; ; Moving amidst the bodies of fucking patrons, naked, wires dipping down ; from the ceiling to the back of necks--legal CATjacks--bodies locked ; in sexual carnage to a strobing set of retro laser lights and the ; retro pornos shining down on the crowd from the big screens, I made my ; way to Gurney's cube.
; ; The music was a pounding mix of retro rock and orchestral swells, all ; mixed into a cacophony that did little to mask the sounds of ; ecstasy--and did nothing to mask the smell of unwashed, sexual humans ; engaged in all manner of pleasurable acts.
; ; Gurney had four women under his glass table, all working his naked and ; tattooed cock with their fingers, vibrators, and tongues. Their ; multicolored CATjacks moved down over his naked chest and undulated ; where they pierced the skin and entered their respective sockets.
; ; "Hey, Gurney." I shouted.
; ; "Hommard!" He shouted back, "I'd stand, but . . . " He motioned to the ; four women servicing him and grinned.
; ; "That's a good deal," I shouted, "we need to talk."
; ; "'Bout what?" He shouted back.
; ; Catching my attention with really professional moaning, a woman in the ; booth beside me wearing Stim goggles--legal Stim--embraced three men ; who were pounding away at her pussy under the table.
; ; "Business." I shouted, thumbing that we should find a more private ; place. He saw that I was serious and dismounted from the harem of ; voluntary slaves--women who wanted his Stim coding because it was some ; of the best in the business. Period.
; ; "What's up?" He asked, wiping saliva from his crotch with a robe he ; pulled on over his shoulders as we made our way back to a Privycube.
; ; "I'll show you," I said, entering an anonymous payment, letting a ; vacant Privycube slide open.
; ; "It must be serious--you hate the Homo," he said.
; ; "It's serious, alright." I replied, settling down on the Privycube's ; plastic couch. I could still smell the disinfectant that permeated the ; Privycube after its misty cleaning cycle, triggered when the door ; closed after the last--probably unsavory--clients left it empty.
; ; I popped the Datasocket into the player and the stage illuminated with ; the I-toy's schematics, overlaid on what had been Susan's body.
; ; "This--this is my problem," I said as Gurney's eyes grew wide and I ; saw the fascination ride across his face.
; ; "That's one sweet set-up," Gurney said, "is this foreign?"
; ; "I don't know," I said coyly, "I was hoping you could tell me more ; about where I could find another one."
; ; "It's probably illegal," he said, "it's a Stim unit, right?"
; ; "Almost," I replied, "but it can reprotocol a CAT--by hardwiring ; it--and then alter the brain function."
; ; "Definitely illegal," he said, reaching out a finger to touch the ; schematic's lines. "Brilliant, really."
; ; "Yeah," I replied, "brilliant. I'm being paid to stop the people who ; make these--kill the source. It's called an Integrated Tool Y, or ; 'I-toy' and it's fatal for the user."
; ; "What do you mean, fatal?" Gurney said, looking at me.
; ; "Watch this." I said, running the tape of Dross at six times speed, ; showing the hours and hours of uncontrollable masturbation.
; ; "Wow," Gurney said, "really powerful Stim. But it didn't kill him."
; ; "No, it didn't. But when an I-toy hijacks, it makes permanent Meat. No ; reprotocoling. Permanent. Good as dead."
; ; "So it's Stim that's permanent?" Gurney said, a tiny bit shaken. "They ; can't undo what it does?"
; ; "Nope," I said.
; ; "It's brilliant, but fucking evil. I haven't heard about anything like ; this. Not out there," he motioned to the side of the Privycube, "in ; the Homo, anyway."
; ; "Chances are that if you'd heard about it you'd have used it ; already--and it would be using you, now." I said.
; ; "I see. Well, I'll help you find out more about it," he said, "do you ; need an analysis?"
; ; "No. That's been done. I have that for you." I said, fishing out a ; second Datasocket and passing it to him.
; ; "Okay. So then a simple trace?" He asked.
; ; "Yes. But I need it immediately. And I'll pay for that." I said, ; looking at him looking at the Datasocket. "And this is really hot. I'm ; going to get killed or be permanent Meat if I don't figure out what's ; happening, quick."
; ; "I see," he said, "I'll work as quickly as I can. It isn't going to be ; cheap, girl. In fact, I may want to borrow you to test some of my ; newest Stim instead of getting cash." He grinned.
; ; I didn't think it was very funny. Once I plugged into his custom Stim ; he'd own my body until the Stim burned out--and I'd love every second ; of it. I'd be Meat--but privately owned. But Gurney was a good master ; and could be trusted. I wouldn't do business with him otherwise--and I ; could think of worse things that would happen to me if I didn't agree.
; ; At least he always kept his cock and ass clean.
; ; "Alright," I said, "deal. Get me some really useful information, ; Gurney, and you can use me for a week--no, make it two weeks." That ; should get his attention. Gurney loved it when I was his little Stim ; girl--on fire and ready to serve. I did suck a mean cock, after all, ; and nothing could really simulate that. Not yet.
; ; He smiled. "Sure," he said, "I'll have the first information in a few ; hours. Wanna hang out here?"
; ; "No," I said, "I have another lead."
; ; "Be careful," Gurney smirked, pushing open the Privycube's hatch, "I ; want to fuck your ass when you're high on my new Stim--nobody else ; gets that ass but me."
; ; "Thanks," I said, "I'll be back in a few hours. And, if anybody asks ; for me, you don't know a thing."
; ; "Sure," he said.
; ; "Really, Gurney. And don't let any strange Meat into your place--or ; you could end up sucking your own cock--and liking it."
; ; "Doesn't sound so bad," he joked, moving back into the Raging Homo's ; arena of moving, consensually sexual flesh.
; ; It wasn't funny, so I didn't reply, but just moved through the crowd ; of unseeing eyes, bodies locked in unwashed, addictive, CATjacked ; carnal lust with one another. The music beat on. Mist poured out ; through the retro laser lights to mix with the flailing, uncoordinated ; wash of limbs.
; ; Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't an oncoming train.
; ; Maybe.
; ; End of Part 5 ; [1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4 ; 5 ; 6 ; 7 ; 8 ; 9 ; 10 ; 11 ; 12 ; 13] ; ;