Chapter 38: A Guy Like You Should Wear A Warning
"That proves it, doesn't it?" I plead with officer Sirrus who hasn't budged from his wide-legged stance near the table. Blinking at me, the salarian keeps his silence and brushes a finger across his thin lips. I implore my doctor. "These proto-nodes prove there was something more than red sand and Minagen X3 in my bloodstream, right?"
The asari appears unsure. "The rapid node development does suggest biological tampering…"
My brows go up at her affirmation, but then she ruins it all.
"…But the only documented foreign bodies in your system are red sand and Minagen X3. We've treated and studied hundreds of cases of long term exposure and use of both drugs, even cases where they were used in tandem and none of those cases manifested side effects like yours." The asari has a hungry look about her. "If we perform more tests—"
"No." Officer Sirrus breaks his silence. "No more tests. Ms. Cezetti should be remanded to C-Sec's custody."
Slapping her hands on the table, the asari rises and glares at the officer making demands of her. "Ms. Cezetti is a patient of Huerta Memorial. I will not release her when her future health is in question. We have no idea what the lasting effects of such drastic biological tampering could be. Nailing down the source of the divergence would expedite our processes." One side of the asari's forehead wrinkles like mind would if I raised one brow. "Does C-Sec have any information to contribute? Anything to corroborate Ms. Cezetti's claims that she was drugged with something other than street available chemicals?"
The reddish-gray skin in the center of officer Sirrus' brow creases for an instant then smoothes. He taps his left arm right where his omni-tool would be if he activated it.
"It is possible," he says. "Yes, it's possible."
The salarian's preoccupation hasn't escaped the asari. "Officer," she says, rising from her seat. "I don't have to explain the value of being able to create a biotic, a powerful biotic, with no inborn or inherent ability from scratch. The discovery and application of that knowledge—"
"Would make the discoverer very rich," officer Sirrus finishes. "And the species who received the practical benefits of that knowledge very powerful. Much more powerful than any other species, I would think."
The asari's eyes glitter and one side of her mouth quirks. "I'm sure all the Council races and their allies would benefit to some extent."
Officer Sirrus returns her not-smile. "I'm sure they would. In time. However, this revelation makes Ms. Cezetti's situation even more sensitive. Someone as valuable and notorious as herself should be in a well guarded holding cell."
I've got my elbows propped on the table top. Each conversational volley between these two has my eyes going back and forth. Watching them is like watching the best tennis match in the system.
"And we've come full circle, officer…?"
"Sirrus."
"I'm not prepared to release my patient. There are dozens of tests my team and I have yet to run. Until then you are more than welcome to double the security detail you already have running roughshod over this facility. I assure you Ms. Cezetti is safe in our care."
This time officer Sirrus' smile is genuine. "And I assure you, doctor, I will return for your patient with a Council order for her release. When that occurs, I guarantee that any medical advancement achieved from this woman's victimization will not be yours to reap."
The asari doctor shows the salarian all her teeth. She bends slightly at the waist and inclines her head at him.
"Good luck to you, officer." She doesn't speak again until officer Sirrus has left the room, then she takes her seat opposite me and activates her omni-tool. "Well, Ms. Cezetti, as your psych eval was interrupted, I believe we'll reschedule for later in the day."
My bottom lip pooches. I don't want another eval. Isn't fifteen enough? I can only look forward to more of this interrogation crap once C-Sec gets their paws, tentacles, and talons on me. They likely won't stop until I confess to something I didn't do. I guess this is my life now. But what about my mom? I wore Chellik's wire and Dalessia did say a couple words before they put that hyoid scrambler thing on my neck. That should have fulfilled my agreement with the senior detective, right? Maybe C-Sec will still get my mom up here and take care of her treatment. As I turn all this over in my head, I work my lips together like a granny without her teeth in. Asking my doctor for a meeting with any C-Sec representative is out of the question. The asari's absorbed with the active pane on her omni-tool. She fingers through a long string of stacked data. I can't read it backwards, but it looks like her stored contacts list.
"Will you take me back to my room, then?" I ask. I'd appreciate a little time to myself.
"I don't think so," the asari says without lifting her sightline from her pane. "If officer Sirrus is as good as his word, our time left together will be brief."
Thank God.
"I doubt he'll succeed," the asari continues, "but I won't waste what time I have left with you. Immediate results are what we need. Lots of data. Fortunately, a cerebral-spinal draw will return those results. Which is unfortunate for you."
"Why's that?"
The asari meets my eye. "It's an excruciating process."
Bloodlust isn't a state I experience often. I do now. I hold on to the edge of the table for dear life so I don't lunge across it and wrap my hands around this awful asari's neck. What I wouldn't give to be free of these biotic dampeners with what I know.
The doctor gets up and about faces. "Someone will be in shortly to retrieve and prep you for the CSD." As she heads to the door, she initiates a call from her omni-tool.
"Riveena, it's me. I need you to get me the asari ambassador's ear ASAP."
The dismal lights in the single room apartment flicker on when the front door retracts. Vlair enters after Cameron. His boot heels clomp on the uncarpeted floor. He shrugs off the satchel slung over his shoulder. Cameron, his lovely and pleasantly naïve little savior, scurries about her hovel and collects trash.
"Sorry," she mumbles. "I never have guests."
Obviously, Vlair thinks.
Three pieces of furniture "decorate" the room: a bed that folds out from the west wall piled with ratty coverings, a warped chest of drawers fashioned of flimsy particle board, and a sturdy looking desk sporting a top of the line, customized p-terminal. A battlement of multi-colored vid-game cases next to the desk almost reaches his chin. Vlair wanders towards the p-terminal to admire it. On his way, he stumbles over a pile of equipment he didn't notice.
"Oh, be careful!" Dropping the dump of empty take away boxes and insta-meal packets, Cameron rushes over and shoos him from the complicated build taking shape near her desk.
The noisy pile of cans Vlair backs into crunches underfoot. He wide-steps out of the aluminum hillock. The soles of his boots peel away from the floor with a tacky sound. Syrupy dregs from the emptied energy drinks coat the ground with sugary goo. Grimacing, he wipes his feet on a clear space by the wall.
"What is that thing?" Vlair asks Cameron who's crouched by her equipment and worrying over it like a mother would her infant.
The nurse doesn't answer right away and her internal debate weights the silence. She must come to some determination because she says, "It's the start of an immersive rig prototype."
"I'm not familiar," Vlair says, wrinkling his nose at the warm, stale air. The extra layers he wears adds to his discomfort, but as there's no clean space to place them, he keeps the garments on.
"When it's finished it'll be a VR device."
Ah. Vlair nods. She means virtual reality. Makes sense as a hobby with all the games and top-line tech she owns. But…
"You're building it yourself?" Vlair asks. Though they're not the most tech efficient species, humans have their share of talented engineers and technicians. Why would this woman waste her time as an underappreciated and overworked nurse at a free clinic when she possesses a profitable skill?
"Not without a lot of help," Cameron says. She knee walks over to the mound of garbage she dropped and starts gathering it. "I corresponded for a while with a salarian on an extranet tinkerer clique. We got together IRL eventually. He works for a domestic tech development company designing better automated doors and intuitive residence interfaces and stuff. He's tutoring me. Since we're both into vid-games, a VR rig seemed like a good project."
"Sounds complex."
Luxury entertainment complexes and specialty arcades have their share of public VR arenas and booths. Vlair knows enough about gaming to know the three-hundred-and-sixty degree reality simulators are accessible to the public for steep hourly fees. Private ownership of the tech is rare. The appeal of a real-time fantasy world, and vid-gaming in general, eludes Vlair. No achievement or experience in a facsimile universe would ever be, well, real. Touch and taste and smell are crudely manifested in simulated environments. With entire galaxies a mass relay away, why dawdle in an imaginary realm?
"Your salarian friend actually comes over here?"
"Not often," Cameron admits and fingers the partially constructed prototype. "His job keeps him busy. We vid-chat a lot."
"The state of this place doesn't bother him? Salarians are a fastidious bunch."
A vivid flush creeps up Cameron's neck and colors her face. Rosy splotches brighten her cheeks and her throat convulses as she swallows. Vlair's teeth click when his jaw snaps shut. The reaction surprises him. He's sorry he mentioned the disorder. That irritates him. He's never sorry about anything except missed opportunities.
"That was crass," Vlair says and that's as close to an apology as anyone will ever get out of him.
"Yeah, well." Cameron carries on with her tidying charade. "Clutter and mess doesn't bother component-chasers all that much. Our projects consume most of our living spaces. And our lives."
Going to her, Vlair joins Cameron on his knees. He helps her pick up trash. "You, ah, enjoy living this way? With your projects and vid-games?"
"Escaping is kinda my thing." Cameron finds a plastic bag among the debris and they start packing what they can inside.
"How fortuitous for me," Vlair says, working with a stubborn Styrofoam container. "I doubt I would have escaped the clinic without your assistance." That brings her smile back and Vlair is satisfied he's smoothed her rumpled feathers. It's true. Escape from the clinic would have been much more difficult without her.
The caper plays over again in his mind.
Vlair had helped Cameron administer the chemicals she'd brought him. The death paralysis had descended, had made his body heavy and cold. His heart had slowed and his eyes had closed and when his consciousness had returned, total darkness had shrouded him. The close, smooth walled confines in which he had found himself had been the dimensions of a stasis ampoule. The sealed pod had rocked. He'd felt himself raised and jostled. Muffled conversation had reached him and had cut off when he'd felt himself shoved into place and had heard the unmistakable sound of a door closing and a latch latching. The whine of mechanized parts had risen. Whoever had tended him had begun the ampoule's chill process. The ampoule's activation had worked in his favor. The very process that could end his life had also provided cover for his getaway.
All hospitals and clinics possessed a relatively similar layout. Stasis centers and dissection theaters had walls honeycombed with stasis sleeves. Once an ampoule had been sleeved, the body within could be flash frozen for future thaw and autopsy pending paperwork and approval. Or the body could be dumped into the incinerator below the facilities. Stasis sleeves connected to ducts which led downward to an incinerator and upward to air scrubbers and atmosphere recyclers. All Vlair had to do was escape his prepped ampoule and go up instead of down.
Easier said than done.
Running his fingers along the stasis ampoule's slick interior, Vlair had located the emergency control panel, had fitted his nails in the little seam outlining the removable hatch and had popped it open. The emergency controls had been designed for repair and maintenance staff who might accidentally seal themselves inside a way out. Vlair had tripped the correct switch with a flick of his thumb. The top of the ampoule had hinged open with a pneumatic hiss. An alarm had rung out, signaling a malfunction with his ampoule. Since his attendant had already activated the chill process, no one could remove his ampoule from its sleeve. Vlair had possessed ample time to flee.
Had the drell been a corpse to dispose of, his sleeve would have tipped upward and dumped his body into the incinerator duct accessible from his now opened ampoule. Instead, Vlair had squirmed out of the pod and had supported himself on the sheer duct walls, hands and feet planted on opposite sides of the metal shaft, arms and legs straining to keep him suspended in the duct. He'd inched his way to the vents above by making awkward, frog-like jumps which had propelled him upward.
At the top of the shaft, his arms and thighs had shook with exertion. Sweat had slicked his face, back, and palms, making his position even more precarious. Punching through the vent grate, he'd pulled himself into the scrubbing chamber. Flat on his back under the atmosphere recyclers, he'd lay for a spell, breathing in and out, letting his heart rate slow and his muscles rest. The paper gown he'd torn from his body had fluttered down the incinerator duct like an unneeded skin.
Without a helpful duct rat to guide him this time, Vlair had navigated the clinic's vent system blindly. At each vent grate, he'd paused, had peered into the halls he'd scuttled above. He'd read signage posted on the walls and had eavesdropped on conversations the staff had shared. Using this information to mark his location, he'd sussed out the route to the small storage closet Cameron had told him about.
With his thumbnail, Vlair had removed the tiny screws from the storeroom's ceiling vent grate and had slid the slatted plate carefully away. Arms stretching, he'd lowered himself into the room, bare feet slapping the floor. A dizzy spell had come over him, another aftereffect of the death paralysis. Lightheadedness had passed in a moment. Hugging himself with one arm, Vlair had pawed through the rack of lab coats and med whites. Near the wall, he'd uncovered his clothes bundled around his Razer VII and his omni-tool. He'd dressed, had stowed his pistol and omni-tool in his outerskin jacket. In the end, he hadn't donned any of the available coats or med whites. Drell weren't common on the Citadel and Vlair had believed even an overworked staff on a free clinic would know if a drell walked their ranks. Disguising himself as staff would call more attention to himself, so Vlair had simply exited the storage closet and insinuated himself with the hustle and bustle of the clinic.
In the neon markets he'd threaded quickly through the crowd. A personal storage site nestled in with the high rise malls, casinos, arcades, and be-seen restaurants had been his destination. There, he'd plundered a small locker he'd maintained under an alias. He'd taken his identity kit and the documents that went along with it as well as a stash of credit chits. Until he'd changed his identity, using his omni-tool or accessing his accounts could give him away. Funding his transactions with chits would keep 'Vlair Upshad' off the records.
Inside one of the multi-story shopping arcades, he'd purchased a hooded turian tunic and had worn it hood up when he'd finally met Cameron at the point. Turning at the hand he'd placed on her shoulder, she'd smiled at him as though they'd met for a date.
"I still don't know that I did the right thing," the nurse Vlair ponders says. They've stuffed their trash bag to capacity. Cameron stares into it, the looping handles dangling from her crooked fingers. "In vid-games I do bad stuff all the time and it's fun, but they're aren't any consequences besides my ranking on a leaderboard."
Guilt isn't a good emotion for this moment. Guilt prompts people to do silly things. Like confess their recent crimes. Lust is much better. Lust also makes people do silly things to each other, most of them agreeable.
Vlair reaches out and tucks a bit of red-blonde hair behind Cameron's ear. He lets his fingertips brush her cheek. She takes a sharp breath in at the contact.
"You saved me from some very dangerous people and I'm going to make sure those people can't harm anyone else ever again."
And if I don't kill Dalessia Kella, Vlair thinks. I'll make her wish she'd never passed between her mother's legs.
"And what about you?" Cameron asks, her big brown eyes staring at him.
"What about me?"
"Who's going to stop you from doing bad things?"
"You think I'm bad?"
An incredulous look shapes Cameron's features. Stretching out her hand—the contents of the trash bag almost spill when she releases one handle—she pushes the hood Vlair wears back. She traces the edge of the fabric and slips her hand inside the garment, inside his outerskin jacket beneath. Her hand comes to rest on the butt of his Razer VII. She looks up at him through her lashes.
"I know you're bad."
"Then why have you brought me home with you?"
The question, Vlair thought, would take her aback. Cameron would retreat and he would pursue, the way he always plays the game. But Cameron isn't abashed by the inquiry and shows him exactly why she brought him home with her.
Curling her fingers around his shoulder holster, she tugs him to herself, strains upward, and places a tentative kiss at the corner of his mouth.
"This is what I want," the tender gesture tells him. "Will you give it to me?"
Vlair does. He angles his face so their kiss becomes less question and more promise. With his mouth he shows her what he'll do elsewhere. They grow heated, intense. The trash bag drops from her hand. He clasps the back of her head, laces his fingers in her hair, tugs. Fingers bracelet his wrists. She moans against his lips. Panic tinges the excited sound. She shoves away from him though his arms remain twined about her neck.
"Something's wrong." Cameron touches her kiss-plumped lips, purses them.
"What is it?" Vlair asks, suppressing his irritation at this interlude. The bed is right. Over. There.
"My mouth is all tingly." A pink tongue darts over her lips. "I taste—"
"Venom," Vlair says and Cameron blanches.
"You poisoned me?"
"Only a little. It's skin venom. Drell excrete trace amounts all the time. Not enough to kill or make you sick unless we really tried. And you would be able to tell long before you ingested a lethal amount if I did."
"Oh, my gosh."
Vlair clears his throat. "Does it hurt?"
After she compresses her lips, Cameron says, "No, actually. It feels strange, but good. Really good." She glances at the floor. "Will it feel like that all over the place?"
While she speaks, Vlair bends to the junction of her neck and shoulder. He kisses her there, takes her skin gently between his teeth so she gasps. Then he rises and gives her earlobe a similar treatment and whispers, "Yes," but she doesn't need any more coaxing.
Arms wrap around his neck. Cameron finds his mouth again. She's so soft. Her lips, her cheeks which he cradles, the tongue in his mouth which tastes him, the body that demands the pleasure he can't help but offer. And take.
Vlair's hands glide from Cameron's face to her chest. He palms her breasts which are large and heavy and feeling them through her blasted med whites isn't enough. Reading her back like Braille, he finds the metal seam holding the garment to her body. He follows the metallic trail to the top of her collar. The tab he pinches and pulls is cold against his skin. The zipper's teeth part with a high biziip and the tunic top of Cameron's uniform comes apart. He peels it off her, sliding her arms from the gloved sleeves and baring her to the waist. A white bra without adornment or frill cups her breasts. He does away with it and then he can see and touch.
Large, pink nipples color the centers of Cameron's breasts. Vlair kneads her chest, captures her pearled tips with his fingers and gently pulls. Nails dig into his shoulders and when Cameron moans again, the sound is pure pleasure. One of her hands leaves his shoulder and travels to his groin. She palms his already stiff cock and a rush of excitement, and blood, makes his length strain under her hand. That she doesn't require careful seduction puts him at ease. He relishes his body's response to her curious play without thought to his next move. The experience is novel and disarms him and makes him too eager.
Plunging his hands into the front of her bunched top, he yanks the jumper portion of her med whites further down her hips to her knees. Trousers clasp just under her navel. He fiddles with the button and starts stripping her bottom. Again, she tears away from him, her mouth red and shining with his attention and her pupils so large they almost eclipse her irises.
"No," she says. "I want to undress you first."
With a gusty laugh, Vlair acquiesces and allows himself to be led to her bed; a bunk-like affair that hinges down platform-style from her wall. She kicks away her jumper as they go and stands him before her cot. Nibbling at one of her fingers, she ogles him as though she can't decide where to start.
The jacket goes first. Cameron casts it to the side then sets in on his holster which she disentangles from his arms. The pistol jostles in her hands. She tests its weight.
"You like that?" Vlair asks, jolting her out of her thoughts. Her attention should be on him. Only on him.
"Never shot a real one." Cameron places the Razer VII gently atop his jacket and returns to him. "I wonder if I'd be any good what with all the first person shooters I play."
In a few minutes, she's deciphered the rest of his outerskin suit. Vlair is shucked out of his clothing. Air swirls about him like a whisper of silk. On her knees in front of him, Cameron tugs off his trousers and shoes. He lifts each foot to accommodate her. After she finishes, she gazes up at him, or rather, at what stands at attention between his legs. A devious smile curves her mouth. Palms skate up his thighs as she rises. The light sensation makes his muscles jump. Hands on either side of his cock, she gives him a little shove and he sits on the edge of her bed how she wants him to. He taps his feet in anticipation because even though he slumbered through most of it, it's still been two goddamned weeks.
It takes every ounce of Vlair's self control not to thrust up his hips when Cameron hovers over him. She gauges his size and girth and then her hand circles the base of his shaft and his breath stutters. Parted lips touch the sensitive underside of Vlair's head. The tip of Cameron's tongue flicks at him and he fists his hands in her sheets before she takes all of him into her mouth.
Wet heat sheaths the entirety of his shaft. Vlair groans and it's only the wall at his back that keeps him upright. She massages his prick with her mouth and lips, laves him with her tongue, teases him with its dexterous tip. She comes up quick to the head of his cock which she suckles then slides down to his base where she lingers, her head bobbing just a little. He's so deep inside her he taps the back of her throat.
While she works him over, he stares at the top of her head. What he wants is to place his hands on her, keep her low where he likes it, but he knows some women find the habit offensive and is he tries there's a fifty-fifty chance he'll sour their liaison. He reaches for her anyhow, trails his fingers along her jaw. An appreciative sound comes from her and the vibrations from the noise draw a wicked growl from Vlair's throat. Acting on her encouragement, he snakes his fingers into her hair. Her lustful ministrations grow ravenous at the pressure and this stokes Vlair's bravery. Gathering her hair in his fists, he carefully pulls so she feels him, then encourages he downwards where he holds her in place and takes over.
Heels dug into the floor, Vlair raises his hips off the bed and pumps into Cameron's mouth. He's alert to her every sound and movement of her body. Nothing he reads there is negative, so he gives himself over to the rhythm he needs until his balls tighten and his teeth grind together.
"Fuck," he grates out and pulls his hips back to cut off his climax.
Cameron doesn't let him.
Hair slips through Vlair's fingers as she swallows him. The intense pressure, the incredible heat, drives him to his breaking point. Hips bucking, he bows off the bed, seizing with every blinding pulse of his completion. With her hands, Cameron wrangles him, pins him in place. She relaxes her mouth and stills her tongue. As he's completely over stimulated, any further attention would be painful and Vlair is grateful for her foresight. When he's quiet and motionless, she pulls up her head. Her mouth glistens with evidence of her work. She smiles at him.
"Now, you make me come."
"Oh, yes," Vlair says now that his strength is returning.
And he does.
Twice.
First with his head between her legs after he discards her clinging trousers and boots. She cries out under the deft attention of his tongue. Then the second time when she's astride him. She's a pleasurable weight at his hips. Her breasts sway with her rocking. A mist of sweat makes her skin gleam. When she arches back and utters a strangled cry, Vlair dovetails into his own second release, milder than the first, but no less euphoric. Hinging up, he buries his face in her breasts, sucks one of her nipples into his mouth. They clutch one another and pulse in time. Then they collapse side by side on the bed which is just big enough for both of them. Vlair flings an arm and a leg over Cameron and toys absently with one of her breasts.
"Still wondering if you made the right decision?" He asks. He meant it as a tease, but when she doesn't answer he persists.
"I don't know," she says. "What's your name?"
Vlair sucks in breath. He hasn't thought of a new title and doesn't want to off the cuff. Revealing his name is dangerous. Then he thinks of how he will eventually end this affair and says, "Vlair."
Giggling shakes Cameron's body. "Vlair? Oh, that's perfect. Vlair." She gives his name a mocking emphasis and he curls up behind her. "Well, Vlair, I think I've done the right thing of you, but likely the worst thing for all women everywhere. You're bad for us."
"Bad? Or very, very good?"
Suddenly, he must hear it from her.
"Am I good, Cameron? Tell me." He squeezes her.
She stretches and groans. "You're exceptional."
"Is that all?" He nudges her back with his forehead.
There's hesitation, then, "You're very handsome too and strong and clever since you escaped the clinic and the people after you. NOVA."
Yes, yes, I am, Vlair thinks. I am.
"Tell me again."
Cameron tells him again and laughs.
"What's funny?"
"That someone as gifted as you could be so insecure."
Wrapped around the nurse, Vlair mutters and lets his mind wander. He's not insecure. He just likes hearing how wonderful he is from everyone else. And when he has Dalessia Kella at his mercy he'll enjoy hearing his many virtues spill from her lips before he silences her forever.