blindfold.

I turned up the gain on my aural implant and started recording audio-only in the hopes he'd say something incriminating, but all I heard was a familiar zip and the indistinct rustling of fabric. Without a word, he gently took my wrist and moved my hand to swelling dick.

"Oh, wow... it's so big," I cooed, stroking his hairy shaft with as much enthusiasm as I could fake. "You must have one of those expensive phallus implants."

I was hoping he'd brag about how real men don't need fake dicks, but he didn't take the bait.

As I pumped him up to full attention, Laska reached around behind my neck. For a second I was afraid he was going to plug an interface cable into my neural processor, the way Okami had done to Ritz. But he just pulled me forward out of my chair and made me kneel in front of him.

I didn't make him pull my head to his crotch. I wanted him to trust me. I wanted him to let his guard down and say something incriminating—if not this time, then next time.

Taking his fleshy sack in my other hand, I stuck out my tongue and licked up the underside of his stiff output. He was already dribbling bitter pre-cum. Hopefully, this wouldn't take too long.

"Oooo, yummy!" I purred, before slurping his swollen cockhead into my mouth.

Laska didn't say a word. Maybe he knew about my audio implant too.

I worked his output against the roof of my mouth, cradling his flesh with my tongue. He reached down and grabbed a breast with his bio hand. Even though his touch left me clammy, I forced myself to moan as he groped me. I was glad he couldn't see the animosity in my eyes.

He took my hands off his shaft. I started to stand back up, thinking he wanted to get into my pants, but he tangled his fingers into my hair and held me down on my knees. Then without warning, he jammed his full length into my throat, making me gag and sputter.

Instinctively, I tried to gasp for breath and I was seized with terror when I couldn't. Any pretense that I was enjoying this was shattered as I clawed at his bare hips and tried to push him away. He held my head tight and wouldn't yield.

It was probably only a few seconds before he unplugged my airway, but in my panic it felt much longer. My lungs burned and my eyes teared up and I gasped desperately around the hot, fleshy glans in my mouth. Laska wasn't done with me, though. With my head clutched tight in his hands, he fucked my throat with a merciless fury, making me gag with every thrust, banging my nose against his hairy pubic bone.

This wasn't about sex or pleasure or orgasm. It was about power, plain and simple. It was about proving to me that no matter how good a reporter I was, he was still in charge.

I stopped trying to please or flatter him. That wasn't what he wanted anyway. I stopped trying to fight. He seemed to accept that as a victory. I just went limp, gasping for wisps of air as I could get them, and I let him pound on my esophagus like a meat punching bag.

I lost track of how long he used me like that.

Finally, he pushed down my throat and held my face tight to his crotch, the weight of his balls on my chin. My amplified hearing picked up a faint grunt of release as he uploaded his bio-data to my stomach. It occurred to me with wry amusement that it was the first unprocessed nutrition I'd had in months.

Laska let go of my head and pulled his dick out of my mouth. I sucked in a deep breath, but otherwise stayed there on my knees. If he wanted me beaten and submissive, that's what I'd give him—for now.

A minute later, after the zipping and the rustling of fabric, I heard Laska back behind his desk again. "Helen, have the release ready for Ms. Rhoades to sign, authorize accounting to make a five thousand euro payment, and arrange for a car to take her home, please."

"Yes sir, Mr. Laska," the response came filtered through the intercom.

I dared to take off the blindfold. Laska stood over me smiling down and offered his hand. I took it and he helped me to my feet.

"You're very talented, Abby. If your interview goes well tonight, I think we might be able to find a place for you here at ICS. We'll have to see how the ratings come back, of course."

I thanked him. I actually smiled and thanked the bastard for the opportunity as he showed me to the door.

Helen was waiting in the outer office with a hand towel and a shot glass. She wouldn't look me in the eye. I signed the papers, plugged my deb-chip into the terminal on her desk, and exhaled with relief when I saw the new balance it displayed. That was rent and utilities for the next six months.

"You'll want to fix your makeup before you leave, dear," Helen suggested. She nodded towards Laska's wash room.

I refused to let myself cry when I looked in the mirror. My mascara was already streaking down my cheeks. Drool and snot had run down my chin and a drop of blood ruined my new overpriced blouse. I had a nosebleed from Laska banging my face against his crotch. My hair was tangled where he grabbed my head.

"You're not a whore," I told my reflection, looking her dead in the eye. I tell myself the same thing every time a suit wants special favors to put my work on the air. "This is just background research into a corrupt system. One of these days, you'll have the evidence you need to bust this industry wide open."

But not today.

Today, I needed to get Ritz back on her feet and into the ICS studio. By the time I looked presentable again, I had barely five hours to do it. With crush hour starting, I gave up on the idea of finding Lucidrine and settled on a riskier plan.

The big TV in the lobby was already showing promos for my story while I waited for ICS's driver to pick me up. In the car I dialed Whistler and left a message on his answering machine. This time I'd be able to pay him in cash.

As we sat in traffic, I tried to think of a way to get in touch with Ritz, but there was no phone at my place and as far as I knew she didn't have a cell phone of her own. I could call a neighbor and ask them to knock on my door, but Ritz might not answer. Ultimately, I decided it was best to wait and talk to her face to face, but I was so excited to have her story on the air I had to tell somebody.

So I called Owl.

"Hey, it's Abby from last night. I sold my story!" I told him when he picked up.

"Okay, cool," he replied.

"It's airing tonight on the ICS eleven o'clock news. You're going to be on TV!"

"Okay, cool." There was an enthusiasm in his tone that kept the repetition from sounding rude. I don't think Owl was especially comfortable with words. At least, not with words that weren't about something he could take apart.

"So, how's your arm?" I asked, hoping that might get me more than his stock reply.

"Oh, it's great!" I could hear his tone brighten. "It has a reinforced myomar frame and an expanded neural bus, so even with all the customization it already has, it will be no trouble to build my waldos into it. I just need to find a clinic to install a Dynalar mount."

"No, Owl, your left arm... The one that got shot up last night?"

"Oh. Still non-functional."

"Shouldn't you fix it first? Won't it be easier to customize the new arm if you have two good hands?"

For a moment, I thought the call had dropped, but Owl finally replied with a simple "Oh, yeah. That's a good idea."

"Well, I'm glad I could help." I was also glad he couldn't see me roll my eyes. "Hey, on a different topic, do you know how to remove a digital watermark from a cyber-optic camera?"

"Uh... huh... I've never tried that before. Is it hardwired into the circuitry?"

"I... I, really don't know."

"Okay, cool. I'll need your eye for a couple of days to see if I can or not. You want to bring it by now?"

I managed to keep myself from laughing out loud at his absent-minded eagerness to try something new.

"I can't right now, Owl. I have to be on the air in a few hours and I'll need both my eyes for that. Maybe you should fix your arm first... The left one I mean. Fix the left one."

"Okay, cool."

"And watch ICS at eleven, Chombatta. Don't forget."

It was almost seven before the car dropped me off in front of Peach Tree, and well after seven by the time I managed to squeeze into Express Six with the rest of the crush-hour crowd.

When I finally got back to my apartment, I found Ritz slouched on the folded up sofa watching TV. I can't even remember the last time I bothered to put my bed away. But she had picked up all the garbage and done my laundry while I was gone, too. My place almost seemed welcoming—unlike Ritz.

"It's about time you got home" she snapped at me, lurching forward as her body fought back against her attempt to straighten her posture. "Your TV 's been stuck on this same weird channel all fucking day."

"Ah, sorry," I grimaced. "I forgot to give you the remote. I don't get many house guests." I reached behind my neck, ejected the chip from my neural processor, and tossed it on the plastic coffee table I hadn't seen the top of in months.

"What even is this station?" she asked, scowling at the screen. "The evening news is like, just this one guy who keeps jumping from one chair to another and talking to himself."

The talking head behind the anchor desk said "Now over to Jon, with the weather." A second later, the same guy stepped into the shot in front of a weather map and said "Thanks, Jon. We've got a high pressure system..." Ritz waved a shaky hand at the screen in a gesture indicating a prime example of what she meant.

"Yeah, it's a pirate station; unlicensed," I said as I fumbled my camera into its charger. "K-Jon runs the whole operation by himself on a ramen budget. But he's like the most zealous journalist in Night City. The corporations can't censor him because he doesn't take advertising from them. But listen--"

"Surprised they haven't shut him down and creased him."

"Well, he broadcasts out of the Combat Zone and he only has like, a thousand regular viewers, so he's kind of beneath their notice. But right now--"

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Ritz gestured in frustration at the screen again as the camera mount was obviously slipping, forcing K-Jon to stoop lower and lower to stay in frame as he delivered the weather report.

"Yeah, his equipment is all cheap, second-hand shit, but there's no time for that," I snapped at her and yanked the TV plug out of the wall. "I sold your story to ICS, but only if I can get you into the studio for a live interview following the broadcast."

"What!? No! I'm not doing a fucking interview—especially not for ICS. I'd sooner do an interview for that K-Jon clown," she objected.

"You're doing the fucking inteview!" I retorted, turning on her and jamming a finger in her face. "They already paid me five thousand euros."

"Seriously!? Shit." Ritz slumped back on the sofa. Her objection seemed to be mollified by the payout, at least for the moment.

"Shit! I forgot about your clothes." She was still wearing the chef's uniform the bouncer from Chatsubo had given her. "Alright, we'll have to head up to the boutique on sixty-nine and get you something to wear. We have to hurry though."

I pulled off the new blazer and the blouse with the blood stain on it and tossed them on my chair with my wet clothes. There was no time to dither about my own outfit now. I'd have to stick with something tried and true.

"Rhoades..."

"It's not a very fancy boutique," I continued, stripping off my skirt and leggings. "But I think putting you in something basic works for us."

"Rhoades..."

"They want us there at ten for an eleven o'clock broadcast, so hopefully they want to handle hair and makeup themselves," I added, flipping through my closet .

"Rhoades... Abby!" Once she managed to command my attention, Ritz pulled herself forward to sit on the edge of the sofa with hands held out flat in front of her. They were shaking as bad as ever and she had to lean against the sofa arm for balance. "I can't go on TV like this! The only thing anyone will see is a tweaked-out dorpher."

"I know," I sighed. This next part was going to go badly, and I hadn't meant to do it in my underwear, but there was no other choice. I pulled an air-hypo out of my bag. "Fortunately, we know what to do about that."

"Wait, did you score Lucidrine?" she asked, gawping at the injector in my hand.

"No," I confessed. I had made time for a quick stop at Bark's door on my way home. "I scored jezi."

"...No," Ritz shook her head and let herself fall back onto the sofa. "HELL no. I'm not doing that shit again."

"Ritz, it's the only way," I explained, kneeling on the floor in front of her. "I tried all of my sources and nothing panned out. With enough time, I'm sure we can find you more Lucidrine, but we don't have time right now."

"Rhoades, no... No." She crossed her arms defiantly and looked away.

"Five thousand euro, Ritz..." She wouldn't budge. If money wouldn't bring her around, maybe sentiment would. "That's enough to fund our Militech investigation. It's the money we need to bring down Joe's killer."

She whipped around and snarled at me—"Don't!"

"Don't snap at me," I snapped back. "I'm trying to help you get your career back online, here. I literally had to suck the producer's dick to get this story on the air for you!"

"Nobody asked you to," she sneered. "And don't pretend like the story isn't helping your career... You have no idea what it's like having that shit in your brain turning every thought into sex." She turned away from me and there was an uneasy catch in her voice. "All you want to do is tear off your clothes and dock anything with an output... You can't focus, you can't plan, you can't think... I never want to be that vulnerable again, Abby."

"I get it," I said, trying to soothe her fear. "I do, but Ritz, you could focus. You got us out of the Bradbury. You shot down an AV. You protected me when Rook started shooting. You are stronger than the jezi."

"I can't, Abby... I won't."

"Alright," I stood, ready to play my last card. "If you won't do it for money, and you won't do it for Joe, and you won't do it for me... I guess I'll do it instead."

I pressed the air-hypo against my left wrist the way Barks had shown me and pressed the injector. There was a sharp hiss of compressed air and a sharp pain as the pressurized chemical pierced my skin.

"Rhoades, what the hell?"

"If you won't do the interview, then I'm going to have to go back down to Corporate Center and beg that refurb-fossil to reconsider. But I figure he'll want to 'run my piece' before he'll air my story, so I'd better be ready to bend over and take it."

"He seriously made you suck his dick?" she winced.

"He fucked my face so hard it gave me a bloody nose."

"Gimme that hypo." She held out a trembling hand, but her voice was steady and resolute. "I'm gonna do your fucking interview, and then I'm gonna kick his ass."

Up in the boutique, we found Ritz a white turtleneck tank and a generic black pant suit that was cut generously enough to accommodate her shoulder holster. The zip-off sleeves and legs let you show off any cyberware but made it obvious you hadn't spilled euro on custom tailoring. So zero points for style, but ten-out-of ten for utility.

The Local Six elevator got us up, but the sixty-ninth floor is the end of the line for Express Six, so it was a fifteen minute wait with about a half-dozen other people before we could catch an elevator down. We stopped at every floor in the sixties to let more people shuffle aboard.

That's when the aphrodisiac really kicked in.

The man in front of me took a half step back, pressing his spine between my breasts, his ass against my hips, and pushing me back into the man behind. I was incredibly aware of the soft bulge of his output against my butt and had a sudden desire to feel it harden. It took a very conscious effort to keep from grinding my ass into his crotch.

Instead I caught myself moaning and pressing my stiff nipples into the back of the man in front of me. He glanced back over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow and a sly smile.

"Sorry," I breathed, "new bra." I pretended to adjust myself, using it as an excuse to rub my body against his.

My heart raced, and I was starting to sweat. All of my clothes felt two sizes too small. I wanted to touch everything. Fighting back the urge to push my hand into my skirt was like a dream where you try to run, but can't move forward.

I squeezed my eyes closed, clenched my fists, bit my lip, and stood absolutely still. God, it was so much worse than I expected.

"It's not as bad as I expected," Ritz confided beside me as the lift reached the lobby and disgorged its passengers. "Kurabu must have given me a bigger dose—and it probably hit my brain faster going into my carotid."

"Yeah, piece of cake," I grimaced.

"You alright there, Rhoades?" Ritz asked, frowning. "You look a little flushed."

"Yeah, fine. I'm fine."

I wasn't. My heart was still pounding and the walk across the lobby felt like a stroll through a sauna.

"Don't get me wrong," Ritz continued, "If your security guard so much as winks at me, I'm gonna climb into his booth and give him one hell of an entry for his log book."

"Oh god, don't say things like that!" I gasped, looking at the security guard now, and liking the way his uniform shirt stretched against his chest. "Do you think there's room in there for all three of us?"

She laughed. "You're more open-minded than I thought, Rhoades. Maybe on the way back. For right now though—metro, cab, or car?"