Part Two: Six Months

I'm not exactly a timid person. I used to be, but it's amazing how much braver you get after the first couple of times you do something you don't think you can possibly do. The first time I walked into a hotel room hoping like hell that the man inside just wanted to fuck me, not to arrest me or to murder me, was one of those times for me. The first time I climbed down the ladder into that pit to meet Emil was another.

The second time is always easier. Most people just want you to like them. They want you to like having sex with them, especially. Emil wasn't much different from most clients. Well, other than the part where I had to go into a military base and climb into a giant pit to get to him. And the part where they told me that I shouldn't bother with condoms because his semen would eat right through them, but that it shouldn't hurt me as long as I took the pills they gave me before every session.

And the part where I was making more money from him alone than I had been from all my other clients put together. Okay, and the part where the sex was frankly mind-blowing. I'd also gotten pretty fond of him, over the months that I saw him.

So when they came to me and told me that there was an increased security risk and they were going to move him to Alaska, and that they wanted me to come too, I was torn.

"Aren't there escorts in Alaska?" I asked. This was only a week after I'd had strep throat, and I was still pretty upset about the whole 'whore' thing.

"He's attached to you," said the man who'd told me to call him 'Doc.'

"Are you sure about that? Last time I saw him, he called me a whore and sent me away," I reminded him.

Doc sighed. "Subject A's emotional state is very delicate," he said. He always called Emil that, and pretended not to hear me if I said his name. "Believe me, if it'd been anyone but you, he'd have done worse than just call you a name."

"Right. Because, as you've told me numerous times, he's dangerous." It was hard to believe that emotionally, although I knew it was probably true. Doc's arm was in a sling, and I knew it probably wasn't because of a fall down the stairs, or something. But I'd never seen Emil get violent.

"But not to you, I think."

"You think? That's reassuring." I sighed. "Alaska's awfully far."

"We'd like you to sign a one-year contract. We can re-negotiate after that." He slid a packet of papers towards me, and I thumbed through it, trying not to let my eyes bug out at the numbers. There were some perks to being a part of the military-industrial complex. At this point, though, I wasn't exactly hurting for money.

"A year's too long," I said, and slid the packet back to him. "Four months. Then I'll take a week off to come home, and we'll re-negotiate while I'm here."

He frowned. "We're not flying you back and forth every four months," he said. "We can re-negotiate back in DC, but you need to sign on for a full year."

"So make it six months, and I'll pay for my own flights," I said. I figured I could handle just about anything for six months. "The military can handle giving me a ride to the airport, right?"

He looked cross, which made me smile. Doc seems like an okay guy, but I'm not a big fan of the military in general, or specifically of the group that kept Emil a prisoner. The danger he theoretically posed felt a lot less real to me than the desperate sadness on his face.

"Fine," he agreed. "I'll have a new contract written up and give it to you tomorrow. You'll need to be on-site at 0500 hours. We take off at 0600."

"How are you moving him?" I asked. I didn't really want to have to drive out there at the crack of dawn, but I could tell that this part wasn't negotiable.

"He'll be asleep. That's all I can tell you. We'll want you on the same flight as him."

"Okay, Doc," I said. "How much luggage can I bring?"

"Travel light. Only what you can carry. This isn't a commercial jet we're flying on. There won't be room for much. The base we're relocating to has a store on-site, you can buy anything else you need there."

Great. Well, I'd been the one to say I could deal with anything for six months. Moving to a military base in Alaska would probably be just as manageable as everything else was, in hindsight.

My friends were skeptical when I told them that I was leaving the state the next day to live with a rich client for six months, but I'm pretty particular about only choosing friends who respect my decisions. And when I told them about the guaranteed money, they were happy enough for me. We had an impromptu packing party that evening, and I ended up lending out practically everything I owned.

I also gave my roommates a check that would cover my share of the rent for the next six months. Let me tell you, nothing beats the feeling of handing people you once depended on enough money that they'll have no worries for a while. Nothing else I've ever tried comes close, and I've tried a lot.

But as everyone else left, with hugs and tears, it started to really sink in how alone I was going to be. The only people I would know at the base would be Doc and Emil, and honestly, I didn't trust either of them. Not really.

Oh, I trusted Doc to come through with the money and all, and I trusted Emil not to...well...I would have said that I trusted him not to call me a whore, up until he did. I wasn't sure how much faith I could put in him not to hurt me any other way, now.

I ended up spending all that night putting books on my ereader and downloading games to my laptop instead of sleeping. Who knew how the internet connection would be up there. God, it would probably be monitored to keep me from leaking state secrets, like the fact that "Subject A" had a nice-sized dick and occasionally enjoyed boob jobs.

That thought occurred to me around 3 in the morning, so I was sleep-deprived enough to find the fact that my actual, literal job was "secret government titfucks" laugh-out-loud hilarious. My life may be weird and, yeah, not the safest, but never in a million years would I trade it for some boring desk job.

I got on the plane with a week's worth of clothes and several months' worth of electronic entertainment. It was a decent-sized plane, and less cramped than Doc had led me to believe, although most of the cabin space was taken up by a dizzying array of machinery attached to an unconscious Emil, nude except for a sheet over his lap.

Doc waved me to a seat near Emil's head. Everyone else was keeping well back, except when they snuck forward to check on one of the machines, or to make sure that the multiple IV lines in him were secure.

They were terrified of him. I could see it in the way they refused to look at him straight on, instead sneaking sidelong glances at irregular intervals. No one spoke, and it didn't seem like tiredness or discipline. Several of them had their hands on sidearms.

I'd planned to sleep on the flight, but the atmosphere was just too tense. You'd think we were transporting a bomb, or something. I was tempted to hold Emil's hand for comfort, even though he was the source of the fear, but I remembered the sound of his voice biting out the word whore and refrained.

Anyway, they'd probably shoot me if it looked like I might wake him up.

After about half an hour of just sitting there watching people look like they'd shoot Emil at any second, I gave up on the idea of sleeping or making conversation and started rummaging in my bag for a book. I'd brought a couple in dead-tree form, partly because I bought them before I knew I'd be flying to Alaska for six months with just two bags, partly because I've always liked the feeling of actual pages in my hand.

I'd just found my place when someone on the plane finally spoke.

"What're you reading?" The speaker was a short black woman in military fatigues, who was standing on the other side of Emil. She had a gun at her side, but unlike most of the others, her hand wasn't on it. Her voice was quiet, but conversational enough.

"Science fiction," I said equally quietly, and showed her the cover.

"Oh, yeah? I'm more a nonfiction person myself," she said. "My name's Carol, by the way."

"Valerie," I said, smiling at her. I held out my hand without thinking, realized that I was reaching right over the unconscious Emil and everyone else on the plane was looking at me like I was juggling dynamite, and pulled it back.

"Right," she said, apparently struggling to pull her eyes off Emil and her hand off her gun. "We know who you are. Not a lot of civilians, where we're going."

"Oh." I'd assumed that the base would have civilian scientists, and families, and that sort of thing. I hadn't thought I'd stick out quite that much. "Well, nice to meet you."

"Likewise. They say you know how to handle A, here." She nodded at Emil. I heard someone elsewhere on the plane snicker.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. I suddenly felt like I had a giant neon sign above my head that said PROSTITUTE. Or, to be honest, probably WHORE.

"Anything that makes him easier to get along with is good with me," Carol said with a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring.

"Uh, good. Thanks." There didn't really seem to be much else to say.

"I know some of the other females at the base. I'll introduce you when we get there."

"I'd appreciate that."

She nodded, and went back to staring at Emil. I guessed that the conversation was over, and opened my book back up.

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I started awake with my ears feeling like they were going to explode. Pressure changes always get me like that. The plane was shaking, and everyone looked even more nervous than before. Emil was still fast asleep, though.

Honestly, he looked like he was dead. Even at the best of times, he was pale-skinned, with dark, sunken eyes. Usually, the intensity of his expression and the frankly off-the-charts sexiness of his voice (god, that accent!) more than made up for that, but just now, he looked like a corpse. The machines attached to him were still lighting up and intermittently beeping, though, so presumably he was okay.

"Are we landing?" I asked Carol.

"Yeah. Don't know how you can sleep with…" she trailed off, waving vaguely at Emil.

"Uh, well, all in a day's work," I said, momentarily parsing her statement wrong. When I realized what she'd actually meant, I blushed and added, "I didn't sleep last night. Packing."

She shook her head. I wasn't really sure what that was supposed to convey, so I just turned to hunt for my book on the floor.

When we landed, there was an immediate bustle of activity as people rushed to wheel Emil's bed off the plane. Everyone rushed around like they knew exactly where they were supposed to be, leaving me shivering on the tarmac with no idea what to do or where to go. I tried to get Doc's attention, but he waved me off and went back to directing the activities of the others.

Finally, a soldier who definitely hadn't been on the plane approached me.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you Valerie?" he asked, focusing his eyes somewhere over my left shoulder.

"Yes, hi," I said. "Do you know where I'm supposed to go?"

"Follow me, ma'am," he said. He turned on his heel and marched off, not looking to see if I was following. I had to scramble to keep up.

This did not seem like the most auspicious start at my new home.