We’re forty thousand feet up making a brisk seven hundred. We’ll be in London around four.
I turn to Sarah, “You have an orgasm on the boat?”
She smiles, “A tingle, but Sloaney made us vibe deliciously last night.”
“Oceane and Cassie showed up."
Finally, London. At least with today’s jets we pick up a couple hundred mph from the slow old days. What used to take over eight hours is more like six. Grace B has us at the Renaissance London Heathrow, more than adequate for a quick popover to the Motherland.
We have almost no luggage, just enough not to arose the Customs people, small roller thingy each. Sarah’s laser gun is made of a composite and isn’t shaped like a gun, it’s a cylinder, a small flashlight. Private passengers generally breeze though, and so it is with us.
We don’t hire a car, want to be as anonymous as possible, the hotel is minutes away on the tube, as they say here. The subway sells metro cards like New York, we don’t need to change money. Our card, like our reservation is in a shell corp name, we’re traveling under fake passports created by the bots different ones than we used in St. Martin’s. Some days, I have to check my docs to remember who I am.
Sarah, “Room is perfectly suitable.”
“Let’s drop the stuff and get this done.”
I call a car service, we don’t have the car drop us in front of Stocker’s place, even though it’s driverless, the car tracks where it went. Instead we exit at The Queens Head restaurant, about a mile from the apartment we’re going to burgle. We’re head covered and sunglassed, Britain is smothered in CCTV. We walk a half mile to Stocker’s. He’s in a fifth floor apartment, flat in Brit-speak. The entrance calls for a pass code, we dawdle across the street pretending to take photos until an elderly lady with a rolling shopping cart comes along and punches in the code. Now I have the four digits that will gain us entry.
Cross the street, slip on latex gloves, punch in the code, click, we’re in. Up the elevator, the hallway is deserted. The building houses two apartments per floor. I creep up to the one we don’t want, put my ear to the door. Owl ears detect no movement, no TV, no music, no nothing.
“Maybe there’s a dead body, but nothing living is home.”
Sarah and Janah glove up, Sarah works the lock, we have an automatic lock pick, it hums a bit but is otherwise quiet, I hear the pins click, she turns the handle, in we go.
Sarah, “Nice digs, the building is not new but this place has been updated to yesterday.”
“Geez, all chrome and white leather, Stocker wasn’t a common Shadow, maybe they’re different in England.”
Janah, “We can speculate on his personality later, let’s search and split.”
It’s a two bedroom, the living, dining, kitchen is one room divided by a kitchen counter. I take the living room, Janah and Sarah hit the bedrooms. We don’t trash the place, there’s no need for that, and he’s not a collector of things, which is more Shadow-like. They’re, in general, minimalist. I’m finding so much nothing, it’s hard to keep up. I do a cursory check of the kitchen, fair amount of empty cabinet space, a few dishes, pots and pans, set of utensils, kitchen knives, refrigerator has basics, he either emptied out because he was traveling or he did a fair amount of takeaway. Pantry has canned soups, tuna fish, looks like most pantries, just more sparse. Nothing under the sink but a couple bottles of detergent, packet of sponges and a few rags.
I head to the bedroom, the one Sarah is pilfering, “He doesn’t do any entertaining to speak of, six bottles of wine, one fifth of Scotch, not enough wine glasses to have more than two people over.”
Sarah, “This room is a production studio.”
So I see, lighting on the ceiling is adjustable, not only brightness but colors, directionally adjustable from a control panel on a small desk opposite the end of a full size bed. No headboard or nightstand.
“Looks like a porn set.”
“Yep, nothing identifiable in the room if you film from the either side or the end of the bed. Here’s the camera, wait, here’s another, and a tripod. He could do hand held or stationary. Let me see,” she fiddles with the cameras, “whatever he recorded is gone, which means it’s been downloaded to this.”
‘This’ is a digital editing machine, we have one at home. He could make final adjustments, cut and clean up. It also stores the files and there are a bunch, encrypted. No worries, I have the magic thumb drive, five minutes of electronic stealth and we’re in.
Janah comes in, “There’s a safe in the bedroom closet, digital access, you have the cracker?”
“Yes, both kinds.”
I go to the bedroom, it’s got a keypad and a twist knob to open the door, “Did you try the simple way?”
“Yeah, but give it another go if you want.”
I hold the knob, twist while I bang my hand on the top in line with the knob. This works sometimes, but it doesn’t now. I see the plastic cover that shields the alternative way in, a key. It’s a tubular lock. Lucky me, I have a pick for tubular locks, seven pins, slide it in, twist, turn the knob, safe opens.
There’s a third way, my second tool is a cylindrical bit of metal that will fit in the small hole in the back of the safe. Inside, there’s a button to reset the password. If you tap it, the safe will open since no password is required. It can be a bit touch and go, finding the button blind. This time I don’t have to use it.
Inside are two hard drives, no doubt encrypted.
Janah, “Good Lord, how much of this stuff does he have?”
“It could be backup for what’s on the editor, maybe the second has other kinds of data.”
“What’s that behind them?”
I pull out a small stack of five passports, “His alter egos.”
They’re all in different names, his photo, our dead boy has been around the world based on the stamps.
“A travel junkie. If he indulged his obsession in all these countries, he’s gone European, Asian, Latin and African. Strangely, no America.”
“Lucky us, although CC was as American as they come.”
“I presume he’s cautious about using too many Brits, coming and going to his apartment with a parade of kids would make even the dullest neighbors begin to ask questions.”
“Yes, thus the travel. He edits his stuff here, maybe the occasional girl, he’d be foolish to press his luck.”
We take the drives and passports, rejoin Sarah.
“Sheesh, he’s got the libido of an alley cat, although some of the video is of two kids, or another adult and kid, he’s just recording the action. In mu cursory search, those seem to be in this room. We thought his bit was young girls, but he’s got boys in the mix. He does oral, gets sucked, I haven’t run across any little boy butt fucking. I quit counting when I hit a hundred.”
“That might explain our speculation, we wondered why a video set here at home, he wouldn’t be bringing different kids here all the time. He dodged the suspicion of neighbors by having mommy bring the kid.”
Sarah, “Yep, the ones I scanned have a woman and a child, boy or girl, no men.”
Janah, “Daphne, erase everything, get into the hard drives or get Grace B to do it.”
“Better idea,” I plug one into the computer, contact Grace B.
“Connect to this IP, find the computer and decrypt the external drive you’ll see hooked up. Let’s see what’s on it. After that, there’s a second drive to check.”
Grace B, “Plug that fucker in too, you think I can’t handle two crappy drives at once? What do you take me for, a slow witted NSA nerd?”
We wait all of three minutes. The first opens, it’s more porn.
Sarah, “Appears to be backup of what’s on the main box.”
The second one opens, it’s document files, bank and brokerage accounts, Stocker isn’t poor, must be three or four million, pounds.
Grace B, “What now?”
“Clean out the accounts and stick the money in one of the shells. Then bounce it around until it’s unrecognizable. When it’s done, wipe the two drives and the drive on the computer, wipe them so God can’t find so much as a byte.”
“I am God, and even I will not be able to bring them back.”
She doesn’t lack confidence.
“While she’s cleaning, is there anything else, maybe one more pass to see if we missed anything.”
This time I go to the bedroom, Janah and Sarah take the living area. I do the obvious, under the bed, search bathroom cabinets, even lift the toilet tank lid, nothing in, nothing behind. Shower’s empty, linen closet’s a bust. I go to the front.
Grace B dings my phone, “I took everything, that computer is as blank as your brain.”
I grin, she loves me, “Thank you, see you tomorrow honey.”
Janah, “Grace B giving you grief?”
“Of course, I have to piss off now.”
Janah and Sarah giggle.
Sarah, “If there’s anything here, it’s hidden behind the electrical sockets. I even checked the vents.”
“We’re done. Let’s stick things where they were and get gone.”
Although we’re eight hours ahead of ourselves, best to ignore that and pretend it’s seven in the evening London time, not two in the afternoon St. Martin’s time. It’s drizzling, it’s England, it’s always drizzling. Our Uber collects us slightly damp outside the Queen’s Head and takes us to the Renaissance. We hit the bar, Sarah has a vodka rocks, Janah and I have wine. I’m sidestepping my Shaolin vows to a greater cause, my sanity. It’s been a crazy few days, a murder topped off by a transatlantic flight and a burglary, although we didn’t actually take anything but his money and we didn’t take that from his apartment.
Janah, “Should we order room service?”
“Let’s just sit, have a drink and eat in the restaurant, no delivery fuss.”
And we do. The hotel makes a nicely charred grilled sea bass, we order two and filet mignon. Sarah and I swap bites, Janah was vegetarian for forever, then when we kept adding family, she felt like it was ridiculous for the busy cooks to have to create a separate veg dish for every meal. She shifted to fish and chicken, when we do something beefy, we use garden burger for her bit. Oceane is also red meat averse, Cassie eats what Oceane eats, we can make a decent size dish not one serving.
Suitably fed, we head to the room, watch a movie, BBC is full of wonderful programs, high drama, mysteries, we aren’t much on nature documentaries or historical reenactments. We manage to get drowsy over a part costume drama, part murder mystery, Janah wanders off to bed. Sarah and I finish the program snuggled together on the couch then pile in on either side of the sleeping Janah.
This morning, we skip breakfast and head to the airport. In our smaller private jet, it necessitates a fuel stop smoothly handled at an executive airport in Virginia. Then it’s on to Malibu. The whole flight is eleven hours including the half hour refuel, we pick up eight in time zones. So, in the strange world of international air travel, we left London at eight in the morning, arrive in Los Angeles at eleven in the morning. A driverless Tesla van awaits, we’re home in an hour, just behind the others who flew out of St. Martin’s this morning.
Lauren, “Grace B said everything went well.”
“Quite, we picked up around four million pounds for our trouble, I think the exchange is about one to one, not really sure. More than paid for expensive private flying and expensive villas.”
Britt, “We never figured out who the Shadow, Stocker, had dinner with. It wasn’t one of the women lawyers at his hotel. At least the cams didn’t show them arriving or leaving together the night of their dinner. Emma B checked subsequent nights, he came and went alone.”
“Picked her up in a bar, or shopping, coffee shop maybe, decided she wasn’t worth stealing from I suppose. There weren’t any reports of a missing woman then.”
“Not a peep, just the girl, CC. Oh, the police collected her, she has no memory of what happened. They did a rape kit, I don’t think the report has come back yet. If there was any other forensic evidence on her, nothing has been said about it, but it’s early days.”
“The families still there?”
“Until the tests are done, there was no evidence of semen though, and she wasn’t a virgin, let me rephrase, no intact hymen. That could have happened with a toy, she does have a contraceptive implant, vaccinated for HPV when she was a kid. Whether she’s sexually active or the parents are just sensible I don’t know.”
“Sounds like it might turn out okay. Her missing memory is a help, the police buy the drug story?”
“They did, one of the inspectors said there are too many of those types of drugs around, could be pinprick or added to a drink. The plastic glasses they used at the beach had been collected, washed or tossed.”
“How’s the girl handling it?”
“Apparently calmly. She wasn’t physically hurt, she’s just blank on a couple hours of her life, once he dropped her off, she was as mystified as anyone as to how she got Oliver’s.”
“Her luck wasn’t as bad as some others. Shadows usually like to leave the victim humiliated, send video to the family, like that. He was operating from a hotel, the room would be recognizable in a video, and it’s a small island, not a major city. Perhaps he planned to send the video later.”
Britt grins, “Except you guys cornered him and left him in the deep. I wonder if there’s anything left?”
“Nothing recognizable, sheds of cartilage and bones if the crabs found him.”
Lauren, “Eeeewww, you two are gruesome. Now that’s all I’ll think about next time we have crabmeat.”
Britt, “Don’t be ridiculous, do you think crabs normally dine on organic vegetables? They are the scavenger of scavengers, eat almost nothing but dead bits of detritus, why do you think crabs are so crabby?”
“Very funny, I shall put it, and you, out of my mind.”
She flounces off to the workshop where Eloise is creating a plasma brain or whatever.
Janah, “Probably not. Eloise and Lauren don’t do bioengineering, they’re more mechanically minded.”
“I don’t doubt they could if they set their minds to it. Eloise hasn’t asked for anything chemical, or Petri dishes and test tubes, has she?”
“I have no clue what she orders. Boxes of stuff shows up regularly.”
“You go to the workshop often enough.”
Janah smiles, “That’s to work on Eloise, not work on what Eloise is working on. But no, I haven’t seen Bunsen burners or test tubes or any biological safety cabinets. There’s a clean room, but that’s for when she works on the bots or any delicate digital construction, chips, anything where a speck of dust presents a problem.”
“I’m surprised Amaya hasn’t turned her bedroom into a clean room.”
Amaya, “I heard that. It would be impossible with Chloe, she’s in and out grimy from kendo or walking the hills or, when we’re in Arizona, racing karts around the track.”
“You race everything around the track.”
“At least now our machines are electric and we don’t stink of exhaust. Kicking up dust is inevitable, when the children race the karts they end up looking like refugees.”
“Speaking of, where are the sprites?”
Emma B, “Resting. They went hard at it while we were at the ocean, then back to the villa to play in the pool. Morshchiny gave up and flopped down inside as if just looking at the energy was exhausting her. I should have thought they would sleep on the plane home but there were too many distractions, multi player VR games, movies, lots of treats. When we got home, their batteries were shot.”
I move to the kitchen to plot dinner with my associates, “Any thoughts dinner Valeria? We can have something delivered.”
“Mama says we are making pizza at home, all we ate was fish the last few days. We have regular pepperoni, vegetable and margherita.”
“Excellent, do we have anchovies? I know it’s fish, but I like anchovies.”
Emma B, “Yes, you do, stacks of them in the pantry.”
“What’s my assignment?”
Dasha, “To relax. You haf made extra long flight, pizza ees seemple, Ellen will make crust wiz Valeria. Tomorrow you can return to keechen duty.”
How thoughtful, but I’m going to hang with my kitchen crew anyway, park on a stool at the end of the island, maybe I’ll open anchovies when it’s time. Right now, it’s nothing time, I don’t want to go lay down, I do, but better to push on and collapse in a heap tonight. Think I’ll go for a swim. Went to St. Martin’s and didn’t so much as get wet.
I’m making laps, it feels good to move after being parked in a seat for eleven hours. I glide along, not the effortless stylist Oceane is, but I work it smoothly, legs kicking, stroke, stroke, stroke to one end, flip turn, again. When I estimate I’ve gone a mile, I climb the steps at the shallow end and de-chlorinate under one of the outdoor pool showers. I’m in nothing, which is how everyone swims in our lesbian hive, at home that is.
As I dry off, the swarms comes from their dorm, Morshchiny was with them when I got home, she raises up on her hind legs and flops down on my shoulders, oomph!
I have a nose on my neck, offer the obligatory ear scratch, my fingers buried in folds of hairy skin. Satisfied I’m still me, she plops to the ground and trots off to sit on the steps halfway covered in water to watch the children swim and dive. The board thonks every half minute with one or the other lofting themselves airborne then into the pool. They’re good, fearless enough. Not Oceane style, she can do the most amazing dives, gainers, twists, triple flips. The children flip well enough, Nadia and Tasia are the most skilled, I’m treated to a display of half-gainers, full gainers, back flips with a half or full twist.
Janah comes along and sits next to me, “They’re getting good.”
“Quite, Oceane inspires, gives them pointers. Nadia and Tasia are more into diving complexities than the others.”
“You’ve been keeping up, so have Amaya and Chloe.”
“Dasha and Daria too, not as frequently, I think their muscle density leaves them less fluid in the air.”
We’d taken diving lessons in Manhattan for a year when we discovered Oceane’s affinity for all things wet. Dasha and Daria had gymnastics training when they were in Belarus and Russia. We had a balance beam and uneven bars on the roof of our condo there. Dasha and Daria used them several times a week. When we bailed on New York, we didn’t take the equipment. Since then, they’ve done tumbling along with Janah at least twice a week, more if they get time.
All our family has some favored athletic preference. When girls came to us some, like the twins, had prior experience. Others saw Janah doing yoga and tumbling, our martial artists working at taekwondo, kendo or ground fighting, Amaya had taken dance as a child and kept it up. Consequently, each girl gravitated to one thing or the other, frequently more than one.
Been a month since we returned from London, we’ve been able to get back to our routines, martial arts, gymnastics, swimming and diving. We don’t have a race track here, we do have a few electric dirt bikes, Sloane and Cassie sail around over the hills, the children have bikes proportionate to their size. They run in a pack, always in a pack just like they run the karts in Arizona.
Sloane, “I love watching them, they go from two by two, to a single line, to a circle, weave in and around each other, never miss a beat.”
Sarah, “What’s that thing Daphne mentioned, like a flock of swallows bursting out of the tree then zigzagging across the sky in near perfect formation.”
Amaya comes out from her office, “Coffee,” she uses the single serve unit, we make an urn full in the morning, thirty six cup size, not everyone drinks coffee, both sets of twins and the children drink black tea. Janah’s a green tea girl.
“This new VR is almost done, now anyone interested can visit a few of the universes the children do, with my action packed embellishments.”
“This is a new approach, think it will attract an audience?”
“I have seen it, an amazing experience, snapping out of time to another time and place. The color is sharp when it’s supposed to be, the action is intense, the beings vividly drawn. The children are brave, resourceful and compassionate, and their outfits are divine, a given, I designed them.”
“I assume it’s free, like our other programs.”
“They rent one of our VR units, pay the monthly fee and our stuff will not play on anything else.”
Most of the programs were developed by others, we pay a royalty on each play. Like a VR Netflix or Amazon streaming video, except the user is immersed in the world of the show, not a casual observer. Many of our programs are originals by us, leaning more towards martial arts, action and adventure and fantasy courtesy of the children’s travels. We don’t offer porn, not out of misguided morality, VR porn is so ubiquitous we’d be just another vendor. How much variety can you pack into what’s basically suck and fuck?
VR had a bit of difficulty early on, it made people nauseous, motion sickness. Your brain believes you are in the plummeting plane, or on the cliff looking down at a thousand feet of empty before crushing rocks splatter your innards and break your bones. You get the idea. Our secret is strobe. Our programs have an imperceptible flicker built in. You don’t see anything but continuity, but your brain settles into the rhythm of the flicker, and that keeps you from wanting to barf despite the near miss of your jet skimming up the side of the mountain. Janah popped up with the idea after some recollected research article from years earlier. It seems Alzheimer’s patients were able to retain memory after sessions looking at a strobe light. It wasn’t a onetime fix, they had to keep up daily sessions, but it worked. It seems the strobe synchs neurons by stimulating brain waves, called gamma oscillations, waves disturbed in Alzheimer’s patients. Boosting this synchronous brain activity appeared to act as a cue for the brain’s immune cells, prompting them to absorb the sticky amyloid proteins, the obstacles interfering with gamma oscillations.
VR sickness has nothing to do with repairing amyloid proteins, it is the disconnect of the feeling of motion in the program but your body is actually still. That creates the seasick feeling. Janah wondered out loud one evening if synchronizing the brain’s neurons might help lessen the disconnect. Eloise worked with our VR people and they came up with a subliminal strobe. It worked remarkably well in our units. Despite being patentable, we made the strobe addition free to any other VR producers and the wave of accolades and favorable media coverage made our units best sellers. There’s money to be made in sharing. Not that we should be seen as saints, we don’t need money, it would have been a more difficult decision if we were a startup working on a shoestring budget and doubtful about next week’s payroll.
Amaya, “There are a wealth of never before seen, never even imagined, life forms, there are life forms that thrive without oxygen or water. Some of the creatures are fluid, you can kick them, but it is like kicking fog, or water. Some have shells so hard, a gun, even a big gun, is pointless. Some are telepathic, some telekinetic, always a new challenge. The viewer is enmeshed in instantaneous travel, faster than the speed of light. They have to figure out with the children which are the bad guys and which the good, then find the right tools to help. Nothing as contrived as ray guns, and nothing so simple as a gun or knife. The beings are real, the children have seen them. The difference between their actual travels and the VR is that the children never interact or interfere, they simply observe. In my adaptation, they do interact and interfere. If they did not, it would be nothing more than an interstellar and multiverse nature documentary. Nobody will believe the places are real or that the children have been to them. Sometimes I have trouble believing it. Their level of detail is convincing though.”
“And the fact that when they travel, their bodies are here, sitting cross legged, eyes open and awake, but they are clearly elsewhere. I’ve tried speaking to them, wave my hand in front of their eyes, nothing. Only their bodies are there. Plus we’ve seen evidence, a million sparkles when Zycyryn decide to make themselves visible. I say themselves, like there are lots of them, Janah thinks they may be a single organism, not a they at all.”
“Does that make it God?”
There’s nowhere to go with that speculation, so we don’t. Instead, Grace B appears.
“We have been invaded.”
“No, a drone, and the children are in the pool. Shall I launch one of ours and shoot it down?”
“Yes….wait…no, launch a drone and keep it over and behind the intruder, then I’ll have Katya go outside and point one of the rifles at it. It will have video, no point to it lurking around otherwise. They won’t want their drone shot down, it will beat a hasty retreat, follow and when you have the location it originated from and video of whoever is operating it, then shoot it down. I want them to know they made a costly mistake. Then I’m going to find them and have a chat.”
Grace B has one of our combat drones a couple hundred yards over and behind drone unknown. Katya goes out with one of Ellen’s sniper rifles, I don’t know the specifics, it’s big enough to get attention. She stands on the patio and points it directly at the drone. The thing does a u-turn as it gains altitude and flies off towards the ocean.
It isn’t that fast, makes maybe forty, ours can fly at two hundred plus if we need speed. It’s locked onto the intruder and whoever’s pokey little spy drone is not going to escape.
Our tribe is gathered around the flat screens or looking at their tablets. Over houses, then the PCH, to the beach. Two men, looks like early twenties, the stupid years, one stands next to the tailgate of a pickup staring at a screen in his hand. The other with a control device sitting on the tailgate of a truck staring at his screen.
Their drone hovers over the truck, still a hundred feet up, the operator looks up with his pal, they high five. Then their toy disintegrates in front of their eyes. Drone bits rain down on them. Hands up to cover their heads, we see the control device pad lasered into a blistered ball of black plastic, followed by the tablet and the laptop. Smoke floats up from the fried electronics.
We’re laughing, those two dopes have no idea what happened, they didn’t see our drone, the shot was made from over a hundred yards. The zoom on our video can pick up a face or a license plate from five hundred.
Grace B maneuvers around, we have their faces, the brand of truck, and now we have a plate number. The drone returns home to a soft landing directly into a room next to the workshop where the drones are stored, kind of a drone coup. The door closes automatically. Inside, it is weatherproofed, temperature and humidity controlled so our birds stay fresh and nimble.
I say to no one in particular, “I’ll be making a courtesy call on those two.”
Britt, ‘Think it was intentional?”
“I doubt it. I suspect they’ve surfed the local area for naked babes in backyards before and stumbled across us. Big wall, big house, big pool, people in it. Not sure they got close enough to figure out if it was children. They saw the pool busy and were coming in for a closer look. Kids were all in the water anyway, not that they care about being seen naked, nudity means nothing to them.”
Emma B, “Fredrick Tanner and Calvin Greven, sharing a flat in Torrance. They must share the truck as well, no other vehicle listed as belonging to either one. The truck is in Tanner’s name, both are on the lease for the flat.”
“Hack them, hope we didn’t destroy their only electronics.”
“Grace B did it. It appears they amuse themselves by posting their backyard shots on various social media sites and the porn version of YouTube.”
Amaya, “I suppose people do occasionally carry out intimacies in the open air.”
Emma B, “I decline to elaborate, leave it at indelicate.”
Grace B, “I do not decline. Women having sex with the help, the kids, even the family pet. Two separate videos of women getting their pussies licked by rover. Most of it is simple suck and fuck between consenting adults, pissing on a partner appears more popular than I should have guessed. One woman had her children pee on her. The kids thought it was great fun, two girls, six to eight and a boy maybe ten. While mommy lays in a pool of pee masturbating, the two little girls took turns on the boy’s cock. He was happy, perhaps it was his birthday, although there was no cake visible.”
Lauren, “People are disgusting…a dog? Yuck-o.”
Grace B, “It was not in their collection but apparently more than a few women are sexually enamored with horses.”
“Subject change, immediately.”
Nikko, “Good idea. What do we do with these guys?”
“Visit, explain the consequences?”
Chloe, “I see no reason to out ourselves to them.”
She has a point, which I acknowledge, “You have a point Vesnushki. Let’s out them the way the outed the unsuspecting.”
Janah, “Do what? Stick their names and faces next to the currently anonymous posts? A humiliated citizen goes gunning for them and gets sent to prison for it? It would be better to send Sarah and Mani, they won’t get caught.”
Sarah, “Now you’re talking, what’s the address?”
“I didn’t mean it, they’re two twenty something losers trolling people by drone. It happens all the time, they just made the mistake of trying to peek at us, most people aren’t loaded up with the kinds of digital surveillance we have. Nobody has quantum bots that can monitor the skies around us while performing a half dozen other functions at the same time.”
Grace B, “A half dozen? Please, do not insult me.”
“Okay, a lot, many, numerous, did you know Native Americans peoples counted to one and two, everything after two was called ‘many’.”
Britt, “Sounds like people who didn’t have much stuff.”
“Nomads are minimalists by necessity. If it didn’t fit on a horse or a woman’s back, they didn’t haul it around.”
Britt, “Wait, what did the men carry?”
“Bow and arrow, knife, maybe a gun. They were the hunters and defenders, you can’t chase down buffalo while loaded up with extra teepees, they needed mobility, it wasn’t just misogyny.”
Nikko, “Enough history, what about the two dopes?”
Janah, “Mrs. Pearson will contact her pals in the LAPD, turn over the digital evidence, tell them to take credit for finding it via their crack digital forensics team. We go back to being horny lesbians.”
Sloane, “Does the LAPD have a digital forensics team?”
“They must have a version, I don’t know what they call it. We’ll be out of it, they’ll bust the boys. Most of the stuff has been taken down, it’s still in their cloud files, which is stupid, but they’re twenty-ish losers.”
That settled, Janah goes off to find one our encrypted sat phones. The rest of the girls go off to rooms, the skies are darkening, nice afternoon for a lazy nap. I’m in the kitchen alone, unusual with thirty people in the place, but it happens. I check today’s dinner menu, posted by the second in command Valeria, Dasha is Chef in Chief, for now. Valeria has incorporated her Mamas’ direct manner and unreadable demeanor. She may soon rule the kitchen. Used to be my job, but I’ve been demoted to assistant chef.
I hear the soft pad of bare feet, look over my shoulder, oh my, somebody’s in for a fun afternoon. Not only are Janah’s feet bare, so is the rest of her. She pays me no attention, when she wanders the house nude, it means her hunger for sexual satiation hormones have kicked in. I watch her magnificent bottom and creamy smooth legs carry her up the steps. I could try to guess which bedroom she’s headed to, but it is easier and far more stimulating to get in her head and see through her eyes. I beat a retreat to our bedroom, strip off my t-shirt and crank up my inner voyeur.
I see Sloane’s door, ah ha, Janah’s in the mood for the boy part of my trans daughter. As you must know by now, I have no bio children, they are adopted or were wards of one of us. Were because they are, despite not aging, have over twenty one years on Earth. The adoptees are in the same situation, fourteen and fifteen year old bodies but past the age of majority. The one exception is Britt, who quit aging at fourteen but isn’t quite eighteen. Valeria is neither my daughter nor a ward, she was adopted by Daria and Dasha. At least that’s what the records say in California, records we placed there through the miracle of hacking. If you can extract data by hack, you can insert data by hack.
She taps the door, it slides open, Sloane’s face, a grin, I see her eyes slide down along Janah’s smoothiosity. Janah goes in, the door slides shut. All our doors slide into the wall, with the excepting the huge double front door and the roll up doors for the garage.
Janah slips off Sloane’s shirt, I see Sloane’s cock, Janah’s hand around it, then Sloane’s face in for a close up as they kiss, multiple times. Janah knows I’m peeking, she wants me to, she likes it, my luscious exhibitionist.
Sloane turns, Janah follows her to the bed, Sloane’s hard now, eight inches of smooth circumcised shaft, rod straight. I have been tempted myself, but have so far abstained…mostly. Sloane teases me with it when I’m physically in the room watching. When she’s ready to cut loose, she’ll pull out of Janah and slide the slick shaft along my tummy, then shift over to straddle Janah’s chest and slip it into her mouth, culminating in one of those shoot in the mouth porn shots. On purpose, she misses just enough of a direct hit that there’s usually a streak on Janah’s cheek. Janah likes me to lean over and lick it off, then kiss her tongue to tongue. Janah loves the stuff, I’ve acquired a taste myself.
I’m watching the show, working my fingers between my legs when my door slides open, it’s Chloe. She shuts the door, ditches her shorts and shirt, and crawls over me.
“Lauren beckoned, Amaya obeyed, I hoped you might be available. She pulls my hand up, licks my wet fingers, “yum…I take it Janah’s off someplace and you’re warming to her warming.”
“Sloane, but she went through the house nude, Sloane could be just the beginning.”
Chloe giggles, “When Janah gets her groove on, there are lots of happy girls. Now, let me make you a happy girl.”
If you’ve never been intimate with a lanky fashion model film star with violet eyes, I strongly suggest you find one. I’m off the Janah channel and focused on being salaciously served by our resident celebrity. When she’s done with me, I make her pay, several times. An hour later we’re in semi-delirium, the good kind, the kind that involves mindless babbling and aftershock tremors.
Chloe takes a deep breath, “Good gravy that was fun. It’s be a while since it was just you and I.”
“You have a lot of fans, and it’s not easy prying you away from Amaya.”
She smiles, “I am in constant wonder that a girl who is the dictionary definition of perfect stays all over me the way she does. I’m a collection of odd bits, freckles, nose is too big, eyes too far apart on a narrow face with a wide mouth. I’m tall and skinny with long arms.”
“And longer legs. The picture isn’t the parts, it’s all the parts together. What you call odd bits come together to create a distinctive beauty. Amaya’s features are, as noted, perfectly arranged and sized, her beauty is her flawlessness. What you think of as flaws are your beauty. Your personality is the perfect capper. Nobody radiates happiness like you.”
“Thank you. We’ve talked of it in the past. My childhood was a nightmare of physical and verbal abuse, I was the equivalent of a beaten dog, including eating out of a bowl on the floor. My father was a Shadow who convinced my sister she was his wife and I was her slave. He was well on the way to making her a fully formed Shadow. You, Janah and Nikko pulled me out and gave me a lifestyle of unparalleled richness, money but far more than money. Amaya made me a fashion model and coached me into a successful acting career. I wake up every day next to the hottest girl on the planet and live with the other hottest girls on the planet,” she laughs, “I’m my own fairy tale.”
I laugh with her, “Vesnushki, Amaya may be the hottest, you are the most adorable, which is why Amaya, and the rest of us, adore you.”
She tears up, kisses me, it’s a moment.