Schemes Of The Unknown Unknown Ch 07

Chapter Seven

Ecstasy - 3735 C.E.

There wasn't much that Beatrice ever actually needed. She didn't need to eat. She didn't need to sleep. She didn't really need anything apart from a regular and constant supply of sexual partners and there was no likelihood that she'd ever run short of that. But she did need a cover. Humans weren't supposed to be able to survive for long without food or shelter, so Beatrice had to provide evidence that she had the fiscal means to survive even though she'd long since completely exhausted her savings.

Fortunately, Ecstasy was a colony that provided many opportunities for a girl like Beatrice to make a living and unlike most colonies, moons or planets within the Solar System these credits could be earned without the requirement to declare its source. The black economy thrived on Ecstasy and the space colony's administrators saw no reason to throttle a profitable revenue stream despite the inevitable protests from other more ethical members of the Interplanetary Union.

Within days of arriving on Ecstasy, Beatrice had found both an apartment and a steady stream of lovers. Some paid for the privilege while others had it for free. None of them made love in Beatrice's apartment. In fact she hardly used it at all. And when she did, it wasn't because she needed to sleep.

Beatrice soon determined where she was welcome and where she wasn't. She was always welcome where she could spend money and there were many such places when she'd established a regular revenue stream. It wasn't that she needed to buy expensive clothes, jewellery or electrical goods, but it was expected of her and she got gratification from investigating these and other human foibles. The boutiques and stores where such things were sold were also excellent places for meeting people with whom she could have sex. This was especially so with regards to other women.

At first Beatrice wondered whether there was a more efficient way to service her revenue stream than by selling sexual services. She considered trading in illegal drugs, but although she could accurately analyse their chemical signature they had no appreciable effect on her. As a result, this wasn't a trade she could actively pursue with the utmost confidence. She also considered theft as a plausible alternative revenue stream, but this conflicted with the imperative that she shouldn't attract unnecessary attention from either the legitimate police force or those who exercised territorial law enforcement rights by unlawful means. There were many criminal gangs operating on Ecstasy but Beatrice had no wish to be involved with them. Nevertheless, it was a simple matter for Beatrice to snatch wallets, jewellery and even offensive weapons from criminals without them being aware and it was a generally more prudent policy to practise theft on people who were unlikely to contact Ecstasy's police force. If Beatrice happened to be noticed by the person she was robbing, she was both efficient and effective in ensuring that they were physically incapable of imparting this information. Although murder was easier than theft, it had to be done with due care and attention. However, few people would ever imagine that a girl with expensive shopping habits who made a living by selling her body could also detach a head from its shoulders or smash the brains out against a brick wall.

"You don't understand, doll," said the tall well-dressed man with a menacing glint in his eyes. "I may not be the proprietor of this joint but I own it and everyone who operates from its premises."

This exchange was in the

Tartan Retreat:

a Scottish theme pub on the twentieth floor of the seventh level. All around were artefacts and memorabilia that marked three millennia of Scottish history but which mostly exhibited a landscape of rugged golf courses populated by highland warriors. Unlike the staff and waiters, the man who addressed Beatrice was wearing no tartan at all. The suit he wore was an exquisite import from the Trojan Asteroids that Beatrice recognised from her frequent visits to the most exclusive boutiques.

"Is that so?" asked Beatrice as she tried to decide on an appropriate response. She couldn't tell him to go fuck himself. If he were to react as Beatrice expected she would then become a fugitive from the law after defending herself by punching a hole through his chest. "What do you propose?"

"A modest amount, doll. I'm a considerate man. Twenty percent. That's all."

"Twenty percent of what?"

"Twenty percent of what I expect you to bring in each night."

"And how much is that?"

The man spread his fingers. "That's in hundreds in case you didn't know."

Beatrice nodded. This wasn't an arrangement she wanted to be party to. It wasn't that she couldn't afford it. What troubled her was the consequence of entering into any agreement of this kind with a human. There really

was

only one solution.

"You could have demanded so much more," she said teasingly.

"Really, doll?" said Beatrice's prospective pimp. "It

is

a percentage. I expect complete honesty from you."

"And what should I call you?"

"Al. That's my name. Al."

"Nice name, Al. Is there any way I can negotiate with you? Can I cut a better deal? For myself, of course."

"What do you propose, doll?"

"Oh I don't know," said Beatrice as she placed a tentative hand on his crotch. "I'm sure there's somewhere else we can discuss it in more privacy."

"And when would that be, doll?"

"No time like the present, Al."

"I know a place, sweetheart."

The two of them left the pub, with Beatrice threading an arm through Al's and gazing up at him in a way that she knew would be interpreted as a seductive smile. They made an unexceptional couple for this district of Ecstasy. Al was wearing an expensive suit and Beatrice was resplendent in a wealth of silk and satin that was worn only by woman with means or those trying to attract the attention of men of such wealth.

Beatrice would never return to the

Tartan Retreat

again. It had now become one of several haunts she would now avoid. This wasn't because she was frightened of meeting Al again, though if she did so it would indeed be a shock. She had smashed his head so hard against the wall that the force had splattered fragments of brain and bone all over the bank of the dimly-lit ornamental canal. She pushed his body to the bottom of the water which also served to wash the blood off her bare arms. She was careful to ensure that there were no stains on her expensive dress. She could easily explain away dirt or dust when she next took it to the drycleaners, but blood was another matter.

She had no intention of being obligated to individuals like Al and there was no better way of eliminating the problem. She was sure that there were many others who were also quite pleased that he would never again haunt the

Tartan Retreat

, judging from the apprehensive, even fearful, expressions on the faces of the other women in the pub, but Beatrice was no vigilante. It wasn't in her interest to reduce the incidence of organised crime on Ecstasy, although it was most definitely in her interest not to be beholden to it. If she'd chosen to inoculate the colony of organised crime she would be constantly busy and her cover would soon be blown.

Beatrice frequently moved around from place to place during the decade or so in which she lived in Ecstasy. She would be a regular presence at one haunt for a while where she would steadily build up a reputation and a set of regular clientele. In that time she would have new lovers, make new friends and gain a reputation for reliability. The venues she frequented were all much the same: night clubs, pubs, strip bars, even private brothels. Wherever she could earn money from sex and meet new lovers.

Sometimes she questioned her chosen career. Couldn't someone with her skills and abilities be better employed elsewhere? Couldn't she work in a university or as an administrator or in a role more useful to human civilisation? She was several times more intelligent than any human being. She was much stronger, faster and adaptable than any biological life-form. There were so many ways in which she could make an appreciable difference. Instead, her role was to parasitically cream off some of the profits made by the wealthier residents of Ecstasy and the tourists from elsewhere in the Solar System

"You're not on Ecstasy to serve humanity," she was told.

This made sense but Beatrice still wondered why she'd been assigned such a demeaning role. She could easily have been programmed with a much more reduced libido and assigned to work as a spy in a military or government organisation, but she was informed that there was no shortage of androids in such roles. Her duty was to remain where she was far out in deep space at a popular intersection between the outer planets and the Kuiper Belt.

Although Ecstasy was a useful meeting point, it was undoubtedly remote. There were many more colonies and settlements much closer to the Sun. The Solar System was sparsely populated out here. Ecstasy's primary role as a pleasure resort was to relieve the tedium associated with this isolation. There were several other such resorts scattered about the Kuiper Belt, but they were spread widely apart at a radius of five trillion kilometres from the Sun and much the same distance from one another.

Beatrice's profession in the sex industry put her in the ideal position to meet new people although there were very few that she'd otherwise have chosen to get to know so intimately.

"I don't understand why you do it, Bea," said Gudrun who was one of Beatrice's current lovers and worked with her at the

Missa Solemnis.

"I'm a good dancer," said Beatrice. She was referring to what she was ostensibly employed to do which was to gyrate about a small stage in a provocative fashion either in the nude or in clothes that left nothing to the imagination.

"That's true, Bea," said Gudrun. "But for most of us girls that's almost all we're good for. You can do anything you want."

Gudrun was a woman of such mixed ancestry that it would have been difficult enough to determine what they were if she hadn't also adopted the fashion for body enhancement that made her skin reflective like glass and her hair cascade in silver coils over her face and shoulders. Beatrice not only enjoyed making love to her, she liked to regard her face reflected on her skin. When she gazed on Gudrun's face, it wasn't only her image in her lover's eyes that was reflected back at her.

"This is what I like to do," said Beatrice.

"I'd give anything to do something else for a living," said Gudrun. "I've been an exotic dancer for thirty or forty years. I can see myself doing the same thing for the next forty years or so. Every night on the podium. Every night fucking three or four different guys."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"You're the only one I actually enjoy having sex with, Bea," said Gudrun. "The others I could leave tomorrow. Sex is mostly just a job for me."

"Surely you enjoy it a little bit," said Beatrice who couldn't really understand why someone might not get pleasure from even the most inadequate penis or the most inept fumbling.

"I might have done so once upon a time. But that was when the men and women I had sex with were people of my own choosing. Nowadays I just go through the motions. I get the men aroused as quickly as I can to get the whole thing over as soon as possible. How

can

you continue to enjoy it? I don't see how that's possible. Some men are real bastards."

"You don't have to go with all of them," Beatrice reminded her lover. Of course, what she couldn't tell Gudrun was that if any of her clients caused her trouble she could easily overpower and, if need be, ensure that they would never behave badly with another girl ever again.

"If I only went with a client because I wanted to," said Gudrun sadly, "then I'd be out of business."

Beatrice didn't want to admit it, but she also sometimes yearned for a change. It was the sheer tedium of her job that she disliked. She was tired of year in and year out having intimate carnal knowledge with so many men and occasionally women who for one reason or another felt the need for sex with no commitments and were often overburdened by guilt. The tourists often just wanted to get the sexual release that they couldn't get so easily at home. This was inevitable since the population of most space colonies numbered only a few million and sometimes only in the hundreds of thousands. Most colonies were only a few tens of kilometres in extent and often provided no facilities whatsoever for anonymous sex. Indeed, some colonies had ethical codes and practices that made it virtually impossible for men or women to ever enjoy sex unless they happened to be in a socially approved relationship.

However worthy the service that Beatrice was providing for the sexually starved and sexually inadequate of the Kuiper Belt, she looked forward to the day that must happen when she would be delivering on the promise of her manufacture. Gudrun was right. Beatrice could do much more than gyrate seductively in front of an audience to the sound of electronic music while other hostesses were sucking penises and less wealthy clients gathered nervously around the bar. Beatrice could do much more than bring men and women to orgasm in the hope of a better tip.

Beatrice was determined to do her best when the call to service finally came. She would show the administrators of Proxima Centauri that monitored her every conversation, her every transaction and her every fuck that she was worthy of their investment. She would at last be able to use those talents that were wasted in the sex industry.

So day after day, Beatrice lived a life of gilded boredom waiting for the time, whenever it might be, that she would serve on a mission of true value.

Proxima Centauri wouldn't be disappointed in her.