Freehold (20 page)

The next morning, she was picked up by a young driver. He said, "I'm here for Chinran, Ms Pacelli," and showed her to a car. That was the extent of the conversation, other than very few pleasantries. She decided reticence was not a social skill she would cultivate. He led her inside another hotel to a small conference room and she was introduced to Kenneth Chinran.

"Here is our contract," Chinran said, handing her a sheet. She was still getting used to single-page legal documents. "You agree to answer our questions in detail, make no recordings and make no investigations as to our ID. There are some other points, but those are key."

She read the sheet, noted that basically the meeting was not taking place and signed.

Chinran handed her a copy and led her down a hall to another conference room. Once inside, the door was locked and antieavesdropping equipment activated. A young man, boy really, ran a wand around her, nodded and sat down.

There were twenty people in the room. All young, six of them women. In Earth terms, they ranged from probably sixteen to thirty. They were dressed impeccably, in business style, with no tattoos or jewelry. All had an intense look to them and were in even better physical shape than most Freeholders.

Scanning them, she nodded curtly. Walking over to the front row, she offered her hand. "Ah'm Kendra, who ur you?"

The kid reached for her hand with both of his.

She snatched back, snapping, "Doan be grabbin, minor. Shake with one hand, doan like to take ma arm. You lookin fer handout? Fuggoff, ya liddle drop." There were a few giggles.

She continued, "Streeter talk ain' educated idiom, but it common to the cities, 'specially to anyone under thirty—that's Earth years—and affected by tough business persons. Ya will need clodes more like mahn, und not quite so neat. Look a little worn."

As she continued, the group made notes. Questions were asked and she answered them, sometimes in a different direction than they expected. She would elucidate on things that were not apparent to them, but obvious to her.

"Doan be so dam helpful," she warned, "und doan smile much. You happy, you draw scopes. You help someone, they sue you for innerference."

As the session progressed, she noticed that their accents were changing rapidly, getting closer to her Great Lakes drawl. Apparently, they had been chosen because they were quick studies. At the end of the div, they took a break.

Chinran approached. "Excellent presentation," he observed. "Text only goes so far, und then ya need practice." He was picking it up, too.

He suggested some topics and they resumed again a few segs later.

She began, "You gurls need to look less likely. You get dragged fer a rape if ya look bright und wide. Hunch a liddle. Be suspicious. Flick yer eyes a bit. Better."

At the end of three divs, she was exhausted. She wound up in the hotel's plunge with a strong drink, letting the steam relax her. She dried, pulled on briefs and went to one of the nearby restaurants for dinner. She had another drink.

By the time she returned to her room, she'd declined advances from three men and a woman. She refused partly out of tiredness, partly because she regarded her relationship with Rob and Marta as complex enough. She had no idea why she was considered so attractive, but was beginning to enjoy the attention.

The second day, the difference between her accent and theirs had all but disappeared. The discussion was mostly on shopping.

"Doan carry things around ya doan need to. Ask for delivery. It's cheap. When in a store, doan pull things off the rack. Ya'll alarm and get hassled by rentas. Don't flash cash, in fac', doan
carry
cash. You won't find veggies of the quality you do here and the server will selec' them for ya, usually from the bottom. Food isn' nearly as spicy . . ."

She answered numerous questions:

"What's the point behind the repetitive double crash in so many schrack songs?"

"How do you handle traffic if you have to cross in the middle of a block? You say they won't stop for you?"

"What recourse do you have if the landlord won't make good on maintenance?"

Almost ten hours of disconnected factoids was incredibly wearing.

On day three, she was blindsided. Thirty segs into the discussion, someone asked, "How hard is it to find false ID chips in North America?"

"I wouldn't know," she replied. "Why?"

"I'd just like to know," the speaker replied.

The group asked detailed questions which she answered, finding within herself answers to questions she'd never considered. The sudden shift in attitude was scary. These people weren't planning "business," she was sure. There was something creepy, predatory about them.

"When could a landlord enter commercial premises without permission from the tenants?"

"How many times can you pay a bill with cash before it gets reported to UNRS?"

"What would be the best way to avoid random vehicle checks on North America Route Ninety-Five?"

"Can you describe a typical Bureau of Industry inspection?" That one she could answer, as her parents' shop underwent them regularly.

She was exhausted by the end, accepted her cash payment, and fell asleep on the shuttle. She realized as she drifted off that she had probably just assisted espionage. Now she had a legitimate reason to leave Earth. A sickly grin crossed her face before unconsciousness hit her. An attendant woke her as they opened the hatches.

Walking through the terminal, she was bemused by irony; here she was, walking through the 'port with a wad of cash and a gun. Three months ago she would have—
had
—freaked out at that concept.

Marta was waiting for her, in Rob's car. She delivered a brief but steamy kiss as Kendra strapped in. "How was it?" Marta asked, whipping into traffic.

"Tiring. Very, very tiring," Kendra replied. She explained a little of the business of her schedule, careful not to mention topics of conversation.

"Prostitution involves sex and free enterprise. Which of these are you opposed to?"

—Joseph A. Hauptman

Marta's phone beeped. She whipped it out and answered, "Lady Alexia." Business, of course. Kendra politely ignored it and continued listening to Rob spin out a joke for Rupe.

"One moment while I check," Kendra overheard subliminally. She turned as Marta touched her arm and said, "I hate to ask. Two business gentlemen at Bon Place. I'm set with one, the other wants an exotic woman. They want to hit Bellefontaine, then dancing at Level Three. I can't think of anyone available and I don't want to lose what could be some good money."

"Are you asking
me
?" Kendra blurted. Three months previously—one hundred and fifty days—she'd been politely cold in her answer. Now, she asked, "Is it public only? No sex?"

"That's all they've asked for. Those are nice places, too."

"I wouldn't know how to act," she evaded.

"I can coach you. Your call."

Considering for a moment, Kendra replied, "Ohhkay."

Nodding, Marta spoke into her phone. "I have an associate available who's very exotic. One eighty-five tall, about eighty kilos, long blond hair, blue eyes, a sexy drawl, measurements about one-oh-two, seventy, ninety-eight . . . Yes, she's very bright . . . All set, then? Sounds good." she clicked her phone off and said, "Let's go, we have to get you dressed," and stood up.

She followed Marta outside and down Park Street to the clothing district. She'd come here with Rob her first day, but this time she was visiting the more expensive shops. Marta pulled her into a store that dealt in evening wear only.

"White shows you off well," she said and indicated several styles. They were built for Kendra's frame and could be tailored in minutes. She tried several in short order and settled on one she thought very daring.

It wrapped around her throat, crossed in back between her shoulders, in front over her breasts, in the small of her back and then formed a four-piece skirt at both sides, front and back. Every step showed thigh almost all the way to her buttocks and crotch. She felt well covered, but showed almost her entire body. Underwear, of course, was out of the question.

"Very elegant and professional," Marta commented. Kendra still had trouble with local styles. This was not an outfit she would have considered professional.

She winced at the price tag—Cr500. Marta explained, "Your basic fee is going to be a thousand and I'll lay money you wind up over two; social calls are big money."

Kendra bought it and a cloak in the same shimmering white, then matching shoes at Mattias Shoes, which Marta specifically chose. "Your client owns this chain. Never miss a chance to stroke an ego." They used the restroom at the store to apply makeup, including bitter-tasting lip and tongue glitter and temple coloring. Marta did Kendra's hair by hand, then her own. Several layers of lipgloss shaded from rich blue to violet from the edge of her lips in. Once done, Kendra looked very poised and sophisticated. Some borrowed silver jewelry set off the cool blue tones of her pale skin. To complete the look, Marta took her to a salon to have her nails lengthened and scrimshawed.

As they walked to the hotel, Marta gave her a history. "I'm Alexia Urquidez. We should make you sound Scandinavian. Any ideas?"

"No, not really," Kendra replied. She was becoming very nervous.

"Let me think, then." Alexia paused, but kept walking. "Let's call you Stacia Jorgensen." She pronounced it "Stah-see-ah," emphasizing the first syllable. "You're good with gardens, so work with that. Don't be afraid to be technical. You're an immigrant, but with your parents several years ago. You're thirteen"—Kendra figured that as twenty-one Earth years—"and new to escorting and have only been doing this about three months. You're part time."

"Got it," Kendra agreed. "Who are we meeting?"

"You are meeting Joseph Mattias, as in Mattias shoes. He's divorced, thirty-three—fifty Earth years—Very wealthy and quite a nice gentleman."

Marta added a few details as they approached the Bon Place. She drew a half-step ahead and steered Kendra toward two smiling businessmen waiting outside.

"Ryan!" she greeted, hugging one of them warmly and kissing him lightly. "And you must be Joseph," she said, greeting the other. "This is my friend, Stacia Jorgensen. Stacia, this is Ryan McAran and Joseph Mattias."

Mattias took her hands in his and smiled. He leaned forward and kissed her very softly. "Delighted to meet you, Stacia. Alexia said you were exotically beautiful, but she didn't do you justice when she described you." He looked her up and down, obviously pleased with her appearance. Kendra smiled demurely, while blushing.

They climbed into a waiting limousine, Mattias opening the door for the ladies himself and sending the driver up front. He got in last, spoke directions, then asked, "Drinks?"

Alexia said, "Ginger ale, spiced, please." Ryan asked for scotch and "Stacia" took a lime ice. Heeding Alexia's advice, she sipped carefully, so as not to disturb her lip glitter. It was a brand used by professional models and very durable, but not indestructible. She looked around briefly, something she was expert at after seven months trying to adapt to this culture and noted the plush leather interior in soft earth tones. There were two huge seats, an autobar, entertainment system, a comm that made hers look like a toy and a fold-out work desk.

"What are your interests, Stacia?" Mattias asked, reclining. He held her hand in his lap.

"I'm a consultant on Earth culture and I'm a horticultural designer," she returned. Damn, it sounded swank.

"Really. I've always loved well-sculpted gardens. I find them very relaxing. Sometime you must see my home and tell me what you think."

"I'd be thrilled," she lied. Mattias seemed nice enough and was in excellent shape. He was decent looking, and she relaxed a little.

"We should discuss business first, gentlemen," Alexia reminded.

"Of course," Mattias nodded. "Ryan, you located two stunning ladies to accompany us, please allow me." He reached into his jacket, shuffled money, then laid four five-hundred and four one-hundred credit chits on the low table between the seats. The tipping had started already, Kendra saw.

McAran nodded, looking slightly put out. Apparently his host had just made points in some business game they were playing. Kendra watched with interest and kept a surreptitious eye on Alexia for clues. When Alexia placed her drink down, she smoothly retrieved her twelve hundred and slid it into a slot in her pouch, apparently built especially for that purpose. Kendra followed her lead, tucking the money under the flap and down with the hand farthest from the group. She felt very self-conscious taking money like this.

They reached their destination soon enough and Kendra was eager to see the Bellefontaine. After her first offer of employment, she'd heard it mentioned several times, always as somewhere the ordinary person could never afford.

As they entered, a girl took their cloaks. She wore nothing save a thong and some jewelry and not much of that. Kendra figured her for ten local years, which was not unexpected. The girl had a willowy figure that bulged when she moved her shoulders and was obviously maintained by a div of hard exercise every day. Muscles were considered attractive here, whereas the Earth style was for softness.

They were greeted by a marginally older boy in the same dress. His deep brown eyes were piercing but friendly, and he locked eyes with Kendra for just a second, lust flaring in them. Ryan McAran was apparently a known name and they were shown to a large booth. Two other couples were there and introductions were made. McAran was a textile producer, Mattias was in shoes. Jesslyn Niec owned a company that specialized in fabricating machines for clothing, and was accompanied by her boyfriend, Garett Kameha. Andrew Garner and his wife Janie were in molecular fabrics.

The woman who appeared at Kendra's elbow with a menu was in her local early twenties. She wore more in the sense of mass of fabric, but was still effectively naked. Bellefontaine appeared to Kendra to be like the underground adult clubs mentioned in the news back on Earth. Apparently, they were perfectly acceptable here.