EPISODE THREE
Kurt looked around nervously. He had never visited Calova Avenue before, and he never wanted to again, in this or any future life.
The window of the dusty storefront was boarded up, and the the door was fortified with a heavy grill. A weatherbeaten sign proclaimed: DAVE'S TATTOO PARLOUR AND FANTASY BROKER.
A brothel? Kurt wondered. He deliberated for a long moment before pushing the door open.
A burly individual, his scraggly auburn locks restrained by a fiery red bandanna, looked up from creating the image of a sardonic skull on a muscular teen-ager's biceps.
"C'n I help ya?"
Kurt swallowed. "I'm Kurt. I have an appointment with Cynthia."
"Cynthia, huh?" The giant's face split into a grin. "Lucky you! Just head into the back, and Jenny will hook you up."
He waved towards a curtain of beads.
Jenny, who appeared to be in the final stages of anorexia, was attired in a black leather skirt, a skimpy crop top, and four-inch spike heels.
"Where's the cat?" she asked in a tone that implied that she did not care in the least.
"In a safe place," Kurt said. "I need more information."
"Okay," Jenny said without changing her tone. "You can talk to Cynthia. Over here."
Cynthia was not a real person, but a fully refined virtual reality construct. An hour later, Kurt had greatly deepened his understanding of the kind of fantasies that were brokered in the little booths behind the bead curtain.
"When do I get to meet you face to face?" he asked when his breathing had slowed sufficiently to talk.
Cynthia pouted. "Is the program defective? I can modify and try again."
"Maybe later," Kurt said. He was not at all confident that he could survive another sexual tsunami. "I want to discuss Mel -- the cat."
"It is mine. Bring it." Cynthia pouted again.
"I need more information."
"Bring it."
The booth flooded with pheromones. Twenty minutes later, Kurt agreed to exchange Melissa for thirty thousand dollars and a lifetime of unlimited visits to Dave's.
EPISODE FOUR
Kurt leaned unsteadily against the driver's side of his Trekker, digging in the pockets of his jeans for the keys.
"That place needs a recovery room," he muttered.
He turned the key and pulled on the handle. The door refused to open.
"Huh?" Instead of unlocking the door, he had locked it. He turned the key again, berating himself. How could he be so careless as to leave his vehicle unlocked in a tough neighbourhood like this?
He shook his head as he slid into the driver's seat. "Gotta get on the ball."
He was having serious second thoughts about his deal with Cynthia. Sure, the money would be nice -- but once these people had Mel, what guarantee was there that they would pay a dime?
YOU ARE READING
Cyberkatz 1999
Science Fiction1999: Internet was new technology; virtual reality was in its infancy; phones were not as smart as they are today. While people worried about the transition to the next millennium, the world was quietly being taken over by ... cybernetic cats? K...
